Parts of History

by Destiny_Smasher

Summary:

Moira Raifort, having recently skipped town after a smooth sailing heist, picks up new work in the region of Paldea as a history professor -- the perfect cover to continue her pursuits of acquiring valuable historical artifacts.

The problem? She needs a new assistant to help her on the sly with this endeavor...
And she also needs to get on well with her fellow academy staff all the while.

Notes:

This work is being written as part of an art trade with my friend Hana.
It has multiple chapters, so I'll post everything I have one part per day for a bit.
After that, it's possible more will get added if Hana wants to do more art exchanging, but by the time we get to that point, I'll try to make any updates feel like they could be a resolution of some sort.

Re: names, Hana likes to imagine Raifort as the surname, and Moira as a first name. So that's what I'm rolling with here, though it won't impact much.
I have my own headcanon surnames for some of the characters involved, per my 'Comet Punch' main story timeline, which most of this technically functions as like extra prequel material for, if you want to read it that way! But I'll probably avoid using surnames in general here.

Chapter 1: La Primera

 

"You moved here recently from… Alola, was it?"

"Paniola Town, yes," responded Raifort, sitting upright in the chair before La Primera's desk. This Geeta woman was pleasant and warm, but Raifort knew a fellow power manipulator when she met one. The two would get on well, she anticipated.

Geeta continued her inquiry: "And you emigrated for… what purpose?"

The illegal acquisition — or rather, personal redistribution — of a certain priceless piece of Alolan history. That was the underlying motive, but unspoken, and not even hinted at in any of the interview process or application paperwork upon accepting this new job role.

"Well, I… was hired on as a professor, of course. For Naranja Academy. I'm quite eager to begin work in a few days when the facility reopens its doors."

"Yes, of course," Geeta said gently. She paused, to recontruct her thoughts. "I suppose what I mean to ask is… why you sought this job in the first place?"

"Oh. I… guess I needed a change of pace." Raifort readjusted herself in her seat — not because she was uncomfortable, but because she meant to loosen any semblance of tension. "Arceaology is exciting work, and I do adore it, but… I must admit, it was beginning to get a bit dangerous. Competetive, even."

Geeta's eyes scanned through Raifort's inquisitively, but just for the briefest of moments before she beamed, her smile gleaming like a jewel.

"Ah. Well, teaching at our school will pose very little danger to you, rest assured. Though I assume you are aware of the rather tumultuous circumstances the Academy currently finds itself grappling with…?"

Geeta's question was pensive but pointed.

Raifort, absorbing the chairwoman's pondrous gaze for a moment, glanced sideways, to the shelf of books, sculptures, and a single, ornate trophy. La Primera seemed to have an interest in non fiction, glancing at the spines of the collection she chose to put on display. Specifically, non fiction pertaining to matters such as Paldea's turbulent history of war, research as to the Great Crater's origins and mysteries, as well as tutelage regarding Pokémon training and socio-economic ventures. Likely a well-read woman, Raifort surmised. Given the nature of Geeta's very presence, on top of everything Raifort had learned about the woman when she prepped to arrive in Paldea, La Primera was not the type to put books on display in her office unless she had personally read them. Knowledge, then, was not only a tool to her, but a weapon to wield — the most effective weapons in human history were the ones that never needed to be brandished, only displayed. Such, then, was the intimidation of knowledge: Geeta did not need her every underling to know every detail, but to at least be aware that someone within her fingertips' reach knew anything that needed to be known.

After a few moments of reflection on these matters, Raifort cleared her throat and re-engaged with the chairwoman's intent gaze, which was still shining at her from above primly folded, gloved fingers, like hot sunlight passing through prisms, changing to soft rainbows.

"I have been appraised of Harrington's… exit strategy," Raifort cited, tapping her finger nail against the arm its hand was crossed over. "And the incident that lead to him abandoning his post, if you will. Harrington's actions… come across as self-sabotage, in my professional opinion."

Geeta chuckled softly, her eyelids sliding closed for this quiet laugh.
She reopened them, smirking.

"Clavell and I are like-minded on the matter, and share your concern," Geeta noted. "Though I suppose it's neither here nor there — the Academy staff needs to be replaced, regardless. It's slated to reopen immintently, as you mentioned. The Director and I will be dedicating earnest effort into understanding quite what went wrong earlier with that unfortunate incident, and we shall be advising both onboard faculty and those previously employed about what we learn on a need-to-know basis."

"I understand," said Raifort with a nod. "It's best to get things back up and running as soon as possible — the longer these little ones lack a place to learn, the less chances they have to understand about the world around them."

"My thought exactly. Though I must ask, Moira, given th-"
"Please, 'Raifort' will do. I prefer to keep things professional."

Geeta's lips were still puckered mid-word, and she blinked. The woman wasn't used to being interrupted, much less told what to do. That's what such an expression conveyed to Raifort. But this melted into a soft smirk.

"As do I, Ms. Raifort. Now, given these odd circumstances Naranja finds itself in, what compelled you to switch career paths to join us?"

Raifort flashed her warmest smile in return, squinting her eyes as she envisioned thoughts of what might come to pass in her time here.

"Why… I'm a history enthusiast, Miss Chairwoman. After my previous job, I'm simply thrilled to be in the right place at the right time to uncover this nation's rich culture alongside my pupils."

Geeta's smirk, still lingering from before, widened subtly into a more even smile.

"Oh, you will find much to appreciate about my darling Paldea in this respect. And I can likewise understand your personal interest in the subject matter — while not required of every professor, it certainly helps to keep the students interested in the material when the teacher is enthusiastic about it. That being said, we do encourage all employees — under the Academy and the Pokémon League alike — to be granted time and space to pursue personal interests outside of their obligations. It is in this spirit the 'Treasure Hunt' event serves as an opportunity for our staff to grow in their own personal journies, as well as the students. With this mind, Ms. Raifort: what hobbies do you plan on focusing on while not in the classroom?"

Raifort nudged her eyeglasses up the bridge of her nose as she respositioned herself again, crossing one leg over the other.

"To be frank, Miss Chairwoman… I suspect I'll find myself getting lost in the old artifacts and ruins of Paldea. Probably adding some trinkets to my personal collection."

"Ahah," Geeta softly laughed. "I won't begrudge you the interest — provided you report any meaningful findings to the League."

"Of course," Raifort insisted, as if this was a given — though in truth, this was absolutely not a given, and she was more likely than not to keep any valuable intel to herself.

Geeta added, "I'd at least be wary of any conspicuous treasure chests or coins you may stumble upon: Paldea has some dark history which its Pokémon are known to… enact, shall we say, on unsuspecting — or unprepared — explorers."

Raifort's brows raised at this prospect, her lower lip propping out as she bobbed her head downward in recognition. She'd heard tell of a Pokémon called Gimmieghoul that matched this indirect description.

"Duly noted…" Raifort was already calculating in her mind how best she might suss out someone to brave such potential dangers in her stead…

"You should already be aware of this, as well," Geeta went on dutifully, "but I must also remind you: the Great Crater is off limits to everyone in Paldea, unless authorized by the PML. That being said… you are welcome to apply to take an Assessment Exam to receive such authorization, should you provide satisfactory reason to travel there."

Raifort burst out a bemused laugh, flicking her hand out and downward.

"Oh, hah, I appreciate the invitation — and perhaps, if I ever find a bodyguard suitable for the task, I'll take you up on that. But I must confess, that crater sounds far too dangerous for my tastes, as things currently stand."

Geeta's head tipped at an acknowledging angle in a kind of half-nod.

"Quite true. We're… still working out how to best utilize the locale for Paldea's longterm benefit. Perhaps that is something you can assist the PML with — under contract, of course — when the time comes."

"Already trying to throw extra work at me, are we…?" teased Raifort, her head twisting ever-so-slightly with bemusement.

"Hah, not so much as… pointing out potential — mutually beneficial — opportunities for the future. That's all." Geeta accented her assuring remark with a slight shrug. "Any work you do for the PML will be compsensated, you understand."

"I presume my task with the Academy will take up much of my time as it is — but I will certainly consider the… 'mutually beneficial opportunity'. It would seem Paldea must have a lot to be taken care of lately with a Chairwoman such as yourself being able to recruit so many staff members for the school in such short order."

"We must give credit to our darling new Director, Mr. Clavell," insisted Geeta earnestly. "He's done a remarkable job preparing us in short order. That being said… I am nothing if not concerned with the future."

"Logical," conceded Raifort. "Though it comes as no surprise to know I am very much of the opposite mind in this regard — being a recently hired history professor, and all."

The pair shared a chuckle together — controlled, but not stiff. Not forced, nor plasticine. But also not the kind of laugh one emits in a relaxed state, either.

"Well," said Geeta, rolling the conversation toward its end. "Despite our disparate interests, I feel we're on the same page regarding priorities: the students of Paldea and their continued growth."

"Most certainly," said Raifort, closing her eyes with a bright smile — she'd hate for Geeta's watchful gaze to catch the glint of mischief in her own irises when she lied through her teeth.

This wasn't to say that Raifort had zero interest in her impending students, just that they were not at the top of her priorities.

Chapter 2: The First Candidate

Summary:

Raifort and Hassel are visited by a prominently known student during a staff break.

Raifort speculates on the viability of this student as her covert assistant.

—

( A few weeks later… )

—

“Cream? Sugar?”

At her fellow professor's offer, Raifort smirked, shaking her head slightly.

“Neither,” she replied, removing her hands from the table and folding them in her lap as she awaited the fresh, hot drink being prepared for her.

“Oho, another 'straight black' drinker, I see,” remarked Hassel as ceramics clinked at his hands, putting cups to saucers. “Not how I take mine, but Brassius is fond of the practice, as well.”

“It's not that I never add cream, milk, or sugar,” Raifort pointed out, watching Hassel place a saucer with her un-sweetened drink on the table before her. As she watched him set his own drink in the chair opposite her own, she followed up, “It's that I take my coffee however my mood suits me on any occasion.”

Hassel seated himself, giving her a curiously lifted brow. He remarked, “I dread to wonder what might put your mood in such a state, then.” And he chuckled softly with a facetious nervousness as he sipped at his one-third-cream-and-three-sugars cup.

Gripping the ceramic cup with both hands, Raifort admired the shimmering gold trim and the metallic orange logo emblazoned upon the cup, with matching iconography on the saucer. She blew steam from her drink. A bit too hot to risk burning her tongue, based on the sensation melding into her palms. She released the cup back to the saucer, refolding her hands together, though this time at the table's edge.

“I caught a student pretending to be paying attention in class just before this interlude,” Raifort explained with a tone as subtly bitter as the coffee awaiting consumption. “I fear their eyes were attentive to my lecture, but not their ears...”

Hassel chuckled again, a bit louder this time.

“Perhaps they were distracted by your copious denim attire,” he jabbed playfully, eyelids half-lidded above a smarmy little smile. His followup attack was, while playful, much more facetiously scatching: “Or the fact your shirt is only halfway tucked...”

Raifort puffed air through her nostrils in reaction to this, though the second claim, she realized, was true. Sighing to herself, she yanked out the half of her over-shirt that was tucked in, and made a mental note to properly align her garb when this break time was over.

“Yes, well,” Raifort prepared her own light-hearted riposte, “at least I didn't break out into tears mid-class...”

“Ahaha, touché,” conceded Hassel warmly, going for another swig of his beverage. “I will openly admit that being asked to serve as a Professor here on short notice has not been without its share of excitement. My time as a member of the Elite Four did not adequately prepare me for just how edifying it can be to impart knowledge on those who carry our future upon their shoulders...”

“Given their general lack of interest in the past,” Raifort mused, “I fear that weight you speak of will grow heavier than it needs to be...”

“Oh, come now,” pushed Hassel, “Try not to be so harsh on them. The world has changed quite rapidly in the time they've been alive.”

“How it has,” agreed Raifort tiredly, sifting bangs behind her ear as she went about testing her coffee's temperature again. “That's what frightens me the most, frankly. The course of history, up until recently, has been slow. Predictable, in most respects. But just the last few decades alone — it's… a bit mind-boggling.”

“Mm.” Hassel nodded contemplatively, drumming his fingertips against the side of his cup. “Indeed, we are living in historic times, I suppose."

"Hah. That's the funny thing about history, Hassel: every single day, we're all making it, existing within it."

"Oh, it is too early in the day for philosophy from me, I'm afraid," chuckled Hassel with a mild shake of his head. He tucked some of his golden locks behind his ear as he blew at his coffee and took a sip. "And it is too early in this career for me to have much to contribute regarding my philosophical stance. I take it you also have not been in the role of tutor for very long, either?”

Raifort shook her head. “It seems to be a trend here, I'm realizing.”

“Yes, Harrington left things... particularly messy,” sighed Hassel. “We're all gaining our footing, even those few who remained on staff through that... unfortunate incident.”

It irked Raifort that this ‘incident’ in question – in which one group of students attacked multiple others in broad daylight, during school hours – was being referred to in such vague terms. It was strictly demanded by the Director to be as vague as possible about the circumstances, including that it had allegedly been in retaliation of persistent bullying and harassment. The way Raifort saw it, the more the past — recent or otherwise — was obfuscated, the more likely it was to be repeated...

The tea cup was still rather warm against Raifort's skin, but slightly less so now. She lifted it to her face and blew at it again, then took the chance at a small sip. Hot enough that she couldn't quite garner a proper flavor from it, but barely not so hot as to be painful or harm her tongue. The scent suggested a simple instant coffee. The Academy could surely muster something more refined, couldn't it? She'd have a word with the Director about it. But it was no small wonder Hassel was dumping so much into his drink.

“And yet these little minds we are tasked with empowering cannot sit idly by and wait for conditions to be just-so-optimal,” Raifort concluded in response to Hassel's lamented the rushed manner in which the current faculty had been arranged. Even the Director, Clavell, was fresh in the role. It might take some time for matters to settle into a comfortable place...

But Raifort was nothing if not patient.

"Professor Raifort…?" A young woman's voice beckoned, reverberating across the otherwise hushed hall outside of the faculty break room the two were enjoying their drink within.

"Oh, Miss Domínguez," beckoned Hassel pleasantly, gesturing toward the door to allow what sounded like a student to enter. Raifort thought the voice was familiar, but had yet to commit student voices to particular memory just yet. "Or should I say… Champion Domínguez…?"

The somewhat athletically built girl — nearly as tall as Raifort herself, despite her age — was adorned in the typical springtime uniform of a long-sleeved white Wooloo cotton shirt, orange tie, and matching orange trousers with thin, light vertical stripes. Her brown skin was adorned with freckles, filling the space between her amber eyes, which were sparking with determination. Her jet black hair was done up in bun, while a trio of springy locks flew out from the left side of her forehead — two were dyed a deep green. Her hands were clutching a textbook — the one Raifort had assigned for her AP Comparative Government and Politics course. The right hand clutching the book was sheathed within a maroon-ish colored arm brace.

"Nemona," Raifort acknowledged, a bit puzzled to see the student having somehow tracked her down — and a little offput, if she was being honest. It was 'break time' for a reason…

"Yes! Hi! Gosh, you look like you're… on a break, should I-…?" Nemona tilted her head with uncertainty. "Should I come back, or-…?" Her antsy demeanor, flushed cheeks, and beads of sweat trickling on her forehead made it seem like she had sprinted to get here, though Raifort was still hung up on how the girl had known where to find her to begin with.

Hassel — to Raifort's chagrin — interjected, "All of Naranja's Professors are here to ensure all of our students' needs are met, Ma'am. If it's quick, I'm certain Raifort can assist."

Raifort, masking her frustation through the vaneer of public-facing, professional pleasantry — and the glare of late morning sunlight hitting her glasses — took a deep breath.

"Oh, it's super quick, super simple," Nemona eased, nodding, and waiting for an affirming reply. "Ah, uh, h-hi, Mr. Hassel! Gosh, it's so so cool you're a Prof here, now!"

"Gaha!" puffed out the pretty-boy Professor. "Feels like only yesterday we had our duel during your Champion Assessment, doesn't it?"

'Ah, right,' Raifort reminded herself. 'This student is the only Champion-ranked trainer Paldea has seen claim the title in quite some time… Perhaps worth considering toward my ends of attaining the Treasures of Ruin I keep seeing brought up in my research…'

"UGH, I wish I could, like… do the whole thing all over again, seriously!" Nemona gushed. "Fighting the Elite Four, and then La Primera right after — ughhh, just… the most exciting day of my life. And as for you, Mr. Hassel, I am still geeking out over the way you caught me off guard with that Thunderbolt from your Dragalge, it-…!"
Hassel interrupted her with a loud clearing of his throat, tilting his chin upward toward Raifort.

"Rrrrright, sorry, Professor Raifort," squeaked Nemona, drumming her fingers on her text book. "I can… get a little carried away."

"As can we all when our true passion is brought up," Raifort pleasantly acquiesced. "Now, then: you had something to ask?"

"Yes!" Nemona's body stiffened straight. "Just a quick double-check on something from class."

"… Of course, little one," Raifort chimed courteously, like a Chimecho welcoming a guest to a shrine. "Please-…" She pulled out the empty chair next to her. "-… take a seat."

"Thanks." Nemona awkwardly grunted as she flatly landed her rear in the chair, almost toppling over. Raifort was baffled — why did she look so exhausted…? Surely the Academy grounds hadn't entailed that long a trek to find her…

Nemona splayed out the textbook onto the table — her right arm nearly dropping it when toting it up.

"I, uhm-… I was… starting to nod off a bit at the end of class, and — woof, I was up late working on Geometry, but-… Agh, sorry, by the way, for getting sleepy, there, during your lecture? I swear, it was so not because I wasn't interested in your class, it's just-"
"Your question?" Raifort cut to the point, trying to be both soft but firm in her speech. She only had another few minutes of break time left — as much as this student was on her radar as a candidate, she did have more time-sensitive matters to pursue to keep up appearances.

Nemona blinked at her, wide-eyed and frozen, then smiled squeamishly.

"Right. So. I missed the chapter we need to read for… next class. A-And which ones to review for the test next week?" As she was asking this, Nemona hastily pulled out a pad of green sticky notes from a pouch on her back pack. "Plus, I wanted to make sure I knew when that upcoming essay assignment is due."

Raifort directed Nemona: "For Monday: Chapter six. For the test: Chapters four through six. And the essay hasn't been formally assigned yet — I'm still finalizing the subject. But it will be due at the end of the month."

Raifort was… perplexed as to why this girl would have hunted her down to ask such an inane question, rather than simply asking a peer from the same class…

"… Got it…!" Nemona was slapping sticky notes onto pages, leaving a bit of them sticking out the top like makeshift bookmarks. She looked a little pale, like she might pass out any moment. "I, uh… really wanna do well in this one, 'cause I'm aiming to… run for Student Council in the autumn, and so-…" She swallowed, wiping sweat from her forehead before rubbing at her eyes.

"Domínguez," said Raifort sternly. "Are you… ill? Shall we send you to Nurse Miriam…?"

"Whuh-?! Ill? Me? Tss-…! N-Nah, nope, I'm… I'm fine!" Nemona was haphazardly jotting things down on the sticky notes she'd just left. "Just… y'know, just a little… tired, I guess. Had to… climb the stairs up and down… a few times, here, to find the right room you were… at… And Phys Ed. this morning was… rough. Whew. Dendra had us-… Well, running laps is… not my strong suit to begin with, but then add-…" She trailed off with a sigh. "Sorry — rambling again…"

Raifort exchanged a skeptical glance with Hassel over Nemona's shoulders. He looked concerned, but also shook his head slightly at her.

Raifort suggested, "Sounds to me like something worth seeing the Nurse for…"

Hassel brought up delicately, "Raifort, are you… not aware of Miss Domínguez's… personal difficulties?"

Nemona looked like a Deerling in headlights, her pupisl shrunken with alarm.

"Oh," Hassel quickly course corrected. "M-My apologies, Nemona. I only…-"

"HAHAH," exploded Nemona in a sudden burst of laughter more forced than a Mimikyu's smile. "No, no no, it's-… it's all right, Prof, I, umm, I just-… I try not to make my problem… other people's problem, y'know…? It's my deal to worry about, and so…-"

The girl was obviously flustered by her medical condition being brought to attention — though that only made Raifort all the more curious. After checking that the coast was clear in the hall, she leaned in toward her student and asked a quiet but solemn question.

"Are you having difficulties at home…?"

Nemona's expression flashed with alarm, then nervousness. She giggled tiredly.

"No, nuh-nuh-no, my parent're-… Things are fine, they want me to, like… be doing what I'm doing, on my own. A-And my Big Sis, she's been great. It was her idea I run for Student Council, she's been super encouraging, and-… and supportive, and-…"

"You can always speak with Director Clavell — or La Primera," Hassel pointed out, "if there's ever anything you're worried about."

"Fershur, fershur!" Nemona eagerly acknowledged with emphasized nodding, closing her textbook in a flustered hurry.

Hassel sharply added, "And if your family is in any way coercing you into doing something you don't wish to do-…"

"Seriously, it's not that! Thanks, though. I'm just-…" Nemona yawned as she opened her backpack. "Running a lil' on fumes today, haven't taken my mid-morning nap, and so-…"

Raifort scanned Hassel for a clue as to what she was meant to be thinking about this. He nodded with heightened brows, gesturing in this subtle way that he would explain when this encounter was over.

"Make sure you see Miriam if you need somewhere quiet to rest," Hassel insisted.

"Will do," Nemona complied, zipping her bag up and slinging it across her shoulders. "No time at this point, so I'll… just make up for it during lunch. Uhm-! Sorry… again… for bothering you, I'll get outta your hair…! Bye!"

And off the girl dashed, her legs carrying more vim somehow than the rest of her would've suggested was possible.

"Without… divulging personal details," said Hassel in a hushed tone, leaning over the table. "I think it's prudent for you to realize that while she may be our newest Champion, she has… physical limitations, hurdles she must deal with, which the Academy has been specifically instructed to accomodate."

Raifort mused, "… I'm sure La Primera wouldn't want her precious protégé to be neglected…"

"Certainly," admitted Hassel, "but we're to extend such courtesy to all our pupils."

Raifort gulped down some of her coffee — it was cooled off enough to be easier to drink now.

She surmised, "Regardless, what you're telling me is that… despite being a Champion-ranked trainer, Miss Domínguez is not well-suited to expeditioning or… anything of the sort."

"Gahah, not at all, I'm afraid. But she makes up for it with passion, dedication, loyalty… And, of course, her skill with battling."

"A prime student, then, in La Primera's watchful eyes," concluded Raifort.

'But not an ideal candidate for my intentions…'

Chapter 3: The Second Candidate

Summary:

Upon being summoned by Director Clavell to discuss a matter of concern the school has, Raifort bumps into a capable student she considers the usefulness of.

—

( A few weeks later…)

—

Raifort strode past various students hustling and rushing for the exit from the main academic building. It was an exhausting affair that transpired every weekday at 3:30pm, on the dot. Raifort was keen on avoiding the commotion every other day, but on this Wednesday afternoon, she had been summoned to the Director's office, and didn't want to leave the man waiting. She'd managed to get on most everyone's good graces thus fair by being punctual, polite, and pleasant — the three 'P's' which she relied on to get her through every social situation unscathed, so that she could pursue her true interests without interference.

A pair of plucky boys bumped into her sides in their giddy chasing — first her left arm, then her her right. She grunted with surprise on the first impact, then irritation on the second, and had half a mind to snarl over her shoulder that the youths ought to be watching where they were going… But the 'P's' prevented her from a needless outburst over a petty matter. She continued on her way, straightening out her denim overshirt. Which, ah-… It was only half tucked in. Sighing to herself, she stole a moment between rushing pupils to hastily shove her shirt in order, then briskly maneauvered another trickle of teenage stragglers before reaching the Director's office at the end of the hall on the top floor.

After taking a deep breath and sighing to herself to settle her mood, Raifort wrapped the back of her wrist primly against the oaken door — -tap, tap-tap, tap! -

The familiar, dulcet tone of the Director, with his partial Galarian accent and all, beckoned from the other side, muffled by the thick wood.

"Yes, do come in."

Raifort nudged her weight into the heavy door with her shoulder, easing it open and stepping into the quaint but decorated office of Dirctor Clavell. The man was addressing a student who was seated at a chair in front of his desk - said student was a roughly built young man with flowing locks of peppery hair that shifted between multiple shades of brown. Raifort recognized the lad from his hair alone — the son of the infamous professors Sada and Turo, one of whom had mysteriously vanished, while conducting research with the 'off limits' Great Crater, and the other seemingly off the grid while trying to track them down. It was no-doubt due in part to their entire situation that the League had been more fussy about restricting access to the site. But someone like him surely would have motivations to explore the place…

"Forgive me, Raifort," Clavell off-handedly said with a single raised finger. "We'll be just another moment longer."

"Oh," murmured the student over his shoulder, unsure as to whether he should fully rotate his abdomen to greet her. "Uh, hey, Professor."

"Hello again, Arven," Raifort said back, recalling him being present and accounted for during class earlier that afternoon. "Don't let me interrupt, please finish."

"Right, erh-…" Arven wiped his hand across his forehead, brushing his long bangs to the side and clearing his throat. "So, yeah. That-… That's why I'd like to do this field research. If I can trace and track down where these Titan Pokémon are showing up, I can begin putting together where their dens likely are. And… if I can pin those down-…"
"You will likely find the medicinal herbs in question," Clavell concluded. "Yes, I see." He nodded compliantly, poking a finger up at his glasses to perk them up the bridge of his nose. "Your request is approved, Mr. Dufour. I'll forward the proper paperwork to you later today, which you can fill out and submit whenever you are ready."

Arven seemed aghast, as if that had been too easy.

"That's… it?" he checked.

"That is it," Clavell chuckled softly.

"Guh-…! Great!" Arven smacked his hands together in his lap, belting out a stifled laugh as he rose from his seat. Thrusting out his arm, he gestured for a handshake from the Dirctor. This was granted, and the young man's strength sent Clavell wobbling in his chair. "You won't reget it!" Arven insisted. "I'll make sure to write everything down to share with the school, in case it'll be helpful."

"I won't decline the offer, but it's not necessary," Clavell assured, patting his hand against Arven's overeager forearm — a silent plea to release their handshake. As their arms broke off, Clavell added, "Although, it may well be wise to keep a record of your studies, what with the Treasure Hunt fast approaching…"

"Ah, yeah, good idea," acknowledged the strapping young man, rising from his chair and heaving his tall hiker's backpack onto his back.

"It seems some sort of adventure in the wilderness awaits you, hm?" prodded Raifort with an encouraging tone.

"You bet!" Arven flashed a confident thumbs up. "I'm rarin' to go! Been spending a whole year studying up on this stuff in my spare time."

"I heard mention of Titan Pokémon?" probed Raifort further. "I understand it's no small feat to take one of those down… and there are multiple involved, here?"

"O-Oh, right," Arven shakily conceded. "Yeah, but… I have no intention of picking a fight with those crazy things. Not anytime soon, anyhow. For now, the plan is to just, you know… map out how many I can find, where they like to hang out…"

"I see, I see," noted Raifort, calculating in her head. "You sound confident in your means of getting around Paldea's wilderness, but… less so with battling."

"Urgh, yeah, pretty much." The boy's shoulders slumped.

"Arven is a talented young man," Clavell insisted. "And son of some old friends of mine."

"I keep busy," Arven added, with a sort of pointedness to his tone. "Too busy to be worrying about mindlessly training Pokémon to duke it out for sport. I can worry about assembling a team, or… heck, getting somebody to help, I guess… after I've pinned down the locations of these Titans."

Raifort nodded, lower lip propped out thoughtfully, finger fiddling with the tip of her denim collar. More calculations.

'Sort of the opposite problem of my last candidate — built for expedition, but without the brawn needed to secure valuable treasures from dangerous places… Like Nemona, not without potential future usefulness, however.'

"Well, I wish you the best of luck in your little expedition," said Raifort warmly, and with a smile to match. "You sound prepared and capable, so I'm certain you will work something out."

"Where there's a will, there's a way," Arven concluded, tugging his backpack straps tight and sniffing in a deep, readying breath. "Welp." He turned his head to Clavell. "Thanks again, I'll keep an eye out for those forms."

"And I will look forward to your Treasure Hunt report later in the year," said Clavell with a dainty wave of his vertical palm.

"Watch out, Titans," Arven growled to himself, marching off. "Arven's comin' for ya…!" And off he went, his enormous pack jangling as he left.

When it became clear he had forgotten to close the door behind him, Raifort was quick to take care of the small task, though not without a sigh.

Returning to the Director's desk, Raifort was now the one clearing her throat.

"A charming little lad," she muttered with a bemused laugh.

"Indeed," Clavell agreed, and with a certain fondness that queued Raifort to a weakened soft spot within the man — no-doubt tied to these 'old friends' he had mentioned, being Arven's parents. "Mr. Dufour's parents and I do go back… so I am more than happy to assist their son in any way I can."

"Fond memories can certainly inspire us to pay things forward," mused Raifort. "And unpleasant ones can keep us cautious, in kind."

"… Yes," Clavell sighed, folding his hands together. "It's… actually just such an 'unpleasant memory' which has me wishing to speak with you today."

Raifort tipped and twisted her head slightly, feigning ignorance.

"Is that so? What seems to be the matter? How can I assist?"

"It is… less what you can do, and more… what you might refrain from doing…"

Raifort arced her brows with confusion, pretending to not understand.

"What do you mean?" she asked plainly.

"As I understand it," Clavell grumbled, his tone shifting to one of concern, "it seems you have been conducting some research on your own time into matters which… the Pokémon League would prefer be best left untouched."

"… Oh?" Raifort knew exactly what he was referring to, but was going to make him say it. Better to establish ignorance at any potential wrongdoing.

"Yes," huffed Clavell in a gentle, tired way. "I do apologize, but as the Director of Naranja Academy, it does fall to me to be the one to formally advise you: you are to cease looking into this matter of the… Treaures of Ruin."

Raifort gave Clavell a bewildered expression, tilting her chinward, her head to the opposite side it had been twisted toward — a delicate hand to her chest, an ever-so-slightly parting of her lips.

"I'm… confused, Clavell," she said, lathering on the soapy suds of innocence. "I was not made aware of anything outside of Area Zero being off-limits to the earnest pursuit of historical record."

"Mmph," Clavell grunted, himself seemingly displeased and of mixed opinion on the topic.

Raifort pushed on before he could reply, "I've openly shared my findings on all archeological research I've conducted thus far. I've not set a single toe within Area Zero, either. I must admit, this… this feels a bit like I'm being punished for being transparent with the League."

"Yes, it is… lamentable," Clavell gave him sympathies, though she knew the man's hands were tied. "It seems that the League was not expecting you to take an interest in a topic as… marred in controversy."

"Controversy and conspiracy are invitations for truth-seekers such as myself," Raifort soft-bragged, pressing her palm proudly against her clavicals with a mild shake of her head. Flitting her wrist outward, she added, "If you don't allow historians to uncover the truth of history… well, I'm afraid to say that at best, falsehoods get spread as fact. And at worst? The truths left uncovered will only inevitably be weaponized by less-than-scholarly individuals…"

She had rehearsed this argument some time ago when she'd caught on to the notion that the Paldean League may not be keen on the Treasures of Ruin being uncovered in the first place.

Clavell was avoiding her intent gaze — which signalled to her that he agreed with her at least to some extent, and wanted to spare himself the berating assault to his social power. If rumors were to be spread that the Academy was stifling the pursuit of knowledge…? Well. It wouldn't help the administration's reputation, which it was barely beginning to recover from as things stood.

"I do not disagree," Clavell said at last, after a few moments of tension hung taut between the two. His eyes finally peaked out from the glare of his glasses to meet Raifort's confident resistance. "However, for the time being, I will have to insist that you refrain from meddling with the… artifacts through Paldea which are innately linked to the Treasures of Ruin."

"By which you mean… the conspicuous glowing stakes in the ground?" Raifort double-checked, though the question doubled as a call to action, given how suspicious the objects were.

"Yes," Clavell confirmed. "As well as the gates you've reported finding that match their motif. And… you are to refrain from sharing any specifics about the phenomenon to any of your students."

"Am I… being censored on this topic?" Raifort softly asked, her voice spiked with disbelief.

"No, certainly not," Clavell reassured, easing his hand toward the floor to simmer things down. "The Academy would never censor any of its students or faculty from engaging in healthy discussion over matters of historical importance. You are free to continue your research as you desire — but no field research on these phenomenon for the time being. And I will… attempt to smooth things over with the Pokémon League on the subject. I do think there is merit to your speculation — that if we, those tasked with overseeing Paldea, don't take action sooner rather than later, we may risk situations… not unlike those we have seen occur in other regions as of late."

"Like Chairman Rose and that… Eternatus situation," reminded Raifort.

Clavell's nose wrinkled with dire uncertainty. He pointed out, "Yes, well… the Chairman of Galar defended his contemptible actions with logic not unlike what you're currently proposing…"

Raifort felt the edge of her lips twitch at the veiled accusation of dubious intent. At least, she hoped it was not an accusation, so much as a pinch of professional concern.

"A… fair point made," she confessed, fidgeting with her glasses. "Caution and consideration are the best approach when it comes to situations like this."

"Completely agreed," said Clavell. "I'm relieved you understand."

"But of course," Raifort pushed out with perhaps a touch too much enthusiasm. "I understand better than most the pitfalls of not looking before leaping. They're written all across history."

"Less written about are those who kept their ships upright and sailed smoothly onward," Clavell philosophized. "There's little story to tell when peace and prosperity are maintained, after all."

"Another fair point," Raifort chuckled, rising from her seat, having sensed the topic all but concluded — for the time being, anyway. Extending her arm outward across the desk for a handshake, she said, "At any rate, I appreciate you bringing the League's concern to my attention. I admit, I can get a bit carried away in my pursuit of knowledge. I'll make sure to be more considerate in the future."

"Knowledge is the most delicious fruit to those who work and attend Naranja Academy. Those seeking knowledge look no further than the oranges of Paldea."

Raifort smirked at the Director's apt but simple metaphor.

"I may have to borrow that line for my classes," she muttered, her smirk remaining.

Chapter 4: The Third Candidate

Summary:

A visit to the nurse's office sees Raifort being reminded of some pertinent truths.

—

( A few weeks later… )

—

Raifort muttered a curse under her breath as she cautiously limped her way through the lobby, doing her best to take it slow and hide her foolish injury. She'd gotten carelessly quick carrying research materials she'd gotten delivered — as it turned out, attempting to lug a stack of old books up the stairs wasn't very smart. She'd slipped, dropping her precious cargo and messing up her foot in the process. She'd endured her afternoon class by remaining seated but now that classes were out, she realized her ankle looked bruised and a bit swollen — wonderful. Because what she needed today was to be unable to walk.

She was already frustratingly resigned to the fact that she'd have to cancel her trip to Porto Marinada to meet an archeologist and have some recently acquired relics examined for authenticity. It was already maddening enough that she was being disallowed from engaging with the mysterious artifacts related to the Treasures of Ruin, but now a self-inflicted injury was hampered her progress in other ways.

Raifort entered the room at the end of the hall — one she had yet to have any reason to enter thus far. It was surprisingly large for what it was. Raifort suspected it may have once been a classroom, repurposed recently.

"H-Hey, there! Come in, come in… Everyone's welcome in the nurse's office."

Nurse Miriam sounded a bit strained. If a person's voice could sound the way Raifort's ankle felt — swollen, bruised, and aching — then Miriam was exhibiting what that might sound like in that moment.

She was hovering between two beds tucked in the corner of her spacious and cozy office. Her fluffy pink hair was sort of like a Clefable's tail, and as she turned to face her other patient, her bright, porcelain features cracked at the edges, revealing her stress through a grimaced smile.

"Good afternoon," Raifort greeted. She was eyeballed by both of Miriam's current patients: a timid-looking student (who was suspiciously out of uniform) and none other than Nurse Dendra. Raifort received an enthused wave from Dendra, who had tissue scraps wedged up her nostrils and rust-colored stains on her white t-shirt — a nosebleed? Her often-worn black track jacket was draped over the foot of the bed she was sitting on. The other student practically shrank at Raifort's arrival, offering the most squeamish of nods. Raifort was able to catch that the student, whose short blue hair revealed a patch of red strands on the frontside, was fiddling with a pair of rectangular eyeglasses in her lap. The lenses looked broken, both of them.

"Busy afternoon," Raifort noted, presuming that it was unusual for the Academy nurse to be burdened with more patients than beds very often.

"A bit," Miriam eked out in concession. "Please… take a seat there," Miriam called with shaky courtesy, gesturing to a couch on the right side of the room. "I'll… I'll be with you shortly."

With a nod of formal gratitude, Raifort limped her way to the couch, grunting under her breath as her pain threshold reached its limit from the trek. She sighed with some relief when she collapsed onto the couch, opting to lay down across it rather than sit upright. The pressure being taken off her ankle was more relief than she'd given it all afternoon.

"Now, then," Miriam huffed, redirecting her attention to a still-grinning Dendra. "I can't understand how you both tripped into each other. Explain." And it was very clear in her tone and body language — the narrow-eyed look of dull irritation certainly helped clarify — that she was rather cross with Professor Dendra.

"We were runding lapf, you doh, for cardio and all dat," Dendra cited, flicking a dismissive wrist. Everything she was saying was muffled, her voice nasally from the wads of tissue rammed up her nose. "When, erh—" she glanced across the beds, past Miriam, to the other student, who was avoiding anyone's gaze, not just Raifort's. "—Benny here gawd a bit spooked when I blew my whizzle. Soooo, yeah! Guezz I phreaked her oud a bit — zorry, new kid!"

"I'm… not new…" mumbled 'Benny', but with a certain uncertainty to her tone. Perhaps not even hearing the forlorn teen, Dendra rolled on with her recanting.

"Dair I am, joggeen backward, whizzling oud to my glass, when I hear dis terrivied liddle shriek. I mean, I zwear, I thought a Pokuhmon had znuck onto dah track! So there I am, zpinning around mid-jog, and dair Benny is, vlinching to a stop… Bam, boom, Double Edge! We both smack the pavement, hah!" And Dendra accented her word 'smack' with a sharp snap of the back of her wrist against her opposing palm. "… Agh… Ow…" she winced after the fact, her hand apparently having suffered from this apparent fall.

"That sounds like quite the mishap," Raifort observed from her spot on the couch. "By all means, defer to our lovely nurse's wisdom over my own, but-…" Raifort pushed her glasses up, slouching against the arm of the couch with her other elbow hung up and over the arm's edge. She concluded, "I might advise you to run forward from now on…"

'Benny' smirked a little at this, while Miriam's eyelids — half-lidded — blinked rapidly with annoyance as Dendra belted out a hearty laugh.

"Where wood dah vun in that be?!" cackled Dendra, slapping her knee as she hunched forward over the edge of the bed.

"Well," sighed Miriam loudly, tossing up both hands. "I suppose it has been a super boring day…"

"Heh-heh-heh," Dendra sneakily chuckled, crossing her arms and tilting her head. "Never boring with me, is it…?" And she waggled her brows up and down with a toothy grin.

"No," Miriam agreed with a soft chuckle through her nose. "No, it certainly is not…"

Raifort chimed in, "I wouldn't confuse 'excitement' with 'fun,' Miss Dendra…"

At this, Miriam smugly smirked, hands on her hips as she nodded at the battle instructor and P.E. teacher — Dendra in turn shrunk her head into her shoulders a bit, bashfully scratching a finger against her temple with a shrug.

"But… come on, Doc, you know you enjoy my company…" Dendra sheepishly put the thought out there.

"You are my most common patient so far," the nurse admitted coyly, and her cheeks flushed a little as she swept some pink hair locks behind her shoulder. "But I'm not sure I'd go that far…"

"… Aw, really?" Dendra grumbled, and for the first time during this encounter, she didn't look cheery or confident.

Eyes closed, hand planted on her hip, Miriam slowly wriggled her finger as she pointed out, "I have plenty of adorable little students coming here to avoid classes every day of the week, Dendra. If you just want to check in with me, you don't need to hurt yourself to have an excuse…"

"Ahehh…" Dendra looked deflated and embarrassed.

"You also don't need to hurt your students while you're at it," quietly huffed the student with the broken glasses.

"H-Hey, taking a few licks is part of the process of growing!" Dendra tried to rework the situation. "The more experiences you have, the stronger you become! Osu!"

"Tell that to my glasses," 'Benny' dryly retorted, raising her banged up eyewear.

"… Ah." That was what Dendra had to say.

"Apologize," Miriam squeaked irritably.

"R-Right, obviously! I'm-… My apologies are like a Solar Beam, takes me a little bit to, you know… prepare for it." Dendra got up from her seated position on the bed, clapped her hands together, and rubbed them a bit (wincing a little as she did so). "But, hey, since I've got Miss Sunny Day over here cheering me on," ("I wasn't cheering you on…!") "here's a mega-evolved apology…!" ("What does Sunny Day have to do with mega-evolution…?")

Dendra jogged around to the foot of the student's bed, slid on her track pants' knees, and sunk her body flat into a deep bowing position.

"New kid," she belted out in that deeper, more serious tone she'd adorn during a battle demonstration, "you have my deepest apologies. As a professor of Naranja Academy, your elder, and your role model," ("You're… not my role model…") "I should be so much more considerate when coaching you. I will personally pay for your replacement glasses, and-… and even give you a personal, after-school lesson to help you with your Pokemon team. I hope this proves how dedicated I am to your experience here at the Academy!"

Raifort was bewildered and amused — and she could see that Miriam, on the sidelines, was uniquely pleased, with the side of her wrist against her chin as she smiled mischievously. Raifort would've sworn to Arceus that the nurse's gaze was directed at her peer's posturing rear end…

"I'm… not new here," sighed the student, creasing her forehead with her fingertips.

"You're not?!" cried Dendra with surprise, pushing herself up with her palms.

Ahhh, right. This must've been that student, Raifort was realizing. The one who had been sent back to Galar for a year or so, and came back to Paldea looking… different… than before. Raifort had been advised about this girl and her… certain situation. It likely made visiting any medical staff stressful enough on its own, but to have multiple professors there besides-… Knowing Dendra, the woman had probably just plain forgotten all about this after having it explained. Penny wasn't like a lot of other girls — Penny hadn't been born as one.

"Gah, I super apologize for mistaking you as a newcomer, then, too!" Dendra blurted hastily, bending her face back downward.

"All right, good enough. Now… Get off the floor," Miriam scolded in a mumble, like one would a misbehaving child. She even kicked the tip of her shoe lightly against the sole of Dendra's sneaker.

"Haghhh," Dendra winced, shaking her hands around. The palms looked a bit reddened.

"For Arceus' sake," huffed Miriam. "Sit back down before you make things worse… I'll deal with you later…"

"… Yes, Ma'am!" grunted Dendra firmly, and with a salute, plopping herself back onto her assigned bed. One might even think this was all going according to plan…

"Now, then — Miss Penny."

"Mmgh, right…" Penny cautiously held out her arms.

Miriam checked in, asking, "Does this hurt?" as she was gently grabbing, pressing, and prodding parts of Penny's arms.

"I-… I don't… think it-…? Sss-!" A pained, subdued hiss.

"Here?" Miriam intently pushed around.

"I-I… think it's just a scrape," Penny said with dismissal, shaking her head.

"Mmm… I should double check, just in case," insisted Miriam, heading to her nearby medical cart and retrieving a small gray tube. "And besides, if it is, we should apply disinfectant. Care to pop that hoodie off for me?"

"I-… Umm-…" Penny looked flustered. "I'd really… rather not…"

On her way back with a tube of cream, Miriam tilted her head downward at Penny, like one might suss out what their pet Pokemon was acting mopey about. Chin still toward her chest, her eyes skipped around to Raifort, then to Dendra.

"Ladies," Miriam primly called the professors' attention. "Would you mind… looking elsewhere while I do this? Can we give little Penny here some privacy…?"

"You got it, Doc!"

Dendra nodded vigorously, tucking her legs up and inward, cross-legged, swinging her body 180 degrees, and facing the wall beside her.

"Of course," Raifort agreed, removing her own glasses and arcing back in her laying position, tucking her arm across her eyes.

A beat. Then, Miriam sighed, "Dendra… I'm a nurse. Not a doctor. Yet."

"… Right, right," dismissed Dendra.

A few moments passed, the patient and nurse muttering quietly as things were assessed.

Raifort took the opportunity to slip into a near nap-like state. It had been a long week of conducting and grading tests. Her students, on the whole, were retaining what they needed to, but it was aggrevating to see the ones who she was certain could do better just seeming to not care. How could she make them understand that just because something was in the past, that didn't mean it didn't matter?

Besides this matter, Raifort found herself feeling a bit pent up over her stalled research on the Treasures of Ruin. There didn't currently seem to be anyone else in Paldea actively looking into them. But all it took was one competitor getting ahead of her to fold the entire house of cards she had going, here. With the PML keeping a watchful eye on her with her pinned under the thumb of the Academy, Raifort needed to work out an alternative angle. Someone else she could manipulate — ah, convince into cooperating with her…

"Miss Raifort…?"

The history prof was stirred out of her stupor by the tender prodding of Miriam's soft fingers against her forearm.

"Ah, my apologies," Raifort grunted out, squinting at the overhead lights as she rubbed her eyelashes and put her glasses back on.

"What's the matter? Feeling unwell?"

"… Yes, my-…" Raifort strained, leaning upward as she gestured her hand toward her right foot. "-… ankle, I'm afraid I had an… unpleasant tumble on the stairs earlier, and-…"

"I see," Miriam responded, shaking her head lamentably. "This place is so old, I've told the Director we really ought to install something more than just… stairs. Not everyone can-…" She trailed off, catching herself. "It's your foot, I take it?"

Raifort nodded. "I fear I may have… sprained it? Or something of the sort."

"That's just awful, dear. I'm sure I can help. Could you… roll up your pant leg?" requested the nurse. "I'll remove your shoe and take a look, if that's all right."

"Of course, of course…" Raifort did as she was told, unable to ignore the perfumey scent filling the air around her from the nurse's keenly kept hair.

As silky hands massaged at her foot, bringing some relief mixed with pangs of pain, Raifort overheard the conversation happening on the other side of the room.

"-more with… computers, innit."

"Ahhh, so your strongest muscle is your brain, I see!"

"I… guess so. Sure."

"Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, kid: the brain is just important as any other muscle!"

"Umm… But isn't it… more important than-"
"Osu! With a strong brain, you can have power over all kinds of things that brute force just won't do. The body is nothing without the mind!"

"… But the body and the mind don't always… match up very well."

"HAHA, they don't! They sure don't. But that's the thing, kid! That's the whole thing: the body changes! It grows, it-it… shrinks, it can change in so many ways!"

"… Right. I have… sort of an idea of what you m-"

"It heals, it expands, it contracts, and the brain — that's like its own entirely different beast in that department! We're talking the different between Attack and Special Attack, and you, kid? You've got Special Attack written all over you!"

"Umm… Thanks. I guess? But… I wish humans could change faster. The way Pokemon can."

"Hey, I hear you," conceded Dendra. "Us humans gotta keep at it, gotta stay consistent. But hey, look at it this way: when a Pokemon evolves, that's it. That's their new form. But us? We're flexible. We can change our form at will. Sure, it's… a little on the slow side, but we have so much more control over how we change than Pokemon do."

"… Not like Ditto," Penny flatly posited.

"Ah-ah, BUT. But-but-but!" Dendra was flailing her finger around like a fencing sword before stabbing it through the air right back in Penny's direction. "Ditto can only change form into stuff that already exists. Riiiiight?" She nodded slowly, eyes manic as if impressed at her own genius. Raifort found herself goin a little mad, because she was seeing that 'genius'. When Penny half-heartedly nodded, Dendra drove her point home.

Dendra leaned over across the gap between the beds, craning to stretch her arm out to the forlorn student, and gave her a light rap of the knuckle against her shoulder.

"Ow…"
"Agh…"

They both stung from the pal-like effort.

"Heh," chuckled Dendra warily, sitting back upright and scooting in her seat on the bed. "

"She's right," Raifort chimed in, to which Miriam paused and gave her an encouraging smile. With all eyes in the room on her, Raifort elaborated. "Even Ditto, the Pokemon all about transforming… is still limited. It can't change into something new. Only that which already exists, that which it can perceive, and copy. I believe what Miss Dendra is proposing is the notion that humans are not limited in such a way. We are not stuck along linear paths of growth and transformation."

"… So, like… Eevee…" Penny murmured.

Dendra and Raifort exchanged glances, both being keenly aware of the Eevee-themed backpack this student wore around campus almost every day.

"That is one example of non-linear evolution," Raifort cited, sitting more upright as her foot was being tended to — Miriam was wrapping it up now in some kind of brace. Raifort carred on through this process. "But even Eevee is still limited, not unlike Ditto — it only has so many options, bound if only by Typing elements. But a person, Miss Penny… a person can adapt: go forward, go backward, go sideways… we can, and every single one of us does… turn into something, someone… that did not exist before our time."

Dendra was nodding and clapping her hand before pointing across the way.

"Critical Hit, Raif! See? The history professor gets it, and she's not even into battling."

'It was a philosophical point, not a combat strategy…' thought Raifort to herself.

Out loud, she replied, "It's Raifort, actually."

"Right!" Dendra accepted with her usual eager nod. Then, refocusing back to Penny: "Sooooo yeah! Stop getting hung up on what you could be, or should be, or aren't. That kinda thinking's like Toxic: it hurts you more and more the longer you let those vibes stick around. Shake it off! If you aren't who you wanna be, then… make a plan! Train! Practice! Work for it! Whatever that might mean. It's little by little, every day, that's how you grow! Osu!" And Dendra pumped her fists at her sides in that ceremonius, karate-inflected way she was known for. "So, kid: show me your determination! Show me your will to evolve into the Penny you want to be!"

"…O-…Oh-suu…!" Penny shakily mimicked the motion. It was… weak-willed in physicality, and yet conveyed that there was more to this timid, scrawny, not-average teen than it seemed on the surface.

"Yeahhhh, that's the way!" Dendra encouraged, beaming. "Go out there and show the world someone new, someone only you can be!"

"… Right," Penny agreed, at least seeming like she was a little inspired. Whether that was just to get Miss Dendra off her case or not, Raifort couldn't say.

As she finished her work, Mirmiam quietly snuck in a side comment to Raifort: "She's got a certain way about her that's kind of awe-inspiring… don't you think?"

Raifort smirked, watching the way Mirmiam's eyes were lighting up at Miss Dendra's enthusiasm as she had Penny start squatting and punching at the air. It was as if all of that pent-up impatience she seemed to have was able to melt away, revealing a tender longing. Raifort could relate — it was how she felt every time she looked at one of the ominous shrine doors that seemed to hold one of the four Treasures of Ruin.

'Penny seems to be working through too many issues to be much help in my search. But she has helped remind me of one helpful truth: the person I'm looking for doesn't need to be exactly who I think they do from the get-go. I'd best keep this in mind.'

Notes:

That's all for this at the moment, but when the recipient fulfils her side of things for the art trade, I'll add another chapter to round this out.
If you've enjoyed this, please consider checking out some of my other Pokemon SV fics, especially 'Operation Comet Punch', my primary Pokemon work.

Otherwise, I encourage you to leave some feedback on this one.

How do you feel about Raifort's characterization? The overall tone of the interactions and narration?
I wanted something that felt more formal than what I usually write.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 7 of Pokémon SV One-Shots etc.