While Constance lingered in Pewter City's Pokémon Centre, and, much to Nurse Joy's dismay, was not engaged in analysing the hidden symbolisms lying around in the regional map, her beloved son had it better, for the sun had set at last.

To him, dusk was the tyrant who bit off more time than it could chew, slaughtering pitiless hours in its sunlit basement. Today proved to be no different, save for the special dinner he had prepared for his family. How would that snivelling Snivy of a mother like to eat weakness, and be reminded of her own frailty—the ancients said it best, in the most blessed of misogyny, frailty, thy name is woman?

He couldn't wait to see her face. How contorted would it get? He could already capture in his mind's eyes the gradual folds of her wrinkles and the frown of disbelief coupled with a gasp that would sound like a Pyroar's growl. Her hair would drape on her shoulders, then she would wish to be bald so she wouldn't feel a single strand stand on end. She would then learn to be thrifty and soon become curious about how to forget insomnia. Only then would she be the best mother he could ever ask for.

Because anyone whose flaws didn't bother him would automatically be the best version of themselves. Truly, he wasn't such a difficult person to please. How could anyone-especially she-think so lowly of him anyway? It was simply impossible! It was a truth universally acknowledged that parents must be indebted to their children. Any form of ill thinking that arises must be a symptom of a lack of respect for the embryo that has spent nine months (and fortunately, in some cases, less than that) without complaint despite their unwillingness to be imprisoned in a uterus, unable to experience the world their parents are blessed with.

He thought about little Sebastian who had to suffer such a traumatic event, how he could do so little for his child because he was kidnapped by his wife. Marriage was a sham, he realised. If his wife didn't steal his sperm on a dark and stormy night, if his wife didn't take that faulty test, and if his wife's husband did remember to use a condom in the first place, none of this would have happened!

Childhood was hereby declared as the root of all unhappiness. Only in adulthood does a person learn the true nature of the world and becomes less unhappy. He couldn't wait for Sebastian to grow up. Whoever made birthdays and ageing a thing anyway? He never understood why people were so willing to be stripped of their free will just so they could celebrate a strange concept as age.

This was why he couldn't get why his mother bleached his hair and lied to him that ageing was at fault. He bore a grudge against her and swore never to forgive her for any other lies. He swore to be truthful to himself and to the world. Whatever was taught in school merely propagated her lies. She must have hid her life savings from him and used them to bribe his teachers to feed him such nonsense as "the truth of ageing".

He opened the door and greeted little Sebastian with a rigid smile. No "hi", "hello", "good evening, Papa's home". Just a small smile that seemed like an accidental brushstroke that could not be painted over. Then he pushed little Sebastian aside.

"Where is your darling grandmother?" He asked as he slammed the door shut, took his shirt off and hooked it on a clothes hanger.

Sebastian shook his head and said that she wasn't home. When prompted further with a "What in the turn-table Turtonator! Is she eaten by a Lycanroc?", the young fella shook his head again and said that she was out on a journey.

"A journey?" The adult's cheeks reddened. Never had he felt as though he was a Chatot-in-training instead of the pirate he was meant to be. "Shrieking Squirtle!" He softened his blow on seeing the child flinch. "Where would she go? Snorkelling in Cinnabar Volcano?"

Sebastian shrugged and answered, "Dragon's Gate."

He scratched his hair, his jaw slack. "So she's so free at home that she could chase myths?"

When did she become so rebellious? He never heard of a parent having a rebellion phase after the legendary midlife crisis and the existential dread that followed. Did she swap bodies with his son?

Sebastian pointed to the kitchen, a clear indicator of hunger, his father believed. Yet, on checking the freezer, he found out it was empty and freaked out. Not only did his mother run away from home, she also stole dinner just to cut off the nose to spite the face. Her image would forever be ruined-and imagine the headlines! "Six-word horror story: Granny rebels, starves men as revenge."

The poor man's ego could not handle such a decisive blow. After raising his mother for years, this was how she repaid him? A stunning betrayal behind his back?

No, it must be the Magikarp. That cursed Pokémon! Who thought it was a good idea that they existed? Only the fishermen with their Old Rods as well as the salesman conning ten-year-olds would benefit. No, add that woman to the list. She'll be the first woman ever to be concerned about the life of a Magikarp. Now, all that was left would be an awards ceremony, an interview and a motion picture based on true events, also known as the life of a mother who betrayed her son and grandson after being cursed by the powerless and disgusting Magikarp.

That settles it, he thought as he turned to his son and shook his head in resignation. We will soon have to deal with the paparazzi.

His son snapped him out of his thoughts with a sneeze. Was he ill? What kind of grandmother leaves on a journey when her grandson is ill? Nonsense, nonsense!

"We need to make a missing persons report to Officer Jenny," he told the boy. "I won't tolerate her Mankeying around anymore. All this is just too sinister. It might be a kidnapping in disguise!"

Sebastian knew his father was not making any sense, but perhaps it was normal for children to panic when they couldn't find their parents. Maybe his father's inner child wanted out at last. Maybe there was a creeping insecurity in his mind which wished to control everything and everyone. Sebastian simply mumbled that he wasn't ill, but just cold, in a bid to convince his father that all was well that would end well, as trite and unbelievable as that might sound. He watched the man pull open a drawer, toss a fork across the dining table, then laugh while slapping his forehead.

"Where is her chopping board?" He howled. Clanks and crashes resounded in the kitchen as cutlery took flight, crockery landed in the sink, and sieves and jars of kombucha smashed against the tiles and tabletop. Next to suffer were the soap and sponges who rose to the challenge against the tyrant, but to no avail, for they could not cleanse emotions as well as they cleaned dishes. When all was done and dusted, liquid and metal rolling across the floor and table and stoves, he stopped. His eyes caught the tablet and he picked it up gingerly, running a hand across the screen before embracing it, feeling that cool touch of the surface against his chest. What would his wife think now, if she were to see him suffer like this? And all because of one mother!

He snapped his head towards his son with eyes welling up with sorrow. Silence left the house when grunts and sobs escaped the man. The boy could only hang his head low, either in shame or in fear, both emotions he now felt intensely yet unsure how to separate. Sebastian balled up his fists and shrieked.

His father shut up.

Standing at the threshold, the boy grimaced. "You don't know what it means to be a parent-or a child."

"You're right," the man whispered and placed the tablet on the dining table. His ears were full of the chop-chop-chop sounds produced when his mother prepared meals on the tablet. "I don't understand irresponsibility. But I know runaways will freak out if the police is onto them. I need to find her through other means that are more discreet."

And discreet is the love a child bears towards their parent, he thought. Or is it discrete?

Sebastian stared hard at his father's swiftly shifting eyes, a sign of delightful introspection and worry. This was the most extreme breakdown the boy witnessed, and be was sure there would be no end.

Did he know what it meant to be a child? Certainly. And what of being a parent? Sebastian felt he was more adequate than his father in playing that role. He was the more mature.

So the boy took a few steps forward and hugged his father who clutched his waist and bawled.

"But you can learn, Dad," he said and patted the back of his father's head. "You must first let go of all sexist, racist, ableist mindsets and any other evils. Not easy, but I'm here. I will help."

Because however much you wipe tinted lens, it will always remain tinted, even at its clearest, especially at its clearest. What the man needed was instead a good LASIK surgery for his eyes to see the world without a corrosive aid.

The moment became a freeze-frame that lasted for half an hour. Silence treaded back into the house once more. The air grew bittersweet till he let go of his son and knelt for forgiveness.

That didn't stop him from executing his plan an hour later.

𒆨

Professor Oak chugged his tea. No, he was chugging his tea before he spat it out.

His aide brought unsettling news he hoped was a lie. The trainer he was seeking was no longer in Pallet Town, and neither was their Magikarp. The description he gave was as such: flowing white hair and a brown fedora, snarky and passionate, tall, has a Magikarp. He believed that with his detailed description, he would find the trainer before it's too late. Alas, only Arceus knew of their fate now.

"Are there any other news? Was there a person matching my description in Viridian or Cinnabar?"

Another one of his aides burst into the lab. "Professor! Viridian was attacked by a Snorlax, but it's safe now. Your grandson wasn't in the city, but it was rumoured that a mysterious trainer saved the day with a Magikarp."

"Is that possible?" Professor Oak lowered his gaze. "There must be a mistake. But it is a lead."

"Why is she important to you?" An aide asked.

"Because he or she isn't a legal trainer. And don't assume their gender unless they told you," the man said as he paced around the lab. "I will be out to find them. Call it a research as to how a Magikarp and a human may bond. Human-Pokémon relationship is my specialisation."

His aides nodded and wished him farewell and a smooth journey ahead, though the moment he exited the lab, they talked about how he was "just a mean old nut" and prayed hard for the innocent elderly woman to never be found by the atrocity who dictated that to be a legal trainer, you must first declare your gender to him. And because Professor Oak vehemently believed in having ten-year-olds and above going on their journeys, outwardly appearances never mattered, but only verbal confirmation of one's age would determine if they would become a legal trainer.

Onward to Viridian, he brought along his Tauros to ride on, and a pair of sunglasses to look dope in. He recalled his aide mentioning something about his grandson whom he remembered to be a successful Gym Leader.

Just as he passed the bewitching white fence of Pallet Town, his Tauros braked and he held on to the handle before he could be flung.

Blinking, he spoke to himself, "... Erm, what was his name now?"