#gukui

...

At this time, Guzma was descending from his makeshift throne with slow, sauntering movements. When he spoke, it was as though he were addressing an old friend. “Kukui, my man! If ya wanted to see me so bad, I could’ve had my guys arrange a transport. You sneakin’ around my terf, I’d almost believe you were up to no good! But of course you weren’t deliberately trespassing, were ya, Doc?”

Kukui grunted when the sole of Guzma’s shoe kicked into his bare chest. As more pressure was applied, Kukui’s spine flexed backward in an uncomfortable arch, his head forced upward to face the Team Skull boss. A glossy streak of ectoplasm was visible from Kukui’s right cheek to left collar, verifying the ghost pokémon’s handiwork. Maybe it was the paralysis, but the man’s face showed neither pain nor fear from being at Guzma’s mercy. Rather, he had an expression of concern. Not a concern for his own wellbeing, but more of a sympathetic concern that one might show for a friend who has gone astray. Guzma huffed at that, and removed his foot, turning back.