The morning after the tournament, Marcus woke up famous.
Not "Giovanni the respected Gym Leader" famous. Not "Giovanni the Silph Co. board member" famous. Not even "Giovanni the Elite Four member who won his seat" famous.
Famous famous. Household-name famous. Face-on-every-newspaper, clip-on-every-broadcast, strangers-stopping-you-on-the-street famous. The kind of famous that fundamentally altered the way an entire region perceived you, that rewrote your public identity overnight, that turned you from a figure of institutional authority into a figure of cultural significance.
Marcus discovered this when he attempted to leave his hotel suite at the Indigo Plateau and found the corridor outside blocked by a wall of reporters, cameras, microphones, and aggressively enthusiastic members of the public who had somehow bypassed the hotel's security through what could only be described as collective, fanatical determination.
"GIOVANNI! Giovanni, can you comment on your battle with Red?"
"Mr. Giovanni! What was that transformation your Kangaskhan underwent? Our analysts have never seen anything like it!"
"Giovanni-san! Is it true that one of your Pokémon was wearing a CLOAK? Where did it get the cloak? Does it have a DESIGNER?"
"SIR! SIR! Can I get your autograph? My daughter wants to be a trainer because of you! She watched the whole battle! She cried when your Persian started glowing! SIR!"
Marcus closed the door.
He stood in his hotel suite, his back against the door, and processed the situation with the methodical calm of a man who had been ambushed by worse things than journalists. Kyogre had been worse. Groudon had been worse. Sabrina's training outfit had been significantly worse.
"Domino," he said into his communicator.
"Already on it, sir. I have a security team en route to extract you through the service entrance. ETA four minutes."
"How bad is it?"
"The Indigo Plateau News Network ran your battle with Red as their lead story. All six hours of coverage. They replayed the Mega Kangaskhan sequence forty-seven times. The Shadow versus Pikachu Counter clip has been viewed online approximately twelve million times as of—" She paused. "—thirteen million times. It's trending in every region with internet access. You are, as of this morning, the most talked-about trainer in the world."
Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose.
Being famous was not part of the plan. Being famous was the opposite of the plan. The plan was to be powerful, influential, and invisible—the shadow behind the throne, the hand that moved the pieces, the man who controlled everything without anyone knowing he controlled anything. Famous people couldn't be invisible. Famous people had cameras pointed at them. Famous people had their lives examined, their histories investigated, their secrets exposed.
Famous people who were also secretly crime lords had a very short shelf life.
"Damage assessment," Marcus said. "What are they saying about my team?"
"Three main topics of discussion, sir. First: the unknown Pokémon. Shadow and Titan have been identified by exactly zero analysts. The leading theory is that they're new species from an unexplored region. Three different Pokémon professors have publicly requested the opportunity to examine them. Professor Oak issued a personal statement calling them 'the most significant discovery in modern Pokémon taxonomy.'"
"He can't examine them. Nobody can."
"Understood. Second topic: the Kangaskhan transformation. This is the big one. Nobody has any explanation for what happened. The Pokémon League's research division has formally opened an investigation into 'the anomalous evolutionary event observed during the Elite Four challenge.' They're calling it 'Mega Evolution'—someone in the press coined the term and it stuck."
Marcus felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. The League was investigating Mega Evolution. His secret weapon—the game-breaking mechanic that nobody was supposed to know about for another decade—was now the subject of formal scientific inquiry.
"How much do they know?"
"Nothing concrete. They know it happened. They know it involved a visible transformation. They know it made Kangaskhan significantly more powerful. They don't know how, they don't know why, and they don't have any way to replicate it. But they're looking. Hard."
"Who's leading the investigation?"
"Professor Oak has been appointed as lead researcher, with cooperation from Professors Elm in Johto and Birch in Hoenn."
Three professors. Three of the most brilliant Pokémon researchers in the world, all focused on understanding the thing that Marcus needed to remain secret.
This was a problem.
"Third topic?"
"Third topic: you personally. Your public approval rating has increased by thirty-one points overnight. The mayor of Viridian City has declared a civic holiday in your honor. The Pokémon League has received over two thousand requests from trainers who want to challenge your gym specifically because they saw you in the tournament. And—" Domino paused. The pause had an unusual quality to it. A quality that suggested the next piece of information was going to be delivered with some difficulty. "—and you have received approximately four hundred personal letters from women across Kanto expressing their... admiration."
"That's nice."
"Sir, several of them include photographs."
"Photographs of what?"
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Of... themselves, sir. In various states of... admiration."
"Oh. Well, that's very kind. File them with the fan mail."
The silence on the other end of the communicator was so profound that Marcus could hear Domino blinking.
"Fan mail," she repeated.
"Yes. I assume we have a system for handling fan mail?"
"We do now, sir. I'll... set one up."
Marcus ended the call, got dressed (suit number twelve of eighteen; the tournament had destroyed two through battle damage and one through an incident involving Blaze and an enthusiastic post-victory greeting), and prepared for the extraction.
The security team—six Rocket operatives in plainclothes, chosen for their ability to blend into crowds and their willingness to physically remove journalists from their boss's path—arrived through the service entrance exactly on schedule. They formed a perimeter around Marcus and shepherded him through the hotel's back corridors, down a freight elevator, and into an unmarked car in the underground parking structure.
As the car pulled away from the Indigo Plateau, Marcus watched the building recede in the rearview mirror and made a decision.
The fame was a problem. But problems could be turned into advantages if you were smart enough.
Giovanni was now the most popular trainer in Kanto. The man who had beaten Red. The man with the mysterious Pokémon and the impossible transformation. The people loved him. The League respected him. The media hung on his every word.
Which meant that anything Giovanni said, people would believe. Any initiative Giovanni proposed, the League would support. Any policy Giovanni championed, the public would embrace.
The shadow behind the throne had just stepped into the spotlight, and while the spotlight was dangerous, it was also powerful. A man who was both beloved and feared could shape public opinion, influence policy, and redirect institutional attention with a single press conference.
Marcus pulled out his notebook and began writing.
POST-TOURNAMENT STRATEGY:
1. Control the Mega Evolution narrative. Get ahead of the investigation. Approach Oak personally. Offer to "cooperate" with the research—feed him enough information to keep him busy but not enough to replicate the process. Position myself as the expert. The League's authority on Mega Evolution. If anyone is going to control how this technology develops, it needs to be me.
2. Leverage the fame. Use public appearances, media interviews, and League events to strengthen the "Giovanni is a pillar of the community" persona. The more visible and beloved I am, the harder it becomes for anyone to investigate my other activities without public backlash.
3. Expand the intelligence division. The League investigation into Mega Evolution will produce research that I need access to. My position as head of the League's intelligence division gives me a channel to monitor and influence the investigation from the inside.
4. Address the unknown Pokémon issue. Shadow and Titan are going to draw attention. I need a cover story—"discovered during a private expedition to an unexplored region" should work. Vague enough to be unverifiable, specific enough to be plausible. Do NOT let anyone examine them closely enough to determine their actual origin.
He underlined the last sentence three times.
The car arrived at Team Rocket headquarters in Viridian City at noon. Marcus bypassed the lobby—where a group of female operatives were clustered around a television replaying the Mega Kangaskhan sequence for what appeared to be the fortieth time, based on the fact that several of them were mouthing along with the commentary—and went directly to his office.
His desk was buried under reports.
Not the usual daily operational briefings. These were intelligence reports—thick, detailed, encrypted documents bearing the classification stamps of Team Rocket's global surveillance network. Reports from Sinnoh. Reports from Kalos. Reports from Unova. Reports from Alola.
The Ditto network had been busy.
Marcus poured himself a coffee (the coffee was, as always, perfect; whoever was responsible deserved a raise and would never receive one because acknowledging their existence would raise questions about why a Gym Leader had a dedicated barista), sat down, and began reading.
SINNOH INTELLIGENCE REPORT - TEAM GALACTIC
CLASSIFICATION: ULTRA
SOURCE: Ditto Operative Network, Galactic Division
Marcus opened the Sinnoh report first because Team Galactic was, in his assessment, the most dangerous organization on the planet, and Cyrus was the most dangerous man running one.
The report was comprehensive. Eight Dittos, embedded in Team Galactic's operations for weeks, had produced a document that read like a thriller novel written by a paranoid conspiracy theorist—except everything in it was real.
Cyrus has accelerated the timeline for Operation: New World.
Our operatives have confirmed that Team Galactic's primary objective is the capture and exploitation of Dialga and Palkia—the Legendary Pokémon that embody Time and Space respectively. Cyrus intends to use their combined power to unmake the existing universe and replace it with a "perfect" reality devoid of emotion, conflict, and what he calls "the weakness of the human spirit."
To achieve this, Galactic has been manufacturing a device called the Red Chain—an artificial restraint system designed to control Legendary Pokémon by suppressing their will. The Red Chain is constructed using crystallized energy extracted from Uxie, Mesprit, and Azelf—the Lake Trio of Sinnoh, who embody Knowledge, Emotion, and Willpower respectively.
CRITICAL INTELLIGENCE: Cyrus has already captured the Lake Trio.
Marcus set down his coffee cup.
Already captured. The Lake Trio—three Legendary Pokémon, guardians of fundamental aspects of consciousness—were already in Cyrus's hands. The Red Chain was being manufactured. The plan to unmake reality was in progress.
The Red Chain is approximately 60% complete. At current production rates, it will be operational within 8-12 weeks. Once complete, Cyrus intends to travel to Spear Pillar—the ancient shrine atop Mt. Coronet—and use the Red Chain to summon and control both Dialga and Palkia simultaneously.
Our operatives have obtained partial schematics of the Red Chain (attached). The technology is... unprecedented. Our analysts believe it represents a fundamental breakthrough in Legendary Pokémon containment—one that could, theoretically, be adapted for other applications.
ADDITIONAL INTELLIGENCE: Cyrus has a contingency plan. If the Red Chain fails to fully control Dialga and Palkia, he intends to use the resulting dimensional instability to open a portal to the Distortion World—the antimatter dimension governed by Giratina. Cyrus believes that the Distortion World contains the "pure" reality he seeks.
He is, to be direct, insane. But he is also brilliant, well-funded, and in possession of three Legendary Pokémon and a device that may be capable of controlling two more. This is not a theoretical threat. This is an active, imminent crisis.
Recommended action: Unknown. This is above our operatives' pay grade. Awaiting your instructions, sir.
Marcus read the report three times. Then he stood up, walked to the window, looked out at Viridian City, and said a word that Giovanni's dignified mouth had probably never formed before but which the situation absolutely demanded.
Then he sat back down and kept reading.
KALOS INTELLIGENCE REPORT - TEAM FLARE
CLASSIFICATION: ULTRA
SOURCE: Ditto Operative Network, Flare Division
Lysandre's plans are proceeding on multiple fronts.
Team Flare's primary objective remains the activation of the Ultimate Weapon—an ancient Kalosian superweapon powered by the life energy of Pokémon. The weapon was created three thousand years ago by AZ, the ancient King of Kalos, and was used to end a great war at the cost of enormous Pokémon suffering. It has been dormant since.
Lysandre believes that activating the Ultimate Weapon will allow him to "reset" the world—destroying what he considers an ugly, overpopulated, unworthy civilization and replacing it with a "beautiful" one. He has not specified what "beautiful" means in practical terms, but our operatives note that his personal aesthetic preferences tend toward "expensive, well-dressed, and orange-haired," which suggests that his ideal world would be both very stylish and very sparsely populated.
Marcus snorted.
CRITICAL INTELLIGENCE: Lysandre has located the Ultimate Weapon. It is buried beneath the Team Flare headquarters in Geosenge Town, Kalos. Excavation is approximately 40% complete.
SECONDARY INTELLIGENCE: Team Flare's research division has made significant progress in Mega Evolution research. They have identified twelve Mega Stone deposits across Kalos and have successfully replicated the Mega Evolution process in controlled laboratory settings. Lysandre personally possesses a Key Stone and a Gyaradosite, and has been observed Mega Evolving his Gyarados during private training sessions.
Marcus's hand tightened on the report.
Lysandre had Mega Evolution. Another person in the world—another villain—had independently discovered and replicated the process that Marcus had been counting on as his exclusive advantage.
The exclusivity window was closing. If Lysandre had it, others would follow. The professors investigating Marcus's tournament Mega Evolution would eventually make the connection. The technology would spread. Within a few years, Mega Evolution would be public knowledge.
He needed to accelerate his plans. Every advantage he had that relied on exclusivity—Mega Evolution, the genetic potential pills, the Hisuian Pokémon, Resonance—had a shelf life. He needed to use them before the rest of the world caught up.
TERTIARY INTELLIGENCE: Mega Stone locations identified by Team Flare's research (coordinates attached). Our operatives have cross-referenced these locations with our existing geological survey data and have identified seven previously unknown deposits. Stones recovered and in transit to Kanto include:
- Mewtwoite X
- Mewtwoite Y
- Gengarite
- Alakazamite
- Gyaradosite
- Scizorite
- Pinsirite
Marcus stared at the list.
Mewtwoite X and Mewtwoite Y. The Mega Stones for Mewtwo. For the being that was currently growing in a tank on Cinnabar Island, its mind forming, its awakening approaching.
When—when—Mewtwo awakened, and when—when—Marcus established a bond with it, he would have the ability to Mega Evolve the most powerful Pokémon in the world.
Mega Mewtwo X: a Psychic/Fighting type with Attack stats that exceeded every other Pokémon in existence.
Mega Mewtwo Y: a pure Psychic type with Special Attack stats that broke the numerical scale.
Either form would make Mewtwo not just the strongest Pokémon on the planet but the strongest Pokémon that had ever existed or could ever exist within the known laws of biology.
Marcus carefully placed the report on his desk, folded his hands, and stared at the wall for approximately ninety seconds while his brain recalibrated its understanding of his own future power level.
Then he kept reading.
UNOVA INTELLIGENCE REPORT - TEAM PLASMA
CLASSIFICATION: ULTRA
SOURCE: Ditto Operative Network, Plasma Division
The Unova report was shorter but no less significant.
Team Plasma's internal conflict continues. N—the public leader—genuinely believes in Pokémon liberation and has no knowledge of Ghetsis's true agenda. Ghetsis—the shadow leader—intends to use N and the Legendary Dragon Pokémon to establish personal dominion over Unova under the guise of "freeing" Pokémon from trainers.
Our operatives have confirmed the existence of both the Light Stone and the Dark Stone—the dormant forms of Reshiram and Zekrom respectively. N has been identified by the stones as a potential "hero"—one of the two individuals destined to awaken the dragons. The identity of the second hero is unknown.
CRITICAL INTELLIGENCE: The DNA Splicers have been located.
Marcus leaned forward.
The DNA Splicers are held in a secure facility in the Giant Chasm, northern Unova, guarded by a skeleton crew of Plasma operatives and a series of automated security systems. The Splicers are the only known artifact capable of fusing Reshiram and Zekrom into the Original Dragon—a being of such immense power that its mere existence is considered a mythological event rather than a biological reality.
Our operatives have mapped the facility's security layout (attached). Extraction is feasible with a team of four to six Ditto operatives, given a forty-eight-hour window.
Awaiting instructions.
The DNA Splicers. The key to the Original Dragon. A Pokémon so powerful that it made Kyogre and Groudon look like starters.
Marcus added it to his acquisition list, below the Jade Orb and above the Adamant and Lustrous Orbs.
The list was getting long. The vault was going to need more shelves.
ALOLA INTELLIGENCE REPORT - AETHER FOUNDATION
CLASSIFICATION: ULTRA
SOURCE: Ditto Operative Network, Alola Division
The Alola report was the longest, the most detailed, and the most exciting.
The Aether Foundation's Ultra Space research has produced results that fundamentally alter our understanding of dimensional physics.
Ultra Wormholes—the tears in reality that connect our dimension to Ultra Space—are not random phenomena. They are navigable. The Aether Foundation has developed technology capable of opening, stabilizing, and directing Ultra Wormholes to specific coordinates within Ultra Space, allowing controlled transit between dimensions.
This technology has been used to bring Ultra Beasts into our world for study. Three Ultra Beasts are currently contained in the Aether Foundation's laboratories:
- UB-01 (Nihilego): A Rock/Poison type jellyfish entity with neurotoxic capabilities
- UB-02 Absorption (Buzzwole): A Bug/Fighting type muscular entity with extraordinary physical power
- UB-03 Lighting (Xurkitree): An Electric type wire-like entity that generates enough electrical output to power a small city
CRITICAL INTELLIGENCE: Lusamine, the Aether Foundation's president, has become obsessed with Ultra Space. Our operatives report that her behavior has become increasingly erratic—she spends hours staring at UB-01 through the containment glass, talking to it, calling it "beautiful." Her staff is concerned but too intimidated to intervene.
She is, in our operatives' assessment, going to do something very stupid in the near future. Probably involving opening a large Ultra Wormhole and going through it personally.
Z-CRYSTAL ACQUISITION:
Our operatives have successfully acquired the following Z-Crystals through various means (mostly finding them in locations where trial captains leave them as rewards and simply... taking them before the trial-goers arrive):
- Normalium Z
- Firium Z
- Waterium Z
- Electrium Z
- Groundium Z
- Dragonium Z
- Darkinium Z
- Psychium Z
Marcus counted. Eight Z-Crystals. Eight type-specific power boosts, each one capable of transforming a standard attack into a Z-Move—a once-per-battle, devastatingly powerful super-attack that hit with force that conventional moves couldn't match.
Z-RING ACQUISITION:
This is where the report gets interesting, sir.
Agent Ditto-7, operating under the guise of a traveling trainer on Melemele Island, was engaged in a routine patrol of the island's shoreline when it was approached by Tapu Koko—the island's guardian deity.
Our operative reports that Tapu Koko appeared from nowhere, circled it three times, stared at it for approximately thirty seconds, and then—apparently satisfied by whatever it saw—dropped a Sparkling Stone at its feet before vanishing in a flash of light.
The operative was, understandably, confused. Dittos do not typically attract the attention of divine Pokémon. However, upon analysis, we believe that Tapu Koko's interest was not in the Ditto itself but in the residual psychic signature the Ditto was carrying—a signature that, due to long-term proximity to the Boss's other Pokémon during training sessions, carried traces of what our analysts have termed "the Old Fire."
In other words, sir: your bond with your Pokémon is so strong that it left a psychic imprint on a Ditto that was in the same building as your team, and that imprint was significant enough to attract the attention of a Legendary Pokémon.
The Sparkling Stone has been crafted into a Z-Ring by a local artisan (paid handsomely for discretion) and is currently in transit to Kanto.
ETA: six days.
Marcus set down the report.
He had Z-Crystals. He had a Z-Ring. He was going to have Z-Moves.
Mega Evolution. Z-Moves. Resonance. Genetic potential pills. Ancient Pokémon. Two weather gods. A psychic Aggron. A martial arts weasel with a cloak.
And soon—soon—Mewtwo.
The power differential between Giovanni and the rest of the world was not a gap. It was a chasm. A canyon. A geological feature so vast that the word "advantage" failed to capture its scale.
And it was still growing.
Marcus felt something that he had learned to recognize over the past weeks—not triumph, not satisfaction, but the cold, calculated awareness that power without control was destruction. He was accumulating capabilities at a rate that was outpacing his ability to deploy them strategically. Each new asset was another variable to manage, another secret to keep, another piece on a board that was becoming so complex that even his twenty years of game knowledge were straining to keep up.
He needed to slow down. Consolidate. Integrate what he had before reaching for more.
But the world wasn't going to slow down for him.
Cyrus had the Lake Trio and was building a device to enslave the gods of Time and Space. Lysandre had Mega Evolution and was excavating a weapon of mass destruction. Ghetsis was manipulating a traumatized teenager to seize control of legendary dragons. Lusamine was losing her mind and preparing to rip a hole in reality.
The world was a powder keg, and every villain with a god complex had a match.
Marcus needed to be ready. Not to stop them—that wasn't his job; each region had its own protagonists, its own heroes, its own Red or Ash who would rise to the occasion and save the day. But he needed to be ready for the aftermath. For the power vacuums. For the opportunities. For the moments when the smoke cleared and the pieces were scattered and the man with the most information, the most resources, and the most Pokémon would be the one who decided how the world put itself back together.
He closed the reports, locked them in his desk, and turned his attention to the next item on his agenda.
Dragonair was glowing.
Not the ambient, mood-responsive glow that Marcus had grown accustomed to—the soft, blue luminescence that the dragon's orbs produced when it was happy or content or focused. This was different. This was the glow he'd seen before, months ago, when Dratini had evolved into Dragonair in the helicopter over Kanto.
The glow of transformation. The glow of becoming.
It had started that morning—a subtle increase in the brightness of Dragonair's orbs, a slight shimmer in its scales, a nervous, restless energy that made the dragon pace the training facility in long, sinuous circuits instead of its usual languorous coils. Marcus had noticed immediately—he was attuned to his Pokémon's moods the way a parent was attuned to a child's—and had cleared the training room, locked the doors, and sat down to wait.
Evolution couldn't be forced. It came when it came, on its own schedule, driven by the convergence of experience, power, and readiness that no trainer could fully predict or control. All Marcus could do was be present. Be available. Be the anchor that Dragonair reached for when the transformation swept through it.
He sat on the training room floor, his back against the wall, and watched his dragon.
Dragonair circled the room. Its body—over fifteen feet long now, sleek and powerful and shimmering with barely contained energy—moved with a fluid grace that was hypnotic to watch. The orbs on its throat and tail were blazing, not with their usual soft pulse but with a hard, bright, urgent light that cast sharp shadows across the walls and floor.
The weather in the room was going haywire. Rain, then sun, then hail, then rain again—Dragonair's atmospheric manipulation responding to its emotional state, cycling through conditions with increasing speed and intensity. The temperature swung wildly—cold, hot, cold, hot—and Marcus's suit was alternately soaked and dried and soaked again.
"Easy," he said. "I'm here. Take your time."
Dragonair stopped circling. It turned to face Marcus, its dark, luminous eyes finding his across the room. And in those eyes, Marcus saw something he recognized—the same look Dratini had given him on that helicopter, all those weeks ago.
Thank you. For everything. For believing in me when I couldn't hit a target. For being patient when I ate your pens. For holding me when I was small and scared and new.
I'm not small anymore.
I'm not scared.
I'm ready.
The glow intensified.
Marcus felt the Old Fire respond—blazing up in his chest, reaching out through the bond toward his dragon, meeting the evolutionary energy halfway, supporting it, strengthening it, celebrating it. This was not his transformation. This was Dragonair's moment. But the bond between them was part of it—a catalyst, a foundation, the emotional bedrock upon which the dragon was building its new self.
Dragonair reared up. Its body left the ground—all fifteen feet of it, rising into the air, coiling upward in a spiral that carried it toward the training room's high ceiling. The orbs blazed white. The scales blazed white. The entire dragon was consumed by the light of evolution, its form dissolving into a silhouette of pure energy that was growing.
Growing.
Growing.
The silhouette expanded—wider, taller, more massive than Dragonair's serpentine form could account for. New shapes emerged within the light—broad, powerful shapes that hadn't been there before. Wings. Arms. Legs. A body that was not a serpent's body but a dragon's body—bipedal, winged, built for both the sky and the earth, designed by nature and evolution to be one of the most powerful non-legendary Pokémon in existence.
The light reached its peak.
And then, with a sound that was somewhere between a thunderclap and a symphony—a sound that Marcus felt in his bones, in his soul, in every part of him that had ever loved a Pokémon—it faded.
Dragonite stood in the training room.
Seven feet tall. Wings spread wide, nearly touching the walls on either side—broad, powerful wings covered in smooth, amber-orange scales, designed to carry a five-hundred-pound body through the air at speeds exceeding Mach 2. Its body was thick, muscular, covered in the same warm orange scales, its belly a lighter cream color, its head crowned with two short antennae that swept backward from its brow. Its eyes—the same dark, luminous eyes that had looked at Marcus from Dratini's tiny face, from Dragonair's elegant profile—were now set in a face that was broad and kind and fierce, with a jaw strong enough to bite through steel and a mouth that, at this moment, was curved in a wide, unmistakable, gloriously goofy grin.
The grin.
The Dragonite grin. The thing that made Dragonite one of the most beloved Pokémon in the franchise—the fact that this absolute powerhouse, this flying tank, this creature capable of circling the globe in sixteen hours and punching holes through mountains, had a face that looked like a golden retriever who'd just been told it was a good boy.
Marcus's vision blurred. He blinked. His cheeks were wet.
He was crying. Giovanni was crying. The most dangerous crime lord in Kanto was sitting on a training room floor, soaking wet from weather-manipulation-induced rain, weeping openly, because his baby dragon had grown up.
"Hey," Marcus said, his voice cracking in a way that Giovanni's voice was absolutely not supposed to crack. "Hey, big guy."
Dragonite looked at him. Looked down at its own body—its new body, so different from the serpentine form it had worn for weeks. It raised its hands—hands, real hands with fingers, not the tapered tail-tip of a Dragonair—and turned them over, examining them with wide-eyed wonder. It flexed its wings experimentally, sending a gust of air through the room that blew Marcus's hair back.
Then it looked at Marcus again, and the grin widened impossibly further, and it made a sound.
Not a chirp. Dragonair had chirped. This was bigger. Deeper. A roar—but a happy roar, an ecstatic roar, a roar that said LOOK AT ME I'M A DRAGON I HAVE WINGS I CAN FLY EVERYTHING IS AMAZING AND YOU'RE HERE AND THAT'S THE BEST PART.
It launched itself at Marcus with the same full-body enthusiasm that Blaze used, except Blaze weighed forty pounds and Dragonite weighed approximately five hundred.
Marcus was flattened.
He lay on the training room floor, pinned beneath half a ton of joyful dragon, Dragonite nuzzling his face with a snout that was wider than his entire head, its wings folded around them both like an orange tent, its tail wagging—yes, wagging, Dragonite wagged its tail like a dog, because of course it did—with enough force to crack the floor tiles.
"I love you too," Marcus wheezed, because his lungs were being compressed by the affectionate weight of a creature that could punch through mountains. "But you're heavy. You're very heavy. I can't breathe. This is how I die. Again."
Dragonite purred. A deep, resonant, bone-vibrating purr that was the sonic equivalent of being wrapped in a warm blanket, if the warm blanket weighed five hundred pounds and had claws.
Marcus lay there, crushed and crying and laughing and happier than he'd been in either of his lives, and held his dragon.
His Dratini. His Dragonair. His Dragonite.
The little serpent that had eaten his pens and sneezed Dragon Rage into his coffee and missed every target except the ones he wasn't aiming at had become a dragon.
The grind was worth it.
Every frustrating training session, every misfired Twister, every chewed pen and scorched coffee mug—it was all worth it.
This moment. Right here. Lying under a dragon.
Worth it.
Marcus eventually extracted himself from beneath his Dragonite (a process that took approximately ten minutes and required the strategic deployment of treats as a distraction) and spent the next three hours in the training room, exploring Dragonite's new capabilities.
They were staggering.
Dragonite's base stats—the fundamental attributes that defined its combat potential—had leapt into pseudo-legendary territory. Its Attack was enormous, its Special Attack nearly as high, its bulk was respectable, and its Speed, while not blazing, was more than sufficient when boosted by Dragon Dance.
But the raw stats were only part of the picture. The genetic potential pills, administered during the Dragonair stage, had enhanced every aspect of Dragonite's biology—increasing its power ceiling, deepening its energy reserves, expanding its movepool capacity. And the evolution itself had unlocked capabilities that Dragonair simply hadn't had access to.
Flight. Real, actual, genuine flight. Dragonite spread its wings and launched itself off the training room floor with a single, powerful downstroke that sent a shockwave of displaced air across the room and shattered the overhead lights. It hovered near the ceiling—gracefully, effortlessly, its body held aloft by wings that shouldn't have been aerodynamically capable of supporting its weight but which apparently operated on the same "because Dragon" principle that governed most Dragon-type physics.
Outrage. The most powerful Dragon-type physical move, a sustained, berserking assault that pushed the user to its absolute limits. Dragonite activated it against a reinforced training dummy, and Marcus watched, mesmerized, as the dragon went from "hovering calmly" to "avatar of destruction" in the span of a single heartbeat. Fists, tail, wings, teeth—every part of Dragonite's body became a weapon, striking the dummy with a rapid, continuous barrage of Dragon-type energy that was less a series of attacks and more a sustained cataclysm. The dummy lasted four seconds before being reduced to its component atoms.
Extreme Speed. A priority move that let Dragonite strike first regardless of speed matchups. When combined with Dragonite's new physical power, Extreme Speed became a finishing move—a blur-fast assault that hit before the opponent could react, before they could dodge, before they could think. Marcus clocked it at approximately 0.2 seconds from activation to impact. Nothing short of a Protect shield could stop it.
And then there were the moves Dragonite inherited from its previous forms—Thunder Wave for paralysis, Dragon Pulse for special coverage, Aqua Tail for Water-type damage, Ice Beam (!) for the ironic pleasure of a Dragon-type wielding Ice moves against other Dragon-types.
The movepool was absurd. Thunderbolt. Fire Punch. Earthquake. Surf. Superpower. Dragonite could learn virtually anything, which meant Marcus could build it to counter virtually any threat. It was the ultimate Swiss Army knife—a Pokémon that could fill any role, counter any strategy, and adapt to any situation.
Marcus spent the afternoon teaching Dragonite Dragon Dance—the stat-boosting move that increased Attack and Speed simultaneously, the move that turned Dragonite from "very powerful" to "approaching the theoretical maximum of what a non-legendary Pokémon can achieve." One Dragon Dance made Dragonite fast enough to outspeed most opponents. Two made it effectively uncatchable. Three made it a living weapon of mass destruction.
By the time the afternoon ended, Marcus's Dragonite had mastered Dragon Dance, refined its Outrage, and learned to control its flight well enough to perform precision maneuvers in the confined space of the training room without destroying too much of the infrastructure.
It was, without question, the strongest non-legendary, non-Mega-evolved Pokémon on his team. And with a Dragon Dance or two under its belt, it rivaled some legendaries.
Marcus recalled Dragonite to its ball—the dragon went reluctantly, with a parting grin and a tail wag that cracked two more floor tiles—and sat down at his desk to update his team roster.
CURRENT TEAM ROSTER:
Main Battle Team:
1. Shadow (Hisuian Sneasel) - Fighting/Poison - Lead, speed, martial arts
2. Red Gyarados - Water/Flying - Physical sweeper, Dragon Dance setup
3. Ace (Persian) - Normal - Resonance, bond evolution, versatile
4. Kangaskhan - Normal - Mega Evolution (Parental Bond), physical destroyer
5. Beedrill - Bug/Poison - Mega Evolution (Adaptability), glass cannon
6. Titan (Hisuian Aggron) - Ground/Psychic - Closer, telekinetic fortress
Reserve/Rotation:
- Dragonite - Dragon/Flying - Swiss army knife, Dragon Dance sweeper
- Nidoking - Poison/Ground - Mixed attacker, coverage
- Nidoqueen - Poison/Ground - Tank, coverage
- Rhydon - Ground/Rock - Physical tank
- Blaze (Hisuian Growlithe) - Fire/Rock - In training, evolving soon
Legendaries (DO NOT USE IN PUBLIC):
- Kyogre - Water
- Groudon - Ground/Fire
Strategic Assets:
- Mega Stones: Kangaskhanite, Beedrillite, Mewtwoite X, Mewtwoite Y, Gengarite, Alakazamite, Gyaradosite, Scizorite, Pinsirite, unidentified Psychic stone
- Key Stone: Active, bonded
- Z-Crystals: Normalium Z, Firium Z, Waterium Z, Electrium Z, Groundium Z, Dragonium Z, Darkinium Z, Psychium Z
- Z-Ring: In transit (ETA 6 days)
- Blue Orb, Red Orb: Secured in vault
He looked at the list. It was—objectively, undeniably, almost comically—the most overpowered collection of Pokémon, items, and abilities that had ever existed in the hands of a single trainer.
And he was about to add more.
The fourth fossil was delivered to the Pewter Museum three days after the tournament.
Marcus had ordered additional geological surveys of the Mt. Moon tunnels, expanding the search area into deeper, previously unexplored sections of the cave system. The surveys had produced seven new fossil specimens, six of which were standard—ancient Kabuto and Omanyte, scientifically interesting but strategically irrelevant.
The seventh was different.
The survey team's report had described it as "an unusually large and dense specimen, embedded in a geological stratum significantly deeper than the previous Hisuian fossils, suggesting an even more ancient origin." The fossil's genetic density readings, taken by a portable scanner, were off the charts—so far above the Hisuian Sneasel and Growlithe that the scanner had initially flagged the reading as an equipment malfunction.
Marcus flew to Pewter City personally. He wanted to be present for this resurrection.
The fossil went into the machine at 8 AM. By 9 AM, the machine was struggling—the same way it had struggled with Titan's fossil, but worse. The status indicators weren't just amber; they were red, flashing with the urgent, insistent rhythm of a system being pushed past its design specifications.
By 10 AM, the chamber was shaking. Not vibrating—shaking, the entire multi-ton apparatus rattling against its floor bolts, the reinforced glass panels flexing, the biological fluid inside churning with violent, purposeful motion.
By 11 AM, Marcus had evacuated the museum.
He stood in the parking lot, fifty meters from the building, his Poké Balls on his belt, Titan's ball in his hand—ready to deploy the ancient guardian if whatever was in that chamber decided to express its displeasure with the resurrection process through architectural remodeling.
At 11:47 AM, the building's windows blew out.
All of them. Simultaneously. Every pane of glass in the Pewter City Museum of Science exploded outward in a shower of glittering fragments, propelled by a shockwave of energy that originated from the basement laboratory and propagated upward through the building's structure with the speed and force of a localized earthquake.
The shockwave was followed by heat. Not fire—just heat, a wave of superheated air that rolled out of the broken windows and across the parking lot, hot enough to make Marcus raise his arm to shield his face, hot enough to wilt the decorative plants along the building's facade, hot enough to make the asphalt beneath his feet soften slightly.
And then the sound.
A roar. Not like Titan's roar—Titan's roar was deep and subsonic, a geological event given voice. This was different. Higher. Sharper. More aggressive. A roar that carried with it an unmistakable message: I am here. I am angry. And if you value the structural integrity of this building, you will come explain to me why I am standing in a room full of broken glass and strange machines instead of the volcanic caldera where I was sleeping ten thousand years ago.
Marcus walked toward the building.
Takeshi, the museum director, grabbed his arm. "Sir! You can't—whatever is in there—the energy readings are—"
"I know." Marcus gently but firmly removed Takeshi's hand. "Stay here. All of you. Nobody enters the building until I say."
He walked through the museum's front doors—which were, remarkably, still on their hinges—navigated the debris-strewn corridors, descended the stairs to the basement (the elevator was out; the shockwave had fried the electrical system), and pushed open the laboratory door.
The resurrection chamber was gone. Not broken—gone. Where the multi-ton, reinforced-glass, state-of-the-art fossil resurrection machine had stood, there was now a crater. A crater, in the floor of a building, roughly six feet in diameter and three feet deep, the edges of the hole glowing with residual thermal energy that was slowly fading from orange to dull red.
And standing in the center of the crater, wreathed in smoke and steam, its body radiating a heat that turned the air around it into a visible shimmer—
Marcus stared.
His brain, that reliable organ that had processed Kyogre and Groudon and Mega Evolution and psychic guardians and cloaked weasels and every other impossibility this world had thrown at him, encountered something it wasn't prepared for.
It wasn't the size—the creature was smaller than Titan, perhaps five feet tall at the shoulder. It wasn't the armor—the overlapping plates of volcanic stone that covered its body were similar to Titan's, though lighter in color, more angular, with sharper edges. It wasn't the heat—the thermal radiation was intense but manageable, no worse than standing near an open furnace.
It was the eyes.
The creature's eyes were not amber like Titan's. They were not dark like Shadow's. They were white. Pure, blazing, incandescent white—not reflecting light but producing it, two miniature suns set into an angular, predatory face that regarded Marcus with an intelligence that was—
Not hostile. Not friendly. Evaluating.
The same way Marcus evaluated things. The same cold, calculating, strategic assessment that a crime lord brought to every encounter—measuring threat, assessing capability, determining whether the entity before it was useful, dangerous, or irrelevant.
This creature was thinking.
Marcus felt Titan's ball vibrate on his belt. The ancient guardian, contained in its Poké Ball, was reacting to the newcomer's presence—not with aggression, but with recognition. Through the ball's shell, Marcus felt Titan's psychic impression:
Kin. Old kin. From before. From the deep places, the hot places, the places where the earth is young.
The new creature's gaze shifted—from Marcus to the ball on his belt, sensing Titan's presence through whatever psychic mechanism these ancient Pokémon shared. Its white eyes narrowed.
A psychic impression slammed into Marcus's mind with a force that nearly drove him to his knees.
Not communication. Not the gentle, imagistic impressions that Titan favored. This was a demand. A psychic interrogation, blunt and forceful, ripping through Marcus's surface thoughts with the delicacy of a sledgehammer through drywall.
WHERE IS THE GUARDIAN. WHY IS IT IN A CAGE. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO IT.
The force of the impression made Marcus's nose bleed. A thin line of red traced down Giovanni's upper lip, warm and metallic-tasting, the physical evidence of a psychic assault that would have knocked an unprepared person unconscious.
Marcus wiped his nose with the back of his hand and stood his ground.
"Titan is my partner," he said aloud, his voice steady despite the blood and the headache and the fact that he was standing in a crater arguing with an ancient Pokémon that could apparently psychically bludgeon people at will. "Not a prisoner. A partner. I freed it from stone. I gave it a home. It chose to stay with me."
He released Titan.
The Hisuian Aggron materialized beside him—seven feet of volcanic armor and psychic power, its presence immediately filling the laboratory with the deep, steady, patient energy that was Titan's signature. The guardian looked at the newcomer, and the newcomer looked at the guardian.
A moment passed. A long, weighted, ancient moment, in which Marcus felt psychic impressions passing between the two creatures—rapid, complex, too fast and too deep for his human mind to follow. They were talking. Not in words, not in images, but in something older—a language of psychic resonance that predated verbal communication by millennia.
The new creature's white eyes dimmed. Not faded—softened. The blazing intensity receded to a warm glow, the psychic pressure eased, and the heat emanating from its body dropped by several degrees.
It looked at Marcus again. And this time, the evaluation was different. Less hostile. More... curious.
Titan projected an impression—directed at Marcus, translated for human comprehension:
She asks why you carry fire in your chest. She asks what manner of creature burns without being consumed.
She. The new Pokémon was female.
"Tell her it's called the Old Fire," Marcus said. "Tell her I carry it because I choose to. Because I love my Pokémon. Because I would fight the world for them."
Titan rumbled. The psychic impression transmitted.
The new creature was silent for a moment. Then it did something that Marcus did not expect.
It laughed.
Not a human laugh. A deep, crackling, volcanic laugh—a sound like rocks grinding together, like magma bubbling, like the earth itself finding something amusing. It was an old sound. A sound that had last been heard when the mountains of Hisui were still young and the world was still being shaped.
And then it spoke. Not in psychic impressions. In words.
Not human words. Not any language Marcus recognized. But words—structured vocalizations with syntax and meaning, spoken in a low, gravelly, female voice that resonated with psychic energy.
Titan translated:
She says: "I have slept for ten thousand years. I have missed much. But I have not missed THIS—a human who carries fire and speaks to stone and calls a Guardian 'partner.' You are either the bravest creature I have ever met or the most foolish."
"I'm probably both," Marcus said.
Another volcanic laugh.
"Then I will watch you, Fire-Carrier. I will watch and I will judge. And if you are worthy—if the fire in your chest is true—then perhaps I will add my strength to yours."
"What should I call you?" Marcus asked.
The creature fixed him with those white, blazing eyes. The psychic impression that followed was not a name—it was a concept, a dense, multifaceted package of meaning that contained history and identity and purpose all compressed into a single, resonant idea.
Marcus couldn't pronounce the concept. Human vocal cords weren't equipped for psychic pronunciation.
But the closest translation—the word that captured the essence of what this ancient, volcanic, terrifyingly powerful Pokémon was offering as its identity—was:
Forge.
"Forge," Marcus repeated.
The creature—Forge—inclined its angular head in a nod that cracked the crater floor beneath its feet.
Marcus looked at Forge. Looked at Titan. Looked at the destroyed laboratory, the shattered windows, the melted floor tiles, the fire suppression system that had activated and failed to suppress anything because the heat source was a living creature that laughed at water.
"I'm going to need a bigger training room," he said.
Titan rumbled in agreement.
Forge laughed again, and the walls shook.
Marcus didn't capture Forge immediately. The ancient Pokémon had been clear—it was watching. Judging. Evaluating whether the fire in Marcus's chest was genuine or performative, whether his partnership with Titan was real or exploitative, whether the human who had freed it from ten thousand years of stone was worthy of its loyalty.
He respected that. You didn't rush a creature that was older than human civilization. You let it come to you.
He left Forge in the ruins of the laboratory—the museum was going to need significant reconstruction anyway, and the ancient Pokémon seemed comfortable in the wreckage, which it had reshaped into something resembling a volcanic cave through a combination of psychic manipulation and thermal restructuring of the surrounding rock. Takeshi was horrified. Marcus wrote him a very large check and told him to build a new laboratory around the Pokémon, not the other way around.
The helicopter ride back to Viridian City was quiet. Marcus sat in the passenger cabin, his mind processing the implications of Forge's arrival.
The ancient Pokémon was powerful. Very powerful. The psychic interrogation alone—a casual, instinctive probe, not even a deliberate attack—had made his nose bleed. Its thermal output exceeded Titan's by a significant margin. And it could speak—not telepathically, like modern Psychic-types, but through structured vocalization enhanced by psychic resonance. A creature that could think, reason, and communicate in language.
An ancient Pokémon that was, for all practical purposes, a person.
This complicated things. You couldn't just catch a person in a Poké Ball—well, you could, physically, but the ethical and practical implications were vastly different from catching a creature that operated on instinct and emotion. Forge was making a choice. A deliberate, informed, rational choice about whether to join Marcus's team. And that choice depended on Marcus being genuinely worthy.
Which meant he had to actually be worthy. Not fake it. Not manipulate. Not deploy the calculated charm and strategic vulnerability that he used on everyone from Red to Sabrina to the Silph Co. board.
Forge would see through all of that in a heartbeat.
He had to be real.
Marcus leaned back in his seat and stared at the ceiling of the helicopter.
Being real was, paradoxically, the hardest thing a crime lord could do.
Back at headquarters, Marcus filed his reports, updated his roster, and spent the evening in his office reviewing the accumulated intelligence from the Ditto network.
The world was shifting. The tournament had changed Kanto's power dynamics—Giovanni was now the most famous and respected trainer in the region, his influence extending into the League, the corporate world, and the public consciousness. The Ditto reports from other regions painted a picture of a world on the brink—multiple villain teams advancing their plans, multiple legendary Pokémon at risk, multiple crises building toward simultaneous eruption points.
And at the center of it all, sitting in an office in Viridian City, petting a Persian and drinking perfect coffee, was a dead Pokémon fan from Sacramento who was somehow holding it all together through a combination of game knowledge, strategic brilliance, genuine love for his Pokémon, and the kind of ruthless, unblinking pragmatism that came from being the head of an international criminal organization.
Marcus opened his notebook and wrote:
Day 72. Post-tournament. The world is getting complicated. Multiple threats. Multiple opportunities. Multiple variables I can't control.
What I CAN control:
- My team. Strongest it's ever been. Getting stronger every day.
- My organization. Running smoothly. Revenue up. Morale up. The tournament victory boosted recruitment by 300%.
- My intelligence network. Global coverage. Real-time data from four regions.
- My public image. Beloved. Trusted. Untouchable.
What I CAN'T control:
- Cyrus. The man is building a reality-erasing device and I can't stop him without revealing my intelligence capabilities.
- Lysandre. Has Mega Evolution independently. The technology gap is closing.
- Red. Lost the tournament but will come back stronger. Always comes back stronger.
- Mewtwo. Awakening soon. Can't predict how it will react. Can only prepare.
- Forge. The ancient Pokémon is judging me. I can't fake my way through this one. I actually have to be the person it needs me to be.
He closed the notebook.
Dragonite's ball pulsed warmly on his belt—the dragon sleeping contentedly, dreaming whatever it was that newly evolved Dragonites dreamed about. Flying, probably. Flying and grinning and being the goofiest, most powerful creature in the sky.
Marcus smiled. Giovanni's face was getting better at smiling. Practice made perfect.
"One day at a time," he murmured.
The grind continued.
But some days, the grind felt less like work and more like living.
And that was enough.
END OF CHAPTER 10
Next Chapter: Professor Oak comes calling about Mega Evolution and Giovanni has to navigate the most dangerous conversation of his career, the Z-Ring arrives and Giovanni tests Z-Moves for the first time with explosive results, Forge makes her decision, and the Giovanni Appreciation Society accidentally goes public in the most embarrassing way possible.