𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡 ✦ 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗧𝗬

It's easy to understand Togepi's overstimulation. It hit fast, too. Tears beading into streams on either side, which he can't deny, brings about some guilt from his end. Not because it's his doing, but because some of all this had been at Togepi's expense. For a moment, he angles toward Shoko, away from the girls, as if to shield it even as their questions all spill out in a rush. One even going as far to ask if it was a shiny. Shoko did him the favor of taking back her little egg right off his hands, calming it within moments...

but, much like everything before Togepi, their fickle curiosity already drifts to what seems to be the next novelty in Satoru's Grookey. The 'awws' reorienting towards Grookey when Satoru scolded the group, or well, pretends to...

'weaponized concern', he'd call it. Now, before he can think anything else of it, one of the girls tugs at his now free hands, pulling Suguru along with the current (of girls) back toward Satoru. Even before he had a chance to opt out and disengage. But, it's not like he has any problem rolling with it. By the time they reach the hot spring, to Satoru's claim, Suguru can regard his best friends tactic. Checkmate, apparently. Not that it's a game. Not really. Whatever this is, it's definitely boiled down to a small challenge between the two best friends. But the girls had easily resigned to joining Satoru. 'just a quick dip!' one of the girls already exclaims, pulling her shirt over her head, and the others joining right after.

the party's over. not by him, not by Shoko, and not by any rogue pokemon. But instead, an elderly employee scowling from the other spring, 'SHOWERS FIRST! ALL OF YOU! Out of the water!! NOW.' The whole group is left utterly taken back as the woman approaches, clapping both hands, the scowl only increasing in volume as she gets closer. That's Suguru's cue to shy on out of there, un-scolded, out of sight with Dreepy beside him, hovering nearby.

The two (he and Dreepy) found Shoko at the table already ordering their drinks. She appears unbothered, but not too eager, either. A smile crosses his lips as he slides into the seat beside her. She claims they owed her, and maybe they do. Suguru glances at her, "Isn't there some sort of saying... 'when in Rome'?" as if to excuse he and Satoru's antics. Only a little. Lightly teasing at the matter. Dreepy (Boo) moves in to greet Togepi, then moving under the table, out of sight into the shadow. "Alright. Cider first, and then I'll handle getting the keys, and whatever damage control we uncovered with the bathing policy..." shrugging it off before the girls trail after, inviting themselves to join in on the drinks.

and then the screaming started. not from the girls. from some old lady. a wrinkly, furious harpy of a woman marching towards them with the righteous fury of a thousand offended ancestors. SHOWERS FIRST!

( oh. a boss battle. )

he watched, a lazy grin on his face, as geto made a swift, tactical retreat. a smart, cowardly move. he also watched as his entire adoring fanbase was unceremoniously evicted from the hot spring, scattering like startled pidoves.

and just like that, he was alone again. in a now-empty hot spring. with a sleepy grookey. and a furious, elderly employee glaring daggers at him. he didn't move. he just met her gaze, his expression a mask of pure, angelic innocence. his blue eyes were wide. confused. utterly blameless.

"was there a problem, ma'am?" he asked, his voice a soft, polite, respectful thing. the picture of a well-behaved young man who was completely unaware of any wrongdoing. he ignored the scolding that followed. it was just white noise. predictable. boring.

a few minutes later, he strolled over to the table where shoko and geto were already sitting, a towel draped around his shoulders, his hair dripping onto the floor. his grookey was back on his head. he looked completely unbothered. refreshed, even. he slid into a chair as if he hadn't just caused an international incident.

❝ oh , lucky us . leeches . ❞

she meant the trainer girls ; what they were , was unnecessary trouble . frankly , it crosses shoko's mind to use her new glaceon to freeze them all in the water and let them experience real closeness . alas , that stupid infernape would just pop out and free them if satoru could get to it . maybe she ought to wait until his arms were underwater too . . . . eh . she didn't care that much , cutting her eyes back to suguru than play gojo's game with his gaggle of girls he'd drawn to him like moths to a bug zapper . lazy gaze rolling , she checks her pocket for cigarettes , and her lighter . great , still two packs left on hand . maybe the amount of time on the mountain without a cigarette was why she was getting a little meaner than usual .

The girls surrounding Satoru were already asking all the questions you'd expect those types to ask: for a picture, if they can pet it, take a picture with it. Suguru watches from afar, only able to shake his head with utter amusement as Togepi is still nestled in his hand. His other let go of Shoko's hand, letting her get settled when he turned to Reshiram. Satoru was carrying on, calling Reshiram his 'best pal' as if he hadn't just scolded it for something completely out of it's control. Reshiram is smarter than he lets on, despite being a pokemon, he definitely understood. It's enough for he and his pokemon to share a look, the closest one could for a mutual laugh. And with that, he isn't even sure if a dragon that large can come any further, so, "We'll find out if they'll let you past here," Suguru promises his dragon quietly, giving it a last pet before drawing him back into the ball.

After falling in step beside Shoko, the two head closer, only the sight of the crowd of preoccupied girls fawning over Satoru up ahead. Suguru has Togepi in both hands still, somehow getting stuck holding it. But, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he's much too intrigued by the little comment in passing from Shoko. Leeches, she says. All Suguru can do now is glance over to her with that look, "Mm." nodding with that hint of a taunt in his voice, "You're not about to play nicely with them, are you?" Togepi, loyal as ever seems to back Shoko's irritation with a bounce in his hold, and he says, "and yet she still has me holding you.." like he'd understood what she said.

They reach Satoru, who's natural in the waters of spotlight in attention, soaking it all in for every bit it's worth. Suguru sighs as Satoru claims Reshiram as his own, but with easy resignation. because he's used to it. very much so. Once Satoru mentions the girls wanted to know all about his Reshiram, an idea comes to mind. One that shows on his face. A brow quirking, lips slowly curving upward as he decides to tune in and play ball. "Oh?" moving in closer with Shoko towards the crowd, "What did they want to know? The story behind how you caught it?" the bait is right there, and Suguru knows this could go one of two ways. Either, Satoru would come up with some absurd story that these girls would eat right up, or... he'd crash and burn, caught in the act. Either way, it'll be for Suguru's entertainment, and he knows it.

Shoko's visibly over it, and shows it too by continuing a side conversation between just he and her. Suguru gladly obliges her request, turning toward her for a moment, realizing what she'd said. "Ah... so it's that kind of cider." teasing playfully, Togepi chiming in, having no idea what it's agreeing to.

He has zero chance to elaborate because the tide shifts just as easily once Togepi's chirping caught one of the girl's attention. A chorus of shrieking of 'it's so cute!!!!' explodes as their fickle interests shift from Satoru mid-sentence, swarming Suguru instead. More like, Suguru and the pokemon in his hand, crowding close, hands reaching as they coo and aw. In that moment, Suguru can only look past one of the girls, over their heads as his eyes lock with Satoru who's still left in the pool. An unspoken look between the two best friends. 'Your move...' the look that doesn't need to be said out loud, gleaming in his eyes.

it was a crime against aesthetics, really. he watched, a blank smile plastered on his face, as the swarm descended. he met geto’s gaze over the sea of cooing heads. the smug, silent challenge. the unspoken your move. ( oh, you think you won because you're holding a baby? cute. that’s playing checkers. i’m about to invent a whole new game. )

the lazy grin vanished. gone. replaced by something else. something bright. calculated. weaponized-cute. his wet hand came up from the water. slow. careful. he reached for the top of his head, where his grookey was asleep, lulled by the steam. with a gentleness that was completely, utterly fake, he scooped the sleepy pokémon up. its little stick held loose in its fingers. he held it in his palm. a tiny, green, fragile thing. a little god. he leaned in close, a quiet whisper just for the pokémon's ear.

“showtime, little guy.” then, with the practiced grace of a seasoned performer hitting his mark, he held the grookey up. not aggressively. just… presenting it. a perfect, charming, heart-stoppingly cute tableau for his new, wider audience. his voice cut through the chorus of squealing over the togepi. it wasn't a shout. it was a soft, gentle, ridiculously endearing sound, laced with a note of gentle concern that could melt glaciers. “hey, be quiet, you’ll scare him.”

every head snapped back to him. instant silence. mission accomplished. he was looking down at his grookey with a look of pure, unadulterated, fatherly affection. the little monkey blinked its big, sleepy eyes open, letting out a soft, confused, and devastatingly adorable chirp. it was a sound weaponized to cause cavities. gojo's gaze lifted to the crowd of now-silent girls, then landed squarely on geto and shoko. his smile was a weapon of mass destruction. sickeningly sweet. completely victorious.

“he’s a little sleepy from our big adventure.” he said, his voice a soft, protective murmur that practically dripped with gentle kindness. he stroked the grookey’s head with his thumb. “but he wanted to come and say hi to the baby egg.” the ball was back in their court. checkmate. and this time, he wasn't just playing to win. he was playing for total, unconditional, cute-pokémon-based surrender.

While Utahime worked, all she could hear was the soft thumping of something being thrown against the wall repeatedly. A ball perhaps? She grit her teeth in irritation, the urge to tell him to knock it off was strong — Utahime didn’t even have to step out of the room to know who was the cause of the gentle ruckus. Satoru Gojo.

When the thumping stopped, a small red ball gently rolled into the room and she glanced at its gentle nudge on her leg.

Utahime knew that if she stepped out and acknowledged Gojo, that he would use that acknowledgment as a pass to irritate her in every way possible. She sighed softly and continued the quiet work that she was engrossed with until she did a double take and noticed Gojo standing, or more like, leaned on the doorway, in his usual Satoru Gojo manner.

For a second, Utahime thought of throwing the little red ball back at him for making so much damn noise, but her better judgment bested her. Knowing him, he’d just make the ball completely miss him with his infinity.

“Satoru Gojo.” She stated flatly as she internally prepared to get irritated by him.

However she was pleasantly surprised that his voice didn’t carry any teasing lilt to it — at least not yet. “Panda is an excellent sorcerer but he is a bad influence.” Utahime agreed but immediately began to regret it, realizing that he’ll use that as leverage to tease her. He’d probably say something like, I can’t believe that I lived to see Utahime agree with THE Satoru Gojo. Whatever.

he pushed himself off the doorframe. a slow, heavy motion. walked into the dojo. his socked feet silent on the mats. he didn't crowd her. just walked to the little red ball. picked it up. started tossing it. hand to hand. a soft, rhythmic thud in the quiet room.

“shoko says it’s a defense mechanism.” his voice was a quiet murmur. his eyes on the ball. “a way to keep people at a distance. so i don’t have to deal with… you know.” a vague gesture with the ball. “feelings.”

...Mmm,   how   wasteful. 

 yet,   she   was   genuinely   intrigued.   With   everything   he   knew,   everything   he   saw,   could   he   even   be   considered   human?   Mages   existed,   yes,   but   it   was   obvious   he   wasn’t   one   of   them.   His   'magic'   was   unlike   anything   she’d   encountered   before.   And   that   was   saying   something,   given   her   many,   many   years   of   life.

“Gojo...   Satoru,”   she   mumbled   after   his   long-winded   monologue.

“A   name   I   suppose   I   should   remember.”

Truthfully,   the   petite   elf   wasn’t   sure   what   to   make   of   any   of   it.   He   had   unloaded   so   much.  Did   he   always   share   this   kind   of   information   so   freely?   With   anyone?

A   weirdo,   she   concluded. But...   not   a   threat.

"lonely?....."   that   statement   caused   her   to   turn   away,   arms   crossing   firmly   over   her   chest.   It   wasn't   enjoyable   having   everything   about   herself   exposed   like   that   by   a   complete   stranger.

She   felt   nude , vulnerable.   Like   he   had   seen   something   in   her   she   hadn’t   given   permission   to   show.

"....What   did   you   expect   to   accomplish   by   sharing   this   with   me?   Someone   you've   been   in   the   presence   of   for   a   mere   ten   minutes?"

( oops. showed her the whole deck. guess she wasn't ready to play cards. ) his easy, teacher-like smile faded. it was replaced by a look of simple, unvarnished honesty. the weariness he’d shown for a brief second was back.

“accomplish?” he echoed her question. his voice was a low, quiet thing. no more grand pronouncements. no more showing off. just a man on a bench in a quiet park. “nothing. there was no goal. no objective. you think i have a plan for this stuff? i just do it.”

he ran a hand through his own ridiculously white hair, a gesture of genuine, almost boyish frustration. “i saw something that wasn't boring. so i came to say hello. that’s it. that’s the whole grand, nefarious scheme.” he looked at her, at the firm line of her back. at the stubborn way she was refusing to look at him. he let out a quiet, tired sigh.

“you think i go around telling people this stuff?” a short, bitter laugh escaped him. “who would i tell? the elders who want to put me in a box? the students who look at me like i’m a god or a bomb or both? my… friends?” he said the word like it was foreign. “they have their own ghosts. they don't need to be haunted by mine.”

he finally answered her real question. the one she was asking now. why me? “why did i share it with you? in the ten minutes i've known you?”

he gave a small, almost sad shrug. his hands found their way back into his pockets. a familiar, self-contained posture. “because…” his gaze was fixed on the abandoned ramen cup, a small, pathetic monument to their strange meeting.

He's unfazed by the comments about haiku in the snow, instead choosing to humor Satoru with an arched brow, "Only if you ask nicely." taunting more than actually dignifying that with a response. He knew it'd been an option, but the only way to really seek out the ice rock was to go on foot. But there's no use correcting him or reminding him what Professor Yaga had told them, or what they'd learned. "Whatever you have to tell yourself..." clearly unbothered about the elders nonsense, shrugging it off.

Of course, Shoko joins in on it, suggesting they ditch him out here. Naturally, the jab pulls a quiet smile out of him, "Something tells me we would never hear the end of it if he scuffs those boots," earning a small laugh between them as he glances over his shoulder back to his best friend, "That seems to be the height of concern at the moment." shaking his head as Satoru scolds Reshiram, "Pokemon don't necessarily understand materialistic value, Satoru..." simply letting it roll off a shoulder from Reshiram's end is considerably fortunate.

So, it's decided. They'll treat themselves to one more night at this top resort. Relax. Enjoy the top amenities , and ... charge it to the school. Predictably, Satoru barely waits to skip right off of Reshiram, no thank you, and no time to land... flicking the (allegedly) high end boots off, as he challenges the other two who are still sat put on Reshiram.

Leaving just him, Shoko and Togepi. With her head tipped back against him, his own smile widens a bit, easily matching the calmer demeanor, "I wouldn't mind that." knowing full well it's never about deciding between a large pitcher with this group anyway. Now glancing down at her, he mulls over the suggestion, "Though, is the smoke break supposed to coincide as an incentive?" connecting the two as what's otherwise an unrelated combination. Now, snow is scattered around them and with that, he dismounts, "We'll find something for Reshiram, after," implying they wouldn't forget to take care of him for the ride. As his feet his the ground, a steady hand finds Togepi, taking hold of the egg, and then another hand to help her down.

Reshiram had a lot of attention. From other guests, other pokemon, employees, and... a small group of other local trainer girls who broke off toward the spring the second Satoru had leaped right off. All of them huddled around Satoru asking if it'd been his dragon. Yes, the very dragon he'd hardly shown an gratitude to just moments earlier. Suguru sighs under his breath. Of course.

( this. this is what i get for all my hard work. this is the bare minimum. )

his boots were discarded carelessly on the snowy bank, next to his jacket. his blindfold was gone. he'd tossed it somewhere. he didn't need it right now. the only thing he needed to filter out was the memory of walking up that stupid mountain. he leaned his head back against a smooth, warm rock at the edge of the spring, closing his eyes. pure, absolute bliss. for about five seconds.

"is that your dragon?" "oh my god, it's gojo satoru!" "can i get a picture?" "where did you get it? can i pet it?"

his eyes snapped open. a small crowd of girls had materialized around his corner of the hot spring, their phones out, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and adoration. of course.

a slow, lazy, ridiculously charming grin spread across his face. he was a professional. this was as much a part of his job as fighting curses… er, shadow pokémon. "hey, hey, calm down." his voice was a smooth, easy drawl. he raised a hand, a picture of effortless, godly grace. "yes, the big, beautiful, ridiculously powerful dragon is with me. we're best friends. he lets me braid his hair sometimes." a complete and utter lie, delivered with perfect sincerity.

he watched with deep, internal amusement as geto and shoko finally made their way over, looking like two weary parents who had just found their runaway toddler holding court at a theme park. geto’s sigh was a beautiful, familiar melody of resignation. gojo's grin widened. he gave them a little wave.

"told you it would be fun." he called out to them, his voice bright and cheerful. he completely ignored the context, the previous arguments, everything. in his world, this was the perfect conclusion to their mission. "look! i made some friends! they want to know all about my reshiram."

"I'm   not   layabout   -   ...."   she   interjected,   it   was   the   only   thing   she   had   taken   offense   too.   Really,   she   defeated   the   demon   king   and   THIS   is   how   she   was   treated   during   their   era   of   peace?   (she'd   have   to   sulk   about   that   later-)

----Though   as   he   continued   on   ...   she   became   more   and   more   bewildered.   The   moment   her   name   was   spoken   she   realized   things   were   far   more   serious   than   what   she   had   anticipated.   No   one   knew   of   her   anymore,   any   whispers   were   merely   legends   on   the   wind.   Mostly   inaccurate   ...   which   time   often   did.   Any   stories   told   now   of   the   hero   party   or   even   flamme   ....   were   horrendously   nonfactual.   So,   how   did   this   blindfolded   oddball   know   so   much??   Even   her   love   of   grimoires   was   known   to   him.   Was   this   .....   some   sort   of   magic??   No   ....   surely   she   would've   detected   it.   Then   .......   what   exactly   WAS   he???

"You   talk   a   lot..."   she   stated   flatly   ....   doing   her   best   not   to   appear   frazzled.   "I'm   not   sure   how   you   managed   to   figure   all   that   out   with   a   single   glance   but...yes   .....   I'd   say   I'm   indeed   one   of   the   strongest   beings   on   this   earth   ..   I   have   no   shame   in   admitting   it."

With   that   said,   she   slowly   rose   to   her   feet,   quietly   abandoning   the   cup   of   ramen   pon   where   she   had   been   previously   sitting.   "There   isn't   a   single   doubt   in   my   mind   that   I   could   slay   you   at   this   very   moment.   but-"   she   trailed   off,   gaze   narrowing   slightly.   "like   you,   I   have   no   interest   in   fighting...   however   I   do   want   an   explanation.   Who   are   you?   Surely   you   haven't   revealed   all   this   to   me   for   the   fun   of   it?   If   you   did   this   just   for   your   'entertainment'   I'll   be   angry   ..."

his lazy, sprawling grin softened. it became something quieter, more genuine. the playful mockery was gone, replaced by an expression of pure, uncut interest. she wasn't annoyed anymore. she wasn't frazzled. she was… Frieren. the Hero. the Slayer of the Demon King. a being of immense, quiet power finally asserting itself. he could feel the shift in the air. the ancient, dormant mountain was stirring. just a little.

i could slay you at this very moment.

the words were a flat, simple statement of fact. not a threat. a capability assessment. and she was probably right. it wouldn't be easy, but she could probably do it. eventually. after a very, very long and destructive fight that would probably level the entire continent. it would be the most fun he'd had in a thousand years.

( there it is. the real her. not the ramen-confused layabout. the ancient, tired weapon. good. )

he stayed on the bench, not moving. a picture of unconcerned calm in the face of her quiet, world-ending power. he let her demand hang in the air between them. who are you? i want an explanation.

“angry?” he echoed her last word. a soft, thoughtful sound. he tilted his head, as if considering the concept. “you angry would be… interesting. but probably a logistical nightmare for the city planners.”

he finally answered her. the game was over. she’d demanded a real answer, so he’d give her one. sort of.

“you want an explanation?” he pushed himself up from the bench, his movements slow and fluid. he wasn't posturing. he was just… unfolding. an impossible length of human that seemed to stretch on forever. “alright. fair is fair.”

he shoved his hands in his pockets, ambling over to the abandoned ramen cup. he peered into it with a look of clinical curiosity.

“you have your magic.” he gestured vaguely, as if to the entire sky. “ancient. powerful. deep. you see the world as a collection of mana, of history, of spells waiting to be read in dusty books. it’s like reading a very, very old story, right?”

he looked up at her. his blindfolded gaze was uncanny, impossibly focused. “i have my own kind of ‘magic’. it’s newer. messier. louder.”

his own smile returned. it wasn't the lazy one from before. it was something else. the smile of a teacher explaining a difficult, beautiful concept. “i don’t read the story, Frieren. i see the code. the raw data stream. i see the cursed energy in every living thing, every object. the flicker of a soul. the heat of an emotion. the precise mathematical probability of a paper cup falling off this bench in the next ten seconds.”

he nudged the ramen cup with the toe of his expensive shoe. it wobbled, but didn't fall.

“almost.” he said with a little smirk. “i know your name because it’s written all over you. not in letters. in energy. a history. a long, quiet, lonely one. i know you love grimoires because the happiest, brightest signals in your entire timeline are connected to the discovery of them.” he shrugged, a simple, disarming gesture. “it’s not a trick. it’s just… sight.”

he finally met her narrow gaze, his expression turning serious again. the grin vanished. “and who am i?” he repeated her question. “i’m Gojo Satoru.” the name meant nothing to her. he knew that. that was the point. “i’m the guy who’s stuck with this… sight. the guy who has to see everything, all at once, all the time.” he leaned against the bench, a picture of sudden, profound weariness. a rare crack in the mask. “and you ask if i did this for fun. for my ‘entertainment’.” he let out a short, bitter, honest laugh.

Naturally, he merely endures Satoru and Shoko's bickering and let's it roll over, subtly amused even. "Right..." he comments, keeping his comments to himself for the time being. Only because, he expects what's about to come next with Reshiram's arrival.

Yup. He absolutely did have a giant, flying, self-heating dragon this entire time they froze on the way up here. Suguru isn't giving him the satisfaction of groveling, though. Instead, he shrugs, maybe a little too cocky for his own good as he proceeds to continue helping Shoko up on Reshiram, gathering on behind her. One hand rests at her waist, and he even offers his free one out to him to help him on.

"We wouldn't have found the Ice rock from the air," he corrects calmly, hand still extended out to Satoru, "It only shows itself to the ones willing to meet it, and willing to put in the work." he stops himself mid explanation, "and anyway, long story short, complaining won't change the rules." he wasn't going to elaborate. Now as he helped Satoru mount onto Reshiram, of course the complaining doesn't stop. As expected. He glances over his shoulder at Satoru's boots, smirking to himself, "Your boots seem fine," a brow lifting, "But... tragic as that is... what I'm picking up here is... a hot chocolate should suffice." that's how it sounded, anyway.

Suguru and his Reshiram (Rainbow Dragon) have a strong enough connection that it takes only a simple hand gesture for Reshiram to know the signal. For a moment, it takes him half a second to process Shoko isn't talking to him, but Reshiram. He catches himself almost smiling, "he appreciates it." and with that, the slope slowly moves further and further back into their rearview, beneath them. They lift and head into the sky, leaving behind the Abomasnow shuffling it's little Snover away from them. Almost all their pokemon are back in their pokeballs, Reshiram's scales warm everyone up within a few minutes.

Soon after, as they near towards the local valley area, covered in snow, but far from ordinary. Or simple. "Are we all in agreement to stay at the lodge in town until tomorrow?" The answer seems obvious, but... it's still a democracy, and he has to ask. The idea of sleeping on a rollout cot versus trooping it home to their beds is verrrry tempting, but...

Reshiram seems to do the heavy lifting in promoting what's way beyond a simple cabin. Far from it, actually. More like, a resort on the mountainside, hot springs all around, pokemon soaking up in the water, and trainers alike ... people looking relaxed despite the cold temperature.

“see? what did i tell you? the fun police. what’s next, suguru? you gonna lecture us about family honor while writing a haiku about the snow? ”

he ignored geto’s extended hand, simply appearing in his spot on reshiram’s back in a shimmer of spatial distortion that made the air feel weird for a second. efficiency.

“‘meet the rock’? ‘put in the work’?” he scoffed, waving a dismissive hand at geto’s ridiculous explanation. “you sound like one of the elders, suguru. all that noble nonsense. we were cold. you had a dragon. end of story.”

he watched the ground fall away, the wind whipping past them, much warmer now thanks to their living furnace. it was definitely better than walking.

the mention of a hot chocolate did, however, placate him slightly. “a hot chocolate would be a start.” he corrected, already settling in. he leaned back against the warm scales, linking his hands behind his head. his grookey, no longer fearing for its life, crawled down onto his lap and promptly fell asleep.

he listened to shoko’s quiet, polite thanks to the pokémon. so earnest. so kind. he, on the other hand, had a different approach.

“hey, big guy.” he said, patting a nearby scale on reshiram's back. “next time, a little heads-up would be nice. you know, before my very expensive, limited-edition boots get ruined forever.”

as the lodge came into view a sprawling, steaming, luxurious resort nestled in the snow, his eyes lit up. this was more his speed. hot springs. relaxed people. probably an overpriced gift shop with exclusive local sweets. perfect.

“agreement?” he said, in response to geto’s question. a bright, infuriating grin spread across his face. “suguru, my dear, long-suffering best friend… you are a tactical genius and a strategic mastermind.” he didn’t wait for them to land.

in a flash of blue energy, he was gone from reshiram’s back. a moment later, he reappeared at the edge of the largest, most inviting-looking hot spring, already toeing off his (perfectly fine) boots.

Then,   of   course,   she   scooted   closer   to   the   other   side   of   the   bench,   ensuring   there   was   a   favorable   amount   of   space   between   them.

"Excuse   my   rudeness   but   you   don't   give   off   the   impression   of   someone   who   is   particularly   perceptive,   how'd   you   figure   out   I   was   struggling?   Not   that   it's   any   of   your   business.....   don't   tell   me"   she   trailed   off,   giving   him   a   silent   look  over.   "were   you   watching   me?"

Of   course   Frieren   was   suspicious,   she   could   easily   tell   this   stranger   wasn't   just   any   ordinary   human.   Whether   he   was   a   threat   though   remained   to   be   seen.

he watched her scooch away, clutching her instant ramen like it was a state secret. a classic maneuver. create distance. establish a boundary. feign annoyance to mask curiosity. he’d seen it a thousand times. it was the standard human response to an anomaly. and she, for all her ancient power, was acting remarkably human right now. it was… adorable.

his grin didn’t falter. it widened. a lazy, sprawling thing that held an entire universe of amusement. he didn’t move to close the new gap she’d created on the bench. he let her have it. a small, conceded territory in a war she didn’t know they were already fighting.

“nosy?” he echoed the word, a soft, musical sound that played with the syllable. he let it hang in the quiet park air, a testament to its own absurdity. he picked a non-existent piece of lint from his impeccably clean trousers, the picture of a man with all the time in the world, and all the focus in it directed at her. “lady, you’re missing the point. ‘nosy’ is for people who have to peek through keyholes. it implies effort.”

he finally looked at her again. his blindfolded gaze was a physical thing, a beam of concentrated attention that made the space between them feel small and charged, no matter how far she moved.

“i don’t peek. i just… see.” he stated it simply. a fundamental law of his existence. “you could be trying to figure out your lunch on the other side of the planet, and i’d still see it. a faint, frustrated little signal in a sea of boring, grey static. your ‘struggle’ isn't a secret. it’s a broadcast. and i’m the only one with the right kind of television to pick up the channel.”

he completely sidestepped her comment about his perceptiveness, treating it with the disdain it deserved. he leaned back, propping an elbow on the back of the bench, and finally addressed her last, most predictable question.

were you watching me?

a low, genuine, utterly charming laugh escaped him. it was a crackle of pure, uncut joy in the sterile quiet. “you think you’re that special? that my day revolves around watching some ancient pointy-eared layabout fight a losing battle with dehydrated noodles?” he shook his head, a gesture of profound, theatrical pity. “i have meetings to skip. students to annoy. incredibly expensive sweets to purchase and then forget i bought. i have a very busy, very important schedule.”

his voice dropped then. the playful, mocking edge fell away, leaving something quieter. something that sounded dangerously like the truth. “i wasn’t watching you, Frieren.” he used her name. a quiet, simple act of stripping away another layer of her anonymity. he’d known it the second he’d locked on to her signal, plucked it from the sea of information that was the world.

“i was watching the anomaly.” he leaned forward again, the lazy amusement replaced by a keen, focused, almost scientific curiosity. the look of a master craftsman who had just stumbled upon a piece of impossible, alien technology.

“i was watching the single most powerful, stable, oldest energy signature i have ever felt in my entire life… and watching it get tripped up by a paper lid and some dehydrated shrimp.” his grin returned. it wasn't mocking this time. it was a thing of pure, genuine fascination.

“that contradiction…” his voice was a whisper now, a secret just for her. “…is the most interesting thing to happen in this century. maybe the last one, too. i’d have to check my notes.”

he held up a single, long finger, tapping the space between them as if tapping a line of code on a screen. a final, quiet, devastatingly accurate observation.

“it’s not a threat. not to me. you’re not built for it.” he said, the analysis effortless, absolute. “your power is like a mountain. immense. ancient. and almost entirely dormant. you could end the world, probably. but it would take you a week of paperwork and you’d probably lose the important forms halfway through.”

his smile was a gentle, terrible, knowing thing. “i’m not a threat to you either.” he finally answered the question she hadn’t asked out loud. the only one that truly mattered. “fighting me would be… tedious. a lot of effort. it would cut into your grimoire-hunting time. you’d hate it.” he settled back, the show over. the analysis complete. he was just a man on a bench again. a man who saw everything.

he stood there unfazed by Satoru's sighs of disappointment. his right brow arched as his eyes slant with a look that's simultaneously judging, yet amused. "You're provoking an overprotective mother, you know..." he flatly points out, glancing over at the toppled Abomasnow, and then pointedly back to Satoru. "Was there ever any glory in it?" as if to give a full picture of the situation, or rather, hinting at the fact it's hardly something worth putting effort into. and to let it go.

which, he doesn't. of course he doesn't. Suguru watches as Satoru jumps at an opportunity for another battle, alongside a sulking Infernape. Shoko was quick to shut it down, as expected. he smiles faintly, reaching a hand out to pat Satoru's shoulder once, then twice, "Let it go." calmly suggesting as his lips press together in attempt to pull back the smile on his lips. it's hard to take this seriously when even Satoru's pokemon is pouting along with him. "Besides..." he continues, casually intervening, "Ice is weak to fighting and fire, putting it at double the disadvantage. and Glaceon's stats are nowhere near Infernape's." explaining as a matter-of-fact.

right on cue, his Mantine appears, gliding right over them. his gaze slowly drifts upward as an idea comes to mind. with that, he looks back to Satoru, "and if you're looking to debunk type theory..." suggestive in his tone as Mantine comes into view, "you should at least make it worth your time." a challenge that not only measured double type theory, but also put's Satoru's pokemon as the one being tested on the line, rather than his opponent's. however, the impending challenge is cut short when a shrill wail stuns them all into silence. they quickly identify the source ; a sobbing Togepi. So much for the battle...

there's no hesitation from his end as he nods in agreement, "Alright." two pokeballs now recalling Froslass and Mantine. He pulls out a separate pokeball, holding it in place as he looks to Satoru, "Have Infernape help Abomasnow. We can't leave her like that." Turning to the other direction, he releases Reshiram ; bursting forth in a rush of wind. Reshiram circles around once before descending towards group, landing with grace, wings unfurling. It already knows to crouch lower so that it's leveled for their board. Finally, Suguru catches sight of Shoko as she struggles to keep Togepi warm, "You can sit up front, there's less wind." extending a hand to her to assist the mount, "That one will thank you for it." eyeing Togepi still bundled close. "and he's warm." Now, comes for the part where someone inevitably connects that they could've done this on the way up here ...

he watched shoko reject his glorious offer. he listened to geto logically and reasonably dismantle his fun with boring facts about type disadvantages. the double pat on the shoulder was the final insult. he was being managed. handled.

he and his infernape shared a look. a moment of perfect, sulking solidarity. the fire-ape crossed its arms, letting out a puff of disappointed smoke. "fine." gojo muttered, a petulant grumble. "be boring. see if i care."

then the wail started. high-pitched. insistent. a tiny, adorable, fun-destroying siren. a togepi. of course. the official mascot of "no more fighting." "alright, alright, i get it." he threw his hands up in surrender as shoko started moving, his voice dripping with dramatic resignation. "the fun police have arrived. party's over." he gave geto's mantine a dirty look as it flew by. "tattletale." he whispered under his breath.

he turned to his infernape. "you heard him," he said, nudging the fire-type with his foot. "go give the big fuzzy mom a warm pat on the back so she can get up. no fire." he added as an afterthought, seeing the gleam in his pokémon's eye. "…probably."

infernape let out a grudging grunt and went to begrudgingly help the abomasnow. and then it happened. a flash of brilliant light. the rush of wind. and a goddamn reshiram. a legendary, fire-breathing dragon of myth, landing gracefully in the snow as if it were just… a taxi.

gojo froze.

a dead, profound silence fell over him. his head turned. slowly. deliberately. like a malfunctioning animatronic. he pushed his sunglasses down his nose. his blue eyes, wide and full of a terrible, dawning, incredulous light, fixed on suguru. "... you," he started, his voice a low, dangerous, perfectly calm whisper.

"had a giant, flying, self-heating dragon... this entire time..." the calm broke.

"AND YOU MADE US WALK?!" he shouted, his voice echoing across the now-quiet ridge. the grookey on his head flinched and held onto his hair for dear life. "I THINK I HAVE FROSTBITE IN PLACES I DIDN'T KNOW I HAD! MY BOOTS ARE PROBABLY RUINED!"

"Yes,   I'm   an   elf   ...."   she   stated,   presuming   that   was   what   the   man   had   intended   to   ask   her.   

Though   his   eyes   were   obstructed   from   view   by   that   blindfold  of   his,   Frieren   could   FEEL   the   funny   look   he   was   giving   her.

he was looking at the energy. the signal. it wasn't the jagged, chaotic spark of a human soul. it wasn't the guttural rot of a curse. it was… old. so incredibly, unbelievably old. it was quiet. calm. vast. like a deep, ancient forest that had stood for ten thousand years. it was the most powerful, most stable signal he had ever encountered. and it was just… sitting there. on a park bench. trying to decipher the instructions on a new brand of instant ramen.

( an elf? is that what they’re calling it? a thousand years old, a power level that could probably erase a country by accident, and she calls herself an elf. that’s… that’s hilarious. )

a slow, wide grin spread across his face. a real one. the kind that meant his entire day, his entire week, had just been saved from the crushing jaws of boredom.

"an elf." he repeated the word. his voice was a lazy, singsong thing, full of a terrible, joyous, unadulterated amusement.

he walked over and plopped down on the bench next to her. not too close, but definitely invading her carefully maintained bubble of solitary peace. he leaned back, stretching his long legs out.

"right, right. the ears." he gestured vaguely at the side of her head with a wave of his hand. "i saw those. very pointy. very… elfy... that's not what i was going to ask, though."

his grin sharpened. all teeth and mischief.

"i was going to ask," he paused, for dramatic effect, "why someone who's probably seen empires rise and fall… and fall, and rise, and fall again… still struggles with figuring out the proper water-to-noodle ratio for a cup of instant soup."

the smile that had once greeted him has dissipated, listening carefully and bestowing insight into such philosophical musings that attempted to make some desperate sense of themselves. the very soul that initiated impromptu, yet pensive conversation is several steps ahead, already aware and wholly assured of the answer. is there such a thing as a soul or a heart being truly complete and satisfied within a lifetime ? it only thinks it can be enriched once it obtains what is believed to be its greatest desire and then, it is not long before curiosity delicately peeks its head and wonders what else could lie in wait. dreams, fate, circumstance. all have their part to play in this peculiar symphony, the total definition of self. a work in progress, slowly manifesting under the lone eye of the full moon.

eyes gently avert from the one that has taken hold of own dilemma for the time being with patience and unwavering thought, the revelation of utter truth. indulging in temporary fantasy would be of no benefit to anyone. but, how it is kinder. it spares the need for a heart to suffer. the soul would not ever need to know of the finality that the name of ‘ death ‘ brings. in turn, there would be no flourishing or development of the human spirit. it would be nurtured on the sweetness of daydreams and the childlike promise of forever. days upon days upon days of halcyon and sunshine.

the universe has long since ordained that there is equilibrium in all things. day and night, life and death, the most beautiful of joys and the most painful of sorrows. existence would not be considered as whole should all negative facets be deprived. there is that word again. whole. complete. understood. is such why humanity is so enticing and beloved by you, its antithesis masquerading as ghost – like flesh ? for, despite thinking that there finally could be some gained insight into the most subdued and mysterious personas, there is always several facets awaiting to be discovered. an endearing complexity.

enough time has been spent wondering about the correct path. stay and see everything come to its eventual conclusion or leave prematurely and become lost in never knowing what could have been ? mentions of said power and possibility turn to ice within veins, not fitting of station. that is an aspect that can not be influenced in any way. it can only be terminated and set aside for a greater force to utilise for their own agenda. death is merely a conduit for revolutionary plans.

how  is  it  that  you  manage  to  stay  so  assured  of  everything?

the  air  went  still.  the  game  stopped.  this  wasn't  a  philosophical  debate  anymore.  it  was  a  plea.  a  student  asking  a  master.  a  lost  soul  asking  a  fixed  point  how.  how  do  you  live  with  what  you  are?  a  faint,  tired  smile  touched  his  mouth.  it  wasn't  a  happy  one.  it  was  ancient.  the  smile  of  a  man  who’d  asked  himself  the  same  damn  thing  every  morning  of  his  goddamn  life.

“assured?”  he  said  the  word  back.  a  quiet,  hollow  sound.  he  shook  his  head.  just  once.  a  slow,  tired  negation.  “no.  i’m  not.”

he  had  to  turn  away  then.  couldn’t  say  the  rest  of  it  looking  at  them.  he  walked  back  to  the  water's  edge.  stared  down  at  his  own  broken,  wavering  reflection.  the  face  of  a  god  in  a  cage  made  of  infinity.

“every  morning.”  he  confessed  to  the  water.  to  the  silent  moon.  to  his  own  ghost  staring  back  at  him.  his  voice  was  a  flat,  dead  thing.  “first  thing.  before  the  coffee.  before  anything.  i  check.  i  have  to  check.  check  that  i  didn’t  break  it  in  my  sleep.  you  know?  just…  accidentally.  break  the  planet.  shift  the  moon.  something  stupid.”

(  something  i  absolutely  could  do.  that's  the  fun  part.  )

“and  i  check…”  his  voice  faltered  for  a  second.  a  crack  in  the  calm.  “i  check  that  the  people  i…  care  about…  are  still  breathing.”

he  finally  looked  up.  not  at  them.  just  at  the  vast,  empty  sky.

“being  ‘assured’  is  a  joke.  it’s  a  costume.”  he  said,  the  bitterness  coating  the  words.  “it’s  the  mask  you  wear  so  the  little  kids  can  sleep  at  night.  you  wear  it  so  they  don’t  see  that  the  god  of  their  universe  is  a  hair's  breadth  away  from  just…  letting  go.  every  single  second.  of  every  single  day.”

he  finally  turned  around.  his  face  was  a  blank  canvas  in  the  dark,  but  the  feeling  he  gave  off  was  raw.  the  walls  were  down.  there  was  nothing  left  to  hide  behind.  “you  want  to  know  how  i  do  it?”  he  asked.  the  question  was  a  quiet,  simple,  devastating  thing.  “i  don’t.  not  really.”

“i  don't  think  about  yesterday.  it’s  a  ghost.  it’s  poison.”  he  said,  the  words  coming  faster  now.  a  dam  breaking.  “i  don’t  think  about  tomorrow.  it’s  a  fairy  tale.  it’s  not  real.  i  just  think  about  what’s  right  here.  right  now.  in  front  of  my  face.”

he  took  a  step  forward.  his  shadow  fell  over  them.  a  strange,  protective  darkness.  “the  next  choice.  i  just  think  about  the  next  choice.  and  i  pick  the  one  that  will  let  me  sleep.  maybe.”  a  faint,  bitter  smile.  a  shared,  terrible  secret  between  two  monsters.  “and  if  i  can’t  sleep?  i  get  a  drink.  or  i  find  some  stupidly  sweet  cake  that  makes  my  teeth  hurt.  or  i  go  piss  shoko  off  until  she  throws  something  at  me.  it  helps.”

he's turning a page when he catches it . . . often times, suguru will zone out on satoru's mumblings, leave his talking as a comfortable background noise while he does whatever he's got to do. he tries this, ignoring the first attempt at catching his attention. he turns the page again, now havoc and cyclops seem to be in some kind of scuffle, and . . . suguru sighs, annoyed, and puts his comic down, staring at satoru. ” i don't sound like that at all. ‟ he huffs. he tries to go back to his comic, he does. but . . . well, satoru's ramblings have always proved to be more entertaining than anything, especially when they are less-than-half intelligible.

“suguru.  how  could  you  say  that?  i  am  the  pinnacle  of  comedic  genius.  i  am  a  treasure  trove  of  wit  and  charm.  my  very  existence  is  a  masterclass  in  humor.”  he  sat  back  on  his  heels,  crossing  his  arms  with  a  pout  that  was  so  exaggerated  it  was  a  work  of  art.

“and  i  totally  hang  back.”  he  insisted,  his  voice  petulant.  “all  the  time.  like…  last  week.  with  that  grade-2  curse  shaped  like  a  weird  angry  toaster.  i  let  you  handle  that  one  all  by  yourself.  that  was  me,  hanging  back.  showing  restraint.  letting  you  have  your  moment  in  the  spotlight.”  he  nodded  sagely,  as  if  he’d  just  proven  a  complex  mathematical  theorem.

 “see?  iceman.”  he  leaned  forward  again,  propping  his  chin  on  suguru's  knee,  looking  up  at  him  with  an  expression  of  intense,  almost  academic  seriousness.  the  mischief  in  his  eyes  was  dialed  up  to  eleven.

“okay,  okay,  forget  iceman.  new  theory.”  his  voice  dropped  to  an  excited  whisper.  “you  ready  for  this?”  he  didn't  wait  for  an  answer.

“i’m  nightcrawler.”  he  declared.  “‘bamf’.  teleporting.  blue.”  he  gestured  to  his  eyes.  “i’m  basically  him.  and  you…  you’re  colossus.”  his  grin  was  a  thing  of  pure,  idiotic,  undeniable  logic.

“because  you’re  always  so  serious  and  stoic  and  you’re  probably  unbreakable  on  the  inside  or  whatever.  plus,  you  have  to  carry  me  all  the  time.”  he  winked.  a  sharp,  bright  flash  of  blue  from  behind  his  crooked  sunglasses.

he barely creates any distance between them - but it's enough. enough, at least, to convince her that his goal isn't to harm. her fingers arc, tracing an invisible line. then, one sharp movement, followed by a small burst of wind, just enough to disrupt the space around them. the lingering taste of something electric & ashen in the air. the beginnings of her barrier dissipate, fizzle away into nothingness. she isn't usually such a show off. 

does it really matter, though, when he seems to see through that fabric, & through her veil of normalcy ?

❝ you say ‘ boring ’ quite a lot. either you like the sound of your own voice,  ❞  very possible, actually,  ❝  or you think everything is dull and not worth your energy.  ❞  it's an existence that sounds pitiable, if she's being honest. she could almost get it, on a surface level. it's part of the experience of being other. of holding power so immense that no one else could understand. but she wouldn't call it boring. not with the seeming disdain that drips from his tongue. just … different. 

different, like the way her name sounds coming from his lips so casually. she feels a rush of embarrassment before heat captures her face. pink & abashed. air fills her cheek, & she turns her gaze away. what a pain this man is becoming. ❝  it stops being a performance once it is you.  ❞  she insists, annoyed. there's bite to her voice, more than she intended. there's no one she needs to convince. ❝  i am polite, i am quiet, and i was having a perfectly fine time swinging before you --  ❞ she stops, sighs. the fire is snuffed out, dying as quickly as it started. she really isn't upset. but the ebbs & flows of this conversation have her head spinning. ❝  you know, you make a lot of assumptions. ❞ 

when he laughs, she jumps. just a little. startled by the sound, by the seeming sincerity of it. hotaru doesn't make people laugh often. she likes the warmth that kindles in her chest in response to it - until he talks again. then she is distinctly unimpressed. even without seeing his eyes, she sees the twitch of his facial muscles. a wink ? really ? 

he is tall. he is strong - she can sense it. feels the reverberations in her bones. but handsome ? hm. 

his grin widened. he saw the faint blush creep up her neck. the embarrassed turn of her head. he had gotten under her skin. a direct hit. ( so she's not all ice and silence. there's a temper in there somewhere. good. ) he listened to her frustrated little speech. the denial. the accusation. the petulant sigh. it was all so wonderfully, transparently human. a beautiful, fragile performance.

"assumptions?" he echoed the word, his voice a lazy, unconcerned drawl. "i don't make assumptions, hotaru. i make observations. and i just observed you get all prickly and defensive because i pointed out that your quiet little life is a carefully constructed stage play."

he let that hang in the air for a moment. a small, sharp, truth-tipped dart. and then her last comment. arrogant. a bright, genuine, barking laugh escaped him. not the quiet, amused kind. a real one. the kind that made the pigeons in a nearby tree startle and take flight.

“arrogant?” he said, wiping a fake tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. he leaned forward, propping his hands on his knees, still chuckling. “oh, that’s not on the list. that’s the whole damn operating system.”

he straightened up, his laughter fading into a wide, predatory grin. he started walking towards her again. slow. deliberate. invading the small, safe space she had retreated to.

“you’re not convinced?” he asked, his voice a low, dangerous purr. he stopped right in front of her swing. towering over her. close enough that she would have to crane her neck to look at him.

“is that a challenge?” he didn't wait for an answer. he reached up, hooking a single finger under his blindfold. and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled it down. his eyes met hers.

not just blue. infinite. two bottomless wells of pure, celestial power. a direct, unfiltered connection to the heart of the universe. they were bright, and terrible, and beautiful, and they were focused entirely, completely, on her. the air itself seemed to go still. to freeze. to hold its breath under the weight of his real, unveiled gaze. his smile was gone. replaced by a look of quiet, absolute, overwhelming intensity.

The 'check-in' on Glaceon is short-lived. They had enough time for a quick confirmation that the evolution went smoothly, and that both Shoko and Dreepy were fine. He had only turned away for a moment or two before the battlefield took an abrupt shift. Over his shoulder, a blizzard whips into snow and ice that's aggressively surrounding the air around them. All of it happened fast, blurring into what now appeared to be a dozen Gardevoirs protruding amidst jagged flames and frost.

At first, his eyes narrow, then widen at the realization 'a simple battle' somehow escalated into a full blown melee. Suguru can only stand there in that moment, simultaneously grimacing, yet... not entirely surprised either. "... all this for an Abomasnow?" musing aloud, more to himself, but vocal enough for Shoko to hear. It's as if he's in disbelief ... because it hardly seems necessary for a pokemon like Abomasnow. At the same time, there's a part of him that also knows Satoru – and knows that intentional rage-bait has everything to do with it.

Right on cue, Shoko cuts in, and it's clear they're both thinking the same thing. Suguru merely glances over as she extends her arm in the wind as his Dreepy (Boo) hovers close. With that, he reached out to take him, nodding once towards her, "Right." However, with a hand still on Dreepy, his free hand is already flicking the release of another Pokeball. He simply glances between Dreepy and back to Shoko, making eye contact that needed no words. The obvious , dragon types are vulnerable to ice. She'd catch the meaning. "Actually," he hesitates, "maybe I should let Dreepy hold down the fort a little longer," a small nod to her before he releases Froslass in a shimmer before them. After one last single look, he turns toward the storm, giving Froslass the instruction to use Confuse Ray on the Abomasnow as they head towards the battle grounds.

"Need a hand?" he casually calls out, followed by Froslass already casting Confuse Ray across the way. Despite the urgency of the matter, Suguru re-enters the battle with a visibly smug expression , foregoing the part where he waits for an answer. The idea is to inflict confusion on the Abomasnow, ergo, retracting the blizzard.

The effect is almost immediate as the Abomasnow's glare weakens as it shudders with clouded confusion. The blizzard falters as it continues to lose momentum, eventually shuddering... soon, accidentally swinging itself backward into the snow. Whoops.

“aw, you guys.” his voice was a mournful, disappointed drawl. he let the dozen gardevoir illusions shimmer and fade away, leaving just the real one standing at his side. “you ruined it. we were having a moment.”

his infernape, sensing the fight was basically over, let out a frustrated snort, its fiery crown dimming slightly in disappointment. it shot a dirty look at geto's froslass.

gojo ignored the triumphant thud as the confused abomasnow finally toppled over into the snow. the fun part was done. now came the boring part. cleanup. he recalled his gardevoir with a silent, lazy flick of his wrist. his infernape stayed out, arms crossed, sulking.

“see?” gojo called over to shoko, his voice full of mock indignation as he started walking towards them, crunching through the now-settling snow. “this is what happens when you’re not a team player. you miss all the good parts.”

he finally reached the little group, stopping to stand beside geto. for a second, it almost seemed like he’d let it go. then his grin came back, sharp as a knife as he peered down at the new glaceon, which was still standing protectively in front of shoko. he tilted his head, his blue eyes bright with a sudden, new interest.

“so.” he said, his grin returning. mischievous. calculating. “now that this one’s all big and strong… how about a real fight?” he gestured with his thumb back at his still-pouting infernape.