Drake leaned against the back of his chair, his burly frame almost completely swallowing that custom sandalwood chair.
He kept his eyes half-closed, his fingers unconsciously stroking the Poké Ball at his waist, his thoughts having already drifted back to the boundless sea, where even the wind was freer than the air in this conference room.
Suddenly.
"Beep— Beep— Beep—"
A sharp, rapid alarm cut through the silence of the room, like a red-hot needle piercing everyone's eardrums.
Assistant Vincent jerked; he stumbled to the screen, his fingertips sliding across the virtual keyboard to unlock the file.
With just one look, the bit of color on his face drained away completely, his lips trembling, almost unable to form a complete sentence.
"Emergency... Emergency report! The Blue Sea Cliff waters were subjected to a devastating raid by an unknown armed group an hour ago."
His voice trembled, carrying a chill as if he had just been fished out of ice water.
"The group's actions... their actions were extremely professional. Field assessment shows that in just one hour, they nearly cleared the entire Gyarados population in that area, and a large number of wild Water-type Pokémon are missing, their whereabouts unknown."
Vincent swallowed hard and struggled to continue reading:
"Residual energy traces at the scene show that the opposition possessed... possessed extremely strong Electric-type suppression firepower, and their tactical coordination was horrifyingly tight."
"Blue Sea Cliff."
"Gyarados."
When those two terms left Vincent's mouth, Drake's half-closed eyes snapped open.
What kind of eyes were those?
No longer the weather-beaten gentleness of usual, but a vortex of a deep-sea storm, an undercurrent beneath ten thousand feet of ice.
With just a single look, the temperature in the entire conference room plummeted.
He stood up abruptly.
The power erupting from his body was so pure, so violent.
"Clang—!"
The hundred-pound sandalwood chair behind him was sent flying backward as if struck head-on by a battering ram, crashing onto the floor with a dull thud.
Splinters flew everywhere.
The conference room fell into an instant, deathly silence.
Everyone's gaze focused on this old man, who seemed like a god or a demon, and even their breathing became cautious.
"What did you say?"
Drake's voice was very low, each word squeezed out from between his teeth with the texture of grinding metal.
"In the waters this old man protects, someone is mass-hunting Gyarados?"
That wasn't a question, but the most oppressive silence beneath the sea's surface before a storm.
Vincent was nearly suffocated by that invisible aura; cold sweat slid down his temples, soaking his collar.
He felt as if he were facing not a human, but an ancient beast about to devour its prey.
"Y-Yes, Lord Drake."
His voice shook uncontrollably.
"The witness... there was only one passing old fisherman. He said the opponent's movements were too fast; from their appearance to their disappearance, it was so fast... they didn't even have time to send a distress signal."
"This mission, I'll take it."
Drake spat out those few words, each like iron, crashing into the silent air.
Having spoken, he turned, took long strides, and walked straight toward the door.
Every step he took made the floor vibrate slightly; that back view, solitary and resolute, was like a warship about to charge alone into the center of a storm.
"Lord Drake! Please wait!"
Assistant Vincent finally snapped out of his shock; he scrambled to the door, spreading his arms to block the way with his own body.
"You cannot go!"
He was sweating profusely in panic.
"According to the League's Supreme Operational Guidelines, as an Elite Four member, your primary duty is to remain at headquarters to guard against potential movements from the Magma Team and Team Aqua! This... this kind of local illegal poaching case should be handed over to the local Officer Jenny and Investigators to handle..."
His words were cut short in his throat.
Because Drake's eyebrows suddenly furrowed.
An indescribable, terrifying aura, like a flood bursting through a dam, instantly swept through the entire floor.
It wasn't just mere presence, but a tangible killing intent forged through blood, fire, and countless life-and-death battles.
The lights in the hallway seemed to dim slightly, and the air grew thick like mercury.
Drake slowly raised his hand, extending a finger roughened by sea winds but as steady as an anchor, and lightly tapped Vincent's chest.
The force wasn't great, yet it made Vincent feel as if he had been struck by an iceberg, causing him to stagger back two steps uncontrollably.
"Not take action?"
A cold curve tugged at the corner of Drake's mouth; it wasn't a smile, but sarcasm born of extreme rage.
"Let you lot of useless fools, who only sit in offices drinking coffee and can't even recognize everything in a pokédex, handle it?"
His voice suddenly rose, no longer suppressed, echoing and exploding like thunder in the long corridor, making the glass of the offices on both sides rattle.
"When Team Rockets set fire to Fortree City, what were you doing? You were in a meeting! A meeting to discuss whether Gym Leader Naki should stay or go!"
"When Magma Team at Mt. Chimney used drilling machines to hollow out half the mountain and steal rare volcanic ore, what were you doing then? You were busy playing Tai Chi with the local mining companies, passing the buck to each other!"
"And Team Aqua!"
Drake took a step forward, and Vincent took a terrified step back.
"When they were mass-poaching pods of Wailmer and severely disrupting the ecological balance, where were you then?"
"Oh, I remember now."
"You were holding a banquet in Hoenn's most luxurious hotel, busy writing thank-you letters to those shipping tycoons who secretly fund Team Aqua!"
Case by case, incident by incident, all were scandals forcibly suppressed by the League's high-ranking officials to maintain a facade of peace.
Vincent was completely stunned; his mouth hung open, but he couldn't make a sound.
He had thought this old Elite who drifted at sea year-round and didn't meddle in politics knew nothing of the League's internal workings.
He thought that in Drake's eyes, the world consisted only of the sea, Pokémon, and battles.
He was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
This old man, this king of the sea, knew every bit of rot and every festering sore within the League like the back of his hand.
He just didn't speak of it; he was merely enduring it.
And today, the tragic news from Blue Sea Cliff became the last straw that broke the camel's back.
No, not a straw.
It was a volcano, detonating another volcano.
Drake no longer looked at him; the contempt and disappointment in those eyes were more hurtful than any harsh reprimand.
He walked past Vincent, and the oppressive aura went with him.
The window at the end of the hallway let in the evening glow, casting his tall figure very, very long.
"My people, my sea."
A low murmur, as if talking to himself, drifted back with the wind.
"Whoever dares to reach out, I will chop off their claws."