When Enzo finished, the line went dead-quiet. Not the kind of silence that meant confusion, it was, the kind that meant Nero was replaying every step in his head, testing it for cracks.
Enzo didn't move. He kept the phone to his ear, expression unreadable, as if he'd just delivered a routine report instead of a gamble that could bury them all.
Seconds passed. Long ones.
Then Executive Nero spoke, slow and flat.
"Very well," the Executive finally responded, his tone devoid of any warmth or optimism. "Let's see if it works."
Enzo waited, his grip on the phone tightening.
"Call Viper," Nero instructed. "He will redirect you to someone who can obtain the… assets you requested, plus He has the coordinates for the Pokémon species."
Enzo let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me," Nero cut him off, the implied threat in his voice becoming sharp and explicit. "Just make sure the plan works. Because if it doesn't… You already know what happens."
Click.
The line died.
Enzo lowered the phone slowly, the black screen reflecting his expressionless face. He knew exactly what would happen.
He turned to face the room. The atmosphere was still heavy following the intense training session. The smell of ozone and damp concrete lingered in the air.
"Leni," Enzo called out.
The Professor gulped. "Yes, Boss?"
"Stop the research," Enzo ordered, his voice cutting through the hum of the ventilation. "The thesis on the Fairy Type… suspend it immediately."
Leni's eyes went wide behind his glasses. "What? Why? Boss, with these new funds you secured, it would be so much easier to finish! We are on the verge of a discovery that would change the scientific community!"
"I don't care about the scientific community right now. I care about the plan." Enzo walked over to the metal table, resting his hands on the topographical map. "You can use the funds. Use them all if you want. But you have to complete something for me by the end of the week."
Enzo leaned in close and whispered something into Leni's ear. The Professor turned pale, his mouth opening slightly in shock, but he nodded slowly.
Leni swallowed hard, grabbed his laptop, and ran toward the basement stairs without a word.
Enzo then turned his gaze to Proton. His most lethal subordinate was attentively analyzing the plan he had just heard Enzo describe to Nero.
"Proton. While Ronnie and I handle a local mission… I have a different job for you."
Enzo pulled out his TR Device, his thumb hovering over a locked file. He swiped up, sending the data across the room.
"I want you to travel. I need intel on this person."
A sharp, digital chime echoed from Proton's pocket. He pulled out his own device and unlocked the screen. A secure folder opened, revealing a high-resolution photograph and a dense digital dossier Enzo had compiled during his sleepless nights, based on knowledge from his past life.
Proton frowned as he scanned the document.
"This…" Proton looked up, skeptical. "Does this matter right now?"
"That person is going to be very important in the future," Enzo said with chilling certainty. "Perhaps more important than both of us. Don't let yourself be seen. He cannot know of your existence. Just watch and report."
Proton looked at Enzo, then back at the photo. The seriousness in his boss's eyes dispelled any doubt. He nodded sharply, tucking the file away.
"When do I leave?"
"Pack your bags. You leave tomorrow morning."
Proton bowed his head. "Understood."
Finally, Enzo looked toward the corner of the room. "Ronnie."
"Are you ready?" Enzo asked. "Because at any moment, I'm going to need you. And Ronnie… this mission is critical. There is no room for failure."
Ronnie slammed his fist against his chest, a clumsy salute filled with fervor. "Okay, Boss! I'm ready to break some bones!"
"I hope you're ready for more than that."
Enzo picked up the TR Device again, his thumb hovering over the encrypted contact list. He took a breath and pressed call.
Contact: Viper.
The line connected with a sharp, digital click.
"I already know everything," Viper's sibilant voice cut through before Enzo could even speak. "Nero briefed me. The coordinates where you can find the specific Pokémon species have already been sent to your device."
"And the other request?" Enzo asked, cutting to the chase.
"The Team Aqua member," Viper mused. "Yes. We have one. Or rather, a specific associate within Team Rocket is currently… holding one."
"Who is the contact?"
"I am redirecting the call now," Viper said. There was a pause, the static on the line humming with tension. Then, Viper's voice dropped, losing its usual professional detachment for a split second. "Enzo… I trust this person's competence to deliver, but listen to me closely: be careful. He is not like us."
The line crackled as the transfer went through.
"Hello?"
Enzo froze.
It wasn't a standard greeting. The voice was scratchy, theatrical, and laced with a manic energy that few people in the organization possessed. But Enzo, with the memories of his past life, recognized it instantly. It was a voice he had heard through speakers in games and anime, a voice associated with deception and chaos.
Executive Petrel. The Master of Disguise.
Enzo's grip on the device tightened. Dealing with Nero was like dealing with a cold glacier, dealing with Petrel was like walking through a minefield while blindfolded.
"Apologies for calling so late, Executive Petrel," Enzo said, forcing his voice to remain steady and respectful.
There was a beat of silence, followed by a laugh that sounded like dry paper tearing.
"Kekeke… You recognize my voice?" Petrel asked, sounding genuinely delighted. "Interesting..."
"I make it my business to know who holds the power," Enzo lied smoothly.
"Flattery! I like it," Petrel chirped, before his tone shifted abruptly to something sharper. "I heard you need something I have. A little fish out of water."
"Yes, Sir."
"Go to the Cerulean Docks. Now," Petrel ordered. "I'll have my men send the prisoner there. He's a bit… used up, but he's alive."
Enzo glanced at Ronnie, who was waiting by the door. "Sir," Enzo added quickly. "I have one more request. I need his equipment. The full Team Aqua uniform. Is that possible?"
" The pirate costume?" Petrel laughed again. "Sure, sure! Why not? I'll throw in the mask too."
The line went quiet for a second, the playfulness evaporating.
"But Enzo, my boy… everything has a price."
Enzo frowned. "Of course. How many TR Points?"
"Forget the points," Petrel whispered, his voice sounding like it was right next to Enzo's ear. "I saw the reports from Trial Island. That subordinate of yours… the poisonous one. Proton. He has... potential..."
Enzo felt a cold chill run down his spine.
"Send me the boy," Petrel proposed. "Transfer him to my unit, and you can have the Aqua trash and the gear for free."
The silence in the warehouse became absolute. Proton, who was packing his bag a few meters away, stopped moving. He didn't hear the call, but he felt the shift in Enzo's aura.
"Impossible," Enzo replied instantly, his voice dropping an octave, losing all traces of deference. "I would never trade one of my people."
There was a tense silence on the line. Enzo held his breath, wondering if he had just signed his own death warrant by refusing an Executive.
Then, Petrel clicked his tongue loudly.
"Tsk. How boring..." Petrel sighed dramatically. "Fine. TR Points it is. Transfer them, and get to the docks. Don't keep my guys waiting."
The rain in Cerulean City didn't cleanse the streets; it just made the neon lights reflect harder off the wet asphalt.
Enzo walked toward the industrial district, his hands buried deep in the pockets of a generic black hoodie, a medical mask covering the lower half of his face. It was a strange kind of purgatory, walking through a city that was plastered with his own face.
He passed a bus stop where a massive, backlit poster glowed through the drizzle. It showed his "Dark Urban" persona, brooding and stylish, with the slogan DEVON: RULE THE SKYLINE. A group of teenagers ran past him seeking shelter, two of them wearing the exact waterproof bomber jackets Enzo had in the posters. They brushed right past the real Enzo to get away from the rain, completely unaware.
As he reached the edge of the docks, the city lights faded, replaced by the harsh, yellow glow of security floods and the smell of salt and diesel.
A massive silhouette stepped out from behind a stack of crates. It was a Grunt, built like a brick wall, flanked by two twitching Raticates that hissed at the rain.
The man didn't ask for names. In this line of work, names were a liability. He simply blocked the path, crossing his thick arms, waiting for the counter-sign.
Enzo didn't speak. He reached into his pocket slowly, making sure the movement wasn't mistaken for aggression, and pulled out his TR Device. He tapped the screen, displaying a shifting encrypted QR code authorized by Executive Petrel.
He held the glowing screen up in the darkness.
The Grunt pulled out a scanner and swept it over the device. A sharp, solitary beep cut through the sound of the rain. The scanner flashed green.
"Verified," the Grunt grunted, stepping aside. "This way."
The Grunt led him deeper into the maze of shipping containers until they stopped in front of a rusted, red metal box. With a heavy grunt of effort, the man hauled the locking mechanism open. The doors groaned, revealing a pitch-black interior.
The smell hit Enzo first, stale sweat, old blood, and the unmistakable stench of the sea rotting in a confined space.
Inside, tied to a metal chair, sat a man who looked less like a soldier and more like a ghost. He was emaciated, his cheekbones protruding sharply against pale, bruised skin. His lips were cracked from dehydration. He was clearly a member of Team Aqua, though the fight had been beaten out of him days ago.
Beside the chair sat a blue waterproof duffel bag stamped with the white 'A' logo.
"He's still breathing," the Grunt said indifferently. "Barely."
Enzo stepped inside, inspecting the prisoner. "How did you even secure a Team Aqua operative? They don't usually operate in Kanto."
The Grunt puffed out his chest, clearly proud of the operation. "It was a special extraction mission. We hit a cell in the Hoenn region."
Enzo paused, his eyes narrowing behind the mask. "Hoenn?"
"Yeah. Orders came straight from the top."
Enzo felt a flicker of genuine intrigue mixed with calculation. Giovanni wasn't just expanding turf randomly.
Why Hoenn? And why now?
His mind raced back to his negotiation with the Boss. They had discussed expansion. Enzo had explicitly mentioned his ambition to take the organization to Hoenn. Was this Giovanni's way of preparing the chessboard? Was the Boss already gathering intelligence on the local gangs to pave the way for Enzo's future arrival?
It seemed efficient. Logical. But with Giovanni, there was always the possibility of a second, darker agenda hidden beneath the surface.
"Close it up," Enzo ordered, stepping back out into the rain. "I want this container delivered to my warehouse in the industrial district."
He pulled out his phone and transferred the required credits for the shipping. Then, he added a significant amount on top.
The Grunt checked his device, and his eyes widened. "Sir? You sent too much."
"Consider it a bonus for the clean extraction," Enzo said smoothly. "Buy your Raticates something premium."
The Grunt grinned, showing a missing tooth. "Thank you, Sir!"
"Just get it done."
Enzo bent down and picked up the blue Team Aqua duffel bag. It was heavy with the weight of wet-weather gear. He threw it over his shoulder.
"Porygon2," he whispered.
A flash of digital blue light cut through the rainy night, and in an instant, Enzo vanished from the docks.
Enzo materialized in the center of the warehouse, the blue digital residue of the teleport fading around him. He didn't waste a second. He swung the heavy waterproof bag off his shoulder and tossed it at Ronnie, who was admiring his reflection in a darkened window, wearing one of the new Devon Corp jackets.
"Put this on," Enzo ordered.
Ronnie caught the bag, opened it, and pulled out a striped shirt and a blue bandana. His face twisted in disgust.
"Boss… are you serious?" Ronnie gestured to his sleek, black tactical gear. "I'm finally dripping in the good stuff. You want me to wear this? It looks like a costume for a pirate."
"It's not a request, Ronnie. It's a disguise. Put it on." Enzo walked over to a supply shelf, searching for something. "And we need to change your hair. Team Aqua runs a tight ship on uniformity. Do we have blue dye?"
Ronnie scoffed. "Blue dye? No. Why would we have that?"
Enzo turned around, holding a pair of heavy-duty electric clippers usually used for grooming. He plugged them into the wall.
"Then shave it."
Ronnie's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He instinctively covered his Green hair with his hands. "Shave it?"
"Ronnie," Enzo said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, quiet tone. "Do you want to be useful?"
Ronnie looked at the clippers, then at Enzo's unyielding expression. He swallowed hard. The vanity lost the war against loyalty. With a heavy sigh, he sat down on a metal stool.
"Just… make it quick," Ronnie mumbled, closing his eyes.
Bzzzzzz.
Tufts of green hair fell to the concrete floor. Minutes later, Ronnie stood up. He was completely bald, the skin of his scalp pale under the harsh fluorescent lights. Dressed in the blue-and-white stripes of Team Aqua, with the bandana tied tight, he looked completely different. He looked like a thug from the Hoenn coast.
"You look unrecognizable," Enzo said with a nod of approval. He grabbed his own coat. "Let's go. We're going somewhere dangerous."
Ronnie rubbed his smooth head, the strangeness of the sensation making him grimace, but then a wide, jagged grin split his face.
"Dangerous is my middle name, Boss."
The sun was just beginning to bleach the sky grey when they returned.
Enzo and Ronnie walked into the warehouse, dragging their feet. They were exhausted, their boots caked in mud from whatever nocturnal excursion they had just survived, but they had arrived just in time.
Outside, a heavy truck was reversing. The air brakes hissed, and a large metal shipping container was lowered onto the pavement with a ground-shaking thud.
The delivery crew didn't ask questions; they just drove off.
Enzo unlocked the container. The smell of sickness wafted out. Inside, the Team Aqua prisoner was slumped against the wall, shivering. He was barely conscious, his breathing shallow and ragged.
"He looks like he's about to check out," Ronnie observed, peering over Enzo's shoulder.
Enzo grabbed the prisoner by the collar and dragged him out, tossing him into a secure holding cell they had rigged up in the back.
"Don't let him die, and cut his hair the same style as yours," Enzo ordered, locking the gate. "But don't let him recover either. Bread and water. Keep him weak."
Ronnie nodded, peeling off the Team Aqua shirt he had been wearing all night. He balled it up with a look of pure disdain.
"Can I burn this now? It smells like fish."
"No," Enzo said sharply. "Hide it well. We'll need it later."
Enzo rubbed his temples, the lack of sleep starting to catch up with him. He gestured toward the basement stairs.
"For the meantime, go downstairs. Help Hypno feed the stock. I need to clean up."
After cleaning up Enzo descended into the basement. The air down here was different, heavy with the smell of strong coffee, burning solder, and the faint, musky scent of Pokémon in close quarters.
He found Professor Leni hunched over his workstation, surrounded by a tangled mess of wires, stripped circuit boards, and empty energy drink cans. The man looked like a corpse kept alive by electricity. His eyes were red-rimmed and twitched slightly as he examined a liquid.
"Leni," Enzo said softly.
Leni jumped, nearly dropping the flask. He spun around, his glasses slipping down his nose.
"Boss! I… I didn't hear you."
"How is it going?"
Leni ran a hand through his greasy, disheveled hair. "It's… difficult. Recreating purely from memory is a nightmare."
Enzo stepped closer, looking at the complex diagrams on the screen. He didn't understand the science, but he understood the desperation.
"Don't cut corners," Enzo ordered, his voice brooking no argument. "Spend whatever you need. Order components from the black market, bribe suppliers, I don't care. Just make sure we have it by the end of the week."
Leni looked at Enzo, seeing the absolute seriousness in his eyes. He nodded, a renewed sense of manic focus taking over.
"It will be ready. I promise."
Enzo left the warehouse alone.
He wasn't wearing the flashy bomber jackets from the billboards. Instead, he chose a piece from the heavier, more obscure "Enzo Style" line. It was an oversized black hoodie with a massive, structural funnel neck that rose up to cover his chin and nose, secured by tactical straps. The sleeves featured grey tactical rushing, giving it a futuristic, heavy silhouette.
With a black cap pulled low over his eyes and a mask tucked underneath the high collar, he was unrecognizable. He didn't look like a celebrity trainer; he looked like an urban phantom, anonymous and invisible.
He walked with purpose toward a building that, in his previous life, he would have avoided like a plague zone: the Cerulean City Police Station.
He entered the lobby and sat on a wooden bench near the entrance, crossing his arms, waiting.
Twenty minutes later, the automatic doors slid open.
A young female officer marched in, her grip firm on the arm of a sullen-looking teenager in handcuffs. The teenager was wearing a very expensive-looking—and very stolen—Devon Corp jacket.
"Caught her stealing," the officer reported to the desk sergeant, her voice tired but professional. "Another one."
She handed the shoplifter over to processing and let out a long, heavy sigh, rolling her neck to pop the stiffness.
She turned to leave, her guard down for a split second.
Enzo stood up and approached her from behind, moving silently.
"Officer."
Her reaction was instantaneous. She didn't turn; she spun, her weight shifting as she threw a sharp, tactical punch aimed directly at the stranger's jaw.
Enzo didn't flinch. He slipped his head to the side, the leather of her glove grazing his ear. He stepped back, raising his hands in surrender.
"Easy, Lilian," he said, his voice muffled by the mask.
Lilian froze, her fist still raised. She stared at the masked man, her eyes narrowing.
Enzo reached up and pulled the black mask down to his chin.
"Enzo?" she breathed, lowering her hand. "Damn it! You almost got a broken nose. You shouldn't sneak up on cops!"
"I figured your reflexes were better than that," he teased, a small smile playing on his lips.
"What are you doing here?" She looked around nervously. "Did you get into trouble? Are you turning yourself in?"
"No," Enzo laughed softly. "I wanted to talk to you."
"About what?"
"I wanted to say thank you properly," he said. "For the ride you gave me during the tournament. Without that, I wouldn't have made it to the next round. I owe you."
Lilian blinked, surprised. "Oh. That? It was just… part of the job. Serving the public."
"It mattered to me," Enzo insisted. "I want to buy you dinner. Tonight. 7:00 PM."
Lilian looked at him, skepticism written all over her face.
"I'm not paying, right? Half the city has posters of you. Don't tell me you still need to steal from me?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Of course I'm paying. It's a thank you gift," he corrected, though his eyes held a playful glint. "Do you accept?"
She bit her lip, thinking it over, and then a smile broke through her professional veneer.
"Fine. 7:00 PM. But if you make me wait, I'm arresting you."
At 7:00 PM sharp, Enzo was leaning against the stone pillar outside the Cerulean Summit.
When Lilian arrived, she looked almost like a different person. Gone was the rigid blue uniform and the officer's cap; she wore a simple, casual dress that softened her posture.
"You look beautiful, Cadet," Enzo said.
She responded with a slap on his shoulder. "Stop teasing me, or I'm leaving."
"I'm sorry, Officer," Enzo replied smoothly.
She shook her head. "At least you're not late. Unlike your matches."
"Why the surprise?" Enzo asked, pushing off the pillar and offering her his arm. "I told you. I'm a man of my word."
She took his arm, giving him a skeptical look. "You can't blame me for doubting. Most trainers aren't late to six different matches."
"I'm not 'most trainers,'" he said, smiling.
They walked inside. The Cerulean Summit was the most exclusive establishment in the city—the same place where, weeks ago, Enzo had made Lilian pay an exorbitant 3,000 Pokédollars for two coffees and toast.
The dynamic, however, had shifted violently.
As soon as they stepped into the foyer, the host straightened his spine.
"Mr. Enzo!" the man exclaimed, bowing deeply. "It is an honor to have you back. Your table is ready. The best view in the house."
As they were guided through the dining room, the ambient noise dropped. Heads turned. Whispers rippled across the tables like a wave. People pointed at the man in the dark hoodie, the face of the Devon Corp fashion line, the Dark-type specialist.
They sat down, and Lilian leaned over the table, amused.
"Look at you," she whispered. "Who would have thought? Now you're a celebrity."
Enzo picked up the menu, shrugging slightly.
"It's just noise, Lilian. The cameras, the posters… none of it helps you win a match. I try not to pay attention to it."
Lilian blinked, staring at him across the table. She looked genuinely taken aback.
"Wow," she admitted, raising her eyebrows. "That is… surprisingly mature. I have to be honest, I wasn't expecting that from you."
Enzo lowered the menu just enough to look her in the eyes, a playful smirk touching his lips.
"I'm full of surprises, Lilian."
They ate a dinner that cost more than the rent of Enzo's old apartment. The conversation was easy, flowing from city politics to Pokémon training theories. But as the dessert arrived, Lilian's expression turned serious.
"So," she asked, toying with her spoon. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"
Enzo took a sip of his espresso. "Nervous? No." He paused, his eyes darkening slightly. "But I am cautious. The only one who worries me… is Bea."
Lilian nodded. "The Fighting-type expert. She's intense. I've seen her train her Machamp… it's frightening." She looked up, offering him a warm smile. "But I've seen you fight, too. You're smarter than her. You can win."
Enzo leaned back, a playful smirk touching his lips. "And what do I get if I win?"
Lilian blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean? You get the prize money. The fame. The trophy."
"I mean from you," Enzo countered. "No incentive?"
Lilian laughed, flustered. "From me? Nothing!"
Enzo sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Tsk. I expected as much. People from Pallet Town are so cold. No support for their friends."
Lilian's jaw dropped in mock offense. "Cold? We are not cold! Pallet Town is the warmest community in Kanto!"
"Prove it," Enzo challenged.
Lilian tapped her chin, thinking hard, her cheeks flushing slightly under the ambient light. She wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. Then, an idea struck her.
"Fine," she declared. "If you pass the semi-finals… I'll give you a personal guided tour of Pallet Town."
Enzo kept his face perfectly calm, masking the surge of adrenaline that hit him.
Bingo, he thought. Mission Complete.
"Wow, what an honor," Enzo teased, a smooth charm in his voice. "Deal."
He signaled the waiter and paid the bill with a black card.
They walked out into the cool night air.
"I'm going to need your number," he stated, his tone casual but expectant.
Lilian raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "What? Why?"
"Practicality," Enzo corrected with a smirk. "I need to know how to reach my tour guide once I win. Unless you plan on sending a carrier Pidgey to find me."
He reached into his pocket, bypassing his encrypted TR device, and pulled out the simple, sleek smartphone he used for his public persona. He unlocked it and held it out to her.
Lilian rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Fine," she said, taking the device. She quickly typed in her digits. "But don't think this means you can annoy me whenever you want."
She handed it back.
"Don't forget the promise," Enzo reminded her as he pocketed the phone.
"I won't," Lilian promised. She hesitated, then placed a hand on his arm. "Good luck tomorrow, Enzo."
Enzo turned to walk away into the shadows, his silhouette merging with the darkness of the city he was slowly conquering. He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes glinting.
"I don't need luck."