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It was Lover’s Day. The office was filled with hearts and flowers and cutouts of Luvdiscs. Pink and red decorations adorned the cubicles. Several employees requested to leave early so they could buy last-minute chocolates or a giant stuffed Teddiursa for their significant other. Everyone was in the spirit of the holiday, even those who were single.

Except Oleana.

She did her work as usual, not acknowledging the festivities, ignoring the romance in the air. It was mere coincidence she wore a red blouse to work today, not particularly fond of participating in the occasion.

It wasn’t that she hated love or romance. It was…well…there were things associated with romance that she wasn’t especially interested in. Things that couples often engaged in when they were in the privacy of a bedroom. Things that seemed essential to a relationship. Things that she just wasn’t capable of giving someone. That’s why she felt like she would remain alone, without intimacy, her entire life. And that’s why she was less than enthused about the holiday.

As the workday winded down, as the sun set beyond the horizon, Oleana finally took a seat at her desk. She hadn’t realised how tired she was, how sore her feet were, going about all day in heels, running from place to place throughout the building, keeping to a tight schedule.

She always worked late on Lover’s Day, well past the time the last employee shut down their computer and left. Well past the time the automatic lights switched off, unable to detect the subtle movements of her fingers still typing away at a keyboard. She had nowhere else to be. She was single, like always, so why not work all night under the glow of her computer screen? There was no one waiting for her at a nice restaurant with flowers and a kiss. Someone to compliment her, tell her she was beautiful.

But it wasn’t just that…

She wanted to be with someone to whom she could pour out her insecurities, confide in them her desires, her lack of desires. Someone who could accept her, not pressure her for more than she could give. Who could love her beyond that seemingly innate urge.

An urge she herself had never felt.

She had tried a dating app once in the past, though she found a majority of the men to be entirely shallow, wanting one thing and only one thing, that very thing she couldn’t give, and the rest of her matches were quite lovely people who eventually had to break things off because their sexuality was incompatible with her sexuality. Or perhaps, it was her lack of one.

She didn’t know which.

The lights suddenly switched back on and familiar footsteps made their way over to her desk.

“Knew I’d find you working late, Oleana.”

She didn’t look up from her computer, typing away without missing a beat. “I’m just working on that report for the—”

She was interrupted by something suddenly coming into her field of view, blocking part of the screen. It took a moment for her eyes to readjust to the object in front of her.

A single red rose.

She removed her glasses—which she’d put on to work at her computer—and looked up to the man standing in front of her, offering her the flower.

The Chairman.

There was a smile on his face, a bit of an enchanting smirk. He was a very handsome man, she thought. Well-groomed with astonishingly attractive features. Soft lips, soft beard, soft moustache. Half-lidded emerald eyes with thick, dark eyelashes. A downturned brow, gentle and dashing. A distinguished curl of dark hair hanging down in his peripheral.

“You can finish up that silly report tomorrow,” he said with an air of humour. “Tonight is a special night.”

From this distance she could easily smell his cologne. It was mesmerising, exotic.

It was different from the cologne he had worn earlier, the kind he usually wore for work. That cologne was subtle, professional. This one was vibrant, alluring. Seductive.

He had also changed out of his usual business attire and now had on a tasteful jumper. His executive office was equipped with a private bathroom and shower, and he often took advantage of such luxuries after a long workday, leaving the office in a different outfit than as he had entered.

“Thank you, sir,” Oleana said, taking the flower, her cheeks a little flush.

He was always so thoughtful, always so kind.

The Chairman’s smile widened. “Rose,” he corrected. “No formalities after business hours.”

“Rose…” she said softly, caressing the beautiful gift.

“Would you care to join me for dinner?” he asked. “Just because we’re both single, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t still get to celebrate Lover’s Day.”

It was hardly a secret she had feelings for the Chairman. She tried her best to keep her longing to herself, but the media and other Macro Cosmos employees often speculated about her relationship with the company’s CEO, very often assuming they were in some kind of entwinement. In reality, they were nothing more than friends. He never made any advances towards her or behaved how one might think someone in his position of power would towards his tall, blonde secretary. She appreciated the respectful boundary, but often wished he did have, at the very least, romantic feelings for her. Nothing beyond that, though.

However, it was clear to her once she’d been promoted to his secretary that he had a proclivity towards other men, and that she could never be anything more to him than a close friend. And she was certain he didn’t shy away from more lustful encounters, acts she could never engage in.

Regardless, she did love him in her own secret way, a way he might not understand nor reciprocate, but a way, nonetheless.

She returned his smile, a rare glimpse past her usual stony expression. “That would be lovely,” she said, accepting his offer.

~♠♥♠~

He selected a much classier place than she was used to, an expensive Kalosian restaurant that appeared entirely full of wealthy couples dining in romance. A violinist wove around the tables, throughout the room, setting the mood, building the atmosphere.

The Chairman approached the maître d’ standing behind an elegant podium. “Pour deux, s'il vous plaît, [For two, please,]” he said in flawless Kalosian, giving the man his signature smile.

The maître d’s face lit up upon seeing the Galar Region Chairman. “Notre meilleure table pour vous, Monsieur le président, [Our best table for you, Monsieur Chairman,]” he replied, glancing only briefly at Oleana before immediately leading them to a quiet booth in a corner, bypassing any waitlist, any required reservation.

“Si vous avez besoin de quelque chose, faites-le-moi savoir, [If you need anything, let me know,]” the maître d’ continued, handing them each a menu, only a small, one-sided card written in a language Oleana hadn’t studied since high school.

The Chairman glanced at the menu for only a moment before frowning. He turned to her, concern in his expression, then looked once more to the maître d’. “Elle est végétarienne, [She’s vegetarian,]” he said to the man.

“Pas de problème, monsieur. Nous nous accommoderons, [No problem, monsieur. We will accommodate,]” the maître d’ assured. He gave them a slight bow and left.

The menu was prix fixe, an astronomical fixed price with little to no options. Four courses, preselected for dining couples out to dinner for the holiday, and all in a language she didn’t fully understand. All she knew was that she was certain the Chairman informed the maître d’ she was vegetarian. Something which she greatly appreciated.

“Thank you,” she said to him after a moment, “for letting them know I don’t eat meat.”

“Of course, Oleana. Can’t go treating the most beautiful woman in Galar to a nice meal she can’t even enjoy,” he laughed, not seeming to notice how red her face had become at the unexpected compliment.

Before she could fully collect herself, the violinist approached their table, playing a slow, dreamy tune, a melodic serenade, like something out of a romance film. Something meant for people in love. Not a pining secretary and her unattainable boss.

Oleana listened to the beautiful notes as she relaxed back into her seat, watching the bow gently gliding over the strings to create a warm, meaningful sound. Somewhere deep within the sweet song was a melancholy, a sadness. She could almost feel her eyes growing wet as the musician continued to play for them, her heart aching from loneliness.

But before a tear could slide down her cheek, the Chairman rested his hand atop hers, casting her a charming grin, a reminder that she wasn’t alone; she was with him.

His eyes connected with hers, a vibrant green that appeared to almost glow, a gorgeously rare colour, far more brilliant than her own. Behind that smile, however, behind those shining emeralds, there was worry, like he could see straight through her impassive expression, see the tears she was holding back.

He shifted closer to her along the rounded booth, slowly beginning to run his thumb across the top of her hand, a soothing gesture that made her very aware of how soft his hands were. He then leaned in, whispering quietly into her ear.

“I can tell them to leave if it’s making you uncomfortable, Oleana, dear,” he said.

She felt the tips of her ears burn, a tingle run down her spine. He was so close, she could feel the bristles of his beard tickling her earlobe. He had never referred to her with such affection before. Calling her beautiful. Calling her dear. Having such concern for her needs and her feelings. His behaviour was so tender, so caring, it was almost like he did have a fondness for her, an attraction akin to her own.

But that was just silly. He fancied men. She was sure.

He was just being a gentleman to her. A good friend.

She shook her head. She was all right with the violinist finishing their song. She wanted to listen to the music, allow herself to be absorbed by the swaying notes, to drift off into a dream as the sounds blended into one another, to picture her perfect fantasy.

An insecure, nerdy woman with thin lips and a high forehead meeting a handsome, swarthy billionaire who would fall in love with her. He would give her a rose for Lover’s Day, a flower just like his namesake. He would rest his hand atop hers to stop her crying. He’d think she was beautiful. He’d love her, want her. But only so much as she wanted him.

Only a dream…

“All right, my dear,” he whispered before sitting upright again, albeit remaining close, still holding her hand, continuing to run his thumb across the back comfortingly.

So close to reality…

When the violinist concluded, the Chairman finally let go of her hand and gave the musician a courteous applause and thanked them for the lovely music.

Their entrées arrived shortly after, along with two glasses of luxury wine, a deep crimson Cabernet Sauvignon to pair with the meal.

Oleana ate slowly, taking only occasional sips of her expensive drink, savouring the lavish Kalosian food, thankful for the night the Chairman was treating her to, for asking her out to such a fancy dinner, for giving her the rose at the office, for flattering her, for the caring, reassuring touch.

She wished this all could be more than just a platonic, friendly outing. She wished he loved her like she loved him.

“Something the matter, Oleana, dear?” he asked, placing his fork down, giving her his full attention.

She hadn’t realised she’d been staring down at her plate, her eyes unfocused, her mind a million miles away. She turned to him, trying her best to give him a smile.

“It’s nothing, sir,” she said.

“Rose,” he corrected again.

“Rose…” The name drifted from her lips. “It’s just…” She turned to him, unsure if she should confess her feelings, if it was appropriate for her to speak so openly to her boss, to the wealthiest, most famous man in the region, to tell him her true desires. She sighed. “…I just want to thank you. For tonight. For everything.”

The Chairman gave her a knowing smile, looking her once more in the eye, that brilliant hue captivating her, luring and alluring.

“I love you, too, Oleana,” he said sweetly. “Ever since I plucked you from the research department.” He picked up an olive from his salad.

Oleana’s eyes widened, her mouth fell agape. Certainly, she’d misheard him or misunderstood his words. He didn’t just say what she thought he said. Besides, he was attracted to men.

The Chairman chuckled. “Are you surprised I knew? To be honest, you weren’t very good at hiding it,” he said, slipping the olive into his mouth.

“It’s not that,” she stammered, her face feeling very hot. “It’s just…”

The Chairman waited.

“…I…I thought you were…gay,” she said softly, in almost a whisper.

The Chairman’s smile widened. He let out a puff of warm air from his nose. “Bi,” he corrected, seemingly not offended by her erroneous assumption. “I like men and I like women.” He once more put his hand atop hers. “And you’re a woman I love.”

Well, that was news to her. But even if he did like women, there was no way his feelings for her didn’t involve a desire for more private interactions.

She turned away. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to love you the way you’d like me to.”

“Nonsense, Oleana,” he said, this time running his fingers up and down her hand comfortingly.

“Bisexual means you’re still sexual. And that’s not something I can do.” She took in a deep breath before admitting, “I’m…no sexual.”

“Asexual.”

“What?”

“You’re asexual,” the Chairman explained. “That’s what it sounds like, at least. And that’s all right, Oleana. I’d much rather spend time with you, take you out to a nice dinner, buy you a rose or a whole bouquet, go for a long walk and have pleasant conversation, than have you do anything you don’t want to. I don’t need to engage in those…acts…to want to be with you. I love you for you. For all your abilities. For even your limitations.”

Despite his calming hand upon hers, a tear slid down her cheek, breaking through her barrier of stoicism. She had never known a man as lovely as the Chairman, someone so willing to understand her, accommodate her, make sure she was comfortable and happy.

He didn’t make her feel like she was broken for being…asexual. She had never had a name for it before, and he gave her one. A part of her identity. A part of who she was. A part he accepted and respected regardless of his own sexuality, his more intimate desires.

“I love you, Rose,” she said, looking him deep in those shimmering emeralds.

“I know,” he said, bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing her knuckles. “I love you, too, my dear.”

The remainder of dinner was spent adoring one another, holding hands, politely sharing food from each other’s plates, joking and enjoying being in one another’s company.

~♠♥♠~

As the night ended, he invited her up to his penthouse, an extravagant abode outfitted with a private pool on the roof and windows overlooking the wealthier side of Wyndon, Rose Tower standing like a monolith out in the distance.

He poured them both another glass of wine, something a bit fancier, a bit more vintage than what the restaurant kept in stock. They sat on his sofa for a great while talking and laughing and briefly watching some comedy on the telly before moving into the bedroom.

They cuddled in his bed, kissing and holding one another—nothing more—until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

For the first time in her life, Oleana didn’t have to spend Lover’s Day all alone.

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He looked out the giant floor-to-ceiling window of his office, the highest point in Wyndon, and gazed upon his city, his empire. Everything he’d ever worked for was coming to realisation, his plans for the future, his clean energy utopia, a world in which there was no calamity, no strife.

He took a long sip of his tea, the sweet milky brew sending a warmth throughout his body.

In a few short months, his dreams for a fully prosperous Galar would come to fruition. He had the whole thing planned down to the very day, the very moment. The anticipation was palpable.

And he was certain absolutely nothing was going to go wrong.

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Oleana always stood silently by his side. Well, actually a bit behind him, always in his shadow. Metaphorically, of course; he was several inches shorter than her. But there she’d stand, ready to take his cup, to hand him some document before he even asked for it, to remind him of his schedule. Loyal was an understatement.

There was more to the relationship, though. Lovemaking, worship. She centred her whole life around his desires, his dreams. She wanted what he wanted. She would do anything for him.

He confided in her his secret design for Galar’s future, to save the region from an energy crisis a millennium from now. And for a millennium, she would be at his service.

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Energy. Flowing power through cables and wires, complex formulas calculating abstract concepts. Heat and light, the lifeblood of the universe.

Coal, water, wind, nuclear, sun. Even Pokémon.

Fission and fusion.

A life dedicated to its conservation, to its renewability, its sustainability. A need to harness it.

Not for himself, of course. But for the sake of everyone. To power a whole region, give everyone, poor and prosperous, sick and well, old and young, a future without fear of its absence.

Rose watched the glowing pulse within the shell, the egg nearly ready to hatch. Soon, he thought, a thrill running down his spine.

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Rose stood at the mirror in his private office bathroom while Oleana sat on the sofa nearby, reading out his schedule for the day. Meetings and phone calls and some charity dinner later that night he might have to give a speech at. He wasn’t sure. He was only half paying attention, absorbed by the immediate task at hand.

Around once more and through the loop, down and to the right, then to the left. And through the loop again. Tuck the short end in, out of sight, the larger end under his waistcoat, and straighten the knot up at the top.

Lastly, he added a gold clip to hold it all in place.

“Look all right?” he asked, turning to her.

She looked up from her tablet and gave him a warm smile. “Absolutely smashing, sir.”

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He imagined the stars, the planets, visible on the ceiling of the white room. He didn’t know if it was day or night. There was no window for him to look out of. But he like to pretend it was night, cool and calm. Peaceful. No doctors, no prodding, no questions. No looks of fear or pity.

He had been transported to the mysterious facility promptly after he’d turned himself in to the authorities. Radiation, they said. Mutation inevitable.

He noticed it first on the tips of his fingers, a purple glow deep in his bones, a neon pink flowing through his veins. The Pokémon he had named Eternatus had changed him. He only hoped no one else was affected.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a night sky, now trapped in only the small room. A bed and a toilet. And bare, white walls. A science experiment, incarnated forever due to his own hubris.

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When he stepped out onto the stage, he was greeted with thunderous applause.

He started with some background, his humble beginnings, before leading into Macro Cosmos’ founding. Advancing research into energy technologies. Clean, efficient, renewable ways to power the region.

He had rehearsed the speech in his hotel room with Oleana before heading down to the conference centre. It was all rather boilerplate, like many speeches he’d given before.

The heads of various competitors were in the audience along with students and investors. People all interested in Rose’s work. His accomplishments.

At the end of the slideshow, the lecture, they all clapped for him once more, the lights were turned on, and he saw there wasn’t an empty seat in the room.

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Paneer tikka masala. Turffield pudding. Dishes from the East and the West. Rose loved both. Because both were part of his culture.

Growing up in a little cottage in Turffield exposed him to the regional cuisine: bangers and mash, Galarian breakfast, Seismitoad in the hole. But as well, his mother always prepared food from her home region: paratha and biryani, spicy curries, chaat and vada.

Thankfully, curry had grown quite popular in Galar, and the blending tastes of East and West were easy to come by. Unfortunately, because of this, he found his waistline had grown quite a deal over the years.

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A flight attendant removed the empty martini glass from the table, careful not to disturb the first-class passenger asleep in his seat. He had his chair reclined, a sleep mask with the face of a Copperajah covering his eyes, and wireless earphones in to block out the chatter and sounds around him. He was snoring, an even rhythm of inhales and exhales.

“Can I get you anything else?” the flight attendant asked quietly.

“No, thank you,” Oleana said.

She turned back to her computer, hard at work typing up reports while the Chairman snoozed beside her, his long overhanging curl of hair falling into his mouth.

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“Oleana, could you be a dear and get me…erm—?” He paused, snapping his fingers, unable to think of the word he was looking for.

Now, the obvious answer would be the accounting sheet that had been prepared for the meeting. That’s what the conversation was about—Macro Cosmos’ earnings and expenditures.

But that wasn’t what the Chairman was asking for. Oleana knew.

She instead went over to the table at the back of the room where coffee and pastries had been laid out and selected a particularly puffy beignet. A visiting Kalosian businessman had brought them in as a treat, and the Chairman had been eyeing them since the meeting began.

She handed it to him on a plate with a napkin.

“Thank you so much, my dear,” he said, taking a bite of the powdery pastry. “Now, where were we, gentlemen?”

“Company profits, sir,” Oleana reminded, finally presenting him the accounting sheet.

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Rose grew up in a quiet cottage in Turffield near the edge of the forest, away from the stadium—which had only been a small gym when he was growing up—away from the shops, from the mysterious, ancient geoglyph and stone structures with ancient runes. Dirt paths led from the village centre to the farms and small secluded houses on the outskirts. And nestled away from the hustle and bustle was Rose’s old family home.

His parents brought him to Galar when he was only a few months old, and his father had to work in the nearby mine to provide for his family. His mother did odd jobs around the village, sewing and hemming, cleaning and washing, whatever she could do to help out the neighbours. Neither of his parents could speak Galarian very well, so Rose often had to help translate while growing up. His younger brother, Peony, was never able to learn their parents’ language fluently.

Every so often when Peony tried to translate, he’d accidentally say something inappropriate, leading to a lot of laughter from his older brother and a scolding from their mum.

Sometimes, Rose thought while sitting on the terrace of his penthouse, he wished he could go back to those simpler times.

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It was warm. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It seemed almost too beautiful a day for the ceremony taking place.

Rose helped his younger brother, Peony, get prepared, putting on white clothes and reminding him to be on his best behaviour. Peony was too young to fully understand what was happening, and their mum was too sick with grief to take care of everything. Rose had to be strong for the both of them. Though he was a young boy, he had to be a man today, hold the family together.

Mantras were chanted in Father and Mother’s mother tongue. Father’s closest friends, other men from the mine, carried the body to the cremation site.

A mukhagni was carried out in the traditional manner, and Rose, the eldest son of the deceased, just a young boy, now the family karta, lit the pyre.

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He lost. Well, he had come in second place.

He had nearly done it, too, nearly defeated the Champion, but failed at the very last moment. Copperajah…his whole team…just weren’t strong enough.

Losing that battle was one of the very few failures in his life.

It didn’t matter really, though. He had gained quite a following during his League Challenge and was able to spread his vision of improving Galar’s infrastructure to the point where investors were approaching him with offers to start up his own company.

Just a little thing, focusing on energy. He’d call it Macro Cosmos.

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Rose’s private lift was down for maintenance. This meant he had two options: take the normal lift with all the other employees or take the stairs. After climbing only a few exhausting flights, his options were quickly narrowed down to just the one.

He pressed the button for the top floor, his executive office, and waited for the lift to start rising. One floor later, it stopped, a few workers getting on and pressing the button for a floor below them.

The lift descended.

Once they exited, a few more employees got on, heading only a few floors up.

The up and down continued all morning. By the time Rose finally got to his office and logged onto his computer, it was already time for lunch.

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Rose removed the large gold watch from his wrist and replaced it with a nondescript fitness tracker. He kept his earring in and didn’t bother removing his leather anklet, always hidden by his trouser leg anyway. He was certain no one could possibly recognise him from the smaller jewelry.

He changed into a pair of shorts. Well, he hoped they were shorts. They suspiciously resembled boxers. A distractingly bright teal colour with Pokéball-like white spots. They were a bit short, above the knee, but he liked how his legs looked in them.

He traded his suit jacket and waistcoat for a white track jacket that was admittedly a bit snug, making his potbelly a bit more noticeable. It was quite comfortable, regardless. As were the white loafers he slipped his bare feet into.

The ensemble was coming together quite nicely.

For the finishing touches, he covered his head with a dark blue baseball cap with a Macro Cosmos logo—having gotten the hat from the company gift shop. Like hiding in plain sight, he thought. And lastly, he donned a pair of dark sunglasses.

“Ready, Oleana!” he called, stepping back out into his office.

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The doctors and scientists told him many things that were hard to hear. Parts of his body were now permanently changed. His eyes glowed a bright, neon pink, no longer that rare emerald hue. Part of his ribcage was now exposed, dark jagged bones cradling his core. A ball of limitless energy now sat in his chest, a power that made him nearly a god.

He was part Pokémon now. Eternatus was a part of him. He was a part of it.

Oleana was quick to invent a Reverse Dynamax Band, a device that allowed him to revert back to his relatively short stature. Being twenty metres tall was quite problematic for day-to-day living. Well, all of this was problematic. He was no longer fully human, they told him. He could float and power electronics, lights, anything needing energy with the flick of his wrist, the snap of a finger.

The hardest thing, though, to come to terms with was when they told him he was most likely immortal, a thought that sent a shiver down his protruding spine.

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Rose had many regrets. One of them was kicking that boy…Bede…from the League Challenge for destroying a replica of what was believed to be ancient artwork depicting events from antiquity. The mural in Stow-on-Side was a part of Galar’s history and culture. Or so he thought. He had no idea that an even more sacred, more ancient depiction of Galar’s true past was just behind it, hidden away behind brittle stone. A depiction of the true kings, the true saviours of Galar. A sword and a shield.

Zacian and Zamazenta.

Rose wasn’t the hero of Galar like he had dreamed. He was the villain. He reawakened Eternatus and brought about the Darkest Day.

Just another regret in his long, long list.

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Rose popped the bottle of champagne.

His net worth just surpassed one billion. Rose Tower had recently finished construction and the Pokemon League had elected him as Chairman. He was on top of the world. His life had come together like a fantasy.

The son of immigrant refugees. A miner, like his father, a dangerous and grueling job with little to no prospects for great success, no way to climb a corporate ladder. He fought his way to fame, literally and figuratively, taking on the League Challenge to possibly make something more of himself, doing whatever he could to get ahead.

His whole life, he had many disadvantages: being a minority, of short stature for a man, growing up incredibly poor.

Yet, despite it all, he made it big.

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He took a sip of his rosé and leaned the glass in the cupholder of the inflatable raft he was lounging on. Oleana was swimming laps with her Milotic.

It was a hot summer day in Wyndon, a weekend, so there was no work. The skies were clear and there was a nice breeze. Rose was entirely comfortable lazing the day away floating in the rooftop pool of his penthouse, soaking in the sunrays. He was grateful Oleana and her Pokémon were getting a bit more use of the pool than he was, doing their exercises.

He put on his sunglasses which had been resting atop his head, and closed his eyes, letting himself drift off, adrift in the pool, listening to the splashes and movement of his beloved secretary and her Pokémon.

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“Hello, Peony. It’s my annual call to wish you a happy birthday, little brother. My secretary was able to find your new phone number—you do have to stop changing them on me…Anyway, I hope you and Petunia are doing well. How are the girls? I hope that one day you can let me come see them again. They must be growing up so beautifully. I do want you to know I still miss you greatly. I love you, Peony, and I’m still sorry for anything I’ve ever done to upset you. I hope you get this message. Please call me when you can. Bye-bye.”

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Whenever the Chairman was pondering something, whenever he was deep in thought, he’d twist that curl of hair hanging down in his peripheral. He’d wrap it around his finger, then pull the finger away, letting the curl bounce back into place. He seemed to do it without even realising sometimes.

Oleana loved to watch whenever he exhibited this little habit, this unique characteristic of his, amused and mesmerised by the behaviour. His hair did admittedly look fun to play with, and she wished she could run her hands through those soft locks, through the dark, wavy strands, wind that curl around her finger.

But for now, she’d watch from afar, hoping one day her desires would come true.

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Rose wanted the infographic to include an illustration of himself, the figurehead of the company, a recognisable, welcoming face to any Galarian citizen. He was quite fond of the popular corporate art style used by big tech companies and wanted to see what the design department could come up with for their simplified diagram of the Hammerlocke powerplant.

When Oleana had presented him their drawing, he was ecstatic: a happy image of himself with an adorable triangle nose describing the easy-to-understand model of the powerplant, bright and colourful text boxes giving even more clarity to the average consumer.

This diagram was sure to ease any concerns people had over Macro Cosmos’ use of Wishing Stars in energy production, Rose was certain.

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He’d had her since she was just a little Cufant. His very first Pokémon.

He had ventured out far into the Wild Area that day, to the field under the bridge connecting his home village of Turffield to the neighbouring town of Hulbury. Mum was taking care of Peony and said she didn’t need any help, and dad was at work. Rose didn’t have school today, nor did he have any other obligations. On days like this—days he had all to himself—he would venture out into the Wild Area to just sit and enjoy the sunshine, watch the wild Pokémon, and hope to get a glimpse of a Trainer caught in a battle. One day, he thought, he would even be able to catch a Pokémon of his own.

Rose always made sure to carry an empty Ultra Ball with him whenever he went out. He didn’t know which Pokémon would be his first, but he wanted to be prepared for when the right moment presented itself. He had worked for several weeks on neighbours’ farms and even helped his father at the mine to earn the money needed to buy the more expensive style of Pokéball. Rose liked the aesthetic of Ultra Balls as well as their high catch rate.

He was sitting on a small picnic blanket he had borrowed from his mum, enjoying some spicy Galar masala while watching the Pokémon around him. A chittering Greedent dropping berries from a tree nearby. Several Cutiflies and their evolution, Ribombee, fluttering about in a nearby flower patch. It was a peaceful little outing, and the weather was beautiful.

Suddenly, something reached over Rose’s shoulder, grabbing some of his food. Startled, he jumped away, dropping the container of masala in the process.

Standing there on the edge of the blanket was an unevolved Copperderm Pokémon happily reaching into the masala container with its bright orange and green spoon-like trunk, enjoying Rose’s spicy meal.

A Cufant!

The Pokémon wasn’t native to Galar, having been brought over to the region from the East long ago. They were strong and were used often alongside their evolution, Copperajah, in jobs that required heavy labour. There were even a few Copperajah employed at the mine where Father worked.

Mum and dad had explained once that the Pokémon had originated in their home region and were significant to the culture and traditions there. They were sacred, beloved Pokémon, often used in rituals and celebrations. To find one in the wild meant prosperity and good luck.

This, he thought, was that right moment he had been waiting for. It had to be.

He scrambled to grab his Ultra Ball, wielding it like he had learned at school. The Cufant suddenly looked up from the food, turning to him, what looked like a worry on its face.

Rose hesitated, lowering his arm. Something just didn’t feel right about trying to force it to become his Pokémon.

He stared at the Cufant for a long moment, making contact with its large, brown eyes. It seemed to eventually relax, and the little Copperderm returned to its spicy meal, ignoring the boy standing nearby with an Ultra Ball held loosely in his hand.

After the Pokémon finished the curry, scooping up the last bit with its trunk, it turned back to Rose, its face cheerier than before. It even dared to take a few steps closer to him, keeping just an arm’s length away.

Cautiously, Rose reached out and placed his hand on the natural bump that formed on the Cufant’s head. It immediately leaned into the touch, allowing itself to be petted.

Rose smiled, stepping towards the Pokémon. “I think you just wanted to steal my food,” he said, running his hand across its back.

The Pokémon let out a joyful trumpeting noise in agreement. Rose chuckled and looked down at the Ultra Ball still in his other hand. “You know,” he said, running his thumb across the button on the Pokéball, “I thought maybe you could be my first Pokémon…but I don’t think it’s right to capture you against your will.”

The Cufant suddenly pulled away from Rose’s touch and used its trunk to grab onto the Ultra Ball, yanking it from the boy.

“Hey, wait!” Rose cried, unable to keep his grip on the Pokéball.

The Cufant tapped the ball against its head several times. Rose looked on curiously. After a moment, the Pokémon offered the Ultra Ball back to Rose, a bright look in its eyes.

“You…” he said, taking the Ultra Ball. “You want me to catch you now?”

The Cufant jumped playfully on its front legs, letting out another trumpet, nodding happily.

“All right, then,” Rose said, smiling. He took a few steps back and gripped the ball firmly in his hand, looking at the happy little Cufant before him. His first Pokémon! He could hardly believe it. A thrill was running down his spine.

He readied his stance, once again raising his arm. “Go, Ultra Ball!” he shouted, throwing the ball directly at the Cufant. The Ultra Ball bumped the Pokémon’s head, then automatically opened up. A beam of light surrounded the little Cufant, absorbing its energy, reading its DNA, transferring it into the ball.

The Cufant was sucked in, and the ball fell onto the picnic blanket. It wobbled only once, flashing a yellow light before the button at the centre lit up green and the ball rocked forward, indicating the Pokémon was caught successfully.

He named her Rajkumari and he’d always remember the surprised look on his parents’ faces when he brought her home.

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Rose’s nose was running. Rose’s toes were freezing. He was burning up and shivering simultaneously. He had bundled himself up in blankets, remaining in bed all morning. The thought of breakfast made him nauseous and even getting up to just walk to the toilet made him tremendously queasy, his head spinning, his body shaking.

Rose had never called in sick before, never been so ill he couldn’t make it to work. But today, he felt utterly miserable. At death’s door.

He dialed Oleana’s number on his Rotom Phone, the Pokémon inhabiting the electronic device aiding by hovering in front of him, his hands too shaky to hold it himself.

It only rang once.

“Sir?” came the familiar voice of his secretary on the other end of the line.

“Oleana, dear…” he sniffled, setting the device to speaker phone. “I’m a bit under the weather if you couldn’t tell by my voice.” He sounded congested, his throat sore and scratchy. It took a great deal for him to speak at all given how nauseated he was. His face was dotted with perspiration, his hair damp and falling about in disarray. He was an utter mess, still in his pyjamas, a pile of crumpled tissues overflowing the small waste basket next to the bed. “Don’t think I’ll be able to come to the office today,” he managed to say.

“You rest, sir,” Oleana replied. “I’ll take care of things here.”

“Thank you,” Rose responded, closing his eyes to combat the sick feeling in his stomach. He lay back for a moment, taking a deep breath, hand on his belly. “Bless you, my love,” he said in almost a whisper, his voice strained, whimpering.

“Feel better, sir.”

The call ended and the Rotom Phone flew over to the bedside table, resting itself near the glass of ginger ale his housekeeper had gotten him before he dismissed her for the rest of the day. Didn’t want her catching whatever he had.

He took a small sip of the carbonated drink, trying to ease the pain in his stomach, calm his churning innards, before putting the glass back down. He pulled the blankets closer, wrapping himself up to try and stay warm, and closed his eyes, trying to relax, to rest. He hoped that by the afternoon he’d feel a bit better, well enough to perhaps do some remote work from his computer at home.

He was wrong.

When lunchtime rolled around, he awoke, trembling in a pool of his own sweat. Everything ached. He tried to shift, to get up, but it was fruitless. His legs were jelly, his arms stiff. Any slight movement and he could feel the bile rise in his throat, the acid stinging his oesophagus. The room was blurry and there was a ringing in his ears. There was absolutely no way he would be able to get any work done in this state. He hoped Oleana was managing everything all right.

He lay there, unable to gather the strength to get out of bed, unable to move without fear of gagging, ruminating on the day wasted staying in his bedroom doing nothing, body perspiring, nostrils clogged, head pounding, stomach stirring. He remained in a semiconscious state for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, pondering how the day at Macro Cosmos was faring without him, wondering if there were any issues at the League, thinking of obligations he had to forgo today because of this wretched illness. Eventually, his eyelids slowly fell, and he once again slipped into a dreamless slumber.

🥀

The workday went about without any major issues despite the Chairman not being present. Oleana successfully managed everything on her own, making certain both the company and the League were running smoothly, swiftly resolving any matters that came across her or the Chairman’s desk.

Near the end of the day, while the office was beginning to wind down for the evening, she texted the Chairman, asking if he was feeling any better and if there was anything further she could do to help.

He replied almost an hour later.

“Sorry, dear. Just woke up. Think you could pick up some Farfetch'd noodle soup? Haven’t eaten a thing all day.”

Of course she could bring him some soup. She typed out her response to him immediately and logged off her work computer for the night, promptly making her way from Rose Tower to a local restaurant to order the takeaway to bring to his penthouse.

Some time ago, he had given her his address, a spare key, and access to his private rooftop landing pad for any emergencies that might arise. She figured now was one such emergency. A small one, albeit still dire. She had never known the Chairman to get sick to the point where he was bedbound all day and unable to eat anything. Hopefully, the soup—and perhaps even her company—would help.

With soup—and a small vegetarian salad for herself—in hand, she ordered a Corviknight Taxi to bring her to the lavish penthouse owned by the richest man in Galar. When she arrived, she put on a face mask as a precaution, not wanting to catch the Chairman’s sickness, and entered his not-so-humble abode.

“Sir?” she called as she made her way down the stairs to the main part of the enormous flat.

“Oleana! That you?” he replied hoarsely from another room. “I’m in here.”

She followed the sound of his voice down a hallway until she stood at his bedroom door. She knocked politely before entering where she witnessed the Chairman in an utterly pitiful state.

His dark eyelids looked sallow, his skin a greenish grey. His naturally full lips were dry and cracked, the area just under his nose red and sore. Wavy strands of hair were pushed back in a haphazard manner, the locks matted down by sweat. There was a glaze across his emerald eyes, a lusterless haze that muted the natural beauty of the rare hue.

She had never seen the Chairman so weak and inelegant.

Though he looked positively exhausted, he was sitting up, casting Oleana the best smile he could, given the circumstances.

“Thank you so much for coming, Oleana, dear,” he said, grabbing another tissue. “I’ve been starving since I got up. Think I’m over the worst of it at this point.” He blew his nose and tossed the tissue in the ever-growing pile. “Fever broke only a short while ago,” he continued, “and there’s been no more nausea. Soup’s really going to help.” He eyed the bag of takeaway in her hands.

There was a bit of an awkward silence before Oleana spoke up. “Have you got a tray I could put this on?” she asked, lifting the bag containing his soup and her salad. “Or would you like to eat in the kitchen or dining room? And don’t worry, sir—I can assist if you need help getting around,” she added, wanting to aid him in whatever way she could.

Despite still being quite unwell, the Chairman let out a chuckle. “It’s all right, dear. There are trays in the cupboard on the far left in the kitchen.”

She nodded and made her exit to go search for the overly large kitchen of his extravagant home. She quickly found it, despite the penthouse’s enormous size, and located the right cupboard, setting up a tray nicely with the bowl of soup, a spoon, a napkin, whatever she thought he’d need. She organized a tray for herself, too, her salad, a fork, a napkin as well. She first carried the tray for him back to the bedroom, primly setting it up in front of him.

“Thank you, my love,” he said, breathing in the hot aroma wafting from the bowl, the steamy broth near-instantly clearing his sinuses.

“Of course, sir,” she replied, excusing herself once more to get her own food.

She set herself up on the sofa in his lavish bedroom, near the floor-to-ceiling panoramic window overlooking the city lights of Wyndon, a safe distance to enjoy her meal, enjoy his company, while still being far enough away to avoid catching his illness.

She took off her heels and sat comfortably, telling the Chairman about her day between bites of her salad, about what he missed at the office, the papers he’d need to sign when he returned, the meetings that needed to be rescheduled. He listened on in mostly silence, quietly sipping his soup, his still-sore throat preventing him from contributing much to the conversation.

She savoured this time with her boss outside of work, keeping him company while his body was fighting whatever sickness he had been infected with, talking with him candidly, even sharing a little gossip. She hadn’t really any friends outside her Pokémon, and she appreciated how much the Chairman allowed her into his private life, allowed her to see him frail and on such informal terms.

And it was clear by his occasional input, a scratchy chuckle, or a small, amusing remark, he was appreciating her company as well.

Time passed quickly, and the sky grew ever darker, the moon briefly showing through the cloudy night. Eventually, the Chairman’s bowl was empty, and he had at some point nodded off while Oleana was still going on about some new research she had been working on. She smiled when he began snoring, finally realising he had fallen asleep once more.

Quietly returning the trays to the kitchen, discarding the disposable containers and utensils from the restaurant, and gathering her things, Oleana said a hushed good night to the Chairman, turned off the lights and hoped to see him in the morning. If he was well enough, of course.

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Flying taxis were easy to access and were quick to get someone from one place to another. But sometimes nothing beat taking a good old-fashioned walk.

Rose donned his brilliant disguise in order to mingle amongst the average citizenry of Wyndon, the folks going about their common routines giving him glances as though they might recognise him from somewhere. He made his way down the sidewalk, ignoring the stares, enjoying the fresh air and gentle breeze, Copperajah by his side.

Every so often, he’d go on these walks with his giant Copperderm Pokémon, letting her stretch her legs and get a break from resting inside her Ultra Ball. It was also clear by his growing gut that he, too, needed to get some exercise once in a while.

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Oleana had some downtime at the office. She sat down at her desk and pulled out the book she had been reading—a romance novel about a plain, slightly nerdy woman who works at a big company run by a handsome billionaire. One day, she meets the swarthy CEO, and he is so impressed by her work, he promotes her to his personal secretary. She—of course—falls in love with him.

And he, eventually, falls in love with her…

“There you are, Oleana,” came the voice of the Chairman, entering the room, holding a cup of tea on a saucer. “Thought you’d like a nice cuppa.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, accepting the tea, giving him a warm smile.

Maybe one day, she thought, gazing into the emerald eyes of the Chairman, that last part of the story would be true for her…

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Rose had traveled to Unova for a business trip. Oleana tried her best to keep him on schedule, keep him focused on the presentation he’d have to give, but the Galar Region Chairman decided it was more important to go sightseeing in Castelia City.

He donned the most obnoxious touristy attire he had and slipped out of his hotel room with an unwilling Oleana following close behind.

He signed up for a bus tour of the city, dragging his secretary along with him, asking her to take tonnes of photos. He did a lot of shopping and had Oleana help carry some of the bags of silly souvenirs he acquired. And he, of course, had to try a Casteliacone, the city’s famous style of ice cream. Oleana scoffed at the overpriced treat.

“Here you are,” he said, returning from the vendor, handing her an ice cream.

She sighed and took the cone, taking a small taste. It was rather good, she had to admit.

The Chairman scarfed his down rather quickly and patted his stomach. “Now,” he said, looking around, “where to next?” He pulled out his tourist map of the city, going over all the locations he circled.

“Perhaps now’s a good time to head back, sir,” Oleana said, reluctantly enjoying the ice cream.

“Nonsense, my dear. The conference isn’t until tomorrow and I still want to visit Little Kanto,” he replied, folding the map back up and making his way over to a pedicab station to hire a cyclist.

Oleana let out a long sigh and quickly finished her ice cream before catching up with her overenthusiastic boss.

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Where did he go wrong? How could it all end in disaster? Leon was rushed to hospital, and those two children, the Champion’s brother and his little friend, were the ones to bring an end to the Darkest Day.

He couldn’t control Eternatus. Leon, his Champion, the boy he made famous, strong, failed because of him. Because he had made a severe miscalculation. And now, there was no hope for the future.

He sat in the jail cell, waiting to speak with his solicitor, with a magistrate, waiting to post bail, thinking about everything he’d done wrong, everything he’d screwed up. His whole life was falling apart. And he brought it all upon himself.

He curled up into himself and started to cry.

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