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A sleek, minimalist office.
Behind the desk sat a man in a perfectly tailored suit, posture straight, expression sharp.
To his side stood a beautiful woman in a fitted secretary's outfit, her demeanor polite and deferential.
"Aya," the man said, frowning. "Why are this year's Battle Tower numbers so strange? So many early withdrawals. Average floor clears are way lower than usual. Are our trainees just… weaker this year?"
"Sir," Aya replied, "I'm not entirely sure yet. I'll go speak with the relevant staff."
The man gave a short, curt nod.
Aya turned and left, softly closing the door behind her.
Once outside, her entire demeanor shifted. The submissive politeness vanished, replaced by the confident aura of a workplace power player.
Even the faint flirtation in her features was gone, replaced with clean, executive sharpness.
Striding through the maze-like halls of the organization's headquarters, she moved with purpose until she reached a quiet floor.
Unlocking her own office, she stepped inside, wiped a trace of sweat from her forehead, and switched on the coffee machine.
Dark, fragrant liquid poured into her white mug as she pulled out her sleek phone, scrolling with quick, precise flicks of her fingers.
Leaning casually against the desk, she took a sip, the bitter flavor loosening the tension from her brow.
Finding the contact she wanted, she dialed.
Two rings later, a man's voice picked up.
"Hello? Aya, what's up?"
"Give me a report on the Battle Tower situation this year," she said lightly, though her tone held authority.
There was a long pause. Then the man began speaking, his voice tinged with unease.
Aya listened in silence, occasionally sipping her coffee. As his tone dropped lower and lower, her eyes widened. She set her mug down, standing straight.
"…Report complete," the man finally said, shame in his voice.
The room went silent enough to hear a pin drop. Aya took one last sip, only to find the coffee had gone cold.
"…Don't explain. Just write me a full report," she said flatly. "The Minister will want to see it."
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Back in the minimalist office, Lecaf sat reading the report Aya had brought. She waited, hands folded before her, head lowered respectfully.
After several minutes, Lecaf removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I see. I understand the situation now."
Aya relaxed slightly, knowing he wasn't going to direct his anger at her.
"…It seems the logistics team really messed up," she offered. "They put a ridiculously strong Pokémon on the third floor! The supervisor should be disciplined."
"This time, it's not their fault," Lecaf said, shaking his head. "Even I might have misjudged that Flaaffy."
He leaned back, a faint smile touching his lips. "We may have had poor results this year, but finding a talent like this? That's worth it."
"Do we have any detailed info on this Flaaffy?" he asked.
"Yes, sir." Aya quickly pulled a slim file from her bag and handed it over.
Lecaf scanned through it, muttering to himself. "Hmm… a rented Pokémon? Only one recorded mission? Newly added to the roster… Wait. Kaise?"
He chuckled. "That guy found himself a real gem."
Aya tilted her head. "Sir… Kaise, as in… the Kaise from the Death Match Division?"
"That's right," Lecaf said with a nostalgic grin. "He and I used to be in the same combat squad. We fought together, trained our Pokémon side by side… and got punished together when missions went wrong. Good times."
His expression softened briefly. "Shame he was too stubborn back then. Rubbed a lot of people the wrong way and lost his chance to stay in the combat division. But… looks like he's learned to adapt."
Realizing he'd drifted too far into memory, Lecaf cleared his throat and straightened.
"Since Kaise has changed, I'll back him fully."
"Aya!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Give this Flaaffy's mission an S-rank evaluation. Award it the special-grade Thunder Stone from storage. And tell Silo in Logistics this Flaaffy is under my personal protection."
"Yes, Sir!" Aya replied sharply.
Inside, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy for the lucky Pokémon.
The rewards were good, but the last part was the real prize Lecaf's backing. That kind of protection meant easier missions, better rewards, and fewer risks.
No one in the organization would dare cause trouble for a Pokémon the Combat Division Head had claimed as his own.
And all these advantages were now flowing toward one unsuspecting, peacefully sleeping Flaaffy named Kael.
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