In the blink of an eye, the day of the Game Corner's grand opening arrived.
As the boss of the Game Corner, Guzma rarely had occasion to wear a formal suit, and it showed. The collar sat wrong, the sleeves felt like restraints, and the whole thing made him look like he was being punished for crimes he hadn't committed yet. Even dressed up, Guzma still looked fierce and unapproachable, radiating that unmistakable thug aura. Some things, apparently, were permanent.
Opening day was pure chaos—in the best possible way. Opening-day foot traffic flooded the entire street from end to end. During the run-up, newspapers with thoroughly greased palms had blasted out reports and ads for the Game Corner and for Guzma himself across all of Alola.
The effect was immediate. People weren't just curious about the new venue—they were curious about Guzma.
The former local tyrant of Alola, now running a "business"?
Plenty of them came for the spectacle alone, wondering whether the customers who walked in laughing would come out crying, hair wrecked, dignity missing. After all, Guzma had that kind of reputation.
The ribbon-cutting ceremony went smoothly. Guzma's grin split wide, satisfaction practically leaking out of him.
This is easy. Big bad me can handle this with one hand.
"Hahaha! That's it—keep it coming!" Guzma threw his arms wide to the crowd and the cameras. "Everyone, come support us from here on out! The playability of our Arceus Game Corner is absolutely the best in the world!"
He laughed loud enough to vibrate the microphones. A cluster of reporters stared up at him, and mixed among them were plenty of familiar faces—his former mentor Hala, for one, and that annoying Kukui.
Their expressions were complicated. Surprised. Measuring.
And to Guzma?
Delicious.
That's right. This is how it's supposed to be! The great Guzma said one day you'd all look up to me! And today's just the start!
He was practically chanting "satisfaction" in his head, when—
"Mr. Guzma, everyone knows that before this, you were the leader of Team Skull. May I ask why you suddenly opened a Game Corner now?" a reporter asked.
A hush snapped through the line of journalists.
The other reporters stared at their colleague with shock and admiration.
Damn. There's actually someone who isn't afraid of death?
Guzma's smile twitched and died. His face turned ugly in an instant. He fixed the reporter with a stare so sharp it felt physical—the kind that made your spine remember what fear was. The reporter swallowed reflexively.
But he still didn't back down.
He wanted to bravely fight against the evil forces!
"Mr. Guzma," he insisted, voice tight, "could you please answer?"
"Hehehe…" Guzma's laugh dropped low, like gravel sliding. "Leader of Team Skull? What are you even talking about? Team Skull's already been disbanded—by me. This Game Corner is opened under my personal name."
His assistant had drilled that exact rhetoric into him before the opening. Say it clean. Say it confident. Don't add extra.
"Then where did you get the funds to open the Game Corner?" the reporter pressed, refusing to let go. "Was it from money Team Skull robbed before?"
"A friend gave it to me. Why's that your business?" Guzma's patience was wearing thin.
"But in the past, you—"
"There are no 'buts'." Guzma cut him off with a sweeping hand, voice booming. "Who in all of Alola doesn't know the great Guzma is a helpful, good person? I've been a model citizen from start to finish!"
"Huh?" The reporter blinked like his brain had crashed. "Mr. Guzma… do you remember me?" He pointed at himself.
"Who the—who are you?" Guzma glared, instincts screaming to curse him out.
But he held it back.
He was civilized now.
Still, Guzma had already decided: the moment this ceremony ended, he was going to give this guy a proper "lesson." If he didn't send him to the hospital for a week, Guzma would write his name backward.
"Half a year ago, I accidentally bumped into you, and you punched me several times," the reporter said, dragging the past into the sunlight. The more he spoke, the more wronged he sounded. "I was about to apologize, but before I could even get the words out, your fist was already there. You knocked out two of my teeth."
"…"
Guzma actually paused—thinking.
Did that happen?
He tried to remember.
Nothing.
It wasn't that it hadn't happened. It was worse: it could've happened a hundred different times. He'd bullied too many people. And this kid had been the one who bumped into him first anyway.
"Impossible. Absolutely impossible!" Guzma said, chopping the air decisively, his voice rising to something almost violent. "That's simply impossible. Kid, what's your intention coming here and spreading rumors?"
He leaned forward slightly, eyes burning. "Who doesn't know my—Guzma's—character? The great Guzma has been a simple and honest citizen of Alola since I was in my mother's womb! And you dare slander me?"
"???" The reporter looked genuinely stunned. "You…"
"Shut up!" Guzma said, voice booming. "Kid, I can tell at a glance you're bad news! Someone paid you to come here and cause trouble, right? Security! Where's security? Drag this guy out—now!"
"Wait! It's a misunderstanding! Mr. Guzma, how can you—Waaaah!"
Two broad-shouldered, thick-waisted, muscle-bound security guards marched in and hauled the reporter away. One of them even slapped a hand over his mouth to muff his shouted grievances.
The scene was… educational.
The surrounding reporters suddenly found their mouths a bit dry. Their courageous hearts settled back down into sensible, professional fear.
Reporting was important, sure.
Personal safety was more important.
"This guy Guzma…"
From a corner, Damian watched the stage with open amusement. "As long as he doesn't make any major mistakes, it's fine."
The goal was simple: use Guzma's fame to spike attention for a brand-new Game Corner. And judging by the crowd and the cameras, it was working perfectly.
"Damian," Caitlin said beside him, wearing a white lady's hat, her tone tactful and mild, "I don't think Mr. Guzma is suitable to manage the Game Corner long-term."
"Yeah. That's fine." Damian didn't argue. "After the initial opening period is over, I'll have someone else take over. Guzma will only need to be a figurehead then."
He knew it. Guzma had absolutely no management talent, and his temperament was even less suitable.
"Let's go." Damian led Caitlin away from the scene.
"Caitlin, how have you been feeling lately?" Damian asked with a smile as they strolled down the street.
"I feel very fulfilled," Caitlin replied with a gentle, faint smile. "Life is much richer than before. I like it very much."
What did she do every day now?
In the morning, she led a team of Team Rocket members to clear out Hunter organization bases. If time was sufficient, she'd clear another. When she returned in the afternoon, she would contact Proton or Guzma for special training and sparring. If both of them were busy, she would find Damian—and Damian would accompany her for special training as well.
But to be honest, Caitlin didn't really want to train with Damian.
Damian's way of battling… how should she put it?
Caitlin couldn't describe it.
But emotions didn't lie. Her psychic powers wouldn't become restless even if she lost to Proton or Guzma ten times. Yet after sparring with Damian once, her eyes would start to glow blue.
To that, Damian only smiled and said it was for her own good.
It was to train her mind.