Settling In

Chapter Two

Settling In

By the third day, Gray had learned three things about being Sinnoh’s regional Pokémon Professor.

The first was that everyone wanted something from him. The second was that almost everything they wanted required paperwork. The third, and most troubling, was that Lyra had developed an uncanny ability to locate him.

He had tested this.

On Tuesday morning, Gray had spent forty minutes in the fossil preparation room under the perfectly reasonable excuse of reviewing the lab’s restoration equipment. Lyra had found him there with a stack of forms.

Later, he had moved to the greenhouse despite having absolutely no reason to be in the greenhouse. She had found him there too.

That afternoon, he had gone all the way to the eastern edge of the ranch to inspect an old Donphan’s hind leg and, more importantly, to put roughly twenty-seven acres between himself and anything bearing a League letterhead.

Lyra found him in eleven minutes.

By Wednesday morning, Gray had become suspicious that she had put a tracking device in his coat.

Which was why he was now crouched halfway up the artificial rocky ridge behind his house, one hand braced against the dirt, while Lyra stood at the bottom calling his name.

“Gray!”

He ignored her.

Beside him, Bastiodon lifted his head.

“Don’t.”

The old Pokémon gave a low rumble and looked toward the sound.

“I mean it. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Bastiodon remained completely unmoved by this appeal to loyalty.

Gray returned his attention to the thin gray seam he had uncovered in the soil. It was probably nothing. The ridge had been landscaped years earlier, and most of the exposed rock had been brought in from elsewhere, which made the stratigraphy useless for anything serious.

Still, there was something satisfying about sitting in dirt and examining rocks while other people tried to locate you for administrative reasons.

“Professor Linden!”

Gray sighed.

“That’s cheating.”

Bastiodon rumbled again.

Gray looked at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

Footsteps scraped against stone behind them. Lyra appeared at the top of the ridge a minute later, breathing slightly harder than she probably wanted him to notice. She had begun wearing field boots after her first day at the lab. Gray considered this evidence that he was already improving her professionally.

She stopped beside him and looked down at the patch of earth he had been studying.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at dirt.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why ask?”

“Because normal people generally have a reason for climbing halfway up a rocky hill at eight in the morning to stare at dirt.”

“There’s your mistake. You started with normal people.”

Lyra pressed her lips together.

Gray brushed soil from his hands and stood. “What do you want?”

“Staff introductions in twenty minutes.”

“I’ve already met you.”

“There are other people employed here.”

“I’ve seen evidence.”

“You hired them.”

“Technically.”

Lyra held out a folder.

Gray eyed it.

“No.”

“You don’t know what this is.”

“It’s a folder.”

“Yes.”

“Folders contain paper.”

“Usually.”

“Paper is frequently used for work.”

Lyra stared at him for several seconds. “It’s your schedule.”

“So paperwork.”

“No.”

“Paper. Work.”

Bastiodon turned away and began walking down the ridge.

Gray pointed after him. “Coward.”

Lyra ignored that. “You also have laboratory systems review after the introductions, an hour blocked for your own work, trainer intake at ten-thirty, lunch at noon—”

“No.”

“Lunch is not optional.”

“I know how to eat.”

“You had crackers and cheese for dinner.”

“Exactly. Food.”

“You put cheese on crackers.”

“That is literally food.”

“It is technically food in the same way that sleeping on your desk is technically rest.”

Gray narrowed his eyes at her. “You’ve known me for two days.”

“And I’m already seeing patterns.”

“That sounds judgmental.”

“It is.”

They started toward the laboratory together, Bastiodon lumbering several yards ahead of them. Chatot was nowhere in sight, which meant he was either sleeping or committing a crime.

Gray glanced toward the pond.

No screaming.

Probably sleeping.

As they crossed the grass, Lyra said, “Your interview is tomorrow at ten.”

Gray stopped.

She kept walking for three steps before noticing.

“No.”

“You agreed to it.”

“I agreed to eventually speak to a journalist.”

“You agreed to Thursday at ten.”

“I was tired.”

“That doesn’t void agreements.”

“It should.”

Lyra turned and folded her arms. “You told me, and I quote, ‘Fine. Schedule whichever one sounds least irritating.’”

Gray remembered saying that.

It had seemed clever at the time.

“Who?”

“Celia Marr. Jubilife Daily.”

“A newspaper?”

“Yes.”

“Print?”

“Yes.”

He considered this. “No video?”

“No video.”

“Live broadcast?”

“No.”

“Crowd?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

Lyra looked victorious.

Gray immediately added, “Twenty minutes.”

“Forty-five.”

“Thirty.”

“Forty-five.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Forty.”

Gray thought about it. “Thirty-five and I don’t have to wear a tie.”

“You were never going to wear a tie.”

“Then we have an agreement.”

Lyra started walking again. “You are exhausting.”

“Yet employable.”

“For now.”

The permanent staff were waiting in the main research room.

Gray had technically interviewed all four of them, although “interviewed” was doing generous work. Most formal interviews were terrible ways to learn anything useful about a person. Candidates dressed strangely, sat too straight, and gave answers that had clearly been practiced in front of mirrors.

Gray preferred watching people when something went wrong.

Unfortunately, that was considered an inappropriate hiring methodology.

So he had interviewed them.

Briefly.

The first was Marcus Bell, a broad-shouldered man around thirty with a background in field ecology and habitat monitoring. Gray remembered him because Marcus had spent half his interview talking about drainage systems on large mixed-species properties and had visibly brightened when Gray disagreed with one of his proposed monitoring layouts.

The second was Elias Verner.

Gray knew that now because he had checked the personnel file five minutes earlier.

The third was Mira Sato, whom Gray also remembered because she had written a paper on soil chemistry around long-term Pokémon nesting grounds that was much more interesting than its title suggested.

The fourth was Tessa Vale, the breeder.

Gray remembered Tessa without assistance.

She had argued with him during the interview.

Naturally, he had hired her.

Lyra stood at one end of the table while Gray took the other. “All right,” she said. “Everyone’s here.”

Gray looked around. “Good.”

There was a pause.

Lyra looked at him.

Gray looked back.

She raised her eyebrows.

“Oh. Right.”

Marcus smiled.

Gray leaned one hip against the table. “I’m bad at speeches.”

“That’s reassuring,” Mira said.

“You’ll live. The short version is that I don’t care much about hierarchy. If something’s wrong, tell me. If you think I’m wrong, tell me. If you think another researcher is wrong, tell them, preferably before it becomes expensive.”

Elias adjusted his glasses. “How wrong?”

“Depends on the expense.”

That got a few smiles.

Gray continued, more seriously. “There are a few things I actually care about. Don’t fabricate data. Don’t bury results because they’re inconvenient. Don’t damage a habitat just because doing the job properly takes longer. And Pokémon are not equipment.”

The room settled slightly.

“If a Pokémon doesn’t want to participate in something, it doesn’t participate. If you’re collecting samples, you use the least invasive method available. If you’re working around wild populations, you leave the area as close to how you found it as possible. If I ever find out somebody harmed a Pokémon because they were impatient, lazy, or curious, we’re going to have a very different conversation.”

Tessa nodded once.

Marcus asked, “What about dangerous field conditions?”

“Use judgment. I don’t expect anyone here to get themselves killed for a sample.”

Lyra gave him a pointed look.

Gray noticed.

He chose not to acknowledge it.

Mira did. “Does that rule apply to you too?”

“No.”

Lyra said, “It does.”

Gray looked at her. “Independent contractor mindset.”

“You are literally employed by the League.”

“Spiritually independent.”

Tessa laughed under her breath.

Gray liked her more.

Elias said, “What actually gets someone fired?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Four expressions changed.

Gray shrugged. “I haven’t fired anyone before. Presumably serious misconduct. Abuse. Falsifying work. Theft.”

“What if we’re annoying?” Elias asked.

“Necessary research skill.”

Lyra said, “Then you’ll thrive.”

Elias looked offended.

Gray had expected the staff meeting to take an hour.

It lasted almost two.

That was mostly because once everyone started discussing the laboratory itself, Gray forgot it was supposed to be introductory.

Marcus had already identified several failing environmental sensors on the western side of the ranch. Mira had discovered that Rowan’s staff had left behind years of partially organized soil and water data. Elias was halfway through cataloguing stored samples and had found several containers with labels that Gray considered personally offensive.

Tessa had reviewed the breeding records and described them as “adequate.”

Gray had asked what that meant.

“Not terrible.”

“High praise.”

“It means I’m not throwing anything through a window.”

“Excellent.”

They walked the facility together afterward, not as a tour so much as a collective audit. Gray became increasingly pleased.

They asked questions.

Good ones.

Nobody seemed afraid to say they didn’t know something.

Better.

At one point, Mira opened a drawer and found three unlabeled bags of mineral fragments.

Gray stared at them in horror.

“Who did this?”

“Rowan’s people, presumably.”

“Animals.”

Lyra sighed. “We are not insulting the previous staff.”

“They didn’t label rocks.”

“That doesn’t make them bad people.”

“It raises questions.”

By lunch, Gray was considerably less annoyed about having staff.

He still would have preferred fewer meetings.

That principle remained intact.

By Wednesday afternoon, Gray’s office had acquired three new objects.

The first was a stack of internal reports.

The second was a ceramic mug Lyra had placed on his desk after catching him drinking coffee from a graduated measuring cup.

Gray had pointed out that the cup was clean.

Lyra had pointed out that it was laboratory glassware.

Gray had pointed out that glassware was designed to contain liquids.

Lyra had taken the measuring cup away.

The third object was a handwritten sign taped to the wall beside his monitor.

EAT LUNCH.

Gray removed it.

The next morning, it was back.

He removed it again.

By Wednesday afternoon, Lyra had laminated it.

Gray stared at the sign.

He was considering escalation when Chatot came through the open window carrying a keycard in his beak.

Gray looked up.

Chatot landed on the top shelf.

“What do you have?”

The bird shifted sideways.

Gray stood. “Come here.”

“No!”

Gray stopped.

Chatot stared down at him.

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“No!”

Gray slowly pointed at him. “I did not teach you that.”

“No!”

“Where did you learn it?”

Chatot puffed himself up.

“Fuck off!”

Gray closed his eyes.

Somewhere, sometime, he had absolutely taught him that.

Not intentionally.

That did not help.

“Give me the card.”

Chatot launched himself out the window.

Gray swore and followed.

He found him thirty seconds later sitting on Aggron’s head.

Aggron stood in the grass near one of the stone shelters, slowly chewing on a mineral block. He was enormous even for his species, his armor dark and scarred from years of battle and fieldwork. Chatot looked deeply pleased with himself from the top of Aggron’s skull.

Gray approached.

Aggron leaned forward and licked the entire side of his face.

Gray froze.

“There are other greetings.”

Aggron rumbled happily.

Gray wiped his cheek with his sleeve. “You’re disgusting.”

Aggron leaned in again.

“No.”

The tongue stopped inches away.

“No.”

Aggron withdrew.

Gray pointed at Chatot. “Make him give me the card.”

Aggron sat down.

“You’re both useless.”

Chatot turned around deliberately.

Gray sighed and reached into his pocket for a dried berry.

Aggron’s eyes immediately shifted toward it.

“Oh, now you’re interested.”

Gray tossed the treat.

Aggron caught it.

Chatot, distracted by the movement, dropped the keycard. Gray caught it before it hit the ground.

“Ha.”

Chatot shrieked in outrage.

Gray looked at the printed name.

ELIAS VERNER.

“Of course.”

Elias appeared from the direction of the lab shortly afterward with the stressed expression of a man retracing every place he had been for the last hour.

“Has anyone seen my access card?”

Gray held it up.

Elias stopped. “Why do you have it?”

“Chatot.”

Elias looked at the bird.

Chatot leaned forward from Aggron’s head.

“Fuck off!”

There was a long pause.

Elias took the keycard.

“Does he do this often?”

“Steal?”

“Yes.”

“Not usually from staff.”

“That is somehow worse.”

“Probably.”

Aggron leaned toward Elias.

Gray opened his mouth.

Too late.

One enormous tongue dragged from Elias’s shoulder to the side of his head.

Elias stood very still.

Gray winced sympathetically. “He likes you.”

Elias wiped his face with both hands. “I would prefer neutrality.”

“You say that now.”

Gray had genuinely forgotten about the interview by Thursday morning.

Not in the sense that the information had ceased to exist in his mind. He simply hadn't thought about it since Lyra mentioned it on Tuesday, which was functionally close enough.

At nine fifty, he was in the fossil preparation room examining a small Lileep fragment still embedded in sedimentary matrix. The specimen wasn't especially rare. That wasn't the point. The surrounding material could potentially say more about the environment the Lileep had lived in than the fossil itself.

Gray was leaning over it with a magnifying lens when Lyra appeared in the doorway.

“Ten minutes.”

“For?”

She waited.

Gray looked up.

“No.”

“Yes.”

He removed the lens. “Reschedule.”

“No.”

“I’m working.”

“You’ve been staring at the same fossil for forty-three minutes.”

“Because I’m working.”

“The fossil will still be here in an hour.”

“You have no evidence for that.”

Lyra stared at him.

Gray glanced at the clock.

Nine fifty-one.

“Fine.”

He looked down at himself. Sweater. Jeans. Dust on one knee.

“Do I have to change?”

“Put your coat on.”

“That’s changing.”

“That is putting on one garment.”

“It’s symbolic.”

“Gray.”

He grabbed the lab coat from a hook and put it on.

Lyra stepped closer and brushed sediment off the shoulder.

He leaned away. “Don’t.”

“You were covered in dirt.”

“I’m an archaeologist.”

“You are giving an interview as Sinnoh’s regional Professor.”

“The regional Professor is an archaeologist.”

She gave up.

“Do I look respectable?”

“No.”

“Excellent.”

Celia Marr arrived at exactly ten.

Gray noticed this because he was watching the clock and had privately decided that if she was more than five minutes late he would consider the appointment void.

She came with a photographer named Daren and an audio assistant named Mina. Celia herself looked to be somewhere in her early forties, with short dark hair, sensible shoes, a leather notebook, and none of the frantic energy Gray associated with television reporters.

That was promising.

She shook his hand in reception.

“Professor Linden. Thanks for making time.”

“I was coerced.”

Behind her, Lyra said, “He agreed voluntarily.”

Gray looked at Celia. “Under sustained administrative pressure.”

Celia smiled. “Should I put that in the article?”

“Please.”

Lyra said, “Do not encourage him.”

“That sounds like a yes.”

Gray liked her slightly more.

They moved into his office. Celia sat across from the desk while Mina placed a small recorder between them. Daren remained near the shelves, occasionally glancing around for possible photographs.

Gray disliked the recorder.

Not because he had anything to hide.

Because recordings were annoyingly permanent.

If he said something stupid during a normal conversation, there were options. Tone could be disputed. Memory could be questioned. Context could be invoked.

A recorder reduced flexibility.

Celia noticed him looking at it.

“Problem?”

“No.”

“You look like it offended you.”

“It removes plausible deniability.”

She laughed once. “You’ve done interviews before.”

“Academic ones.”

“Those are worse.”

“True.”

Chatot was watching from the highest shelf.

Celia glanced up. “Will he stay there?”

“No idea.”

“Does he talk during interviews?”

“Usually when it would be least helpful.”

As if summoned by criticism, Chatot leaned down and shouted, “Bullshit!”

Mina burst out laughing.

Gray looked up. “Thank you for demonstrating.”

Celia opened her notebook. “I was going to start with an easy question, but now I’m reconsidering.”

“Good.”

“Do you always answer like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like every conversation is a minor argument.”

Gray considered it. “No.”

Lyra, who had taken a seat in the corner, made a noise that was suspiciously close to a cough.

Gray glanced at her.

She looked innocent.

Celia noticed the exchange. “How long have you two worked together?”

“Four days,” Lyra said.

Celia raised her eyebrows. “Four days?”

Gray leaned back. “Long week.”

“All right, then. Let’s start there. Four days into being Sinnoh’s regional Professor, how are you feeling?”

Gray looked at her.

“Fine.”

Celia waited.

Gray waited too.

After several seconds she smiled. “You know, most people give me more than that.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked how you feel.”

“I said fine.”

“Excited?”

“About some of it.”

“Overwhelmed?”

“No.”

“Nervous?”

“No.”

“Annoyed?”

“Frequently.”

Celia laughed. “There we go.”

Gray frowned. “You’re trying to manufacture emotional range.”

“I’m trying to get you to talk.”

“You could ask about research.”

“That would be cheating.”

“For who?”

“For me. You’d talk for an hour.”

Gray looked toward Lyra.

Lyra said, “She’s right.”

Gray ignored her.

Celia crossed one leg over the other. “What part of the job are you actually excited about?”

“The lab.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s good.”

“That’s not much better than ‘fine.’”

Gray sighed. “The facilities are good. The ranch is excellent. I have staff now. League archive access. Research permits. Better access to protected sites. A budget.”

“Not the budget you wanted.”

Gray narrowed his eyes.

“How do you know about that?”

“I’m a journalist.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s exactly an answer.”

Fair.

Gray said, “I asked for forty million.”

Celia blinked once.

Behind her, Lyra looked at the ceiling.

“For what?”

“A proper fossil restoration facility.”

“What does five million get you?”

“An insult with microscopes.”

Lyra said, “The renovation is excellent.”

“It is excellent. It is also not forty million.”

Celia wrote something down.

Gray pointed at the notebook. “That sentence is going in there, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t make me sound unreasonable.”

“You asked for forty million.”

“Because I had a forty-million plan.”

“What was in it?”

That was the first genuinely good question.

Gray sat forward.

“Well, first, if you’re going to restore extinct Pokémon responsibly, restoration itself should be the smallest part of the system. Everyone focuses on revival technology because it’s dramatic, but the difficult part is everything after.”

Celia stopped writing for a moment.

Gray continued.

“You need species-appropriate habitat. Veterinary support. Behavioral observation. Long-term nutritional data. Genetic monitoring. Somewhere safe for them to live while you determine whether their modern environment is even suitable. You can’t just revive something that has been extinct for ten thousand years, pat yourself on the back, and stick it in a normal enclosure.”

“So you’re worried about welfare.”

“I’m worried about not being idiots.”

Celia smiled.

“Same thing?”

“Frequently.”

“What about reintroduction into the wild?”

“Depends entirely on the species. And the ecosystem. And why they went extinct. And whether they actually belong in the modern environment.”

Gray rested his elbows on the desk.

“People hear ‘fossil restoration’ and assume bringing something back is automatically good. It isn’t. It can be good. It can also be irresponsible.”

“So you’re conflicted about the field you work in.”

“I’d be worried if I wasn’t.”

That made Celia pause.

“Why?”

“Because certainty around complicated things usually means someone stopped asking questions too early.”

She wrote that down.

Gray watched the pen move.

“You like that one.”

“I do.”

He sat back.

Celia flipped to a clean page. “You have a reputation in academic circles as an archaeologist first. Pokémon mythology, ancient civilizations, fossil ecology. How do you go from that to becoming the regional Professor?”

“Rowan died.”

Lyra closed her eyes.

Celia stared at him.

Gray frowned. “What?”

“Nothing. Continue.”

“The League needed someone. I had relevant experience.”

“That’s a very modest version.”

“It’s accurate.”

“You’ve helped identify two previously undocumented archaeological sites.”

“Yes.”

“You worked fossil restoration in Hoenn.”

“Yes.”

“You studied in Johto and Hoenn, completed two regional Gym challenges, won the Silver Conference, and defeated three members of the Johto Elite Four.”

“Yes.”

“And your response is ‘I had relevant experience.’”

Gray shrugged. “I did.”

Celia smiled slightly. “Do you think you deserved the job?”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

That answer surprised her.

“You haven’t?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Why would I?”

Celia leaned forward. “Because this is one of the most prestigious scientific positions in Sinnoh.”

“Prestige is useful if you need people to answer emails.”

Lyra laughed.

Gray glanced at her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Celia said, “You really don’t care about the title?”

Gray paused.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Oh?”

He hesitated.

This felt dangerously personal for something so stupid.

“I like the title.”

Celia's smile widened.

“Professor Linden?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Gray leaned back. “Sounds right.”

Lyra said, “He grinned the first time I called him that.”

Gray turned toward her. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I work for the laboratory.”

“Betrayal.”

Celia was clearly enjoying herself now.

“Okay. You like being called Professor Linden. You don’t care much about the prestige. What do you care about?”

“That’s broad.”

“Good interviews usually are.”

Gray thought for a moment.

“Finding things.”

“Artifacts?”

“Sometimes.”

“Fossils?”

“Sometimes.”

“What else?”

“Answers.”

Celia tilted her head. “To what?”

“Whatever nobody knows.”

That came out more quickly than the other answers.

Gray noticed.

So did she.

Celia's tone shifted slightly. “That’s the part, isn’t it?”

“What part?”

“The reason you do this.”

Gray glanced toward the shelves.

Old journals.

Maps.

Photographs.

Fragments of dead cultures represented by labels and catalog numbers.

“Yes.”

“What’s the appeal?”

He considered how to explain it without making it sound grander than it was.

“There are things in the world we don’t understand. Most people are comfortable with that until one of those things is directly in front of them.”

“And you aren’t?”

“I’m very comfortable saying I don’t understand something.”

“That seems unusual.”

Gray frowned. “Why?”

“Because you’re the expert.”

“That doesn't make me omniscient.”

“No, but people expect experts to know things.”

“Experts should know when they don’t know things.”

Celia wrote again.

Gray leaned slightly forward to see.

She shifted the notebook out of view.

“You’re very nosy.”

“Yes.”

“That’s probably useful.”

“Extremely.”

Gray smiled.

He could respect that.

She continued. “You said you’re comfortable saying ‘I don’t know.’ Have you always been?”

“Pretty much.”

“Even publicly?”

“Yes.”

“Even if someone younger or less experienced proves you wrong?”

“That would be great.”

Celia looked skeptical.

Gray noticed immediately.

“What?”

“You’d be happy?”

“Of course.”

“Most people aren’t.”

“Most people are weird about being wrong.”

“How do you see it?”

Gray shrugged.

“Being wrong means you know one more thing.”

Celia's pen stopped.

Gray glanced at Lyra.

Lyra was watching him now too.

“What?”

Celia said, “Nothing. That’s just good.”

“Good how?”

“For print.”

Gray frowned.

“I don’t trust that phrase.”

“You shouldn’t.”

She turned the page.

“Let’s talk about battling.”

Gray groaned quietly.

“You knew this was coming.”

“I hoped you had journalistic restraint.”

“No chance.”

“Fine.”

“You won the Silver Conference in Johto.”

“Yes.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“You were sixteen.”

“Yes.”

“And then you defeated Will, Bruno, and Agatha before losing to Karen.”

“Yes.”

“How do you say that like you’re telling me what you had for lunch?”

“Because it happened sixteen years ago.”

“That isn’t very long.”

“It feels long.”

“Do people still recognize you?”

“Rarely.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No.”

“Do you miss competitive battling?”

“Sometimes.”

Celia waited.

Gray sighed.

“I still battle. I enjoy battling. I just don’t care about ranking myself against everyone anymore.”

“What changed?”

“Nothing dramatic. I had other things I wanted to do.”

“Research.”

“Mostly.”

“What did Karen do differently?”

Gray smiled despite himself.

“Beat me.”

“I gathered that.”

“My team was exhausted. I rushed. She didn’t.”

“That simple?”

“Usually is.”

“Was she better than you?”

“That day?”

“Yes.”

Gray answered immediately.

Celia nodded. “You really don’t mind saying that.”

“Why would I?”

“Ego.”

Gray shrugged. “She won.”

“Would you want a rematch?”

He thought about it.

Then smiled.

“For fun? Absolutely.”

That was one of the few answers that seemed to make Celia genuinely pleased.

She moved on.

“Now you’re responsible for young trainers.”

Gray's smile disappeared.

“Yes.”

“That sounded painful.”

“They’re children.”

“Most of them.”

“They are ten.”

“That’s the traditional starting age.”

Gray leaned back.

“I know.”

“You started at ten.”

“I know.”

“Your parents allowed it.”

“I know.”

“And you think it’s a bad idea.”

“I think it’s insane.”

Celia smiled. “That strong?”

“Yes.”

Gray glanced toward the window.

“I understand the argument. Pokémon protect trainers. Routes are monitored. Centers exist. Most kids prepare for years. Fine. I understand all of that.”

“But?”

“But they’re ten.”

He looked back at her.

“Ten-year-olds forget jackets.”

Lyra laughed quietly.

Gray continued. “Yesterday I had a kid show up alone for his first Pokémon. His mother was at work.”

“You called her.”

Gray slowly looked toward Lyra.

She lifted both hands. “I didn’t tell her.”

Celia said, “Sandgem is small.”

“That is rapidly becoming my least favorite feature of this town.”

“Did you refuse to give him a Pokémon?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he was prepared.”

Celia blinked.

“That sounds contradictory.”

“It isn’t.”

“You think the system is insane, but you participated.”

“I’m allowed to dislike a system and still recognize the kid standing in front of me didn’t create it.”

There was a brief silence.

Gray shrugged.

“He knew what he was doing. His mother approved. He had equipment. Emergency contacts. Money. He’d taken training courses. I’m not going to punish him because adults built a strange culture.”

“That sounds more measured than your reputation suggests.”

“What reputation?”

Celia looked amused. “Blunt.”

“I am measured.”

Lyra made another suspicious noise.

Gray ignored her.

Celia asked, “How do you choose a starter for someone?”

“I don’t.”

She looked confused.

“I let them meet Pokémon.”

“That’s choosing.”

“No. I facilitate.”

“That is choosing with academic vocabulary.”

Gray pointed at her. “That’s dishonest framing.”

She smiled. “Keep going.”

“I talk to them. Watch them around the ranch. See what they’re interested in and how they behave when they aren’t trying to impress me.”

“Do you use the traditional Sinnoh starters?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

Gray smiled slightly.

“I specialize in Rock, Steel, and Ground Pokémon.”

“That worries me.”

“It should.”

Celia laughed.

“What did the kid leave with?”

“Aron.”

“That is not a beginner-friendly species.”

“It was for him.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t.”

She paused.

Gray continued before she could challenge him.

“I had enough evidence to make a reasonable decision. Aron liked him. He liked Aron. He listened. He was cautious without being afraid. The rest happens over time.”

“What happens if you’re wrong?”

“Then we fix it.”

“That simple?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“People make mistakes.”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t seem bothered by that.”

“I’m bothered by refusing to correct them.”

Celia sat quietly for a moment before writing again.

The interview continued.

They talked about Poké Balls.

Gray called them cages.

Celia asked whether he used them.

“Of course.”

“That sounds hypocritical.”

“It is.”

She looked pleased.

Gray continued. “They’re useful. Safe. Sometimes necessary. I just don’t like Pokémon spending their entire lives inside them when alternatives exist.”

“Your ranch.”

“Exactly.”

“How many Pokémon live here?”

Gray hesitated. “Depends what you count.”

“That is never a good answer.”

“Permanent partners, retired Pokémon, research cases, temporary boarders, rehabilitation cases…”

“And Magikarp?”

Gray narrowed his eyes.

“How do you know about the Magikarp?”

“I saw the pond.”

“That proves nothing.”

“I counted at least twenty.”

“There are thirty-one.”

Celia stopped writing.

“Thirty-one.”

“Currently.”

“Currently?”

“Two appeared.”

“Appeared.”

“Yes.”

“In your pond.”

“Yes.”

She stared.

Gray stared back.

Celia slowly said, “Professor Linden, did you buy two Magikarp and forget?”

“No.”

“Did someone else?”

“No.”

“Could they have entered naturally?”

“Possible.”

“Is that what you think happened?”

“No.”

“What do you think happened?”

Gray smiled.

“My pond generated Magikarp.”

Lyra covered her face.

Celia laughed so hard she had to put her pen down.

Gray waited patiently.

When she recovered, she said, “You know I’m printing that.”

“I assumed.”

“Anything else I should know about the pond?”

“No.”

A Gyarados roared outside.

Celia looked toward the window.

Gray remained perfectly still.

She slowly looked back at him.

“How many Gyarados are in the pond?”

Gray sighed.

“Six.”

There was another long silence.

Lyra started laughing.

Celia stared at him. “You have six Gyarados in the Magikarp pond.”

“They used to be Magikarp.”

“That is not how categories work.”

“Sometimes they evolve. I wasn’t going to evict them for succeeding.”

Celia wrote furiously.

Gray had the distinct feeling this article was getting away from him.

Eventually the questions became quieter.

“What scares you about the job?”

Gray frowned.

“Job specifically?”

“Anything connected to it.”

He thought about Psychic Pokémon.

About children alone on routes.

About one of his own Pokémon getting old.

He rejected the last thought immediately.

“Responsibility for trainers.”

“More than research?”

“Research doesn’t usually call me because it got lost outside Hearthome.”

“That’s fair.”

“And Psychic types.”

Celia blinked. “Psychic types?”

“They can read minds.”

“Some can.”

“That’s enough.”

“You work with dangerous Pokémon constantly.”

“Dangerous is different.”

“How?”

Gray sat back.

“A Gyarados can crush me. That’s straightforward.”

Celia stared.

Gray continued. “I understand crushing. I don’t like things that can change what I think.”

“Have you had a bad experience with one?”

“No.”

“Then why the fear?”

“Because I have an imagination.”

That one made the notebook.

Of course it did.

Near the end, Celia asked, “What did your parents think of your career?”

Gray's expression shifted.

It was subtle.

Celia noticed anyway.

“They died a few years ago,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

Gray nodded once.

No elaboration.

She did not ask how.

That earned her several points.

Instead, she asked, “Were they scientists?”

“No. My mother was a journalist.”

Celia's eyebrows rose.

“Really?”

“Local paper near Canalave.”

“That explains some things.”

“What things?”

“You’re watching everything I write.”

Gray smiled slightly. “She told me not to assume I knew the full story.”

Celia nodded.

“That’s good advice for a reporter too.”

“Yes.”

“And your father?”

“Metalworker.”

“Anything from him?”

Gray smiled properly this time.

“Watch out for cave-ins, dumbass.”

Celia stared.

Then she laughed.

“That was his advice?”

“One of the better pieces.”

Lyra looked at Gray but said nothing.

The interview had already run longer than agreed.

Gray knew because he had checked the clock three times.

Oddly, he wasn’t as annoyed as he expected to be.

Celia closed her notebook but left the recorder running.

“One last question.”

“You said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“I lied.”

“Journalistic ethics.”

“Why did you really take this job?”

Gray opened his mouth.

Funding.

Easy.

Lab.

Ranch.

Research access.

All true.

But Celia was watching him differently now.

Not waiting for a funny answer.

Gray looked past her, through the window.

Bastiodon was visible near the house. Aggron was walking behind one of the staff members at an unsafe licking distance. Several younger Pokémon were scattered across the field.

Four days ago, none of this had felt like his.

It still didn’t, exactly.

Maybe that was the wrong way to think about it.

“They gave me somewhere I could do the work properly.”

Celia waited.

Gray looked back at her.

“And enough room for my Pokémon.”

“Which mattered more?”

Gray smiled faintly.

“Depends on the day.”

“That’s a terrible ending.”

“You wanted honesty.”

“I did.”

She reached over and stopped the recorder.

“All right. We’re done.”

Gray immediately checked the clock.

“Forty-eight minutes.”

“You survived.”

“We agreed on thirty-five.”

“You answered follow-up questions.”

“That sounds like blaming the victim.”

Lyra laughed.

Celia stood.

Daren lifted his camera.

Gray saw it.

“No.”

“One photo.”

“No.”

“We need a portrait.”

“You have a description.”

“That isn’t a portrait.”

Gray looked at Lyra.

She said, “One picture.”

“You’re supposed to protect me.”

“From actual problems.”

“This is one.”

Daren positioned him near the window.

Gray refused to pose.

Daren told him not to.

That helped.

Chatot flew down onto his shoulder.

Gray looked toward the camera.

At the exact moment the shutter clicked, Chatot bit his ear.

Gray jerked sideways.

Daren looked at the camera screen.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“No.”

“That’s the one.”

“Delete it.”

“Absolutely not.”

Gray glared at him.

Celia laughed.

Lyra laughed harder.

Chatot shouted, “Damn right!”

Gray decided journalism was a terrible profession.

The article appeared Saturday.

Lyra printed it and left it on his desk before he arrived.

Gray found it beside his coffee.

The headline read:

SINNOH’S NEW PROFESSOR IS VERY COMFORTABLE SAYING “I DON’T KNOW”

Gray stood there for a moment.

Then sat.

That was not what he had expected.

He read.

The profile was longer than he thought it would be. Celia had written about his age, his field experience, his competitive past, and the strange path that had brought him to Rowan’s old laboratory.

She described him as blunt but not dismissive, skeptical of certainty, unusually relaxed about being corrected, and visibly more animated when discussing Pokémon welfare than his own career.

Gray frowned at that.

Accurate, probably.

Still rude.

She included the quote about being wrong.

She included the forty-million-Pokédollar fossil wing.

She included his complaint about ten-year-old trainers.

She included the Magikarp.

All thirty-one.

Gray laughed.

Lyra appeared in the doorway.

“You found it.”

“She printed the pond.”

“Of course she did.”

“She included the Gyarados.”

“Of course she did.”

Gray turned the page.

There was the photograph.

Chatot's beak was clamped around his ear.

Gray looked furious.

Chatot looked ecstatic.

Underneath it:

Professor Gray Linden and longtime partner Chatot at the Sandgem Laboratory.

Gray stared at it.

Lyra leaned against the door frame.

“Well?”

“It’s terrible.”

“You like it.”

“No.”

“You’ve been smiling for two minutes.”

Gray folded the newspaper.

“I like the article.”

“That’s different?”

“Yes.”

“Of course.”

He set it on the desk.

Then, after Lyra left, he moved it to the bookshelf.

Not prominently.

That would be ridiculous.

Just somewhere safe.

By the end of the week, the laboratory had begun to feel less like something Gray had inherited and more like somewhere he actually worked.

Marcus arrived early and usually disappeared toward the ranch before anyone else had finished coffee. Elias stayed late whenever he was cataloguing something and had begun clipping his keycard inside his shirt after Chatot's theft. Mira listened to music while processing samples and had already started correcting several of the old ecological records. Tessa spent more time with the Pokémon than the staff and had somehow convinced one of Gray’s elderly Marowak to let her examine a damaged claw Gray had been unsuccessfully monitoring for months.

Lyra arrived every morning with a schedule.

Gray ignored roughly a third of it.

This was apparently considered progress.

He learned which laboratory door stuck when the weather became damp, which storage cabinets had warped hinges, and which coffee machine needed to be struck once on the left side before it would function properly.

The western ranch fence needed replacement.

Two environmental sensors needed recalibration.

One storage room contained several decades of obsolete equipment.

Gray discovered a box of ancient charging cables that appeared to connect to no known device still manufactured on the continent.

He kept them.

Lyra asked why.

“Archaeology.”

“They’re fifteen years old.”

“Everything becomes archaeology eventually.”

She refused to argue with that.

The Pokémon settled faster than the people.

Bastiodon claimed the area near the house.

Kangaskhan preferred the shade.

Donphan developed an interest in rearranging equipment left near the barn.

Aggron attempted to lick every staff member at least once.

Marcus hated this.

Mira tolerated it.

Elias began carrying a towel.

Tessa simply pushed Aggron’s head away and told him he was obnoxious.

Aggron adored her.

Chatot stole six objects over the course of the week.

Four were recovered.

Nobody knew what happened to the other two.

Number Seventeen remained an asshole.

The two unexplained Magikarp remained unexplained.

Gray checked them every day.

They behaved exactly like ordinary Magikarp.

This was disappointing.

Sunday evening came quietly.

The lab closed early.

Marcus left first. Then Mira. Tessa stayed long enough to check one of the younger Pokémon. Elias finally stopped cataloguing after Lyra threatened to shut the lights off on him.

Lyra remained another twenty minutes because Gray had forgotten to sign something.

Naturally.

Then she left too.

For the first time all week, the laboratory was empty.

Gray stood in the main research room and listened to the machines hum.

No voices.

No phones.

No one calling “Professor Linden” from another room.

Just equipment.

Sunlight.

The faint sound of Pokémon outside.

He walked through the building without any particular purpose.

Past the fossil room.

Past the sample storage.

Past the medical wing.

Past the staff workstations.

His staff.

That was strange.

He went outside.

Bastiodon was lying near the house.

Gray crossed the grass and sat beside him.

The old Pokémon shifted enough that Gray could lean against his side.

Chatot was asleep on the porch railing.

Aggron was somewhere behind the house, making slow metallic noises while moving around.

From the pond came a splash.

Gray didn't look.

Probably Seventeen.

He rested his head against Bastiodon's armor.

“One week.”

Bastiodon rumbled.

“Yeah.”

Gray looked toward the laboratory.

He had been Professor Linden for seven days.

Nobody had died.

The League had not fired him.

The laboratory had not burned down.

He had assigned one starter Pokémon.

Given one interview.

Completed what Lyra called “an acceptable percentage” of his administrative duties.

Gray still objected to the phrase.

He scratched beneath Bastiodon's jaw.

“This is weird.”

The old Pokémon rumbled.

“I know.”

Another sound.

Gray smiled.

“No. I think I like it.”

Bastiodon closed his eyes.

Gray stayed there.

Tomorrow would bring another schedule, more calls, more forms, more trainer requests, and probably some new disaster created by Chatot.

That was fine.

The research was here.

His Pokémon were here.

The staff seemed competent.

The ranch was quiet in the evenings.

He could work with that.

For once, there was nothing urgently demanding an answer.

Gray let his eyes close.

That was nice too.