Chapter 106: Steven... Steven, I'm Not Clean Anymore
"That was a joke. Right?"
Wallace's eye was twitching. Distinctly.
"Mammon, you just said you don't hurt people! You're a Champion-tier trainer — you can't just say things and not mean them!"
Wallace held the opinion that people of genuine strength ought to be held to a higher standard of integrity.
"I said generally. That's not the same as never." Mammon's smile had taken on a particular quality of liberty. "I'm evil Team Rocket, after all~"
Wallace's expression went through several transitions.
He could hear, unmistakably, that Mammon's tone contained something that sounded disturbingly like pride.
"Champion Wallace — you know what the greatest advantage of Team Rocket membership is? No moral obligations. No baggage. Nobody can take the high ground with me, because I, as an established villain, simply don't have any ground to take." Mammon observed this with the serenity of someone who had fully made peace with their life choices. "So moral leverage doesn't really apply here."
If I were going to have a conscience, why would I have joined a criminal organization?
"That said — as long as you cooperate, I give you my professional assurance: Officer Jenny and her colleagues will leave safely. Every one of them."
"What do you actually want."
Something had clicked behind Wallace's eyes. He was no longer the Champion delivering a monologue. He was someone who had just realized he'd been the target from the beginning.
"Nothing too uncomfortable, I promise."
Mammon's smile widened, because Caitlin had appeared behind him — returning from her errand, bags in hand, looking faintly startled by the scene she'd walked into: Wallace standing very still, Officer Jenny's team asleep in a pile, and Suicune methodically slapping Politoed one paw at a time.
She looked at Mammon for an explanation.
"Don't worry about it. Suicune's settling a score."
Suicune had a long memory and a very specific set of priorities.
Caitlin accepted this and moved on.
"Gladion, Courtney — have everyone pack up and move out to the wilderness outside Slateport. This base is burned."
The Magma base's location was clearly already in the League's hands. And the heat was genuinely unbearable.
"Yes, Lord." Gladion turned to relay the orders.
"Now, Champion." Mammon and Caitlin walked forward together. "It's just us."
"What are you — what are you going to—"
All traces of the declaration you are the challenger had evaporated. Wallace, hemmed in by invisible psychic force, was giving off the energy of a small, delicate creature that had been backed into a corner.
"I've actually been a fan of yours for quite some time," Mammon began, in a very warm and conversational tone. "Your looks, your manner, the elegance of everything you do — I've always found it genuinely admirable."
"...Is that so?" The flattery reached Wallace reflexively. A small, pleased expression surfaced. If he could move, he'd have touched his fringe. He was, after all, exactly as charming as people kept telling him he was.
"So I've had a dream for a while now."
Mammon nodded to Armored Mewtwo. Mewtwo lifted a finger. The six miniaturized Poké Balls on Wallace's belt lifted away and settled neatly into Mammon's palm.
"Mammon!" Wallace's composure cracked entirely.
"Temporary storage only. You'll get them back afterward." Mammon pocketed them. "I prepared something for you. Gifts. I hope you'll wear them — and let me be your photographer."
He took the bag from Caitlin and held it out.
Armored Mewtwo released the psychic restraint. Wallace had his mobility back.
Caitlin's expression had developed a particular quality.
"Clothes." Wallace looked in the bag. "Just — wearing some clothes. Taking some photos."
"That's all. I've had a photography dream since I was young, Champion. Will you help me fulfill it?"
"If that's genuinely all it is—" Wallace's pride surfaced instinctively. "My stylist has always said that my physique is the ideal clothes hanger—"
He opened the bag.
His sentence stopped.
The color left his face. Then came back. Then was replaced by something that was not quite any color at all. His breathing accelerated.
"MAMMON."
The voice started low. It rose.
"What is the meaning of THIS."
He pulled out a long white skirt and a green wig, and turned on Mammon with an expression that contained several years' worth of suppressed emotion.
"A skirt. What's wrong with it?" Mammon tilted his head, seemingly puzzled. "I think it would look wonderful on you, Champion."
"How dare you insult me like this — I am a MAN—"
Wallace had snapped. He was absolutely a man. A purely masculine man. He happened to be beautiful, but that was entirely beside the point, and he was a man—
"Ah, that perspective is a bit narrow, isn't it." Mammon shook his head in mild disappointment. "Art transcends gender, Champion. Set aside your preconceptions. I genuinely believe, with the right direction, you could produce a perfect photo series."
"I have complete confidence in my skills."
He pressed a fist to his chest. He had harbored a photography dream from his previous life — if the universe had taken him in a slightly different direction, he was certain he could have been a master-class photographer.
"Absolutely not." Wallace's face had gone an interesting shade. "You cannot be serious. You want the Hoenn Champion to cross-dress?"
He refused. He would never. Not in this lifetime or any other.
"And stop calling me Sensei — I haven't agreed to anything!"
(You're the sensei, your whole family is sensei, I haven't even posed yet—)
Wallace fumed.
And where was Steven? He'd sent that man enough emergency messages to fill a chapter. Was he stuck down a cave shaft? Had he physically died in a geological formation? His best friend's sworn brother was being coerced into a skirt and Steven wasn't here—
Mossdeep City. A public restroom.
"Ngh..."
Steven Stone sat with a roll of toilet paper in hand, his handsome face pale and clammy. He had become, in a very real sense, a jet-propelled projectile.
He'd read Wallace's messages. All of them.
He could not leave this bathroom.
He was not going to ride Metagross anywhere in this condition.
It had been the jelly noodles. From the street stall in Mossdeep's market district — the flavor had been genuinely remarkable, but about twenty minutes afterward things had gone very wrong very quickly. He'd made four trips already. He was nearly horizontal.
The small operations always season the most aggressively. He'd heard this. He had not heeded it.
Wallace. I will come. The moment this is over, I will ride Metagross directly to your location and I will rescue you. Hold on.
Back on Jagged Pass.
"The only reason this photo series is worth taking is precisely because you're you." Mammon shrugged. "If you were anyone else, I wouldn't bother. I have standards."
"I REFUSE." Wallace's expression was pure theatrical defiance. "Dream on. I am the Hoenn Champion. You want me to cross-dress."
There were lines. This was one of them.
"Sensei. Think carefully."
Mammon raised an eyebrow and gave the Poké Balls in his hand a small, deliberate waggle.
"Is your dignity really more important than your Pokémon's safety? And Officer Jenny's?"
"You—!"
Wallace's eyes went wide with fury.
"Which matters more — pride you're reluctant to set aside, or the people and Pokémon in your care?"
Mammon smiled like a landlord in a period drama informing a tenant of new arrangements.
"You're despicable, Mammon!!"
Wallace bit out each word.
"I appreciate the compliment, Sensei. Now — if you'd change quickly, we can get through all of them faster and you can rest sooner. This is only the first outfit."
"What do you mean, first—" Wallace went cold.
"I bought seven sets." Caitlin indicated the seven bags on the ground with a small, restrained smile. "You're welcome."
Wallace felt the ground shift beneath him.
Seven.
Seven outfits.
He stared at the bags.
"Mewtwo, would you mind building a changing room?"
Armored Mewtwo considered this with characteristic calm. It raised one arm, and brought Earth Power and Psychic to bear simultaneously — the two forces combining under fine control as the ground surface rolled and folded like fabric, earth rising and reshaping itself into a simple three-meter structure.
Ten seconds. Approximately.
Wallace stared.
"Incredible~" Caitlin breathed.
"You really are extraordinary," Mammon said with genuine appreciation. "The most versatile Pokémon in the world."
"It wasn't difficult."
Dark Mewtwo delivered this with complete composure. Its tail, however, was moving at a notably increased rate of oscillation. Being praised tended to have this effect.
"Sensei, if you please."
Mammon gestured toward the changing room with the manner of someone who had already won.
Wallace looked at the dress in his hands. His expression cycled through several things. Eventually, it settled.
Fine. His Pokémon. Officer Jenny's team. Non-negotiable priorities.
This was a small sacrifice. As the Hoenn Champion, protecting people under his care was his duty and his honor. A little temporary humiliation was nothing in that context.
It's just a skirt. I can do this. I am Wallace. I can do anything.
He walked into the structure at a brisk pace.
"Good, good — foot out a little more — left hand up, near your ear — yes, just like that. Perfect."
"Don't look so stiff, Sensei. Smile — sweeter, more — yes, that shy girlish look, exactly—"
The shutter clicked.
Wallace's smile vanished the instant the camera lowered.
He turned to look at the full-length mirror Armored Mewtwo had positioned nearby.
Deep navy fitted top. Long white skirt. Blue sapphire necklace. Glossy green wig to the waist. Fair, refined features. A flush at each cheek. Eyes like green agate.
...
Wallace turned away. Quickly.
He absolutely could not keep looking. Another few seconds and he was going to be attracted to himself, which was a problem he did not have the philosophical framework to handle right now.
Why. he thought, with profound suffering. Why is this how I look.
Curse this face of mine.
"Wonderful — JK next, Sensei! With your complexion you'll be stunning — come on, run a little — yes, just like that, fresh and full of youth! Every enthusiast who sees this smile and that energy will make you their ideal—"
"Now the black stockings look—"
Two hours passed.
"A shame about the scenery — too plain. And Sensei, your expression control needs work." Mammon reviewed the shots with a look of mild artistic dissatisfaction.
"But this'll do for today. We'll do another series when the opportunity comes up. Thank you for your hard work, Sensei."
He put the camera away with a satisfied air and smiled at the faintly exhausted figure across from him.
"Your Poké Balls and Officer Jenny's team — all returned, as promised. I look forward to our next meeting, Sensei."
"..."
Wallace said nothing.
He stood and looked at the sky with completely empty eyes.
Steven.
...I'm not clean anymore.
☆☆☆
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