Mauville City began to notice Enzo, slowly at first.
A woman selling cold drinks beneath a striped awning cast him a single, measuring look. Then she looked away, paused, and looked back with that hesitation people wear when a face from a screen steps into life and refuses to stay flat. A pair of teenagers by a vending machine halted mid-conversation. One of them narrowed his eyes, stared a beat too long, and tugged his friend's sleeve.
Enzo kept his phone tucked away and stood beside the department store as though he had nowhere to hurry. He had just finished talking with Steven, and the instruction had been simple enough: stay put. Do not wander. Someone would come for him. The simple instruction felt like a trap, because remaining still gave the city time to recognize him.
The drink stall woman leaned toward her neighbor and whispered. The teenagers stopped pretending not to stare. Across the street, a girl in a school uniform slowed, her eyes shifting from Enzo's face to his hair and back again. Recognition sparked there, bright and clear.
"That's him," she breathed.
The sentence was quiet, but Mauville was a city of motion, and motion carried sound. Cyclists braided through pedestrians, Devon workers crossed from storefront to storefront, trainers drifted with Poké Balls at their belts and bags heavy with dreams. That single sentence threaded through the street like a stone dropped into water.
A phone lifted. Then another. Someone spoke his name. "Enzo Vance."
The reaction arrived in layers. A man in a Devon work jacket spun around so quickly that the person behind him nearly walked into him. Two girls at a shop window began whispering in a rush, their words blurring.
A group of younger trainers halted on the sidewalk, one already opening a social app, thumb moving with urgent appetite.
"Oh my god, it's really him."
"He actually came to Hoenn."
"He said he would come."
"Is he going after Team Aqua?"
"He beat Steven Stone, right?"
"He's smaller than I thought."
Enzo allowed his expression to soften. A boy, maybe thirteen, approached first, clutching a Poké Ball with both hands as if it might break. His voice nearly failed before the first word.
"Mr. Vance, could you… Could you sign this?"
Enzo looked at the ball, then back at the boy. "Your partner?"
The boy nodded too quickly. "My Taillow. I mean, it's not strong yet, but I'm training it, and—"
"Then it's better if I don't let the signature cover the button," Enzo said, taking the marker that someone had already passed forward..
The boy blinked, then handled the ball more carefully. Enzo signed the lower curve, away from the mechanism, and handed it back before the boy's excitement turned embarrassing. "Train it well."
The boy looked as if he'd been given something sacred. Then the hesitation cracked.
A notebook appeared. A cheap tournament poster with Enzo's face printed from a media shot he hadn't remembered approving. A sleeve offered for a jacket. A girl asked for a photo and nearly cried when Enzo nodded. An older woman thanked him for what he had done in Pallet Town.
Enzo signed, smiled when needed, and let himself become a surface.
Underneath, he counted problems. Too many phones. Too many angles. Too many mouths. The crowd wasn't hostile, but a friendly throng could trap a man if he let them finish forming. At the edge of the gathering, near a news kiosk, a man with a camera bag began to jog toward them. A woman in a pressed jacket spoke urgently into her phone while watching Enzo.
Journalists. Fame was useful armor, but armor still bore weight.
A black van turned the corner, moving with the quiet certainty of expensive machinery. It stopped at the curb. The Devon Corporation emblem on its front plate drew quick, knowing glances from the crowd. Two men emerged in dark suits with earpieces and small Devon pins. They did not look like guards attempting intimidation. They looked like professionals whose job was to make obstruction feel socially unacceptable.
One approached Enzo with a short, respectful bow. "Mr. Vance. This way, please."
Enzo signed one last notebook, gave the crowd a controlled wave.
Enzo stepped into the van before the journalists could arrive. The door shut, and Mauville's din died in an instant.
Inside, the vehicle was cool, padded, and quiet enough to feel separate from the city rather than merely shielded from it. Reinforced glass separated the front from the passenger area, and the tinted windows turned the street outside into blurred color and motion. Enzo let the polite smile fade.
"Thank you, gentlemen," he said.
Across from him, a man offered a small nod. "No problem, sir. We are taking you to the Young Master."
Enzo studied him for a moment. The man's expression stayed perfectly professional.
Young Master. Of course.
Enzo settled back, allowing himself a flicker of amusement. Steven Stone could dress like a modern heir, talk like a scientist, and battle like a serious trainer, but the world around him still treated him as corporate nobility.
The van pulled away. Through the tinted glass Mauville flashed by in bright shards: electric signs, bike lanes, polished storefronts, delivery workers, children with small Pokémon, Devon technicians repairing a streetlight before anyone could complain it was broken. Hoenn felt warmer, wetter, more colorful, more alive from a distance—almost innocent.
Devon's reach was everywhere, though not always loud. Public charging stations. Maintenance drones tucked under traffic signs. Clean transport routes. Uniformed workers moving through the city with the confidence of people backed by an institution that could afford to care about details.
Enzo watched it all, carefully.
Devon did not merely own buildings. It owned convenience. And convenience was a clean form of control.
The van rolled into an underground bay beneath a mid-sized Devon building that looked modest only because it was expensive enough not to advertise itself. A receptionist already knew Enzo's name before he stepped inside, which told him more about Devon's reach than any brochure could.
He was led through a private corridor to a transport room with a circular marker etched into the floor. A man in Devon uniform stood beside an Alakazam whose stillness lent discipline to the entire room.
The man bowed. "Mr. Vance. I'm Robert. Young Master Steven requested direct transport. If you would stand beside me, we'll teleport to his location."
Enzo's gaze shifted to the Alakazam. The Psychic-type opened its eyes halfway, studied him, then glanced toward his shadow before returning to his face. Sableye did not move.
Enzo stepped onto the marker. "Go ahead."
Robert pressed two fingers to Alakazam's shoulder. "Rustboro main headquarters. Private mineral laboratory."
Alakazam crossed its spoons.
Teleportation through Porygon-Z felt as if flesh were becoming data, but without the sense of violence. Hypno's teleportation felt heavier, like psychic hands dragging him through a cold seam in the world. Alakazam's was different. Elegant. The world did not rip; it turned, smooth and precise, and Enzo appeared elsewhere.
Warm light replaced the transport room.
He stood on polished stone in a large laboratory with floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking Rustboro City. Long worktables bore mineral samples, fossil fragments, scanning devices, labeled trays, sealed cases, and locked cabinets that could haunt a house with their cost. The room felt too comfortable to be purely scientific and too functional to be merely decorative.
At a far table, Steven Stone bent over a fossil with a jeweler's loupe in one hand and a tablet at his elbow. He did not look up immediately.
"Young Master," Robert said, bowing again. "I brought Mr. Vance."
Steven raised a finger, still focused on the fossil. "Thank you, Robert. You may go."
Robert vanished with Alakazam a moment later.
Only after the air settled did Steven finally lift his gaze. He looked polished as ever—silver hair neat, jacket immaculate, expression a blend of relief and irritation. The shadows under his eyes spoke of obsession more than lack of sleep.
"Enzo."
"Steven."
They studied each other for a few seconds, and Steven sighed as if a day had turned complicated exactly as expected.
"You should have warned me before entering Hoenn."
"You already said that," Enzo replied, stepping toward the central table.
"And I meant it," Steven said. He removed the loupe and set it down with care. "You were recognized in Mauville within minutes."
"Quietly."
Steven gave him a flat look.
Enzo considered it. "Mostly quietly."
A small laugh escaped Steven, though the annoyance did not fully leave him. He gestured toward a leather chair near the table. "Sit. Before someone uploads a picture and I have to explain why Devon is escorting foreign vigilantes through the region."
"Isn't Devon escorting a foreign vigilante through the region?"
"Don't make it sound cheap."
Enzo sat. The ease of the exchange surprised him—rare enough that he noticed. Steven wasn't someone he trusted without reserve, but he was someone Enzo could speak to with fewer layers than usual, a usefulness money alone could not buy.
Steven turned back to the fossil. "How was Mauville?"
"Loud. Beautiful. Organized without looking forced. Devon is very good at hiding how much it owns."
Steven's mouth quirked. "That might be the most flattering accusation anyone has ever made about my family."
Enzo nodded then looked towards the sample. "What are you working on?"
Steven's stress dissolved into the sharper focus of someone returning to a beloved subject. "This. A fossil from a private dig near the southern cliffs. Excellent preservation, irritating classification."
"You don't know what it is."
"I said irritating classification."
"Same thing."
Steven gave him a faintly offended look, then lifted the fossil with gloved fingers. "Fossil identification isn't as simple as naming a rock."
Enzo leaned forward, not touching it.
The System opened in the corner of his vision.
[ SYSTEM SCAN — FOSSIL SAMPLE ]
Specimen Origin: Lileep
Classification: Ancient Grass/Rock Fossil Pokémon
Preservation: High
Revival Viability: Possible with advanced fossil restoration technology
Obs: "Root-like structural pattern and mineralized organic chambers indicate Cradily lineage fossil stage."
Enzo let the window close.
"I think it's Lileep," he said.
Steven paused. He studied the fossil, then his tablet, then Enzo again. The excitement wasn't loud, but it sharpened his features.
"Lileep," Steven repeated. "The root structure gives it away."
Steven stared for a few seconds longer. "You really are a box of surprises."
"I just know my stuff."
"Of course you do," Steven said, though the look in his eyes suggested it didn't fully satisfy him. He made a quick note on his tablet, then set the fossil back with careful care. "I'll confirm it later, but if you're right, this sample is more valuable than the seller realized."
He closed the fossil tray and moved to another topic with intention. "Did you bring the stones?"
Enzo leaned back and said. "They don't leave my side."
He gestured toward his shadow.
The darkness beneath the chair rippled, and Sableye emerged, grinning with a smug success. It carried a reinforced dark bag in both hands and waddled toward the table as if laying out treasure for a king. The bag clinked softly. Sableye patted it twice, then turned its gemstone eyes toward one of Steven's display cabinets.
Enzo pointed without looking. "No."
Sableye froze.
Its eyes swung to a polished mineral on a side shelf. "No."
Sableye clicked its tongue in offense and sank back into the shadow.
Steven watched the spot where it vanished. "That is an excellent storage method."
"Reliable too."
"Does it steal?"
"Yes."
Steven looked at him.
"Not from me," Enzo replied.
Steven considered that and decided it was acceptable. He opened the bag, and the lab light caught the stones inside: Mega Stones, Key Stones, dormant symbols trapped in crystal, power sleeping behind mineral beauty. In this room, under Steven's gaze, they looked less like loot and more like the foundation of a future market.
Enzo placed two stones on the table, separated.
"These stay apart."
Steven leaned closer. "Compatible?"
"Beedrill," Enzo said, touching the first stone. He tapped the second. "Greninja."
Steven's eyes lit up at the mention of the second name. "Greninja? Wow!" He grinned, clearly excited. "A Mega Greninja must be incredible!"
"That's the goal!"
"Do you have one?"
"Not yet."
Steven punched in a code and slid out a fresh tray. Inside waited several stones, each snug in a foam-lined slot.
"These arrived two days ago," Steven said, lugging the tray over. "I waited."
"For me?"
"For our research," he corrected, then after a beat added, "And yes, for you."
They began the cataloging. For an hour the lab settled into a hush, save for the hum of scanners, the soft clink of stone meeting tray, and Steven's pen tracing lines across paper.
He carried out physical tests: weight, light refraction, resonance, mineral structure, microscopic scoring, energy behavior. Enzo used the System, though not for everything.
Some truths arrived too fast and would be stupid to trust immediately, and Steven was exactly the kind of person who noticed impossibility when it sat politely across from him.
Some stones Enzo marked as unknown. Some he identified after a moment's deliberate illusion of thinking. Some he let Steven lure him toward first.
Mawilite. Manectite. Cameruptite, which caused Steven to nood.
Then Enzo lifted a blue-silver stone heavier than it looked. The symbol inside shifted when light struck it from the side.
[ SYSTEM SCAN — MEGA STONE ]
Stone Classification: Metagrossite
Compatible Species: Metagross
Enzo tossed him the stone. Steven caught it in one hand. The moment his fingers closed around it, his expression changed.
"What species?" he asked softly.
Enzo answered with a smile. "I think you're lucky."
Steven froze. "No."
"Yes."
"Enzo!"
"Steven..."
His eyes widened, his grip tightened around the stone, and for a heartbeat he looked less the Devon heir and more a boy who'd been told the world hid his favorite treasure in the next room.
"Testing chamber," Steven said, already moving.
The testing chamber connected to the lab through reinforced sliding doors. It was vast, with a high ceiling, psychic dampeners in the walls, emergency systems, and a floor polished to survive things normal rooms should never face.
Steven released Metagross. The Steel/Psychic Pokémon appeared in a flash of light, hovering just above the floor. Its presence filled the room: polished metal, cold intelligence, and the silent weight of a machine designed by war and weather rather than nature.
Metagross turned its red eyes to Steven, who stepped forward with the Metagrossite in one hand. With the other, he touched the pin on his jacket. The Key Stone looked merely ornamental to most eyes, but Enzo knew better.
"Metagross," Steven said, raising the stone. "Are you ready?"
The Pokémon did not answer with sound. It sank a fraction, eyes steady on its trainer.
Steven took a breath. "Mega Evolve."
Light erupted from the Key Stone and bonded with the Metagrossite as if a circuit found its missing link. Energy crackled between Steven and Metagross with geometric precision, and the DNA symbol flared above the Pokémon like an ancient equation solving itself in real time.
The room thickened with pressure.
Metagross transformed. It did not merely grow larger; its battle frame reorganized itself. Limbs shifted to a more aggressive stance, plates realigned, weight balance shifted, and the psychic field flowing from it grew denser, crisper, more oppressive. It looked less like a new form and more like the original design finally unfolded to its full potential.
Mega Metagross hovered in the chamber's center. Steven's breath hitched, unsteady for several seconds.
Then the scientist within him returned to the surface. "The limb distribution changed," Steven murmured, stepping closer before forcing himself to keep distance. "No, not changed. Optimized. The frame is set for forward pressure and multi-angle strikes. Metagross, rotate left."
Mega Metagross obeyed with terrifying precision. Steven's eyes gleamed. "Again. Hold the upper arm there. The weight balance is completely different. The psychic output feels heavier too. Do you feel that?"
"Yes," Enzo said.
"It's not just stronger," Steven continued, already circling with controlled fascination. "The combat architecture is different. It's as if the species' entire design philosophy shifted while preserving the same intelligence matrix. Incredible."
Enzo let him have the moment while using the system to check the satus.
[ SYSTEM SCAN — MEGA EVOLUTION DETECTED ]
Specimen: Mega Metagross
Trainer: Steven Stone
Level: 56 (+5)
Potential: LIGHT PURPLE
Ability: Tough Claws
Typing: Steel / Psychic
Obs: "Mega Evolution has temporarily increased physical output, psychic processing speed, multi-limb attack coordination, and combat pressure. Subject's potential has been elevated beyond its natural growth ceiling. Trainer synchronization strain detected. Sustained Mega Evolution duration currently limited by trainer endurance."
"Congratulations," Enzo said. "He looks much stronger."
"He is," Steven replied, almost breathless. "He absolutely is."
Then Steven swayed. Slightly, subtly. A quiver in the knees, a small lag in his hand when he raised it—the telltale weakness a proud man would hide.
Enzo wasn't fooled. "Steven."
"I'm fine."
"You're swaying."
Steven blinked, realizing the room had tilted into sharper balance.
"I—"
"Stop."
Pride battled intelligence, and intelligence won. Steven raised a hand. "Metagross. Enough."
The light collapsed inward. The DNA symbol shattered into fading sparks, the pressure eased, and Mega Metagross folded back to ordinary Metagross with a low hum. Metagross remained steady. Steven slumped onto the nearest bench, one hand pressed to his temple.
"Damn it," he muttered.
Enzo approached, not quick enough to seem careless. "Aggron was easier?"
Steven offered a pained look. "Aggron felt like trying to hold a mountain with my nervous system. This was more complex."
"Metagross is your ace. Maybe the link asks for more."
"Or maybe I'm not used to holding that much power yet."
"Both can be true."
Steven let out a weak laugh. "You love delivering the right answer at awkward moments, don't you?"
"Yes." Enzo smiled.
Metagross drifted closer, lowering its head. Steven placed a hand on the cool metal to steady himself.
"I'll train the duration," he said after a moment. "A few seconds at a time. Carefully."
Steven studied the Metagrossite resting in his palm, exhaustion masking the wonder beneath it. "I have Mega Aggron," he murmured. "And now Mega Metagross."
"Your future opponents will hate your guts," said Enzo, joking.
Steven smiled. "That may be the nicest thing you've said to me today."
With regained steadiness, they returned to the lab. The Metagrossite went into a separate locked case, and Steven regarded the remaining stones with a new gravity.
After a while, he pushed the bag toward Enzo. "You should keep them."
Enzo studied the stones, then Steven. "All of them?"
"Yes."
"That generous?"
"It isn't generosity," Steven said. "It's risk distribution. If this knowledge ever goes public, Devon will be the first target: warehouses, labs, mineral purchases, antique acquisitions, shipments—everything. We're the obvious mark."
"And I am not?"
"You are mobile, unpredictable, and, apparently, your valuables live inside your shadow." The shadow under Enzo's chair rippled with pride.
Steven noticed and pressed on. "If you find one compatible with your Pokémon, keep it. Just don't let anyone know."
Enzo met his gaze. "Agreed."
Sableye slid out to drag the bag into darkness again. Steven watched it vanish. "I'll never get used to that."
Eventually, Steven closed the last case and checked the time.
"We should eat."
Enzo stood. "I'm curious to see what a Devon heir eats for lunch."
Steven adjusted his jacket with offended dignity. "I eat what everyone eats."
"I doubt that."
Steven rolled his eyes and led him out.
They walked the upper corridors of Devon's headquarters.
Enzo finally looked at Rustboro properly. The city didn't merely contain Devon, it formed around it. Technical schools, research buildings, clean streets, industrial facilities softened by careful landscaping, shops selling Devon devices, workers moving with quiet institutional pride. Rustboro wore Devon like a spine under skin.
They left by a private side entrance, and Enzo surveyed the city.
"This city is impressive."
Steven paused. For a fraction of a second the corporate mask softened into something personal. "It is," he said. "I grew up here."
"I can tell."
Steven met his gaze. "Devon is everywhere," Enzo said, "but not loudly. That's why it works."
Steven's smile returned, genuine this time.
The restaurant was a short walk away, an elegant perch on an upper terrace overlooking the city, its windows tilted toward Devon HQ as if even the view had been contracted into existence.
The staff recognized Steven immediately. Enzo was next, and the manager's face flickered with a controlled panic, realizing a quiet lunch could become a news event.
Steven solved it with two words: "Private room."
They ascended to a room with dark wood, pale walls, and a window over Rustboro's central avenue. A table for two had been set, signaling that Steven anticipated Enzo's cooperation, whether he liked it or not.
A waiter asked for preferences.
"The usual for two," Steven said.
When the waiter left, the room settled. The lift in Steven's posture collapsed first, then his face.
"It's time we talk about the future," Steven said.
Enzo picked up his glass. "Then talk."
Steven studied him for a moment, choosing words with unusual care. "I want us to cooperate with mutual trust."
Enzo offered a faint smile. "I trust you, Steven. Don't you trust me?"
Steven did not return the smile. That was the moment the real conversation began.
"It isn't that simple," Steven said. "Enzo, I'm not stupid."
"I know."
"You're an orphan from Cerulean. No family, no sponsor, no wealth, no League development program, no early access to elite training infrastructure. Lt. Surge's support explains some things, but not enough."
Enzo set the glass down.
Steven's voice dropped to a quiet, precise timbre. "Your growth as a trainer is statistically absurd. Your access to rare information is wild, and your resources... I've checked."
"Thoroughly?"
"Very." Steven leaned back. "There are two reasonable explanations. Either you have a backer so powerful and hidden that even Devon cannot see them clearly, or you belong to a big organization."
Enzo said nothing.
Steven hesitated briefly. Enzo leaned forward. "Say it."
"Enzo, there's no need—"
"Say it."
The private room held its soft music and distant steps as Steven met his eyes. "Team Rocket."
Enzo smiled. "Well done. You aren't the Devon heir for nothing."
Steven did not seem surprised by the confirmation, which earned him a new respect. He looked tired instead. "I figured."
"You don't sound disgusted."
"I'm not a child," Steven replied. "I know what Team Rocket is. I know what your organization does. Some of it is monstrous."
Enzo listened. "But you also know the difference between hierarchy and chaos," Steven continued, his tone colder. "Kanto's black market exists under a structure—ugly, violent, but orderly. Hoenn has Team Aqua and Team Magma. Two regional criminal movements, with fractured leadership and enough public sympathy to complicate suppression. They're not just stealing Pokémon or moving contraband. They're shaping local politics, recruiting from angry populations, disrupting ports, provoking each other, and now one has crossed borders to aid the destruction of a town in Kanto."
Steven's anger sharpened his clarity. "Organized crime is ugly; disorganized crime is chaos."
Enzo studied him carefully. There were many reasons why Steven Stone was considered dangerous: his wealth, talent, access to opportunities, and sharp intelligence. However, one aspect that often went overlooked was Steven's keen ability to evaluate people. From their first encounter, he recognized that Enzo, despite his shady background, was both valuable and competent.
Steven placed both hands on the table. "Help me destroy Team Aqua and Team Magma. Help me stabilize Hoenn. In return, I will not oppose Team Rocket entering the region."
Enzo let the words hang. "Why do you think I need your help getting into Hoenn?"
Steven's smile had no warmth. "Because Devon Corporation has shaped this region for generations. If I wanted Team Rocket out, I could choke Hoenn's ports, banks, contractors, suppliers, landowners, routes, and partners until you suffocated."
Enzo liked the answer. Steven wasn't begging. He wasn't pretending friendship erased leverage. He was negotiating from strength.
"Good," Enzo said. "Then where do we start?"
Steven reached for his glass, not drinking. "With the truth of the region."
He reminded Enzo of the armored-van talk before the tournament final. Hoenn wasn't Kanto.
Its League was fractured, guided more by personal ambition than unified duty. Lucy the Champion cared more for the Battle Frontier than governance. Wallace was brilliant but distracted. Phoebe was hard to reach. Drake was powerful but often absent, drifting between old instincts and the sea. Glacia was the only Elite Four member Steven trusted consistently.
Devon had filled in gaps for years: infrastructure, emergency support, funding, logistics, technology, public works the League should have managed but often didn't.
Corruption? Enzo asked.
"In ports, contracts, League offices, local police units. Not everywhere, but enough," Steven said. "Aqua and Magma feed on it. Some towns tolerate them because they bring money. Some officials look away because they bring votes. Others simply fear them."
And the League?
"The League reacts. It does not lead."
Enzo thought of Kanto, Giovanni, the brutal order beneath public institutions. Hoenn was softer. But softness can rot deeper.
"Who should I talk to first?" Enzo asked.
Steven laughed once. "Me."
Enzo met his gaze. Steven's smile faded. "What do you actually want?"
"If I'm going to fight Aqua and Magma," Enzo said, "I need a base."
Steven didn't hesitate. "I can set you up under Rustboro. Quietly. This city is basically mine."
"No."
Steven blinked. "No?"
"It has to be separate."
"That's doable."
"And not hidden."
Steven's expression sharpened. Not hidden meant public. Public meant paperwork. Paperwork meant League. League meant politics.
"You want legitimacy," Steven said.
"I need it."
"You want a front."
"I want a city."
Steven stared. For the first time that day, the sentence hit him hard enough to disrupt his rhythm.
"A city," Steven repeated.
"A settlement at first," Enzo said. "A base of operations. A place tied to my public purpose in Hoenn. Refugees, orphans, trainers, security. Eventually, a Gym."
Steven leaned back. Interest replaced disbelief. "You have a location."
"Yes."
"Where?"
"North of Oldale Town. Near Route 103. There's a mountain with river access and enough land to develop."
Steven looked away, mapping it in his head.
"That area is not valuable."
"Not publicly."
"There are better locations. Better roads, better access, better Pokémon, closer to existing cities."
"No."
Steven's gaze returned. "Why that mountain?"
Enzo looked him in the eye. "Because it's perfect."
"You're hiding something."
"Yes."
"And you expect me to help anyway."
"Yes."
Steven's laugh was rueful. "You're unbelievably annoying."
"You asked for mutual trust."
"I did not ask for mutual blindness."
"You are not blind," Enzo said. "You're choosing which things you need to see first."
That gave Steven pause. When he spoke again, he sounded more resigned than convinced. "Buying the land is possible if you have the money."
"I do."
"How much money?"
"Enough."
Steven accepted that with a nod. He knew wealth can be a means, not a measure.
"The hard part is the League," Steven said. "If you want a Gym, even a future one, you need approval. If you want a settlement tied to security and refugees, you need formal recognition. If you want to operate against Aqua and Magma without being treated as a foreign vigilante, you need political cover."
"Can you get them in a room?"
"The Hoenn League rarely gathers properly. Getting the right people together is hard. Getting them to agree will be worse."
"Then pressure them."
"With what?"
"Pallet Town. Media. Public anger. The fact that Hoenn's criminal groups crossed borders and created refugees. The fact I'm already here publicly. The fact that refusing me makes them look more concerned with saving face than solving the problem."
Steven studied him for a long moment. "You planned versions of this before you landed."
"Yes."
"Of course you did."
The meal lay largely untouched between them.
Steven looked at it, then at Enzo. "I'll help you. I'll contact the sellers. I'll push for a League meeting. I'll prepare you for the people at that table."
Enzo nodded once. "But one condition."
Steven's warmth vanished at the edge. "What?"
"I am not helping you because I think Team Rocket is good. I'm not helping because I enjoy being lied to. I'm helping because I believe, despite everything, that you can be good for Hoenn. I believe you're not cruel for cruelty's sake. I believe you have lines."
Enzo said nothing.
Steven's gaze hardened. "The moment you put your ambitions above Hoenn's people, our friendship ends."
The sentence was quiet, but final.
Enzo raised his glass. "Then, may our friendship never end."
Steven studied him a moment longer before lifting his own. Their glasses met with a soft clink above the table, a sound less like a toast and more like the first line of a contract.