"This Pokémon's real cause of death was a traffic accident." Facing Cynthia's stern expression, Hugo scrambled to defend himself with a strong survival instinct.
"Ninety percent of Pokémon fatalities in Nimbasa City are caused by vehicles. Look at the Watchog's waist—clear signs of a car collision. Beyond that, its calf muscles were severely torn, multiple bones fractured, and it has several stitched-up open wounds from a hospital. These are textbook signs of a traffic accident."
Hugo tugged at the Watchog's left leg, drawing Cynthia's attention to the wounds. Stitched post-mortem, the gruesome gashes seemed less healed and more swollen, fused by decay.
The corpse's ghastly state sent Rotom retreating into Cynthia's coat pocket, leaving only its camera lens peeking out cautiously.
"By analyzing the wounds, we can reconstruct the scene: startled, the Watchog bolted onto the road, got hit by a car that couldn't swerve in time, and then the fatal blow—its hind leg was caught under a truck's tire, crushed to death. Despite its supernatural type resistance, it's no match for a gasoline-powered steel machine… That truck driver probably needs a new tire."
Perhaps the wounds were too grisly, as Cynthia's expression didn't soften. "How did its body end up here?"
"As a detective, I have ties with the Pokémon Center. When I heard they had a Normal-type Pokémon corpse available for research, I retrieved it from the morgue and brought it to an underground clinic that's closed on this day of the week—using entirely honest and peaceful means, of course."
Hugo spoke with righteous conviction, as if the morgue's corpses were his personal bank deposits.
"You bribed the morgue's guard, didn't you?" Cynthia, knowing his character well, cut through his pretense.
Hugo gave a dry laugh, not denying it. "The Yamask guarding the morgue is easy to deal with and loves horror movies. I got it an annual theater pass, and now I have free access to the morgue. The perk of hiring Pokémon is they cut through human bureaucracy—Pokémon are far more humane."
"What's your next step?"
"I've finished recording the experiment. Now, I just need to compare it with data from living Pokémon injuries. Luckily, researchers have done these tests countless times, so there's plenty of data. By the way, I estimate this Watchog died 27 hours and 45 minutes ago. I'll call the Traffic Bureau later to check if any accidents were reported then…"
"I meant, how will you handle this Watchog's burial?" Cynthia's tone was severe, each word deliberate.
Hugo yawned absently, replying in a lazy drawl. "Of course I'll bury it. What did you think I was doing? I'm taking it back to the hospital. Honestly, it was scheduled for cremation today, but Yamask helped push the date back. By tomorrow, this Watchog will be ashes, resting in peace."
He clasped his hands in a minimal gesture of mourning.
But Cynthia wasn't satisfied, glaring fiercely at the cart. "You're just walking into the hospital like this?"
"I'm returning lost property, not stealing. I'll be open about it." Hugo waved dismissively, urging her to relax.
"How do you explain the Watchog? You didn't just bribe the guard to take it—you desecrated the body."
"It's a wild Pokémon, or the Pokémon Center wouldn't be handling its remains. There's no 'corpse desecration' charge for it, so even if I'm caught, it's no big deal. The body's wrapped in cloth—no one can tell what's inside. At a hospital, an intern in a white coat pushing a cart isn't suspicious. Sneaking in with a big bag would raise more eyebrows."
Cynthia found his excuses flimsy, but Hugo was already wheeling the cart out of the trees, the body-laden cart rattling away.
Before heading to the hospital, he paused and called back to Cynthia. "Meet me in an hour at the café near Featherhaven Manor. If you need help, we can talk there. Flying in on Togekiss right after landing must've been exhausting."
*( * )
Hugo pointed to a ticket stub poking out of Cynthia's coat pocket.
"It's a case," Cynthia said seriously under the shaded trees.
Detectives embody skepticism, and Hugo wasn't convinced. "The Sinnoh Champion needs a washed-up detective like me in a foreign land?"
"A grave matter concerning the Sinnoh League's reputation," the League's spokesperson said solemnly.
"Why come to Unova? The League has plenty of skilled investigators."
"When there's a case, you hire a detective. That's common sense," Cynthia replied, crossing her arms as if it were universal truth.
"Your detective is currently hauling a corpse into a hospital."
Hugo shot back, exasperated, and left to deal with the body.
Two hours later, Hugo had efficiently handled the Watchog's affairs.
He was thrilled—his call to the Traffic Bureau confirmed his theory, with the accident's timing matching his estimate perfectly.
To honor the Watchog's contribution to forensic science, Hugo decided his unpublished paper would name the "Normal-type post-mortem resistance decay curve" the "Hugo-Watchog Curve," a tribute to the crash victim's spirit.
At the café, he eagerly shared his joy with Cynthia.
"The accident that killed the Watchog happened near the famous Nimbasa ice cream stand, during a quiet morning when cars speed through. It was brutal. The body doesn't show it, but the Watchog lost a lot of blood. There's still a stubborn red stain on the road."
Cynthia ignored him, stirring her pomegranate slush, regretting its deep red hue.
Hugo prattled on. "Funny thing—some blood splattered onto the ice cream stand's bucket. The staff didn't notice at first, but near closing, they were shocked to find their most popular flavor unsold. One worker turned the bucket and screamed when she saw a huge, blackened bloodstain!"
Bang.
Cynthia slammed her glass on the wooden table, pushing the half-finished, dark red slush aside.
Buying Nimbasa ice cream was a tradition for the Champion's Unova visits, and this irritating detective was ruining it with his gruesome chatter. Another region's Champion might've started an impromptu Pokémon battle by now.
The noise startled Hugo and drew the café staff's curious glances. But Cynthia's regal presence and Hugo's familiar, if disheveled, charm—despite looking like a psychiatrist fresh from wrestling a patient—reassured them. As regulars, they weren't likely troublemakers, so the staff left them alone.
"You still haven't considered becoming a Trainer?" Cynthia changed the topic.
"I'm already a detective," Hugo replied candidly. "If someone asked you, a Champion, to retire and become a programmer or graphic designer, you wouldn't say yes, would you?"
"You don't have to quit being a detective. Being a Trainer isn't just a job—anyone bonded with Pokémon is a Trainer," Cynthia said. "Over sixty percent of League challengers have other careers. I'm a mythologist myself."
At the word "mythologist," a complex glint flashed in Hugo's eyes, but he quickly recovered, shaking his head firmly. "My work demands my full focus. Only full-time dedication makes you a professional."
Cynthia said nothing, placing a rectangular briefcase on the table.
"Familiar scene," Hugo commented.
"Some clients offer briefcases of cash to drop a case, practically confessing to dirty money."
"Choose one. This is the payment for your case."
Cynthia opened the briefcase without fanfare, revealing three Poké Balls nestled on black velvet.