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Around 11 p.m., in the top-floor conference room of the Slateport City League branch, the city's senior officials sat stiffly in their chairs. The room was deathly silent, the atmosphere oppressively heavy.
A few minutes later— Bang! —the conference room doors were violently kicked open.
In strode Drake, the Dragon-type Elite Four member, clad in his captain's coat and radiating an imposing presence. His face was like stone, and behind him marched his men, fierce as wolves and tigers.
Among them was Captain Reggie, whom Sato hadn't seen in some time. He had exchanged his usual white captain's coat for a sailor's uniform of deep blue.
The gathered League officials stiffened at Drake's entrance. Those most responsible —a few corpulent executives from the intelligence division—sweat beaded on their foreheads, their fat faces twisted with dread.
This sudden Pokémon riot might have had no warning signs, but it was obvious to everyone that wild Pokémon hadn't attacked humans out of simple revenge. Someone had been manipulating them.
And yet, the intelligence division—the very department with the League's richest resources—hadn't caught the slightest whiff of it. A failure so great could only be called dereliction of duty.
If they had done even a little, the scale of destruction would never have been so catastrophic. Because of this riot, more than a dozen settlements along Slateport's eastern coast had been reduced to ruins, with direct and indirect economic losses beyond estimation.
Hundreds of the League's elite who had rushed to the scene were lost, and the number of civilian Trainers conscripted as reinforcements who perished was even higher.
An incident of this magnitude could not be buried, not even by the League. In the digital age, news of the Pokémon riot had already spread like wildfire across the networks.
Worse still, under the push of certain interested parties, a flood of negative commentary about the League's inaction was everywhere, stoking public anger.
To appease that anger quickly, scapegoats had to be found—and those same Slateport intelligence officers who had sat idle during the disaster were clearly the most suitable candidates.
Under their fearful stares, the nearly two-meter-tall Drake strode to the head of the table, sat, and swept the room with a gaze sharp enough to pierce steel.
Every official he looked upon felt their heart tighten, immediately bowing their heads, clenching their buttocks, and not daring to meet his eyes.
It was clear: with presence alone, the seasoned Hoenn Dragon Master had already seized the advantage in this meeting.
As expected, Drake began by carrying out orders from the Hoenn League's highest authority. One by one, he pronounced punishments on those responsible for negligence in Slateport.
First, inevitably, were the intelligence division's senior officers. They were tasked with monitoring the area around the city, and thus bore the heaviest blame.
"According to the latest intelligence," Drake began coldly, "the ones behind this riot were Team Aqua. Their method of controlling wild ocean Pokémon is almost certainly tied to the artifact stolen from the Oceanic Research Institute not long ago."
"I trust you all understand. This riot was only the beginning. Team Aqua will surely use that artifact again to control Pokémon of the sea. When they do, mass riots could erupt along every coastal stretch of Hoenn."
"The only good news is that Team Aqua has not yet mastered the use of the artifact completely. That riot was nothing more than an experiment."
"But since the theft happened under your watch, the chairman has issued a strict order: within one month, the people of Slateport must recover the stolen artifact—or, if recovery is impossible, ensure it is destroyed."
Having dealt with the punishments, Drake laid out the latest intelligence and conveyed the League's command.
The meeting dragged on until 2 a.m. When it finally adjourned, every official filed out with dark, worried faces. Even these usually untouchable decision-makers were clearly shaken.
And no wonder. Team Aqua's movements were elusive, the sea vast and concealing. The League had managed to plant only a handful of spies within them, all low-ranking at best.
For Slateport's leadership, recovering the stolen artifact was like finding a needle in an ocean.
Many were already thinking of how to pull strings and shield themselves.
As soon as the meeting ended, Drake withdrew with his men and retired to the League branch's most exclusive guest quarters.
At nearly eighty years of age, Drake was no longer young. Since receiving orders to rush to the riot site, he had been awake and working for nearly a full day. If not for his sturdy constitution, a lesser man his age would have collapsed long ago.
But he had scarcely lain down on the soft sofa when the doorbell chimed.
It was Reggie. He entered unceremoniously, flopped down on the very sofa Drake had been resting on, and drew from his storage gear a bottle of aged liquor and two cups.
"Relying on that bunch of desk-bound pigs, they'll never find Team Aqua in their lifetimes. Drake, tell me—what are you planning next?"
He poured two full cups, downed his own in one swallow, and set it on the table with a hard clang, eyes locking on Drake's.
"You know I can't say," Drake replied evenly. "But I can assure you this: old Todd is still safe. Team Aqua needs him to perfect their device for controlling ocean Pokémon."
Drake and Reggie were of the same generation, old friends. He knew exactly what Reggie wanted to ask. Taking the second cup, he drained it and spoke with certainty.
"Safe, my ass!" Reggie barked. "Don't give me that. Tell me straight—has the League already decided to abandon him? Otherwise, why wasn't there a single word about rescuing the Oceanic Research Institute staff in the orders you just read?"
Unmoved by Drake's title as Dragon Master, Reggie jabbed a finger at his nose, shouting furiously.
Drake met the tirade with silence. As Hoenn's Dragon-type Elite Four, he bore great responsibility. Unless absolutely necessary, he would never leak League secrets.
But silence, too, could be an answer.
"I knew it," Reggie muttered bitterly. "I knew it. In their eyes, we old-timers are worthless now."
"But I won't give up, Drake. No matter what, I'll rescue Todd. There are too few of us old men left. Lose one more, and soon there'll be no one left to talk with. What's the point of living then?"
Reggie's weathered face sagged in despair. He tipped the bottle back, draining it dry, then rose unsteadily, resolve burning in his eyes.
No matter the cost, he would save his friend.