"Don't waste my time with those tedious formalities."
As soon as he spoke, Sidney's mockery and Vincent's explanation both came to an abrupt halt.
This was Drake; his status and prestige within the League were both at the very top.
He had defeated countless powerful enemies in his life and was a hero and role model in the hearts of many!
As long as he was here, this meeting could continue.
Vincent, feeling as if he had been granted a grand pardon, immediately stepped aside and activated the holographic projection device in the center of the conference table.
A pale blue beam of light rose, constructing a three-dimensional map of the Hoenn region in the air.
On the map, several conspicuous red dots were flashing ominously, mainly concentrated in the port areas of Slateport City and Lilycove City.
The assistant cleared his throat and began to report in an emotionless tone:
"Recently, the infiltration of Team Rockets, a criminal organization from the Kanto region, has become increasingly rampant in Hoenn. According to reports from the intelligence department, we have discovered multiple suspected temporary bases for Team Rockets in the Slateport City sewers, abandoned shipyards, and uninhabited islands south of Lilycove City."
The projection screen switched, showing some blurry surveillance photos.
In the photos, members wearing black uniforms with a red 'R' mark printed on their chests were moving boxes.
"In addition, their members are frequently active in the black market, trading high-value Pokémon, especially rare species with strong combat potential or special abilities. This is part of the transaction list we intercepted..."
A long list of Pokémon names rolled across the screen: Dratini, Gallade, Altaria... every name was enough to make any Trainer green with envy.
"Rampant?"
A harsh laugh suddenly rang out, like sharp fingernails scratching across glass, forcefully interrupting Vincent's report.
Sidney leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, with an undisguised sneer on his face.
"That's a well-chosen word. But isn't this the League reaping what it sowed by nurturing its own threat?"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Glacia before finally landing on the silent Drake.
"I've heard quite a few interesting bedtime stories. For instance, certain advanced League officials are still privately accepting so-called political donations from Team Rockets. Or how certain port patrols give the green light to smuggling ships flying special flags. What, now that the fire has reached your own home, you finally remember to cry out in pain?"
Every word from Sidney was like a poison-tipped needle, pricking the nerves of everyone in the room.
"The phrase 'bringing it on oneself' is practically tailor-made for the current League."
He concluded, the curve of his lips filled with malice.
Vincent's face had already turned pale; he didn't dare respond to a single word of this.
Glacia picked up her cold black tea and took a light sip, the rim of the porcelain cup concealing her tense jawline.
"Sidney,"
She set down the teacup, her voice as cold as ice,
"Watch your words."
Her gaze became sharp, no longer as tranquil as a stagnant well.
"While what you say contains partial truths, it does not mean you can use this attitude to question the very foundation of the entire League. We are sitting here to solve problems, not to vent your misplaced cynicism."
"Oh,"
Sidney raised his hands exaggeratedly in a gesture of surrender,
"Fine, fine, since our Ice Elite has spoken, I'll shut up. Solve problems? How? Arrest those officials who took the money? Don't make me laugh; their web of connections is more complex than an Ariados's web. Touch one, and you pull out a whole cluster."
He shrugged with a nonchalant air, but his words became even more biting:
"Anyway, it's the roots that are rotting. We leaves growing on the branches only need to be responsible for looking glamorous on the outside, winning a few exhibition matches for the League, and appeasing the public, right?"
Glacia's chest rose and fell slightly, clearly quite angered, but her good upbringing kept her from continuing the argument.
She knew that trying to reason with someone like Sidney was like playing a lute to deaf.
Throughout the entire process, Drake remained silent.
He had his hands clasped over his chin, covering most of his face and leaving only his eyes visible.
Those eyes were as deep as a pool of stagnant water—no ripples, no emotion, just quietly watching the holographic projection before him.
What was he thinking?
Sidney didn't know, and Glacia didn't know either.
But Drake's thoughts had already drifted far away.
Team Rockets... he was no stranger to this name.
Decades ago, when he was still a young Trainer riding a Salamence across the four seas, he had clashed with the original members of this organization.
Back then, although Team Rockets was evil, they still had a certain sense of honor among thieves and a degree of boldness in their actions.
And now?
Drake's gaze fell on words like "political donations" and "giving the green light."
The League's rot had started from within.
Although Sidney's words were harsh, they hit the mark.
The great tree of the League still looked lush on the outside, but deep within its roots, it had long been eaten hollow by vermin.
The Elite Four were like the most prominent leaves on the tree—infinitely glorious, yet also furthest from those rotting roots, or rather, deliberately isolated from them.
He remembered when he was young, during League meetings, everyone would argue until they were red in the face for the sake of Hoenn's future; pounding the table and Glaring was a common occurrence.
But now?
The meeting rooms were becoming more and more magnificent, but the people were becoming more and more well-behaved.
A young person like Glacia, who upheld order, was admirable, yet she lacked a bit of the desperate edge needed to burn one's bridges.
A clever person like Sidney, who saw through everything, chose to disguise himself with cynicism, too lazy to try and change things.
As for Phoebe... that child chose to guard the spirits of the deceased, which was perhaps also a form of escape. The tranquility of Mt. Pyre was always better than the filth of the League headquarters.
Each generation is worse than the last.
This thought, like a cold needle, pierced Drake's heart.
He was old.
He could clearly feel the power within him fading with the passage of time, like the sea during an ebbing tide.
How much longer could he sit in this position? Ten years? Five?
When he, the final reef, was finally worn smooth by the waves, where would the broken ship of the Hoenn League sail?
Drake's gaze slowly moved from the flashing red dots to Sidney's punchable face, and then to Glacia's tense profile.
Finally, he withdrew his gaze, and his clasped fingers lightly tapped once.
"Thump."
A soft sound, yet it caused the air in the entire meeting room to instantly freeze.
The smile on Sidney's face froze.
Glacia also straightened her back and looked toward Drake.
Drake slowly raised his head, and in those eyes that were like stagnant water, a ripple finally appeared.
"Report, continue."
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable authority.