Howard never went to business school.

Spoiler alert.

His father worked at Devon Corp, and his mother ran a successful chain of jewelry stores. They had been far better at being successful than their good-for-nothing archaeologist son who could barely scrape government grants. Yet he had been in his mother's store, he had watched, learned, and unknowingly sponged up information for himself.

During his travels across the world, he had met customs officers, liars, thieves, tomb raiders, and people who traded morals for money. Black market connections from Unova to Orre had helped him make money for Team Rocket. Now that he sat in his predecessor's seat, that money had doubled.

Rocket was simply a business that did not abide by the laws of Hoenn. It was, in a sense, free. That was something Xenon could understand. She reveled in the freedom to do what she wanted.

"I'm impressed you've kept this together as long as you did." His eye flitted from a stack of ledgers to her. His office was filled with skeletons, urns, and other pieces of tech. Uniquely, there was not a single piece of technology in the office. There was no computer, at least. "Not bad, Xenon."

The idea of Xenon sitting in front of ledgers and balancing checkbooks made Howard want to snicker. She was composed until the heat of battle overexcited her. Howard never got to see that, though. By the time she snapped, he was long gone. The exception was when they had warred against Kyogre.

She had performed admirably, but he wouldn't tell her that. Half the time, he wanted to punt her off a cliff.

"How'd you get the nightclub? I never thought you were one for real estate." He leaned back in his chair.

---

Xenon Antheil

A flicker passes on the admin's face, an acknowledge of Xenon's threat. He'll keep it and be cowed. From his experiences with Xenon at the Regice Ruins, the battle with Kyogre, and their delve into a simulated universe, he knew that she was proud and fierce. If he bit, she'd bite back.

Frankly, Howard wanted his kneecaps. He kept his mouth shut on that matter. After musing on her words for a moment, he spoke.

"I am going to tell you a secret, since you're being honest with me. This is something I learned when I went into debt for my education. Money is worthless. It means nothing. Here. This is something you might find interesting." He gestured towards the map behind his desk, which showed the Hoenn region in all its glory.

The map had been drawn by a famous Kalosian cartographer over a hundred years ago. Howard had given the map to another member of Rocket during the party back in December.

"This map is historically relevant, but that's irrelevant to the conversation. To my knowledge, there are only four in existence. I bought this one at auction for 400,000 PD. Yet it was only worth that because someone else had bid 350,000, and someone before that bid 300,000. They bid this because they expected it to be that much. Money means nothing. It is a system humans put into place to instill order."

In order words, the antithesis of anarchy. Xenon was a pariah of the future, and Howard knew that. Order was good, but it prevented change. He trusted that she would understand the implications of such a system. Xenon Antheil was a genius, after all. 

It was just a map. Xenon had an infinitely more accurate one on her phone. Hell, she probably could've designed a more accurate mapping app in her sleep.

"Only expectation has currency. The most important things in the world are only worth that much because people expect them to be so. For your club to succeed, you must raise the expectation of the consumer. If you can make them need something, that is the source of wealth. Owning things of value is secondary only to creating things of value where none existed."

He didn't know if Rocket's resident CEOs Amor Rose and jayden cross would agree with that. They had been trained and fostered for their roles since they were young. Elisabeth Fiorelli might've understood his logic, but Admin Fox found Underboss Fiorelli's perception of money as skewed as his own.

Howard had only learned this truth by grubbing around in the dirt, painfully aware that the system that chained him down was flawed. A flawed system was something Xenon could understand.

Now he made Rocket loads of cash.

"So that's how your club makes money. Do you have any staff?"

---

Xenon Antheil

"You understand. That's good, I hated economics in college." Howard's good eye flicked to the ledgers he had printed from Xenon's club. Her numbers had started well, but they were declining fast. Xenon was right, nothing new could remain as such forever. Eventually the future turned into the now, and the now became the past.

Luckily, the past was Howard's domain. He could work with the past, with the now, and let Xenon use the knowledge from those events guide her ship forward. Howard couldn't look forward, Xenon couldn't look back. Yet she could learn from him, and improve. He had no such luxury.

"Beast Frost." Howard gently reminded her. "He's a good man, for the most part. He's a big asset, and he DJ'd at that party back in December. Tell him he owes me for letting him poke Regice with his energy reader, and that we'll be square once he does it."

Pity. Howard was saving that favor, but he could always get another. Shipping items around for Rocket ensured that every Rocket would come by his office eventually, looking for some valuable or another. All valuable. All expensive. All worthless.

Except for the artifacts, that was.

"There's a reason big companies spend a metric ton on marketing. Ask Wyndon Cross, or Silph Co, whatever Fortune 500 company Head Scientist Rose has." Howard waved a hand, as if dismissing the thought. "It is, put simply, the act of making something worthless valuable. Those companies have the value of making things people know they need. Medicine. Machinery. Insurance. You're not selling those, you're selling an experience."

Club Ultramodern had the unfortunate limit of not being directly connected to Rocket's supply line. It didn't produce anything that Howard could ship under the cover of darkness, but it had potential. Lilycove was prime real estate, after all.

"It's valid, but you should ensure that this opportunity doesn't..." Howard squeezed a fist. "...close. How often are you at the club? When you're there, are you a member of Rocket, or the manager of a clubhouse. Are you Xenon, or someone else?"

---

Xenon Antheil

"Do that, then. You'd be surprised at how much damage a single name can do."

All someone had to do was drop the name 'Silph' in a meeting and watch the fireworks to see the truth of that. Bad blood ran deep and hot between the Rocket and League. It was a war of principle and basic survival, but there were grudges between individual members. Ghosts from Kanto and Johto came to life on the battlefield.

Fox, too. Remiel Calcifet would get his comeuppance soon, but until then, he was another meaningless piece on the chessboard. Grudges had no place on the game board.

"I'll trust you to put together a name and identity, then. If this club becomes popular, eyes will look your way." His eye bore into hers. "Do not balk."

Click. An Aerodactyl pen danced across a check. A number was scribbled, signed, and slid across the table. It was a generous amount for a man who dabbled in trinkets. If anything, it'd go a long way in bringing her books back in order. Unlike Elisabeth Fiorelli, Howard didn't believe in overfunding and drowning his contemporaries in wealth.

Give people what they needed, and they would use it. Give people more, and it would be squandered.

"Why a nightclub?" He asked her. "I know how you got it, but why run it? Just for profits?"

---

Xenon Antheil