The S.S. Anne sat in the Vermilion harbor like a mountain of ivory and gold, its three massive smokestacks belching a faint, clean steam into the sky. It was a monument to excess, a floating city designed to cater to the one percent of the one percent. But as I stood at the foot of the boarding ramp, I wasn't looking at the architecture. I was looking at the notification blinking in the corner of my vision.
The S.S. Anne was a floating monument to excess. Bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, the luxury liner's white hull gleamed like a polished pearl against the deep cerulean of the Vermilion harbor. This wasn't just a ship; it was a mobile fortress of the elite, a place where the air smelled of salt, expensive perfumes, and the quiet, heavy hum of high-stakes influence.
I stood on the gangplank, and for a moment, I didn't recognize the girl in the reflection of the brass railings.
Lorelei had been terrifyingly generous. Knowing my status as an orphan—a "Recruit with Zero Assets" as Nelly liked to put it—she had insisted on providing my "social armor." The dress was a masterpiece of emerald silk, a deep, rich green that seemed to shift and shimmer like a Grass-type's Leaf Storm. It was floor-length but featured a subtle, tactical slit up the left side, allowing for a quick draw of a Pokéball or a sudden kick if things went south. The matching green heels added three inches to my height, giving me a level of presence I wasn't used to.
"Host, your aesthetic appeal has increased by 400%," Nelly chimed in my ear, her voice lacking its usual snark. "Heart rate is elevated. Are we nervous about the mission, or the wardrobe?"
"A bit of both, Nelly," I whispered into my collar. "Where's my partner?"
"He must be here only host. Meanwhile your mission rewards."
**[Main Mission: Sabotage Team Rocket Plan]**
* **Objective:** Prevent the "Grand Collection" and neutralize Executive Proton.
* **Rewards:** Class Enhancer x2 (Ultra-Rare), 50,000 G-Pro Points.
* **Note:** Class Enhancers are the "Holy Grail" of the G-Pro system—they can permanently elevate a Pokémon's genetic ceiling (e.g., from Gym-Tier to Elite-Tier).
My heart hammered against my ribs. I wanted those enhancers. I *needed* them. If I was going to survive in a world where Lance and Lorelei existed as living gods, I couldn't just rely on training. I needed to rewrite the biological limits of my team.
The mission parameters were clear: ten agents, five pairs. I was expecting a seasoned Global Police veteran or maybe a specialized G-Pro field agent. I wasn't expecting a legend.
A young man stepped out of the shadows of the boarding terminal. He wore a charcoal-grey suit that fit his lean, athletic frame with military precision. His dark hair was spiked back, and his eyes—intense, calculating, and cold as blue ice—scanned the crowd with the focus of a predator. Around his neck was a signature blue scarf that fluttered in the sea breeze.
"Recruit Regina?"
The voice was low, smooth, and carried a weight that didn't match the age of the speaker. I turned, and for the first time in my life, I felt my brain actually stall when I saw him.
Alain.
But this wasn't the Alain from the XY anime timeline—the one wandering around with a Chespin-wielding girl named Mairin. There was no Mairin here. This Alain stood taller, his eyes colder, radiating an aura of absolute, crushing competence.
I quickly tapped my G-Pro HUD for a background check.
**[Search Result: Alain]**
* **Current Rank:** Kalos League Champion.
* **Status:** Recently defeated Diantha in a 6-on-6 exhibition match to claim the throne.
* **Note:** Rumored to be working with G-Pro's international division for Mega Evolution research and inter-regional security.
*Nelly,* I whispered internally. *I thought Diantha was the Champion during the XY era. What happened?*
*"Analysis suggests a temporal or situational deviation, Host,"* Nelly's voice buzzed. *"Data indicates Alain claimed the title early, but projections show he may abdicate the throne later to pursue independent research, leading to Diantha's eventual return. Currently, however, he is the strongest trainer in the Kalos region."*
I nodded slowly. It made sense. Being a Champion is a massive honor, but it's also a bureaucratic cage. You're tied to one region, one office, and endless paperwork. For a man like Alain, who craves the horizon and the next power peak, the Master Eight tournament is a bigger draw than a throne.
G-Pro, being a worldwide, government-funded organization, must have recruited him for this high-level mission to provide him with "Inter-Regional Experience" while pairing him with a "Local Specialist" like me to show him the ropes of Kanto's specific criminal underworld.
Alain walked toward me, his boots clicking on the wooden dock. He didn't smile. He didn't wave. He just looked at me with those sharp, analytical eyes.
"I am Regina," I said, offering a firm handshake. "I've been briefed on your arrival, Champion Alain. I'm glad to work with someone of your stature."
Alain reached out and shook my hand. His grip was steady and calloused from years of holding Pokéballs. "Alain," he said simply. He didn't add the 'Champion' title. He didn't need to.
*The quiet type,* I thought. *Good. Less talking, more doing.*
I looped my arm through his, a necessary gesture to maintain our cover as a "high-society couple." Alain stiffened for a second, his muscles tensing under the suit, but he didn't pull away. He understood the assignment. Together, we walked up the gangplank, the image of a beautiful young heiress and her brooding, elite bodyguard-turned-suitor.
---
### The Gilded Ballroom
The interior of the S.S. Anne was a dizzying display of wealth. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, and the floor was covered in plush, crimson carpets that muffled every footstep. Hundreds of people—men in tuxedos and women in gowns—mingled, their laughter sounding like the tinkling of expensive glass.
"We need to blend in," I whispered to Alain as we entered the main ballroom. I gestured toward my two Nidoran—one male, one female—who were trotting beside my heels. They were groomed to perfection, their poisonous spikes filed and polished so they looked like exotic pets rather than biological weapons. "I will take the floor and engage the trainers here in 'friendly' exhibition matches. It'll give us a reason to move around the ship and observe. You? You stay on the perimeter. You have the 'Champion's Eye.' Tell me if anyone looks... off."
Alain nodded once. He didn't ask questions. He didn't hesitate. He simply faded into the crowd, his dark coat and scarf making him look like a brooding heir to some distant fortune.
I took a deep breath, adjusted my green heels, and walked toward the center of the room where a temporary battle mat had been laid out.
"Excuse me!" I called out, my voice bright and melodic, projecting the perfect 'excited rookie' persona. "Is anyone looking for a quick warm-up match? My Nidorans are just dying for a little exercise!"
A young man in a sapphire-blue blazer stepped forward, a smug grin on his face. "A Nidoran? How quaint. I'm Charles, and I think my Raticate could use a snack."
---
### Battle 1: The Precision of Nidoran (M)
Charles released a Raticate that looked well-fed but lacked the lean muscle of a survivor. My Nidoran (M) stepped onto the mat, his ears twitching. He was small, but he was an Elite-potential specimen I'd been training for high-speed puncture attacks.
"Raticate, use **Hyper Fang**! End this quickly!" Charles shouted.
The Raticate lunged, its massive front teeth glowing with a white light. It was a direct, clumsy attack.
"Nidoran, **Flicker-Step** to the left," I commanded calmly.
My Nidoran didn't just move; he blurred. He slid beneath the Raticate's guard with a grace that silenced the nearby onlookers.
"Now, **Double Kick**, vertical launch!"
Nidoran spun on his front paws, his powerful hind legs snapping upward. The first kick caught the Raticate under the jaw, lifting it off the ground. The second kick slammed into its chest, sending it tumbling backward across the silk-lined mat.
"Raticate! Get up and use **Quick Attack**!"
"Intercept with **Poison Sting**, wide-angle spray," I countered.
As the Raticate tried to charge, Nidoran exhaled a cloud of purple, needle-like barbs. They weren't meant to knock the Raticate out; they were meant to restrict its movement. The barbs caught the Raticate's fur, the toxins immediately slowing its reflexes.
"Finish it. **Horn Attack**."
Nidoran charged, his head lowered. He hit the Raticate squarely in the solar plexus. The "snack" Charles had promised was over. The Raticate slumped, its eyes swirling.
"Incredible!" a woman in the crowd gasped. "Such precision from such a small Pokémon!"
I smiled, recalling my Nidoran and giving him a quick scratch behind the ears. "He's just a little spirited, that's all!"
---
### Battle 2: The Elegance of Nidoran (F)
Almost immediately, a girl in a frilly pink dress challenged me. She sent out a Pidgeotto that looked like it spent more time at the groomers than in the sky.
"Pidgeotto, use **Gust**! Blow that little rabbit away!"
I sent out my Nidoran (F). Unlike her male counterpart, she was more defensive, a specialist in "attrition" and counter-play.
"Nidoran, **Crouch-Stance**. Use the wind."
As the Gust hit, Nidoran dug her claws into the carpet, leaning into the wind rather than fighting it. She used the pressure to stay low, her body a coiled spring.
"Now, **Tail Whip** into **Poison Fang**!"
Nidoran spun, her tail creating a distracting blur that caught the Pidgeotto's eye. As the bird dipped lower to investigate, Nidoran leaped. It was a vertical jump that caught everyone by surprise. She clamped her jaws onto the Pidgeotto's wing.
"Pidgeotto! Shake her off!"
But my Nidoran didn't let go. She used her weight to pull the bird toward the ground. As they hit the mat, she released a **Toxic** cloud point-blank. The Pidgeotto, already weakened and confused, couldn't handle the concentrated poison. It let out a weak squawk and fainted.
I scooped up my Nidoran (F), hugging her to my chest as the crowd applauded. "Good girl! You were so brave!"
---
### The Quiet Intelligence
After an hour of "playing the rookie," I retreated to a balcony overlooking the main deck. Alain was already there, leaning against the railing, his eyes fixed on a group of men in matching grey suits standing near the buffet.
"The men by the caviar," Alain said, his voice a low rumble. "They aren't eating. They're checking the exits. They have bulges under their jackets—Pokéball belts, hidden. Three are at the main doors, four are in the kitchen corridor."
I nodded, my "rookie" smile fading into a sharp, clinical line. "Proton's advance team. They're waiting for the signal. The 'Grand Collection' usually starts during the Captain's toast."
"You fight well," Alain said, turning to look at me. "Your Nidorans... they have the discipline of soldiers. You're hiding your true strength."
I looked out at the ocean, the emerald silk of my dress fluttering in the wind. "In this world, Alain, being an orphan with a G-Pro terminal means you either learn to hide or you get erased. I'm just trying to make sure my team has a future."
Alain stayed silent for a moment, then he looked at his own Pokéball—the one containing his Charizard. "I understand. I spent a long time fighting for someone else's vision. Now, I fight for the truth."
"Well, the truth tonight is that this ship is about to become a war zone," I said, checking the time on my HUD. " Are you ready, Champion?"
Alain didn't smile, but for the first time, I saw a spark of genuine battle-hunger in his eyes. He didn't say a word. He just reached into his coat and gripped a Pokéball.
We stood there, the orphan in the borrowed dress and the Champion with the blue scarf, two ghosts in a room full of gold, waiting for the shadows to move.
"Let them come," Alain whispered.
The S.S. Anne continued to sail into the darkening sea, its lights twinkling like a crown, unaware of the dragon and the siren waiting within its belly.
---
**[TO BE CONTINUED...]**