The door closed behind Giovanni with a soft, expensive click.
For a second, no one moved.
Proton was still holding his breath as if the air itself had become property. Ronnie stared at the spot where Giovanni had stood, his expression caught between awe and disbelief. Even the holograms above the remaining Poké Balls seemed dimmer now, like they understood the room had lost its sun.
Enzo exhaled slowly. Not relief. Recalibration. The conversation had ended, the window had shut, and somehow he'd managed to slide a plan through it.
Executive Nero remained.
He didn't rush after Giovanni. He stood beside the oak table, hands behind his back, and regarded Enzo with something close to amusement.
"First day," Nero said, voice mild, "and you're already asking for private words with the Boss."
Ronnie let out a short, nervous laugh that sounded wrong in a room like this.
Enzo's mouth curved slightly.
"It's for everyone's benefit," he said.
Nero's eyes narrowed a fraction, not in disapproval. More like he was tasting the sentence.
"Is it?" Nero murmured.
Then his tone changed. The air changed with it.
"Listen carefully," Nero said. "From this moment onward, you three operate as a unit."
He looked at Proton. Then Ronnie. Then Enzo.
"Designation: Lambda."
The word hit like a stamp. Proton straightened. Ronnie blinked, then tried to stand straighter too, like posture alone could make him worthy of it.
"Lambda Unit," Nero continued, "under the Shadow Unit's authority. You will be available when summoned. You will respond fast. You will not improvise in ways that compromise the organization."
He paused.
"Understood?"
Proton nodded immediately. "Understood, Executive."
Ronnie nodded a beat later, eager. "Yes—understood, Executive."
Enzo dipped his head once. "Understood."
Nero's gaze lingered on Enzo for a second longer than the others.
"Good," Nero said. "You'll learn quickly that being talented is irrelevant if you can't be controlled."
Ronnie swallowed. Proton's jaw tightened.
Enzo didn't react.
Nero turned slightly toward the exit, as if the briefing was over.
"Your first move," he said, "is to travel to Cerulean City."
Ronnie perked up. "Cerulean?"
"A Shadow Unit assembly," Nero replied. "Important. Mandatory. You will be present."
He took one step.
Then stopped.
"One more thing."
From inside his coat, Nero produced a thick folder and tossed it onto the oak table. It landed with a dull, heavy slap against the leather surface.
Enzo looked down.
The folder was too thick for simple paperwork.
"What is this?" Enzo asked.
"A requirement," Nero replied. "Every Shadow Unit team is assigned a support professor. You will choose one."
Proton's eyebrows rose. "A professor?"
Ronnie frowned. "Like… a League professor?"
Nero's gaze slid to Ronnie with mild impatience, the kind reserved for people who asked questions that reality had already answered.
"Yes," Nero said. "Licensed. Accredited. Clean. Useful."
He tapped the folder once with two fingers.
"Some of them are ours," Nero added. "Some of them owe us. Some of them don't even realize they're working for us. That depends on the arrangement."
Enzo's eyes narrowed slightly. "I wasn't aware this was part of the structure."
"Most people aren't..." Nero said.
His tone was dry now, like he was listing components.
"The professor provides cover. Resources. Access. Information," Nero said. "And when needed, plausible explanations for the things you do."
He straightened.
"Choose quickly," Nero said. "Submit the selection through Rocket channels. Human Resources will handle relocation when necessary."
He turned toward the door again.
"Cerulean," Nero repeated. "Don't be late."
And then he was gone.
The silence he left behind felt strange. Lighter and more dangerous.
Only the three of them remained now. No Boss watching. No executive pressure filling the corners.
Just Enzo, Proton, and Ronnie, and the reality that they were no longer recruits.
Enzo stared at the folder for a moment.
Then he opened it.