He wandered the Slateport Night Market, looking for ingredients and shards of the past.

Slateport was a bustling metropolis, but it was also a silent warzone. Not due to the endless battling between Team Rocket and the Pokémon League, though that certainly played a part. No, it was a warzone because of the restaurants that dotted the city. They were islands of cuisine and quality in an ocean of urban sprawl.

Yet success was something that was earned, not found. It was sparked by passion, forged in practice, and fettered in pure talent. In life, the inept yet longing would never reach the level of the adept and talented. It was like comparing a Pokeball to an Ultra Ball. Both had the same purpose, yet one was undeniably better.

"Hm. These are good, I'll take thirty of these Pinap Berries." Preston pointed choice berries out to a person running a stall. Restaurants often warred for first pick of ingredients. Only the freshest could be used. The rest were dross, left for mediocre culinary artists who barely knew their craft. "No bruising."

He took the bag, paid, and went on his way, stopping at a Pokeball vendor overrun with Amoongus. The chef's tongue clicked as he noticed the Toxic Chain.

"Here too, huh?" Preston sighed and shook his head. There was no containing it now. He had hoped to check the stalls for Pokemon, desperately hoping that one of them would be his. That wasn't the case, though. They were all dead.

If any of his old Pokémon were still alive, he hoped they would forgive him.

"It's a terrible day for tears." Preston disappeared into the city of lights.

---

Reference a Pokeball for five mochi

He had vowed to put up his sword, but every time Preston thought that he could return to a blissful life of cooking, the chef found himself in a situation where he was forced to put up his apron and don a plate of mail.

"Acid Armor!" Fugu dissolved into acid to avoid the psychic strikes from the Rabsca, before quickly reforming from a liquid behind them insects. Fleshy tentacles wrapped themselves around the insect and squeezed, causing the chain to wither, die, and fall off like some revolting growth.

The chain dissolved into mist as the chef crushed it under his heel.

"Disgusting." Preston scowled at the glimmering remnants of Tera Energy. He looked up at the sky for a moment, frowning in thought. "What's causing all this mayhem?"

---

Fighting Rabsca

"Sneasler? Didn't know they were still around. This region is fucked to hell, I'll tell you what."

He wasn't here for Sneasler. He was here for a rare type of berry that flourished in these hard and uncaring passes of rock and stone. It was remarkably easy to chip a nail on the jagged stones that dotted the pass, but it would be worth it. The berries were excellent when shredded and used as a garnish.

Before he could get to the real prize, though, he needed to get past these Sneasler. He darted from rock to rock, hoping to sneak by. Preston was weary of fighting, and he certainly wasn't going to pick a fight over berries.

Totally.

Clatter. A rock rolled down the hill, alerting the Hisuian Pokémon. One looked at him and sneered, sharpening its nails.

"Shit." He turned to face his foe.

---

IH4LffIs

It was always a special occasion to bear witness to a Legendary Pokémon. Preston had bore witness to Johto's beasts, but it had been from a far distance. They had been forces of nature, and only Rocket's strongest trainers had been involved in the battle to slay them.

"Hoenn's got its own guardians too, eh?" Preston coughed into his fist as he saw the Toxic Chain dangling from it. "God help us all, we're all fucked if that's the case."

A great dragon like Latias getting chained made the chef want to hurl. It was like marring a beautiful painting or spitting on a perfectly plated piece of food. It had been a long time since he was a toxicologist, but the chef automatically knew that these chains were bad news. If not a manmade contagion, than one from a Pokémon.

To be chained and controlled like that.

"Nothing to be done about it, I guess." Preston had Poison-types, fighting this thing would be a bad idea. His Qwilfish swam in the water below, bullying any nearby Feebas away from the Toxic Chain fragments that fell off during the battle.

Limit the spread. That was all he could do.

---

Notice Latias
Feebas feasting

"Huh." The chef looked at the statues with a mixture of trepidation and wariness, as one might approach a wild Ekans in the grass. Too afraid to take your eyes off it, but too bold as to not retreat. Would Preston seriously let himself be afraid of a few statues?

Nah, but he had places to be. With all the wackos running around, perhaps it'd be better if he just left this one alone.

As he prepared to leave, he spied a plate of mochi on the offering table. It reminded him of the old shrines in Kanto, before they had been razed to the ground and blanketed with ash. A gloved hand plucked a mochi and bit into it. The taste of peaches filled his mouth.

"Huh. This would go well with sushi." He plucked a few more from the table and slipped them into his pocket. He'd figure out how to improve upon the taste later. He was reminded of Hyakkaryōran Tsubaki's love for Johto's cuisine during the battle with that great ice dragon.

The chef and his Gulpin departed with that in mind.

---

Be unnerved by the statues
Pocket the mochi

"Right. I'm sure something will come to mind." Preston's voice was as dry as the quicksand Mitsuru had risen from. "If my restaurant ever gets haunted by a spirit, I'll let you know."

If that did happen, he'd need to preemptively invest in a wet floor sign and an odor killer, lest she vomit all over his hardwood floors again. Hell, Preston might just let the spirit have his restaurant at that point. It'd be more reliable than calling over the mystic who drank most of his sake.

He didn't really care why she was here, only that this debacle ended quickly and without fuss. Thanks to whatever god bore witness, it did. There was no misshap, no scenario that led to great distress. Instead, it was simple rescue mission. A good deed to help Preston sleep at night. Lord knew he needed more of those.

"Take care, then." He turned in the opposite direction and walked off in search of ingredients. If fate was good, they'd never run into one another again.

Ever.

Everrrrr.

---

Mitsuru Kagami
VmairsSV

The sheer might of a middle aged woman was a sight to behold.

Not a good sight, but a sight nonetheless. Preston gave her a flat look as Mitsuri attempted to escape the hell of her own creation. Flabby muscles and poor nutrition paid dividends as the mystic pulled herself an inch out of the quicksand. For a moment, Preston thought she'd keep going.

An inch became a centimeter, then she returned back to where she started. Impeccable form.

No wonder she was struggling. Any time she ate something that her body could possibly wrestle nutrients from, she downed a bottle and vomited it back out. It was no wonder she hadn't dropped dead from malnutrition.

"Wait, on me." Finally the sight of mediocrity was too much, and Preston took a firm grip on the vine. Muscles forged in the kitchen and two wars flexed as the chef began to pull. "With me, now. Easy does it."

He made a point not to mention her weight.

Mitsuru began to rise from the sand like a spirit from a talisman. It wasn't long before she was almost completely free from the quicksand that imprisoned her.

---

Mitsuru Kagami
4rHvDvTd

"Good." The chef's scowl deepened as Mitsuru spoke, reminded of their unpleasant past. "You're not drunk this time. That's an improvement."

Or maybe she was, given she had wandered into quicksand. He hadn't even noticed any in the Giant Chasm, and he had been poking and prodding every barely wandered trail in search of ingredients. Rocket and League were battling everywhere, but Preston made a point to avoid both sides now.

Rocket. League. It didn't matter which was on top, it was miserable. Misery begot misery.

"I suppose you'll want out, then?" Preston's voice was bored as he looked around. "Anything for a paying customer. Give me a second, mystic."

His eyes fell on a prehistoric swath of vines to his left. From his belt came a gleaming silver knife meant for cooking as he tugged on the vines to test their durability. Satisfied, he cut it free and tied one end around a tree. The other flew through the air towards the mystic.

"Grab it and pull. I'll do the same."

---

Mitsuru Kagami
VyTbxXgu

The Zubat did not move. In fact, it chittered at her, as if mocking her failure.

Zubats were pretty annoying, but they were pretty popular with occult fans and whatnot. When someone wanted something cool like a Duskull, their parents tended to surprise them with a Zubat instead. It was the compromise of Pokémon, and it left nobody happy. If anything, it was lucky that it weighed nothing. Otherwise, Mitsuri would be kissing sand by now.

It chittered again, before suddenly-

"Batholomew! Where'd you get off to?" A gruff voice barked out from the nearby bushes. The clanging of metal rang through the Giant Chasm as a chef came into view. He looked far more professional than the 'chefs' at Mitsuru's place of employment, but he also looked murderous. If looks could kill, they would be draped in an apron and their name would be Preston Fugu.

Batholomew let out a shrill chatter as it flew towards Preston and nested under his apron.

"Ah, there you are." The chef said, tickling the bat's chin as it disappeared into his folds. "Was wondering what all the noise was."

He looked at the mystic drowning in sand.

"Looks like I found it."

---

Mitsuru Kagami
1FTfhKbR

"I'll worry because I'm not nuts." Preston spat some fluid from his mouth and grunted. "You think I'm gonna listen to a terrorist because he made a promise? If it was that easy, we would've taken Kanto and Johto without a fight."

Instead, they had taken it with mountains of blood. Gallons of the stuff had been spilled down the drain, and gallons more would spill by the time this war was over. He knew from experience that blood was cheap. When you butchered something, life's water drained from it easily. It flowed like wine.

A dry and bitter draught, but one regardless.

"That's not new. Even back in Kanto... it was the same. We were just a bunch of people with different ideas tied together by a cause. Not everyone wanted to burn it to the ground, but we did. God be good, we did."

The chef began to walk off. There was nothing to be said of other universes and memories. He was a chef. He cooked food. Whatever he had done before, it didn't matter. It was forgotten.

"A good leader doesn't change the minds of people beneath him. He directs their motivations towards one goal. SILAS BLACKWELL did that, back then."

The chef looked up at the glimmering light of the surface. His eyes followed a trail that seemed to reach up towards Oldale. He turned to Amor.

"You helped me bring that thing down, though. My guys can rest easy. Words are wind, but you did a deed today. Thanks for that." Preston began walking towards the trail, before stopping. "I hope we never see each other again, though."

---

Amor Rose