""Views dropped off, huh?"
Her voice cut the silence like a knife through static. Not sharp—just familiar.
"Was it because he didn’t match your nostalgia?
Because the pacing didn’t give you your dopamine rush?
Too slow? Too quiet? Not enough sparkles?"
She almost smirked. Almost.
"Yeah… I figured."
She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even disappointed.
Just… done.
"You’ll stay quiet again.
Pretend it didn’t matter.
Pretend I’m just saying weird things again—
like always."
She stared past the wall, past the lights, past the layers of story.
Not at anyone in the scene.
Not at the script.
But straight at you.
"But here’s what you never asked:
What if this world isn’t yours anymore?
What if the Gym Leaders aren't mentors, or stepping stones, or local legends?
What if they’re just dressed-up jailers?
Executioners with badges instead of blades?"
Her tone didn’t shift. No crescendo. No emotion.
"Brock? Misty?
Icons, sure.
But for me they smiled while selling kids like me to the system.
And you clapped for them."
A beat.
"Don’t like that version?
You can always leave.
Unfollow. Scroll past.
Find your happy ending somewhere else."
She adjusted her scarf, pulled her sunglasses down, and kept going.
"I’m not your favorite.
I was never supposed to exist this long.
I’m just a bug in the cutscene."
"Still—I'm here.
To finish the story they tried to delete.
One last scream,
before I’m overwritten like I was never there."
She paused.
A whisper behind her.
Ditto, curled at her neck, blinked softly.
“Boss… who are you talking to?”
She looked up slowly, eyes unfocused, gaze piercing through nothing.
“Oh, I’m talking to the ones who already forgot me, even in the future.”
Then she smiled.
Not sweet. Not bitter.
Just… practiced.
The kind of smile you wear when you're back on set.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Back in costume.
Back in character.
"Let’s go back to the stage.
They always liked me better when I played along."
She turned.
And the scene began again.
Mina hung the Boulder Badge inside her windbreaker and stared at the road ahead.
Ash had said he’d gone ahead to Cerulean City, but when she checked his tracker—Ditto's implant blinking on her lens—he wasn’t where he claimed to be.
“…Liar.”
Before she could move forward, something struck her in the face—cold, sharp, and wet.
She blinked. Then blinked again.
Dozens of half-naked people with water guns were charging through the tall grass, shrieking with laughter, soaking anyone in sight.
Mina froze, utterly still.
“…What the. A cult?”
Reflexively, she morphed her arm into Quagsire-form. Ability Water Absorb negated the spray instantly.
The moment her body warped unnaturally, people screamed. They scattered as if they’d glimpsed a monster.
Before the droplets had dried on her cheek, Ash appeared—soaked, shirtless, grinning like an idiot in a tropical swim outfit.
“Relax! It’s just a festival prank! Cerulean does this year.”
She stared at him, deadpan.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the gym? She is your friend.”
“It’s closed until after the Water Blue Festival. Misty’s idol debut. Swimsuits mandatory. If you wanna challenge the gym—”
He gestured vaguely to the madness around them.
“—we gotta play along.”
She slowly looked him up and down. “So gym badges now come with a wet contest?”
Ash raised both hands. “Not my rules.”
---
The sea wind carried a synthetic sweetness — like sugar, chlorine, and marketing.
Cerulean City had transformed overnight.
The gym dome now glowed like a stage set underwater.
Holographic waves crashed against glass. Neon jellyfish pulsed along railings.
NB Entertainment’s banners floated like sails across the skyline.
?? Welcome to the Water Blue Festival!
Featuring Misty – The Mermaid of Cerulean!
Ash stood just outside the dome, beaming.
“Wow… They really made her the star.”
He said it with warmth. Not pride. Not longing. Just—respect.
“She’s one of my best friends, you know?
We traveled together with Brock. She’s... someone I’ll always admire.”
Mina raised an eyebrow, walking beside him.
“Oh? So Misty and Brock, huh?”
Her voice dripped with amusement. “A girl on your left, a boyfriend on your right.
Guess you were the flower between two petals.”
Ash blinked. “What? No—it wasn’t like that.”
She smirked, sunglasses catching the lights from above.
“Sure. Must’ve been nice, though.
To be the sun in someone else’s story.”
Ash frowned. “What does that mean?”
Mina didn’t answer. Just kept walking.
Mina ducked into the alley between two festival stalls.
Behind her, the sounds of water cannons, laughter, and neon noise faded into static.
She peeled off her windbreaker, layer by layer, like skin. Her body underneath was pale, smooth, too symmetrical. Not because she was born beautiful—but because she wasn’t.
“Back off ash!”
“Suit,” she muttered.
Ditto slithered from her neck, its mass sliding down her spine, over her ribs, coiling around her like silk poured over wireframe.
It hardened.
Reshaped.
Adjusted for local norms.
A glossy one-piece. Navy blue. School-issued cut.
Mina didn’t even flinch.
She caught her reflection in the window of a closed café.
A still-life: glass, metal, curve, flesh.
Her stomach tightened—not from shame. From disgust.
They’ll look.
Of course they will.
Somewhere, someone’s already screenshotting this in their head.
She let out a breath through her nose. Cold.
“I know exactly what they’ll do with this body,” she muttered. “Because I’ve seen it. I felt it.”
The Ditto twitched across her hip, adjusting the seam.
“Not for comfort. For silhouette.”
She didn’t stop it.
Let them stare.
Let them assume.
Let them build whatever filthy projections they needed to feel alive tonight.
But let them also remember—
This skin isn’t mine.
She rolled her neck once, cracking vertebrae.
Sunglasses slid back into place. Voice flat.
“Let’s give them the idol they deserve.”
And stepped back into the crowd,
as the monster in their fantasies.
Not smiling.
Just waiting.
---
Inside, the Cerulean Gym was already filling.
The stage had risen from beneath the battlefield.
Floodlights dimmed.
Rain cannons hissed into mist.
Glow sticks lit up like bioluminescent waves.
The beat dropped.
Ash.
“Hey. Just wanted to say... you look nice.”
She turned.
Her expression said nothing.
Her hand, however, said everything.
A punch to the gut—blunt, sharp, nonlethal.
He doubled over, wheezing. “Okay! Fair.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said flatly. “You don’t know what you're seeing.”
Before he could answer, a child squealed behind them.
“Hey! It’s Ash!”
A crowd rushed forward—autographs, selfies, chaos. Mina stepped back. Instinct. Distance.
A girl whispered:
“Who’s that? His girlfriend?”
Another added:
“She looks... scary.”
Mina didn’t react.
But something behind her eyes flickered.
The girl beside the light. Always beside. Never in.
She turned to vanish.
Then froze.
Near a snack booth, a girl sat crying, shoulders trembling. Nobody noticed.
Almost walked past.
Almost.
Instead, Mina approached, knelt, and handed over a wrapped Slowpoke tail.
“It’s protein. Not candy. Eat slowly.”
The girl blinked. Took it. Bite.
Mina’s glasses scanned quietly.
> Serena
Status: Idol trainee.
Former Kalos contestant. Emotional instability flagged.
Ash: Associated. Discontinued.
Serena looked up. “...Who are you?”
Mina stood.
“Someone who knows your type.”
Pause.
“You want to see him again, don’t you?”
Serena flushed. “W-What? No, I just—”
“I can help. I’m traveling with him. But you’ll do something for me first.”
Serena hesitated.
“Why?”
“Because your agency won’t. And I will.”
She held up two fingers.
“First — a strand of Misty’s hair. Second — the real name behind NB Entertainment.”
Serena’s eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to do?”
“Level the field.”
She turned to leave.
Behind her, Serena clutched the tail. Bit again.
Didn’t notice the faint tingle on her tongue.
Didn’t notice the voice.
Not yet.
---
Inside Cerulean Gym…
Misty stared at her reflection in a blue-lit mirror. Sequins shimmered on her idol costume. Her fingers shook as she adjusted the neckline.
Serena entered, slow, quiet.
“He’s here.”
Misty didn’t look away. “You saw him?”
“With her. The one from Pewter.”
A pause.
“She doesn’t blink. Like she’s already killed you in her head.”
Misty’s lips tightened.
Another girl entered — Luna, NB’s top-tier rookie. Artificial smile. Engineered posture.
Corporate-perfect.
Serena stepped closer. “Let’s fight. If I win, I will go with him.”
Misty turned.
“If I win, I will walk away from this stage.”
Luna rolled her eyes. “You really think NB will let you go?”
Serena smiled, a little too calmly.
“No one owns what happens in a fair battle.”
Luna laughed. “Cute.”
But Misty just nodded.
“Tonight, then.”
They turned toward the lights beyond the curtain.
---
Inside, three girls stood under flickering fluorescents.
One engineered.
One exhausted.
One half-corrupted.
And beneath them all,
a girl who watched everything.
Already planning
what came next.
