Exactly two hours later, the door hissed open.
Anne was the first to emerge, and the atmosphere in the war room seemed to shift instantly. The chaotic, windswept look was gone, replaced by elegance. Her long pink hair had been transformed into a textured wolf cut, with bold streaks of black weaving through the layers.
She walked with a newfound, self-conscious grace, wearing Elias's old leather jacket—now cleaned and tailored to fit her frame—draped over a simple white shirt. A flowing pink maxi skirt billowed around her legs, enough to cover her tactical boots, but not enough to get in her way. A brown leather sling bag hung across her chest.
Then, Elias stepped out.
His unruly white hair had been tamed into a sharp, clean two-block style, emphasizing the angular, stoic lines of his face. A new pair of rimless glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. He wore a compressed black long-sleeve shirt, covered by a tactical black vest. Black cargo pants, reinforced at the knees, led down to combat boots. His pokeballs clipped on his belt.
Martin walked forward, his eyes traveling over his two Elite Operatives.
"Perfect. Looked exactly like what I imagined." He whispered. "Now, as for your mission, you are to go back to Talroc City. The League is there, the press is there, waiting for the statement of the Novice Clash Champion. Although, I don't know why would they to such lengths for a simple capture of a Team Rocket Admin."
***
Talroc City, Central Plaza...
The city was a sea of light. Massive holoscreens projected Elias's face, and news vans with massive satellite dishes lined the streets.
A hush fell over the crowd as a black car pulled up to the security perimeter. But it wasn't Elias. The man who came out is far more important than him.
Caesar stepped out, his violet eyes scanned the crowd with a restless intensity that bordered on desperation. He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He walked straight to the podium, his presence commanding a sudden, heavy silence.
"I know why you are all here." Caesar began, his voice amplified by the city's speakers. "You are here for the boy who did what the League has struggled to do for a decade. You are here for Elias."
He gripped the edges of the podium, his knuckles turning white.
"I am here for him too."
***
Talroc City Outskirts...
Elias and Anne just landed on the outskirt of the city. A Senior Operative saluted to them before flying away.
Anne looked over at Elias. She reached out, her fingers brushing the sleeve of the jacket he'd given her.
"The glasses look good on you." She whispered, her voice barely audible.
"You look beautiful too, Anne." Elias replied, adjusting his rimless frames.
The compliment hung in the air, unexpected and soft. Anne's breath hitched, her fingers lingering a second too long on his sleeve before she pulled them back, her face turning a shade of pink that rivaled her hair.
"L-Let's go..." She muttered, adjusting her sling bag to hide her flustered expression.
They began the walk into the city. Avoiding the main highways, they moved through the secondary streets where the industrial grit of Talroc's famous factories met the lawns of the residential districts. With their new attire, they looked less like grunts and more like two travelers.
As they crossed the bridge into the city center, the atmosphere changed. The air was electric, humming with the noise of thousands of people. High above, the holographic screens flickered with the image of the rocky plains, looping the moment Archer was led away in handcuffs.
"They've turned you into a saint, Elias." Anne whispered, looking up at a screen. "It's a long way to fall if they find out who you work for."
They reached the edge of the Central Plaza. The crowd was a dense, vibrating mass of humanity, held back by shimmering blue energy barriers and rows of League Rangers.
Initially, no one noticed them. Elias and Anne stood at the back of the throng, two faces among many. To the people nearby, Elias was just a sharp-looking young man in glasses. The rimless frames and the clean haircut had altered his silhouette enough to provide a layer of anonymity in the fading evening light.
But high above the crowd, where the podium stood, Caesar stopped mid-sentence.
His eyes, which had been scanning the horizon with authority, suddenly locked onto a single point in the distance.
His gaze found Elias.
A profound sadness filled his eyes, a mourning so deep it seemed to pull at the very air around him.
"It seems like our star is here." He simply said, stepping off the podium.
The moment Caesar spoke those words, the collective gaze of the thousands gathered in the plaza shifted.
A group of teenagers standing near Elias was the first to realize. One girl gasped, pointing a shaking finger.
"It's him! That's Elias!"
The anonymity shattered. The crowd, previously a solid wall of bodies, began to broke with excitement. Flashbulbs erupted like a storm of lightning, the glare bouncing off Elias's rimless glasses.
Elias remained still, though his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He watched Caesar descending the marble stairs of the dais. Every time their eyes met, that same, inexplicable grief radiated from the Champion. Elias felt a flicker of genuine confusion. He didn't know this man, yet Caesar looked at him with the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies.
A League Ranger, a tall man in a navy-and-gold uniform, pushed through the throng, placing himself between the crowd and the pair. He offered a crisp salute.
"Elias, and trainer Anne." The Ranger said, his voice carrying a note of deep respect. "Please, follow me. We'll escort you to the podium."
Anne stepped closer to Elias.
"This is a lot of eyes, Elias." She whispered.
As they began to walk, the Ranger cleared a path. The walk to the podium felt like a march.
Elias looked at the stage ahead. Caesar stood at the base of the stairs, waiting. Up close, the Champion was even more imposing—and the sadness in his eyes even more jarring.
"You've caused quite a stir." Caesar said as Elias reached the bottom step. His voice was low, meant only for Elias and Anne. "Catching a Team Rocket Admin is a big deal for every region in the world. Now that an important member is in our custody... everyone wanted to meet you."
Caesar gestured toward the top of the stairs, where a League Manager in a sharp pinstripe suit was already tapping the microphone, eager to capitalize on the momentum of the moment.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Citizens of Adele! The wait is over! Please welcome the pride of Metrolink, our very own Novice Clash Champion—Elias!"
The roar that followed was a wall of sound that vibrated in Elias's chest. He began to ascend the marble steps. Anne followed a few steps behind, her eyes darting through the crowd.
As Elias reached the summit and stepped behind the podium, the world seemed to expand. From this height, the Central Plaza was a kaleidoscope of faces. He adjusted his glasses, the clear lenses reflecting the sea of flashbulbs.
But then, his gaze sharpened.
Near the front of the security barrier, he saw Ellen. She was leaning against a railing, her Rotom Dex floating erratically around her head.
Farther back, standing atop a stone planter with a chillingly calm posture, was Faith.
And then, leaning against a lamp post in the shadows, he saw Rein.
The crowd's cheering began to taper off into an expectant, heavy silence. Thousands of people held their breath, waiting for the first words from the boy who had humbled an Admin.
Elias leaned into the microphone, his hands gripping the edges of the podium just as Caesar's had. Before he could speak, a single hand shot up from the very front of the press pen.
A journalist, her eyes bright with the hunger for a career-defining quote, didn't wait to be called on.
"Trainer Elias!" She called out, her voice piercing the quiet. "The International Police report says you engaged a Mega-Evolved Tyranitar with nothing but 'unconventional tactics.' But Archer claims you knew exactly where he would be."
She leaned forward, the microphone in her hand shaking slightly.
"Tell us, Elias—how did a Novice Champion manage to track an invisible ghost like Team Rocket when the entire League Council couldn't find their trail for years? Was it luck... or do you have a connection to the underworld that we don't know about?"
The question was a poisoned arrow, and it sent a ripple of shocked murmurs through the crowd.
Behind Elias, Caesar stiffened, his eyes flashing with a sudden, protective anger. Anne's posture went rigid, her fingers twitching. Elias, however, remained perfectly still. He looked down at the journalist, the light of the holoscreens turning his eyes into cold, silver discs.
"I didn't know where Archer would be." He began, his voice calm. "I am not a psychic, nor am I an informant. What I am is someone who pays attention."
He adjusted his glasses.
"I knew Team Rocket was in Scrapyard City. It wasn't a secret kept in the underworld; it was a reality written in the fear of the local trainers. I saw the signs that the League Council apparently overlooked—or perhaps, chose to ignore."
A collective intake of breath swept through the crowd. Beside the podium, Caesar's eyes widened, his hand gripping the railing. Elias was publicly criticizing the very institution that was trying to claim him as their poster boy.
"The Pokemon League and the International Police have their protocols. They weigh the political cost of a full-scale war. They calculate the 'acceptable' level of collateral damage before they decide to move their pieces."
He leaned closer to the mic, his voice dropping an octave, becoming colder.
"I don't have a Council to answer to. I saw a threat that was being allowed to fester because it was 'too complicated' to engage. So, I acted. That's my answer."
The crowd remained paralyzed in a state of collective shock.
The silence was broken by a different voice this time—a veteran reporter from the Adele Daily, a man whose hair was as grey as the skyscrapers surrounding the plaza.
"A bold statement." The reporter said, his voice echoing through the stillness. "But actions like yours don't come from simple observation. They come from a deep-seated conviction. Most trainers start their journey for glory, or to fill a Pokedex."
He adjusted his recorder.
"Tell us, Elias—what urged you to become a pokemon trainer?"
"I didn't choose to become a trainer because of a dream. I became one because I realized that in this world, those without power are merely observers of their own misfortune. They wait for a League that is too slow, or a law that is too flexible."
He looked at Caesar, whose violet eyes were still shimmering with that haunting, inexplicable grief.
"My conviction is simple: The cycle of conflict in this region—between syndicates, between trainers, between the strong and the weak—it is a choice. We choose to struggle because we don't know how to exist in silence."
"I don't seek glory. I seek an end to the necessity of the fight. If that requires power, then I will hold it. If it requires acting while others hesitated, then I will act."
The answer was chilling in its precision. It sounded like peace, but it felt like a warning.
Behind him, Anne felt a cold shiver. She recognized those words. They were the core philosophy of Team Xycle, dressed in the respectable clothing of a Champion's speech. Elias was telling the world exactly what he was going to do, and they were too busy admiring his "heroism" to hear the threat.
Caesar stepped forward, finally finding his voice, though it sounded fractured.
"An... an ambitious goal, Elias. A world without conflict is what we all strive for." He looked at the cameras, trying to bridge the gap Elias was widening. "But remember, it is the bonds we form in that struggle—"
A hand shot up from the middle of the crowd. It wasn't a reporter's hand. It was gloved in black silk, and the woman attached to it stood with an elegance that made the air around her feel heavy. She wore a high-collared red suit, her vibrant red hair styled in a sharp, sweeping wave.
"Bonds? How poetic, Caesar Monarch." The woman called out, her voice dripping with a melodic, dangerous honey.
She didn't wait to be acknowledged. She stepped over the security barrier as if it weren't there, the League Rangers frozen by her sheer audacity. She looked up at Elias, her eyes flashing with a cold, predatory light.
"I am Ariana." She announced. "And I find your speech fascinating, Elias. You talk about power and silence... but I have to ask. Why did you decide to play with Team Rocket? Did you think Archer was the extent of our reach?"
The plaza went deathly quiet. The name Ariana sent a ripple of terror through the older members of the press. This was a Rocket Admin—one of the four pillars of the organization.
"Don't bother answering." Ariana said, her smile widening. "I didn't come for an interview. I came for a fight."
She snapped her fingers.
The civilians in the crowd—men in business suits, teenagers in hoodies, even some of the street vendors—suddenly reached into their clothes. In a synchronized motion, they tore off their outer layers to reveal the black uniforms and crimson 'R' emblazoned on their chests.
"Rocket!" A voice shrieked.
The screaming began instantly. From every alleyway and luxury storefront surrounding the plaza, dozens of Team Rocket Grunts poured out, forming a black ring around the central podium.
"League Rangers, battle positions!" The Manager screamed, but the Rangers were already being overwhelmed by the number of Rocket members emerging from the shadows.
Ariana looked back up at the podium, her gaze skipping over Caesar to land squarely on Elias.
"Two champions in one night?" Ariana taunted, her Arbok materializing beside her, its hood flared. "Let's see if you can protect this people."