The warm glow and the scent of expensive coffee from The Cerulean Summit were left behind, quickly replaced by the smell of wet trash and stagnation.
Enzo was now walking through the backstreets of Cerulean, far from the prying eyes of tourists and police patrols. The contrast was brutal. The "City of Water" had its dark side, and that was exactly where Enzo was heading. He needed an isolated spot, a blind spot in the surveillance grid, so Porygon2 could execute the teleport to the base without raising suspicion.
He turned a tight corner, entering a narrow, dimly lit alley. The sounds of the city died away, muffled by the high brick walls.
That was when he felt it.
It wasn't a sound, nor a movement. It was that electric sensation at the base of his skull, that primal instinct that the last few weeks of hell in Team Rocket had carved into his bones.
Someone is watching me.
Enzo didn't stop walking, but his body went tense as a coiled spring.
Without making a single sudden movement, his hand slid to his belt. In a fluid, rapid motion, he grabbed the Poké Ball of Zorua, who was trotting happily by his side.
"Return," he whispered.
The red beam hit the small fox, pulling him into the safety of the capsule before he could even protest. Zorua was strong, but he was still small and fragile in a surprise attack.
«Porygon2, prepare an emergency exit. Random coordinates. Now,» Enzo ordered mentally, activating the neural link with his TR device.
At the same time, he focused on his own shadow, which seemed denser than normal under the faint moonlight.
«Haunter, attack position. On my signal.»
He felt the ghost's familiar chill vibrate in response.
Enzo stopped in the middle of the alley. He didn't turn around. He stood motionless, waiting.
"You can come out," he said to the void, his voice cold and controlled. "I know you're there."
Silence stretched for a second.
Then, there was a soft vwoop of displaced air.
A black silhouette leaped from the roof of the building to his right, landing on the pavement in front of him with supernatural silence. Not a sound of boots, not a speck of dust raised.
Enzo took a half-step back, his hand hovering over Houndoom's Poké Ball.
"Who are you?" he snarled, his red eyes trying to pierce the darkness.
The figure didn't attack. Instead, a laugh echoed through the alley. A soft, cultured, and annoyingly arrogant laugh.
The figure straightened up and took a step forward, entering a beam of moonlight that sliced through the darkness of the alley.
"Easy, Rookie. You're too tense."
It was Executive Nero.
He was leaning against the dirty brick wall with the casual air of someone at a gala, flicking an imaginary speck of dust off the lapel of his immaculate black suit. His silver hair shone in the moonlight, and the smile on his face was one of pure amusement.
"I thought you had better nerves than this," Nero teased, crossing his arms.
Enzo let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. The lethal tension in his shoulders evaporated, replaced by a weary annoyance. He moved his hand away from his belt.
"Executive Nero," Enzo said flatly. "Was the theatrical entrance really necessary?"
"Appearances are everything, Enzo. You should know that by now," Nero replied with a grin, finally satisfied with the state of his suit. "I have been working so hard in the shadows, dealing with... unpleasant realities. I decided to take a break and see how my favorite protégé was doing."
Nero's eyes glinted with mischief.
"And imagine my surprise when I find you. Not training, not plotting, but enjoying a lovely sunset date with an Officer Jenny."
Enzo didn't blush. He didn't stutter. He didn't even look away. He simply adjusted his leather jacket, his expression colder than ice.
"It wasn't a date. It was fieldwork," Enzo lied smoothly, though the truth was a mix of both. "Having a direct personal connection inside the Jenny Clan is a strategic asset. If I want to operate in this city without looking over my shoulder every five minutes, I need eyes on their surveillance grid."
Nero stared at him for a moment, then let out a low, appreciative whistle.
"Cold. Calculated. I like it," Nero nodded approvingly. "You are right, of course. Connections within the Jenny Clan are good."
Nero took a step closer, his tone becoming conversational, almost like they were old friends catching up.
"It is funny, though," Nero mused, looking up at the slice of night sky visible between the buildings. "That you went out with that specific girl. I actually knew her grandmother."
Enzo raised an eyebrow. "You knew her grandmother?"
"Oh, yes," Nero smiled, a nostalgic look crossing his sharp features. "Back in the day... she was a real stunner. But she wasn't just a pretty face; she was High Command. One of the most important Jennys in Kanto's history. And from what I hear, her daughter is no joke either."
"Is that so?" Enzo asked, a suspicion forming in his mind. "What was her name?"
Nero looked at him, his smile widening.
"Lilian."
Enzo blinked. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Enzo thought, amused. It really is a grandmother's name.
He shook his head slightly. The irony was perfect. He had mocked the girl for her 'old-fashioned' name, only to find out it belonged to a high-ranking officer that even a Team Rocket Executive remembered fondly.
"Destiny has a strange sense of humor," Enzo muttered to himself.
"It certainly does," Nero agreed, though he was referring to something else entirely.
The amusement vanished from Nero's face as quickly as it had appeared. The playfulness in his eyes hardened into cold steel, and he took a step closer, invading Enzo's personal space. The temperature in the alley seemed to drop.
"Playtime is over," Nero said, his voice low. "We know what protects the Island."
Enzo straightened, his full attention snapping to the Executive.
"Talk to me," Enzo said.
"Five Minor Legendaries," Nero revealed, watching Enzo's reaction closely. "But these aren't just wild wanderers. Their power levels are absurd. They are guarding something... or someone."
Enzo's eyes narrowed. Five Minor Legendaries. That was enough firepower to level a small city.
"We need that distraction, Enzo," Nero pressed, his tone urgent. "If you don't come up with something creative soon, we are going to move forward with Plan Beedrill."
Enzo grimaced. "Plan Beedrill? You mean unleashing thousands of agitated Beedrills into the city center? That's not a distraction; that's a massacre. It's brute force."
"It's effective chaos," Nero countered. "Unless you have something better."
"I'm working on it," Enzo stated firmly. "It will be cleaner. And smarter. Just give me a little more time."
Nero studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. But don't take too long."
The Executive turned to leave, his silhouette beginning to merge with the shadows of the alley wall.
"Executive Nero," Enzo called out.
Nero stopped, looking back over his shoulder.
Enzo hesitated for a fraction of a second. This wasn't his place. He was a grunt compared to Nero. But the feeling he had gotten earlier... he couldn't ignore it.
"When you are with the other Squad Leader..." Enzo said, his voice grave. "Do not lower your guard."
Nero blinked, then threw his head back and laughed. It was a sharp, incredulous sound.
"Kid, do you know who I am?" Nero scoffed, spreading his arms. "I am a Rocket Executive. I eat Squad Leaders for breakfast."
"I know," Enzo interrupted, stepping forward, his red eyes burning with intensity. "And I am asking you anyway."
The laughter died in Nero's throat.
"I felt something in him," Enzo continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried the weight of a warning. "Something... very dark. Not just 'criminal' dark. It felt like he had made contact with something malignant. Something abyssal. That is not normal human energy."
Nero looked at Enzo. He searched for any sign of a joke, but found only absolute seriousness. The Executive's arrogant mask slipped for just a moment, revealing a flicker of genuine calculation.
"Abyssal, hmm?" Nero murmured. He adjusted his cuff, regaining his composure, but the dismissal was gone from his eyes. "Rest assured, Enzo. I can handle myself."
He stepped fully into the shadows, his form becoming translucent.
"Just make sure you have that plan ready," Nero's voice echoed from the darkness, lighter now, but with an edge. "Or the only 'malignant being' you'll have to worry about is me."
The shadows swirled, and Nero was almost gone.
"Oh, and good luck tomorrow," the disembodied voice taunted one last time. "No pressure... but if you screw up and lose in the first round, Surge will kill you himself. Hahaha."
And then, the alley was silent again. Enzo was alone.
As soon as Nero's presence completely dissipated into the shadows, the adrenaline that had been keeping Enzo upright evaporated.
What remained was pain.
It wasn't gradual. It was a sudden, violent spike, as if someone had driven an ice pick into the base of his skull. Enzo grabbed his head, gritting his teeth. Maybe it was the accumulated stress, maybe it was the residual effect of being near someone like Nero, or maybe it was a physical premonition of the danger he had just described.
"Urgh..." he groaned, leaning against the dirty alley wall.
He couldn't stand for another second.
"Porygon2," he commanded, his voice raspy. "Take us to base."
The device in his pocket vibrated. The air around him distorted, blue pixels enveloped his body, and in the blink of an eye, the smell of alley trash was replaced by the stale, dusty air of the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city.
Enzo materialized in the center of the vast, hollow space.
The warehouse was silent, save for the wind rattling the corrugated metal roof high above and the rhythmic sound of fingers tapping on a screen.
At a makeshift desk set up on top of two industrial crates, Proton was still awake. The cruel Administrator was surrounded by stacks of paperwork and three active tablets, the blue light of the screens illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
He didn't even look up when Enzo appeared.
"You're late," Proton commented, his voice echoing slightly in the empty building.
Enzo ignored the jab, walking with heavy steps across the concrete floor. He felt his head throbbing with every beat of his heart.
"The report," Enzo requested, extending a hand.
Proton stopped typing. He picked up one of the tablets and slid it across the metal surface until it stopped in front of Enzo.
"It's all there," Proton said, his tone efficient and devoid of emotion. "Egg productivity at 95%. We had three births. Good specimens."
Enzo looked at the screen, but the letters danced before his red eyes.
"And the... acquisitions?" Enzo asked.
"Handled," Proton replied with a thin, greedy smile. "We swept the Black Market and two local pet shops."
He tapped the screen, opening an inventory list.
[ DAILY ACQUISITIONS - TYPE: FAIRY ]
12x Clefairy (Adults) 08x Jigglypuff (Young) 05x Snubbull
Today, he just nodded, too tired to care about the money.
He turned off the tablet screen.
"Good work, Proton," Enzo murmured, dropping the device on the table. "I'm not checking the numbers now. My head feels like it's going to explode."
Proton looked at him, analyzing the pallor of the boy's face.
"Go to sleep," the Administrator advised, returning to his papers. "You need to be at your peak tomorrow. If you pass out in the arena, we are dead."
Enzo let out a weak laugh and dragged himself toward the back of the warehouse.
He entered the tent, he peeled off the heavy leather jacket and threw it onto a rusted filing cabinet. He didn't even bother taking off his boots before letting himself fall onto the cot.
The mattress was lumpy, but in that moment, it felt like a cloud.
Tomorrow was the day. Tomorrow, the world would know who he was.
Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, hitting Enzo's face like a spotlight.
He woke up instantly. No grogginess, no hesitation. The headache was gone, replaced by a sharp, cold focus.
He dressed in silence.
When he walked out onto the main warehouse floor, Proton and Ronnie were already gearing up near the loading bay doors.
"Morning, Boss," Ronnie grinned, checking the magazine of a net-launcher. "We're heading out. Gonna see if we can snag some wild Clefairies near Mt. Moon while everyone is distracted with your little show."
"Good luck," Proton added, not looking up from his map of the region.
"Just have the champagne ready," Enzo replied calmly.
He walked out of the warehouse and into the bright morning of Cerulean City.
The scene at the Cerulean Gym was absolute chaos.
It looked less like a sporting event and more like a music festival. Giant screens were mounted on the exterior walls, broadcasting pre-show analysis. A blimp with the Pokémon League logo floated lazily in the blue sky above.
The entrance was swarmed. There were hundreds of people—excited fans with face paint, nervous parents, and a shark tank of reporters and cameramen looking for the next big star.
Security was tight. Dozens of police officers were creating a perimeter, checking bags and IDs.
Enzo spotted her immediately.
Lilian was standing near the VIP entrance. She was back in her full Officer Jenny uniform, her hair tucked under the official cap, her expression serious and professional as she directed a group of confused tourists. She didn't look like the girl who had blushed over coffee the night before. She looked like the Law.
She scanned the crowd, her gaze sweeping over the sea of faces. Then, her eyes landed on Enzo.
For a split second, the professional mask cracked. Her eyes narrowed into a sharp glare, flashing with the memory of the three-thousand-dollar receipt he had stuck her with last night. She was definitely still pissed.
Enzo noticed the glare. He didn't look away. Instead, he shot her a quick, cheeky wink from under the brim of his cap.
Lilian's jaw tightened visibly. She looked like she wanted to march over there and arrest him for "Grand Theft Coffee," but she took a sharp breath, forced her composure back, and turned stiffly away to check a tourist's ID.
Enzo smirked, appreciating the self-control.
He adjusted his collar and walked toward the "Rookie Entrance."
Other participants were walking in ahead of him. Rich kids with shiny new Poké Balls, sponsored trainers with corporate logos on their tracksuits, nervous teenagers clutching their starter Pokémon. They looked soft. They looked like they were playing a game.
Enzo stepped into the line. The murmurs started almost immediately.
His look was too aggressive, too dark for the colorful, happy atmosphere of the League. The chains on his jeans jingled with every heavy step of his boots. Zorua materialized on his left shoulder, letting out a small, sharp bark that made a nearby Oddish shiver in fear.
A camera crew near the door turned their lens toward him. The red recording light blinked on.
Enzo didn't shy away. He looked directly into the lens, his red eyes glinting under the shadow of his cap. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
"Let's make history," he whispered to Zorua.
And with a firm step, he entered the darkness of the tunnel leading to the arena, ready to shock the world.
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