We returned from Hoenn's wrestling tournament so late on Sunday—well, early on Monday, really—that barely a single thought went through my head as we made our way to the dorms to get what little sleep we could. The only Pokémon on the team awake enough to exchange words on the way were a handful of overly excited, annoying freshmen who I swore would have woken up the entire school had Bulu not been there to promptly shut them up. I didn't doubt that every Pokémon would be acting like them the following morning, though, after they, too, heard the news.

We won.

Maybe it was the dread of having to get through a day at the API on five hours of sleep. Maybe it was just my irritation towards the freshmen eclipsing my other feelings. ...Maybe I didn't have feelings at all. I just couldn't bring myself to be excited at our victory. It'd been a landslide, really, in just about all of the weight classes; as we'd packed up to leave for home, Bulu had even given us an oh-so-rare speech expressing his sheer pride and elation. Something was just...different this time around. Winning didn't give me the same joy, the same kick that it always had, and I couldn't place a claw on why—but I was getting ideas.

Monday's classes were a blur; I felt like I couldn't take anything in, and while I knew that wouldn't do me good in the long run, it felt nice to just let everyone's words wash over me and get it all done with. I put on a smile and routinely thanked everybody who offered me congratulations throughout the day, but again, something was off. Not a single exchange between me and another Pokémon felt real, felt genuine. It was like they were talking to me only because they had to or something. I wanted to tell myself it was all just because of me, that I was just tired or something...but I simply didn't know.

I couldn't tell you exactly what possessed me to go see him again—surely, any rational Pokémon wouldn't even want to lay their eyes on him, not after experiencing that...I don't know what to call it, really. Yet, somehow I found myself making a Beedrill-line for that tiny room the moment my final class ended. Luckily, wrestling was off for the day, even if that did only mean it'd be back more rigorous than ever on the following one. But I decided not to think about that. All that mattered then was—

"Incineroar!" I jumped in shock at my thoughts being overriden, only to notice Lunala approaching me. She carried herself with the same proud poise as always, but there was something in her eyes that made her look...distressed. The more I thought about it, the longer I realized it'd been since I'd seen her last; she hadn't been at the assembly welcoming the foreigners, she hadn't been routinely wandering the halls as usual...and somehow even when she was right in front of me, she still seemed distant, her mind occupied with things more important than me.

"Where are you going?" she asked, strangely businesslike and devoid of the inviting tone she typically used.

I blinked, my mind already racing with a myriad of ways I could lie, only to ultimately draw the conclusion that hiding things from someone like Lunala wouldn't end well. So, with a sigh, I answered, "Professor Necrozma's office, ma'am."
Lunala's eyes narrowed, and her pupils sharpened, yet her voice didn't ring again; she simply nodded, then briskly flew off, the only indication that she'd been there in the first place being my own memory. Dumbfounded, I stood still for probably a good minute before I was able to recollect my thoughts. Then, with a violent shake of my head to clear it, I was off again, this time uninterrupted.

As I approached the door to that room, the room which I had barely left before I'd been overcome by that...madness, longer ago than it seemed...I heard voices coming from inside it. Real voices, not just the projections of telepathy. With a twitch of my ear and a cock of my head, I swallowed and brought myself only inches from the door, afraid to knock. I had to enter fast—no doubt there were some Pokémon close by who would only grow more wary of me if they saw me like that. And Lunala's reaction, when I told her...

"Incineroar. Enter."

His unmistakable voice shot right through the door and into my head; though, unlike the Moone Pokémon, the sound of him brought relief over surprise, a cold welcome over colder inquiry. How he had known I was there, I wasn't sure, and at that moment I didn't care. I opened the door with newfound confidence, and was promptly met with the annoyed face of Naganadel, the confused face of Oranguru, and the ever-still and unreadable form of Necrozma himself.

"We will speak. For now...patience," the strange professor instructed. He then turned to Oranguru and nodded, likely telling him something via telepathy as well. I couldn't help but notice something a bit different about how he spoke; it was slightly more coherent than before, and less raspy, like a few of his million different voices had calmed and joined together. I shook my head and dismissed it as nothing, however; after all, the more you talked to a Pokémon, the more normal their voice started to sound in your mind. That was how it'd always been for me, anyway.

Oranguru cleared his throat and looked down at a sheet of paper he was holding, while Naganadel casually readied a small timer—neither paid me any heed. Then, after another nod from Necrozma, the timer was started, and within a split second the Sage Pokémon was off, spitting out words at a pace no ordinary Pokémon could fully understand, surely:
"Alola is facing an ecological crisis rivaled only by the regions of Kanto and Unova. Just last year, reputable scientist Beheeyem released a study saying that the amount of garbage consumed by Alola's Muk population reaches only fifteen percent of the region's overall pollution output. The use of old human contraptions—airplanes, factories, paper, cars in some instances—are major contributors towards this issue, along with the exponentially increasing amount of Miltank flatulence floating up towards poor ol' Rayquaza in the ozone layer. Our powers-that-be are, of course, doing heck-all to stop this..."

So Oranguru spoke, and spoke, and spoke. I probably stood there, head spinning, for a good seven minutes, and never once did he break his pace. I'd started questioning whether he was a real Pokémon when Naganadel cut in suddenly, his sharp but calm voice serving as a startling snap back to reality:

"Ten seconds left."

"Arceus!" Oranguru cursed, then drew a quick, yet enormous breath. "Thus, the plan: weshutdownallairplaneandcarfactoriesandexclusivelyemployWailordforislandandinterregionaltransportationandemploylawsofpopulationcontrolthatlimitaPokémon'seggoutputtotwo!"

"That's time!"

At once, Oranguru shot back from machine to living being, his shoulders sagging and his breath hard. As he eagerly snatched up a small cup of water from the room's lone, modest desk, his eyes turned to Necrozma, who I assumed was giving him feedback on whatever it was I'd just witnessed.

"The first tournament is in, what, two weeks?" Naganadel spoke up after a moment. "You must learn to speak faster, Oranguru, or you and I will not win a single debate. You didn't even make it to the solvency!"

"Maybe we oughta put the plan earlier in the speech," Oranguru grumbled in reply. "Spend less time talking about the status quo."

"Naganadel, Oranguru...you may leave," Necrozma's voice rang, cutting off any brewing arguments, which I was more thankful for than anything. "And Incineroar...for what have you brought yourself here?"

"I—well..." I stammered as the other two Pokémon made their way out of the little room. "First off, what was that?"

Oranguru turned around and flashed me a smile. "Policy debate, my man!"

"That was debate? You sounded like you were being held at clawpoint. D'you even believe half of what you read off that paper?"

Naganadel sneered. "You know nothing." He then flew off at a brisk pace, leaving his partner to simply give me a shrug and follow suit. I blinked once or twice, rolled my eyes and turned back to Necrozma, who had started to tightly grip his crystal as usual, his dead eyes gazing everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"Policy debate, huh?" I questioned casually, not walking any further into the room. I wanted to speak with Necrozma, I had to, but for everything oddly inviting about him, there was something terrifying: some boiling hatred that I couldn't quite put my finger on. I had to be on my guard, I had to keep my distance...at least at that point.

"It is an...amusing...distraction," the professor distantly replied as he let go of his crystal. As it swung back to its natural position it seemed to weigh heavy on him, despite its small size. "Now again, I ask...for what have you brought yourself here?"

I sighed heavily, finally bringing myself forward a few steps. Merely collecting my thoughts became a struggle in his presence, not to mention coming up with what I'd actually end up saying to him. "Even I can't really answer that question, sir. Not fully, anyway. I've just felt so...so distant recently. During the weekend's tournament—you know about it, right? The wrestling tournament in Hoenn?"

Necrozma nodded slightly, flexing his claws somewhat impatiently.

"Yeah, well, during that tournament I—"
"Did you employ...the advice I gave you...of control, of power, of indomitability?"

The sudden question took me aback, and made me put on a stupid expression that I was sure only Necrozma wouldn't judge. The more I thought back to that weekend, the more I realized I had done just as he'd told me to. My fighting style had been less explosive, my mind raced less. My fire hadn't burned as bright, but it had been more concentrated. I had been more of a machine than a Pokémon, with my sole focus on winning, nothing more. That was why I wasn't excited that we'd won, surely; I had merely accomplished what I set out to do. What I was made for. The victory was empty because I was empty.

Violently I shook my head, horrified at what I'd just realized. I refused to believe it—I was no machine, no thoughtless, mindless beast! I had friends, and a career in the making, and a beating heart and a working mind! I was Incineroar!

"If you've nothing...to say," Necrozma's voice rang again with a tone hollow and dead. "...then leave."

I sighed, remembering why I'd come in the first place. Gathering up all my thoughts and all my courage, I started, "Well...yeah. I took your advice, sir, and I did better because of it. But it made me feel so bad—er, not even that. It made me feel nothing. Everyone else on the team was celebrating, cheering...dumpin' water on each other," I added with a sad laugh. "...but I felt nothing. Wrestling is supposed to be more than just the competition for me, but that's all I got this weekend. What I'm sayin' is, I..." Another sigh. "I don't know if your advice is for me. I'd rather lose every match in the world than catch nothing but empty wins."

Necrozma was silent for a moment; I assumed he was taken aback by my words, however unreadable he was on the outside. After a while, he moved one of his huge hands up to his crystal, and quietly replied, "Do you remember how it felt...to lose...to Buzzwole?"

I blinked. "Sure, it...it made me second-guess myself, like nothing else ever has. But—"

"He made you...question your abilities. You told me...wrestling was all you had, no? Then...he made you doubt yourself. ...He shook your identity. Would you like...to feel like that...again?"

All the rage and hopelessness from my bout with Buzzwole came flooding back. I imagined feeling it in tournaments, loss after loss, again and again, until my fire would go out and I'd have nothing. Was that the future I wanted for myself? Almost instinctively, I answered, "No. Not for a second."

Necrozma tilted his head upward ever-so-slightly in subtle satisfaction. "Now, tell me...if you could block your teammates from your mind...all their celebrating and cheering without you...would you still feel so empty?"

No, I realized immediately, though I held my tongue in disbelief. To just ignore my teammates, my friends, seemed far too much to ask of me at first. But, as usual, the more I tossed the idea around in my head, the more I accepted that Necrozma was right. During that tournament, and even into the following day, I hadn't fit in with the others. That'd been it. But if there wasn't anyone around to fit in with, then...

"You do not...need other Pokémon," Necrozma continued. "In fact...they are a nuisance, most often. They force you to show emotion...they force you to be vulnerable. And...when you aren't...they make you hate yourself. ...They cannot possibly understand you...your struggles and turmoils, your full power. So put on a show, Incineroar...in which you are the only member of the audience."

With that, he floated back to his little desk and began organizing and putting away a collection of papers which had Oranguru's speech printed on them word-for-word. It was clear that his lesson was over, and yet I couldn't help but just stand there until he quietly asked me to leave, with only two words rolling around and around in my mind:

Control, and block.