Chapter 20: Caitlin's Days Feel Full
In the blink of an eye, it was opening day for the Game Corner.
Guzma — in his capacity as the establishment's owner — had actually put on a proper suit for the occasion. He looked about as comfortable as a Gyarados in a kiddie pool.
And despite the suit, his face was still as menacing as ever. He radiated "villain energy" no matter what he wore.
Some things were just hardwired for life.
The grand opening was, without question, a spectacle. The entire street was packed wall to wall.
In the lead-up, paid placements in local newspapers had blanketed Alola with coverage of the Game Corner and Guzma's "redemption arc." The PR blitz had worked wonders.
Countless people were genuinely curious about the former terror of Alola going legit.
They were also curious about whether the customers who happily walked in today would come stumbling out crying and missing their wallets.
Such was the Guzma brand in Alola.
The ribbon-cutting ceremony went off without a hitch. Guzma flashed a toothy grin, beaming with pride.
See? Piece of cake! Even I can pull this off!
"Hahahaha~ Come on, everybody — make sure you come back! Our Alpaca Game Corner is guaranteed to be the most fun you'll have anywhere in the world!"
Guzma laughed heartily, fielding questions from a crowd of reporters. Mixed in were more than a few familiar faces.
Like his old master, Hala. And that insufferable Kukui. The complicated, astonished looks on their faces were absolutely delicious.
That's right. Soak it in.
I told you — one day, you'd all look up to me!
And today's just the beginning.
Guzma was riding high. But then—
"Mr. Guzma, as everyone knows, you were previously the leader of Team Skull. Could you explain why you've suddenly opened a Game Corner?"
A reporter lobbed the question without warning.
Every other reporter in the vicinity stared at their colleague in a mixture of shock and admiration. This madman actually went there?
Guzma's expression curdled instantly. His predatory glare bore into the reporter, who felt an icy chill race down his spine — like being sized up by something at the top of the food chain. He swallowed hard.
But the reporter held his ground! He would stand up to villainy!
"Mr. Guzma, could you please answer?"
He pressed on, teeth gritted.
"Heh heh heh…" Guzma stared at the reporter, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest.
"Team Skull's leader? Team Skull was disbanded. By me. This Game Corner was opened in my personal capacity."
His assistant had drilled those talking points into him before the event.
"Then where did you get the capital? Was it stolen by Team Skull?" The reporter wasn't backing down.
"A friend gave it to me. None of your business."
Guzma was losing patience.
"But you used to—"
"There is no 'used to.' Everyone in Alola knows I've always been a kind, upstanding citizen. I have been a model member of society since day one."
Guzma cut the reporter off with a sweep of his hand. His voice boomed across the crowd with ironclad conviction.
"Excuse me?" The reporter's jaw dropped.
"Mr. Guzma — do you remember me?"
The reporter pointed at his own face.
"Who the h— …who are you?"
Guzma glowered at this pest. He'd almost let something slip, but caught himself. He was a civilized man now.
He made a mental note: after this ceremony, this guy was getting dealt with. If this clown didn't spend at least a week in the hospital, Guzma would eat his own hat.
"Six months ago, I accidentally bumped into you. You punched me. Multiple times."
The reporter's voice grew more wounded as the memories resurfaced. He'd been about to apologize — the words hadn't even left his mouth before Guzma's fists arrived first.
"You knocked out two of my teeth."
"…"
Guzma thought about it. He was trying to remember. But nothing came up.
He'd bullied a lot of people. And this guy had bumped into him first.
"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"
Guzma's hand sliced through the air, his voice thundering with absolute certainty.
"That never happened! Kid, what's your angle, spreading lies like this?!"
His glare could have set the reporter on fire.
"Everyone knows what kind of man I am! I've been a pure, honest Alolan citizen since the day I was born! How dare you slander me!"
"???" The reporter's brain flatlined. "But you—"
"Shut it! I could tell you were trouble the second I laid eyes on you! Someone obviously paid you to come here and cause a scene! Security! SECURITY! Get this guy out of here!"
"Wait— this is a misunderstanding! Mr. Guzma, you can't just— mmph!"
Two hulking, barrel-chested security guards materialized, seized the reporter, and dragged him away. For good measure, one of them clamped a hand over the man's still-protesting mouth.
The scene left an impression.
The surrounding reporters suddenly found their mouths very dry. Any enthusiasm for follow-up questions evaporated on the spot.
Reporting was important, sure — but personal safety came first. Right?
"That Guzma…"
From a quiet corner, Mammon watched the spectacle on stage with an amused grin.
"Well, as long as there's no major disaster, it's fine."
The whole point was to leverage Guzma's name recognition to drive opening-day traffic. By that measure? Mission accomplished.
"Mammon, I don't think Mr. Guzma is particularly well-suited for long-term management of the Game Corner."
Caitlin stood beside him, wearing a white sun hat, offering her assessment with diplomatic restraint.
"Yeah, I know. Once the launch period wraps up, I'll have someone else take over the day-to-day. Guzma can just be the name on the sign."
Mammon was fully aware. Guzma had zero managerial aptitude, and his personality was a liability in any customer-facing role.
"Let's go." Mammon led Caitlin away from the venue.
"How are you finding things lately, Caitlin?"
The two strolled down the street, and Mammon asked with a smile.
"Very fulfilling." Caitlin returned a gentle, warm smile. "Much richer than my old life. I'm enjoying it."
What did her days look like now?
Mornings: lead a squad of Team Rocket operatives to raid a Hunter syndicate hideout. If time allowed, hit a second one.
Afternoons: sparring sessions with Lance or Guzma. If both were busy, she'd turn to Mammon, who would train with her.
Though honestly, Caitlin preferred not to spar with Mammon. His battle style was…
How to put it? She couldn't quite find the words.
But emotions didn't lie. She could lose to Lance or Guzma ten times in a row and her psychic powers wouldn't stir. One session against Mammon, and her eyes were already flickering blue.
Mammon's position on this was that it was for her own good. Building mental resilience, he called it.