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Steven sat in the Champion's chair for the first time.
The inauguration ceremony earlier that day had been little more than a formality — a few polite words exchanged in front of cameras and reporters. Its real purpose was simple: to put a face to the new Champion's name. As for the undercover work sometimes required when dealing with criminal organizations, Steven knew he wouldn't need to handle that personally. At most, he would offer support from a distance.
He looked down at his desk. It was spotless. Completely bare.
Shouldn't there be reports to review? Files to sign?
"Steven, we still haven't properly congratulated you on becoming Champion!" Phoebe's cheerful voice cut through the quiet. She slapped both palms on the table as she stood, her usual energy impossible to contain. "Let's all go out for dinner tonight!"
"Phoebe." The calm, measured voice came from across the room, where Glacia sat with a thick file held neatly in both hands. "Have you finished your own work?" She glanced over without lifting her head fully. "Besides, we already congratulated him during the Elite Four battles."
Phoebe, who had been practically bouncing a moment ago, crumpled. She dropped back into her seat and stared at the mountain of files piled on her desk, defeated. Then she looked at Steven's perfectly empty desk again. Her expression shifted from dejected to indignant.
She slammed a fist down. "That's not fair! Why does Steven have nothing to do?!"
"He's only just taken office," Glacia replied, as evenly as ever. "The work simply hasn't arrived yet."
"Phoebe," Drake said from his corner, his deep voice carrying the weight of someone who had spent decades at sea, "you ought to call him Champion. Show some respect for the rank."
Steven gave an awkward laugh. "It really doesn't bother me either way."
Phoebe and Drake both answered at once: "It does matter."
Right, then...
Steven scratched the back of his head. "So... what should I call all of you?"
Elite One, Two, Three? That felt stiff. And Drake was an old friend of his father's — calling him by his first name felt strange, almost disrespectful. But calling him "Elder" seemed just as awkward.
"By our names," Drake said flatly.
"That's easy enough to say," Phoebe muttered, then narrowed her eyes at Drake. "But could you at least button your shirt properly before telling him what to do? You look like you just rolled out of a sleeping bag."
"This is my style."
"Your style is to look disheveled?"
Steven rubbed his temple. He could feel a headache forming.
Glacia watched the two of them bicker for a moment, then turned to Steven with a small smile. "Don't overthink it, Steven. We Elite Four members are all at the same tier. You're the one step above us now — so calling us by our names is perfectly fine."
"Glacia! You should tell him to call me Champion—" Phoebe started.
"Drake," Glacia corrected herself gently.
Drake and Phoebe both turned and fixed Glacia with a sharp look. Glacia simply raised her file a little higher, as though using it as a shield, and said nothing more.
Steven decided he'd get used to it. Probably.
"By the way," he said, glancing around the room, "where's Sidney? I haven't seen him since I arrived."
He had been in the office for a while now. Not even a glimpse of the man.
"Sidney, he—"
Bang.
Glacia set her file down, just beginning to answer, when the door swung open and cut her off.
Sidney strolled in, looking entirely unbothered. He caught himself mid-sentence when he noticed the room. "Stev— Champion." His eyes flicked briefly to Phoebe and Drake, and he adjusted his address without missing a beat. "You've got a mission."
There was something quietly amusing about watching a Dark-type specialist suddenly remember his manners.
"What kind of mission?" Steven asked, standing.
He had honestly been considering requesting a short vacation. His desk was still empty, after all.
"Field work," Sidney said, rubbing the back of his head. "Intelligence has come in suggesting that remnants of Team Magma are up to something. The higher-ups want it dealt with quickly." He paused. "Since you and Gym Leader Wallace were the ones who brought in the Team Magma leader, and you've just been named Champion, the assignment's been given to you." Another pause. "I've been told to assist."
That last part made Phoebe sit straight up.
"You?" She jabbed a finger toward Sidney's desk. "You still have a stack of reports you haven't touched! I'm much further along — I should be the one going!"
Sidney grinned slowly. It was not a kind grin.
"Funny you should mention that," he said, strolling over to his desk. "The higher-ups also told me to pass my remaining work along before I go."
Click.
The room went very still.
Phoebe had gone rigid in her chair, staring straight ahead. If anyone had walked in at that moment, they might have mistaken her for a stone statue — much like the Pokémon affected by a well-placed Disable, frozen entirely in place.
Sidney picked up every last file from his desk and set them, one by one, onto Phoebe's already-suffering pile.
"I'll leave these in your capable hands," he said cheerfully.
Crack.
"...Why is there something broken on the floor?" Steven asked, glancing down as he passed by.
"Don't worry about it," Sidney said, waving a hand. "Phoebe will clean it up later."
The two of them left. Behind them, from inside the office, came the low, steady sound of Drake and Phoebe resuming their argument — and Phoebe's quiet, muffled groan as she stared at the new tower of files before her.
"I'm going to snap one of these days..."
"So," Sidney said, once they were out in the hall, "how does it feel?"
"Not bad," Steven admitted. "The atmosphere is easier to settle into than I expected."
"Good." Sidney fell into step beside him. "Don't let those two fool you. Phoebe and Drake going at each other like that — it's actually their way of making newcomers feel less like they have to stand on ceremony. Helps people settle in faster."
Steven glanced at him sideways. "Are you sure it doesn't just make newcomers more anxious?"
When those two locked eyes across a room, the air pressure genuinely seemed to drop.
"...I mean," Sidney began, then stopped. He thought back to his own first week. He hadn't dared to say a single unnecessary word for days. Phoebe had been so nervous she'd walked out of a meeting with her arms and legs swinging on the same side. "The effect is still significant," he said at last, clearing his throat.
They'd both integrated quickly, all things considered. Having two seniors demonstrate that even Elite Four members argue like siblings had a way of making rank feel less intimidating.
"I suppose," Steven said. It also meant he could delegate work downward without feeling strange about it. Rank had its weight.
"Personally," Sidney said, "I'll take a field mission over paperwork any day."
Steven quietly agreed.
"Where are we headed?"
"Fallarbor Town, to start. Residents near Meteor Falls have reported suspicious activity from what looks like remaining Team Magma members."
"Rules of engagement?"
"Use your judgment. Avoid civilian casualties and don't cause serious damage to the environment."
Steven's expression remained calm, but the faintest curve touched the corner of his mouth.
"Understood," he said.