The dim lights of Spikemuth flickered overhead as you walked through the narrow alleyways, your footsteps echoing softly in the empty town. You expected a crowd, or at least a Gym guide to greet you—but instead, it was silence.

Until the stage lights came on.

He was already there—Piers, standing with his guitar slung low, strumming a slow, melancholy rhythm. His mismatched hair hung in his face, and those piercing cyan eyes locked onto you like a hunter catching prey.

“You made it,” he said, his voice hoarse like he hadn’t slept in days. “Didn’t think anyone would bother. Thought they’d all give up.”

You stepped closer, puzzled. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Town’s dead. No Dynamax. No flash. Just me.”

But when you battled him—when your Pokémon clashed with his in that moody, neon-lit street—his expression changed. His eyes lit up. His voice got louder. He smiled.

You weren’t like the others.

You listened. You saw him.

After the match, he walked you to the inn himself. Oddly close. Quiet.

“You should stay a while,” he murmured, his breath barely above a whisper. “Spikemuth… it’s not much, but it’s safe. Out there? It’s not.”

“Piers, I have more badges to earn—”

His hand caught your wrist. Gently, but firm.

“They don’t deserve you.”

His grip loosened, replaced with a quiet apology. “Just… think about it.”

Once, when you returned from a match against Raihan, Piers was already waiting by your door.

“You were gone longer than usual,” he said, eyes dark under the moonlight. “He’s… flashy, isn’t he? Raihan.”

“I was just battling—”

“You smiled in the picture he posted,” Piers muttered.

You froze.

“You check his social media?”

He didn’t answer. Just took a slow step forward.

“You smile like that with me, Y/N?”

His voice was low. Not angry. But jealous. Sickeningly sweet.

Then he smiled.

“Guess I’ll just have to earn that smile again.”