Route 2 is normally a popular haunt for local trainers looking to engage in some casual battles, but today there's hardly a soul in sight. The smell of mulch drifts from the Berry fields as you pass, thankfully chased away by the fresh, clean scent of the ocean on the breeze. It's a bit unusual for the place to be so quiet, but still, nice not to have to have your head on a swivel.

Walking past the perfect picket fence of a compact house en route to Hau'oli Cemetery, you become aware of a gentle creaking. Behind the fence in a pleasant little garden with several trees offering shade, a tall boy with a shock of prematurely graying hair is sitting on a swing, or more accurately squeezed into the yellow seat, kicking idly at the dirt beneath it. Guzma looks up and fixes you with a grin that borders on being a smirk, but only just.

"Yo!" He pushes off, lifting his long legs as he describes a graceful arc through the air, still grinning like a loon. "Whaddya doin' out here? This isn't your turf!"