What slunk into his office was a black cat, and what followed was surely twice as unlucky.

Dressed in dark, prim business attire, she asked to be seen but not necessarily spoken to. Her footsteps were oddly silent even on creaking floors and her hair curled and bobbed like a tail swishing in curiosity. Large, tapered eyes flickered across the room, searching for catnip.

“Good morning. Yujin Ha, per your pleasure~”

Her smile was cheshire.

Yujin did not wait at the door. She immediately walked further into the room, side-stepping the cathedral of vinyl towers and disturbing nothing.

“What a... cozy office!" She slowly spun around as if to examine every unseen wall. "...Don’t suppose I could sit?”

---

Callan Young

Artists all have a terrible grandeur about them, and it was evident in the melancholic moods of Callan. But artisans also do not stop to powder their noses.

And the one bare cushion of the couch looked so welcoming, she just had to give it what it wanted.

Now closer to the albums, she studied the cover with mirth—and caught the thrown can without even looking.

“You assume correctly.” She’d crack her own soju and toast it to his if he was so inclined.

Now staring at each other directly, Yujin couldn’t help but seem impressed. There weren’t many in their organizations that liked to have a drink before noon, nor many that would carefully probe at her boundaries.

They were either more similar than she thought, or he was a wonderful chameleon.

“Interpol work,” she agreed, tasting the words as they left her lips. “You can relax, Mr. Young! Whatever I may or may not audit is likely to be far from you. I’m a simple engineer, here about all those terrible damages that coincidently keep happening in Hoenn.”

“I would hate to cause you trouble.”

---

Callan Young

“Goodness. You seem to imply that being an engineer is so easy.”

She tut-tutted, batting her eyelashes in mock hurt while simultaneously draining half of her can in one swig. Secrets were most delectable when tasted with one's own tongue.

As for Sootopolis: “Duly noted.” Yet for the first time, a sense of gravitas reached her eyes—as blue and un-dredged as the ocean.

Callan’s next move surprises her, pleasantly, once again. She was used to smiling at things like a fox does to a hare, but he was perhaps more like a wolf, white-haired. And when they approached each other from opposite ends of the meadow, they wore the same rictus grin.

“...I would not be opposed.” She tilted her head. “But if you’re taking me out to lunch, try your best to make the history a little longer, alright?”

---

Callan Young

And that was how they opted for a change in scenery.

Yujin finished the rest of her drink as she followed him out. Because she could not find the rubbish receptacle from behind all the gilded albums, she decided to leave her can on his desk instead: pausing to tilt it back and forth just so that the lipstick stain would be visible when next he sat.

…

She ordered dumplings and black pepper ‘beef’ over rice. As they sat down, he’d notice her attention was rapt: albeit on his potstickers, and not on him.

Yujin caught herself just in time to meet his eyes. “Ah, yes. Team Rocket. I was in Johto at the time.”

The way her chopsticks stabbed into the food seemed casually aggressive, like she was picturing someone’s face in the beefskin.

The talk about dimensional rips, time dilations, and a succinct summary brought out her trademark smile—pointy canine and all.

“It is shocking that the government can run at all. How many times has your commissioner been kidnapped, now?”

Their room was small and quaint, but every now and then Aunt Wei would pass and glance inside.

“The trainers here have also become very strong. The other regions say so. And now immigration rates to Hoenn are higher than ever. Ironic for the level of danger, no?”

---

Callan Young

"You're into dumplings, I see."

“...Ah?” She blinked innocently at him, hand halfway across the table. “Sorry darling, forgot that was your order! Things taste better off of someone else’s plate, have you tried?”

Dumplings reminded her of something: formless memories, steam and clinkware. Presumably, someone had made them for her back when she still had to sit in a high chair.

His gaze would hold hers like a magnet holds iron. Ooh, shivers! And she knew a lot about magnets, so.

“I have no interest in clout or fame, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She took a sip of water.

“It’s only natural that people seek power. But Interpol, as you might imagine, prefers to wield its weapons—”
She flourished the chopsticks elegantly between her fingers.

“more carefully—”
She flipped one of them and it traced a flashy arc above the table.

“more efficiently—”
The remaining stick scooped up another dumpling, precariously balanced as she pointed it at him. The piece that had been juggled then fell neatly back into her hand, and the two tools in tandem clamped down upon the food offering.

“and in multiple directions. Go on, take it. I did eat most of yours.”

---

Callan Young

It was unsaid, but perhaps able to be inferred, that Yujin actually was proud of her chopsticks skills.

Every chapter started on an all-too-stiff bed in a motel out by the wayside: she would get bored, she would get creative, and if that failed, then she would get even.

“You’re so interested in my… clever mind.”

A grin, but quickly fading away into thoughtfulness. She did not reveal secrets but people understood when an answer was evasive, and they did not appreciate it.

Yujin tapped her chopsticks against her lip, pondering not her answer but what she wanted to tell him. Yet he was staring so intently, she just had to match him eye for eye; nibbling at the tip where his mouth had been just a moment before.

“...Power, strength, skill? I think:

Weak enemies showcase your power. Strong enemies showcase your skill.
The trainers of this land have dined well on the feast of its resources and legendary beasts.”

---

Callan Young

He was honest. That was good; honesty was the quality in which all her scant relationships required in order to ford.

And their politics align at least to some extent. Yujin said nothing more, watching his gaze flicker from face to plate with the dogged drag of a native bemoaning the state of his people.

It was fortunate that the proprietor had already turned around by the time Callan made his move. Half-ready to waltz out of the establishment, Yujin was accosted by the oldest trick in the book… and yet it just keeps on working.

Shared was only a brief kiss; just enough for her eyelids to nearly shutter closed, her tongue to nearly taste him, but not quite. It was over before it began, and she did her best not to pout.

“...Oh! Hold on.”

She had to lick her thumb and then tiptoe to brush the hint of red off his bottom lip. It would be a tragedy if he went back to the office covered in her rouge. What would Mandy say?

“Ah, but I’m afraid I won’t be in town tomorrow night. And neither will you.” The red of his ears are distracting in a cute way. She used one finger to press against his chest. “Check your email in the next few hours, Mr. Young. I’ll be in your care for a little while longer.”

Yujin would put a hand on his shoulder and lead them out of the restaurant. She was immune to the forest of eyes now trained upon them, but she wasn’t most people.

(Callan seemed experienced and confident. He could handle himself, so she probably didn’t need to have the talk with him.

...

Yet.)

---

Callan Young