Ula'ula Island. Damian and Caitlin were back again.
They were at the Aether House—one of the Aether Foundation's "model" branches for humans and Pokémon living in harmony. The staff here took in injured wild Pokémon. They took in children with nowhere else to go. To Damian, it was an orphanage with better branding.
And branding mattered.
This was why the Aether Foundation's reputation in Alola was untouchable. Whatever rot lived at the top stayed hidden from the public, while the work on the ground stayed visible. People didn't worship Lusamine because of speeches. They worshipped her because places like this existed.
Damian and Caitlin arrived carrying a large stack of supplies for both the children and the Pokémon—snacks, toys, books, clothes. Enough to make the room brighten before anyone even spoke.
"Thank you both so much for coming to visit the children," an Aether Foundation staff member said, genuinely moved. His eyes flicked over the bags, then back to their faces.
"Don't mention it," Damian replied, smiling politely. "We're just doing our part."
He said it like it was simple.
Caitlin was already among the children, calm and composed. She sat with perfect posture as if the chair had been made for her alone, her gloves clean, her clothes, not a wrinkle out of place. Even in a modest shelter full of noise and scuffed floors, she looked unreal—like someone had carried a painting into the room and set it down gently.
Hattrem floated near her shoulder, swaying like a quiet bell. Caitlin spoke softly, telling a story. The children listened with round, attentive eyes.
The staff member exhaled, relief in his expression. "You brought so much. They'll be thrilled."
"You're the ones doing the hard work," Damian said, voice even. "Taking care of them every day. That can't be easy."
Looking at the children's smiles, Damian let his own show—brief, controlled. Cute was useful. Happiness was useful. A child who remembered kindness didn't grow into an adult who threw stones.
He didn't donate out of softness. He donated because it was efficient.
A happy child became a loyal citizen. Or a future asset.
The staff member nodded. "It's not so bad. Kind people come by to play with them. The children are well-behaved. Though, if I had to say…" His jaw tightened as memory caught. "When Team Skull was still around, they came here a lot. Harassing us. Those thugs had no compassion. They'd even bully the kids."
Damian's smile didn't change—but it went thinner around the edges.
Team Skull had been loud. Messy. Pointlessly cruel.
Stupid.
"For the staff of the Foundation, they were the worst," the man continued bitterly. "Lower than animals. No shame."
He had no idea that the President he admired had kept Guzma within arm's reach for years.
"But Team Skull is gone now," he finished, voice loosening into relief. "Peace returned."
Team Skull was gone. Peace returned.
"Good," Damian said simply.
He didn't smile. Not here.
He glanced at the children again—at their trust, their easy laughter—and made the calculation the way he always did. If Team Rocket wanted Alola long-term, it didn't start by terrorizing a place like this. That kind of reputation didn't scare people into obedience; it united them into resistance.
Power wasn't just fear.
Power was consent, bought in advance.
"Hi everyone! I'm back again!"
The front door swung open.
A young girl in a dark blue dress walked in, her voice cheerful and bright. The moment the kids saw her, they shouted and ran over like they'd been waiting all day.
"Sister Acerola!"
"Good children!" she chirped, laughing as she crouched to their level. "Have you been reading your books properly today?"
She smiled until her eyes curved into crescents.
And the room changed.
It wasn't dramatic. No wind. No thunder.
Just a small shift—like someone had drawn a curtain over the sun.
The corners of the room looked a little deeper. The shadows under chairs stretched a fraction too long. The air cooled by a degree, not enough to notice with skin, but enough to feel with instinct. A few of the injured Pokémon lifted their heads. Some went still. Hattrem's sway slowed.
Damian watched without moving, gaze fixed on Acerola.
Dark purple hair, medium-length, styled in a way that resembled a Mareanie. A slender, petite frame. A long dress with visible patches. A gold armlet on her left arm.
She looked like a child in patched cloth—until she moved.
Acerola's steps were light and precise, too graceful for the outfit she wore. The patched fabric tried to make her look small and harmless. It failed. That gold armlet didn't read like decoration. It read like inheritance—like a responsibility that never really left her skin.
This was Acerola: Ula'ula's Trial Captain.
A Ghost-type specialist.
Someone who could smile like this and still make the air feel colder.
After calming the children down, Acerola turned her big eyes toward Damian and Caitlin and flashed an open, fearless grin.
"Oh! New faces! Hello there!" she said. "I'm Acerola!"
"We've heard of you," Damian replied smoothly. "Acerola, the Trial Captain of Ula'ula Island. I'm Damian."
"I'm Caitlin. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Caitlin gave a graceful bow. Her movements were clean and exact—aristocratic in the way of someone who'd never had to rush, because the world had always waited.
Acerola stared at her for half a second, then blurted, completely sincere, "Caitlin, you're so beautiful!"
The compliment landed with the blunt honesty of a child. But Acerola's eyes weren't childish. They were sharp in a quiet way—like she was looking through the surface and deciding what was real.
"Thank you," Caitlin said warmly. "You're very lovely as well, Acerola. And your dress has a unique style."
"Hehehe~ really?" Acerola beamed, eyes turning into crescents again. "I made it myself, you know!"
Any girl would be happy to be complimented—especially by someone who carried herself like Caitlin.
Caitlin's expression stayed gentle, but her attention didn't loosen. She was curious, yes. Also cautious. She couldn't explain it, but Acerola's presence made her psychic senses itch, like a light pressure behind the eyes.
Acerola wasn't just a friendly girl.
She was a door to something colder.
"Acerola," Damian cut in, voice casual, timing perfect, "are you free right now?"
"Hmm…" Acerola tilted her head. "Acerola doesn't have anything to do right now. That's why I came here to play with everyone."
"In that case," Damian said, "battle Caitlin. All-out."
"Eh?" Acerola blinked, stunned.
"Acerola, would that be alright?" Caitlin asked politely.
Acerola hesitated. Despite how she acted, she wasn't naïve about herself. "Well… but I'm actually very strong."
It wasn't boasting. It was warning—delivered softly, almost kindly.
"Don't worry about that," Damian said with a short laugh. "Caitlin is strong too."
"Really?" Acerola's eyes lit up. "Okay then! I love battling too!"
Damian stayed quiet as the two girls faced each other—Caitlin pristine and composed, Acerola patched and smiling, with something old and heavy sitting just behind that smile.
Caitlin had made fast progress. Now she needed pressure. Acerola was perfect: an Elite-level Ghost specialist who could force growth without the impossible gap Damian himself represented. For a strong trainer, learning to fight through a type disadvantage wasn't optional.
It was a prerequisite.
Caitlin stepped forward—then paused.
For an instant, she saw it.
Not beside Acerola. Not in front of her.
Behind her.
A shadow on the floor that didn't match any body in the room shifted—just slightly—like something unseen had leaned in to watch.
Caitlin's eyes narrowed a fraction.
Acerola kept smiling. Innocent. Bright.
And the temperature dropped again.