Chapter 118: Steven: I'll Take the Couples' Series!
Steven was reaching a state of comprehensive numbness.
He'd only managed a preliminary exchange on his side, and Wallace was already on the verge of collapse. What was even the point of continuing at this rate?
A bad feeling had taken up residence in his chest and was unpacking its bags.
If Wallace went down, Caitlin and Kagura would be free to pivot and surround him — and his fight with Mammon was already difficult under these conditions. The first exchange had gone against him. Taking on all three was simply not viable.
And then, inevitably, the thing happened.
As Steven pressed the offensive — urgency making him push harder than the strategic situation warranted — Metagross found itself in worse trouble, not better. Tyranitar was simply very sturdy.
And when he looked over to see Milotic pinned by Tapu Lele's psychic field, Wallace himself suspended and clearly functioning as a hostage, Steven made the calculation.
He recalled Metagross.
Raised his hand.
"I surrender."
What else was there? Keep fighting until he was beaten anyway? Abandon Wallace and run?
"A very rational decision." Mammon applauded, with evident sincerity. "And for the record — your Metagross is genuinely impressive."
Tapu Lele released its hold on Wallace. Wallace immediately relocated himself to Steven's immediate vicinity, interposing Steven between himself and the enemy line.
"This is infuriating," Wallace said, with feeling. "We needed more strength, Steven."
We needed more strength. Steven filed this observation away.
Wallace became aware of Steven's expression and found something suddenly very interesting to look at in the middle distance.
"I can't entirely be blamed, you understand. Those two women are genuinely beyond what I expected—"
"It's fine." Steven's voice was controlled. "We'll review later."
He was the one in the middle of a Tyranitar fight while Wallace was getting rapidly processed by two simultaneous opponents. He could have strong feelings about this afterward.
Right now, they had a more immediate situation to navigate.
"Two options," Mammon said pleasantly, producing bags. "I'll explain both — and the two of you can choose whichever one you prefer."
He held up two fingers.
"First option: matching sisters' set. I had Caitlin select the outfits — her taste is beyond reproach."
Caitlin, finding both of them looking her direction, gave a composed nod. You're welcome.
Wallace's fist clenched.
Steven's expression underwent several transitions in rapid succession.
Sisters' series. For me. Steven Stone.
Absolutely—
"Second option: couples' feature. The two of you as a couple. Photographs."
Mammon looked between them.
"Which would you prefer?"
Silence. The particular silence of two people communicating wordless outrage without wanting to give the other side the satisfaction of a reaction.
"If you can't decide, I'm happy to do both series."
"That won't be necessary." Steven's forehead was moist.
"It really won't," Wallace agreed, with equal strain.
"Then which would you prefer?"
Another pause.
Steven and Wallace looked at each other. Something passed between them in that look — the shorthand of people who had known each other for years.
I'm sorry, Wallace.
I'm sorry, Steven.
"First option." — Wallace.
"Second option." — Steven.
Simultaneously.
They stared at each other.
"Steven."
"Wallace."
"We're best friends," Wallace said, with the careful emphasis of someone establishing facts. "I thought we had a shared understanding of hardship."
"We do. This hardship, I believe you can carry." Steven maintained his composure with some effort. "You've done it before. You have experience. The learning curve has already been climbed."
"The learning curve was TRAUMATIC and sharing the trauma is what friendship IS—"
"Wallace." Steven was firm. "I cannot wear a dress."
"Neither could I and yet—!"
"I'll make a deal," Wallace said, switching tactics. "You agree to the second option, and I'll give you something in exchange."
Steven had a premonition. "What."
"I've been thinking about stepping down from the Champion position." Wallace deployed his most measured expression. "My image has suffered some... recent adjustments. It may be affecting my ability to project appropriate authority. Someone needs to take over."
"..."
"Steven. The position should return to its rightful holder."
Steven looked at his best friend for a long moment.
You calculated this.
In the middle of being told you're about to be photographed, you calculated this.
He thought about the Champion's responsibilities. The administrative work. The never-ending paperwork. The official events he'd quietly been grateful to leave behind.
He thought about the alternative.
He thought about Caitlin's shopping.
"Fine," he said.
Some battles you could not win. But you could choose the nature of your defeat.
"Consensus reached?" Mammon asked, having observed this entire negotiation with the pleasant attention of someone watching good television.
"...Second option." Steven, with a quality of voice that could only be described as dignified resignation.
"Excellent. Please change, then."
"That's it — lean in a bit more, lean into it — right arm around the shoulder — there. Natural smile, please. Steven, that color in your face is exactly right."
Wallace had returned to the blue dress, the white skirt, the green wig — looking, if anything, even more settled into the aesthetic this time. He had, through some horrible combination of talent and muscle memory, learned how to hold the poses more naturally.
Steven stood beside him in the casual ensemble Caitlin had selected, looking like a man who had made peace with something fundamental and found it unexpectedly peaceful on the other side.
His face was, in fact, quite red.
"Kagura, if Salamence could catch a bit of wind from that angle — just enough to get the hair moving — yes. Perfect. That's a shot."
Kagura leaned against Salamence's flank with her arms crossed, watching the proceedings.
Her feelings about Steven Stone were complicated. She was rational enough to know that he personally had no involvement in the Buried Tower incident — he'd been a trainer on his own journey at the time, with no particular connection to Devon Corporation's internal decisions. Joseph Stone was the responsible party.
But the name. The family.
She filed it under not today. There would be a time.
For now, watching the former Hoenn Champion stand next to the current Hoenn Champion's cross-dressing alter ego and look faintly pleased about it was providing a different kind of satisfaction.
If Joseph Stone ever found out his son—
She decided not to finish that thought. It was too funny for the mood she was trying to maintain.
"Wonderful! Now, let's try a different angle — and we'll do the lift sequence next."
Wallace's expression didn't change. He'd moved past the phase where he reacted to individual instructions.
Steven, for his part, was discovering that proximity to cross-dressing Wallace was a categorically novel experience. He'd known Wallace for years. He was aware, intellectually, that Wallace was considered exceptionally attractive.
This was different. Up close. Standing next to him. Physical contact unavoidable for the pose.
He was sweating, and he was fairly certain it wasn't from exertion.
This is Wallace, he told himself firmly. My best friend. I have known him since we were both teenagers. He is Wallace. We have climbed mountains together. This is fine.
"Chin up slightly, Steven. You're not looking at the camera."
Steven looked at the camera.
This is fine.
"Excellent! Now—"
Three hours later, Mammon set the camera down with the satisfaction of genuine creative fulfillment. Wallace and Steven reclaimed their freedom and several lungfuls of air.
"You did remarkably well this time, Sensei. The expression work has improved considerably — the whole range, really. Bashful, sweet, romantic. A professional would be impressed."
Wallace stared into the middle distance.
"You know," Mammon continued, "with the two of you together, we could do something longer-form eventually. A short narrative video, maybe. I think you'd go genuinely global — blow past—" he waved a hand, "—whatever the Kalosian equivalent is."
"Mammon." Wallace's voice was very quiet. Very even. "I am going to personally ensure that you face consequences for every single thing you have done."
"I look forward to it, Sensei."
"Call me that one more—"
"I'm already doing the mental drafting for the next production." Mammon was visibly thinking. "The concept has a lot of potential."
Wallace turned to Steven.
"Steven."
"Yes."
"You're the Champion now."
"I am."
"Go do something about this."
Steven looked at the camera bag. Looked at Mammon. Looked at his own hands.
"...I'll make some calls."
☆☆☆
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