A black PSIA sedan deposited Hiroshi at the entrance of one of Tokyo's finest hotels just past 5:00 A.M., the sky still a dark pre-dawn blue. As he stepped through the glass doors into the grand lobby, Hiroshi's breath almost caught in his throat. Polished marble floors stretched out before him, reflecting the soft glow of crystal chandeliers overhead. The space was spacious and serene, nearly empty at this early hour save for a few impeccably dressed staff. This is indefinite lodging, he mused incredulously, heart thumping a bit faster. Outwardly, however, he maintained the same cool, composed demeanor he wore in any high-security operation. Years of espionage had seen him stride through similar luxury hotels under various aliases—billionaire tech mogul, foreign dignitary, crime boss's consigliere—but never as Hiroshi Kobayashi himself. It felt surreal. As he crossed the lobby with measured steps, he murmured under his breath, "They really rolled out the red carpet…" His tone was wry, but inside he was marveling like a country kid in the big city. Makima had certainly delivered on her promise: this hotel was beyond fancy.
Near the gleaming reception desk, a smartly uniformed concierge bowed deeply. "Ohayō gozaimasu, Hiroshi-sama. Welcome," she greeted in a gentle voice, straightening to offer him a warm smile. Hiroshi had to school his expression not to show surprise at the honorific -sama attached to his first name. He wasn't used to hearing such respect directed at him openly—especially not under his real identity. With a polite nod, he approached, sliding a government ID across the counter. The concierge needed only a glance. "Your suite is prepared and awaiting your arrival. We hope you find everything to your satisfaction." Another small bow. Professional, courteous, and not a hint of curiosity in her eyes—the staff had clearly been well-informed that their young VIP guest was not one to be fussed over.
"Thank you," Hiroshi replied softly, mustering the refined politeness he'd used a hundred times while undercover as high society. Hiroshi-sama…, he echoed in his mind with a faint, bemused smirk. If only his old covert ops buddies could see this. He accepted the ornate keycard packet from the concierge. "Please let us know if you require anything at all, sir," she added. "We've taken the liberty of stocking the suite with groceries and amenities per Director Makima's instructions."
"Perfect." Hiroshi inclined his head appreciatively. That sounded like Makima's thoroughness indeed. Without lingering, he made his way to the elevators, posture relaxed but confident. Even at this hour, he could feel the discreet glances of staff noting his presence—security in suits by the doors, a housekeeper quietly polishing a marble pillar. All paid him the silent respect due an elite guest. Hiroshi couldn't help a quiet chuckle once the elevator doors closed behind him. In the mirrored interior, he caught sight of himself: slightly disheveled from the long night, silver hair tousled, tie loosened at his collar. Not exactly the picture of a pampered VIP, he thought with a grin. But no one downstairs had batted an eye; they saw only what Makima's arrangements wanted them to see: a young Assistant Director of PSIA, deserving of utmost deference.
The elevator dinged softly at the top floor. Hiroshi stepped out into a hushed, carpeted hallway illuminated by tasteful wall sconces. A few paces down, he found his door. With a beep of the keycard and a quiet click, the double doors swung open into his suite.
Hiroshi flicked on the lights and whistled under his breath as he stepped inside. The place was enormous. He toed off his shoes at the entryway automatically (the habit drilled into him by both Japanese custom and a desire to keep any mud of the field off pristine floors) and ventured in, jaw tight to restrain an open gape. The suite opened into a stylish living area with a high ceiling and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a twinkling panorama of Tokyo's skyline. Plush cream-colored sofas and armchairs beckoned around a low glass coffee table, and thick, cloud-soft rugs covered the floor. Off to one side, he noted a sleek open kitchen complete with an island counter and bar stools. Stainless steel appliances gleamed under discrete cabinet lighting—there was a full stove, an oven, even a rice cooker and blender neatly tucked in. It was a proper kitchen, not a token kitchenette, clearly meant for actual use. Beyond the living room, double sliding doors (currently open) revealed the bedroom: a king-sized bed draped in an elegant navy duvet and a heap of inviting pillows. Hiroshi could imagine sinking into that bed and never wanting to leave. Adjacent to the bedroom, through another door, he glimpsed a spa-like bathroom — he saw marble countertops and what looked like a Jacuzzi tub, as well as a panel of digital controls on the wall. A high-tech bathroom, indeed.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a small laugh of disbelief. "I could get used to this," he murmured. So this was the perk of being a government big shot: five-star accommodations, no questions asked. It was easily the most luxurious safehouse he'd ever stayed in. Usually, his lodgings during missions were upscale out of necessity, but he always occupied them under a false name, with one eye on the exit. This time, he was here for real, under his own identity, and the place was meant to be home.
Home. The word made him pause in the silent suite. Could he really call anywhere home now? He shook off the heavy thought quickly—this was not the time for brooding. He had maybe two hours before he had to be back for the 7:00 A.M. briefing. If he was going to rest at all, he needed to maximize every minute here.
Hiroshi shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. As he did, a small motion at his waist reminded him of his most important companions. Six minimized Pokéballs were clipped on his belt, and another six on a second belt in his inner pocket. Twelve in total. With a faint smile, Hiroshi strode to the center of the living area, where there was plenty of space, and unclipped the balls one by one.
"Alright, everyone," he said quietly, anticipation warming his tired voice, "we're home… for now. Time to stretch your legs." With a practiced motion, he tossed the Pokéballs into the air, one after another. In mid-flight the balls snapped open, and bursts of white light filled the suite in rapid succession.