In the blink of an eye, it was opening day for the entertainment complex.
As the entertainment complex's boss, Guzma actually squeezed into a suit for once, though it clearly didn't fit his vibe.
Even in formal wear, Guzma's face still looked vicious and hard to approach, radiating that thick thug aura.
Yeah, that's probably not changing in this lifetime.
Day one of the entertainment complex was, unsurprisingly, packed. The whole street was jammed with people.
Thanks to the well-greased newspapers these past few days, coverage of the entertainment complex and Guzma had flooded all of Alola.
The effect was obvious. Tons of people were curious about the former Alola top dog Guzma switching careers.
Also curious whether the folks happily going in on opening day would stagger out in tears with their clothes a mess.
Well, that's the reputation Guzma had in Alola.
The ribbon-cutting went off without a hitch. Guzma grinned wide, thrilled.
Huh, pretty easy. Big bad me can handle this, no sweat!
"Hahaha—come support us often, folks! Our Arceus Entertainment Complex is hands-down the most fun in the world."
Guzma laughed to the reporters in front of him, with quite a few old acquaintances mixed in.
Like his former mentor Hala—and that annoying Kukui. Their complicated, shocked expressions made Guzma feel amazing.
That's right—just like this!
Big bad me said it long ago: one day I'll make everyone look up to me!
And today is just the beginning.
Guzma was riding high, but…
"Sir Guzma, we all know you used to lead Team Skull. Why the sudden jump to opening an entertainment complex?" a reporter asked.
At that, the other reporters stared at their colleague in shock and reluctant admiration. Damn—this guy's not afraid of death?
Guzma's face immediately soured. He fixed the reporter with a vicious stare. The reporter felt a chill down his spine, like a beast was sizing him up, and swallowed hard on instinct.
But he didn't back down. He would stand up to the big bad!
"Sir Guzma, could you answer?"
The reporter pressed on.
"Heh heh…" Guzma looked at him and let out a low chuckle.
"'Leader of Team Skull'? Team Skull's already been disbanded by me. I opened this entertainment complex as a private citizen."
His assistant had drilled that talking point before opening day.
"Then where'd the money come from? Did you use the cash Team Skull robbed before?" the reporter pushed.
"From a friend. None of your business."
Guzma was getting impatient.
"But in the past, you—"
"No buts. Who in Alola doesn't know big bad me is a helpful, upstanding guy? I've always been a law-abiding citizen."
Guzma waved him off, cutting him short, voice loud and forceful.
"Huh?" The reporter was dumbfounded.
"Sir Guzma, do you remember me?"
The reporter pointed to himself and asked.
"You little—who are you supposed to be?"
Guzma glared at this troublemaker. He almost swore, but swallowed it back. He was civilized now.
He'd already decided that once the ceremony ended, he'd give this guy a proper lesson.
If that punk wasn't laid up in the hospital for a week, Guzma would write his own name backward.
"Half a year ago, I accidentally bumped into you. You punched me several times."
The reporter dredged up his sad story, getting more aggrieved the more he spoke. He'd been about to apologize, but Guzma's fist landed first.
"You knocked out two of my teeth."
"…"
Guzma thought hard, trying to remember—nope, nothing.
He'd bullied plenty of people, and besides, this kid had bumped into him.
"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"
Guzma slashed a big hand through the air, resolute, his voice booming.
"There's no way that happened. Punk, what's your angle spreading lies here?"
Guzma glared him down.
"Who doesn't know what kind of man I am? From the day I was born, I've been Alola's most honest citizen—and you dare smear big bad me!"
"???" The reporter was stunned. "You…"
"Shut it! Punk, I can tell at a glance you're trouble. Someone pay you to stir things up? Security! Where's security? Get this guy outta here!"
"Wait! You've got it wrong! Sir Guzma, how can you—mmph!"
Two burly guards strode over, hauled the reporter away, and clapped a hand over his mouth as he kept "crying injustice."
That scene…
The nearby reporters felt their mouths go dry, and their urge to probe died down nicely.
Reporting matters—but personal safety matters more, right?
"Guzma, this guy…"
In the corner, Damian watched Guzma on stage, amused.
"Forget it. As long as nothing major blows up, we're fine."
They were just borrowing Guzma's name to juice opening-day foot traffic anyway—and it was working perfectly.
"Damian, I don't think Sir Guzma's suited to managing the entertainment complex long-term."
Beside Damian, Caitlin, in a white ladies' hat, put it gently.
"Yeah, it's fine. Once the launch phase passes, I'll have someone take over. Then Guzma can just be a figurehead."
Damian knew. Guzma had zero management talent, and his personality wasn't a fit.
"Let's go." Damian led Caitlin away from the scene.
"Caitlin, how've you been feeling lately?"
Strolling down the street, Damian smiled at her.
"Fulfilled," Caitlin answered with a soft, warm smile. "Much richer than my old life. I like it a lot."
So what did her days look like now?
In the morning, she led a team of Team Rocket members to clear a hunter organization stronghold—two if time allowed.
In the afternoon, she contacted Proton or Guzma for special training spars. If both were busy, she found Damian, and he'd train with her.
Honestly, though, Caitlin didn't really want to spar with Damian. His battle style…
How to put it? She couldn't quite describe it.
But emotions don't lie. She could lose to Proton and Guzma ten times and her Psychic wouldn't stir—spar Damian once, and her eyes started flashing blue.
To that, Damian said it was all for her own good. It was training her mind.