I awake to the whirring of fan blades. The sun, too, rises and dusts its blushes off to reveal a cerulean lustre behind the swarm of clouds. The grilles remain cold and soaked, dews slinking off their surfaces, as if some beast had gnawed on them and stained them with saliva smelling of petrichor.

Only courage remains.

The line invades my mind, still groggy and trapped in its nightmarish meditations, of gunpowder and panic. Adolf shot me. I died. I returned to life. It's all real.

My body heaves itself out of bed and air rushes into my lungs. Clearly, I am not so much of an early sleeper, which makes this situation all the more odder than it already is. There is no way in the Distortion World that I'd take an evening nap—the restful sleep is so disorienting it takes a while to process the sun is meant to set.

I can only be hopeful from here on out. It's a sign, a reversal of fate, a scorching salvation, that I am alive to see the day. My heart beats with robust energy as I unclench my fists. Beads of sweat litter my palms, some crawling on the veins on my wrists that have grown apparent over time. With such a warm and pleasant atmosphere, how could I be anxious? The irony of events occurring in broad daylight comes to mind, but surely, I must give myself a break from all this endless scarring.

Tongue sweeping across palms, I give in to cold salt, indulging in every ounce of self-pity flashing within. It's a storm, but I am my lightning rod, so I can only cope with pain through meek confrontation. I never could have expected to be soon led by the nose into a series of ghastly encounters for nights and days.

"It's useless. It's all useless!"

What was I trying to achieve back then? Why did I heed the note and flee? What is the Hypno's agenda? The answers to these questions have yet to surface. Useless indeed.

I sigh, feeling a rush of lethargy evaporate, and leave home, following the unlit streetlights, stalking my slouching shadow across Hearthome. The city itself isn't that big, consisting of the necessary Pokémon Centre and Mart, with three main attractions: Amity Park, Contest Hall, and Hearthome Gym. For someone without a Pokémon companion, I definitely will never step foot into the trainers-only park, and also the gym. The Contest Hall, then, seems to be the most obvious choice, since anyone and everyone is welcome.

Yet the road there proves to be much longer than I thought. For the first time, people and Pokémon appear in the foreground and background, chatting, playing, laughing, squealing... A disastrous cacophony infected to the core with joy till I am forced to accept their infuriating presence. Shuffling my feet, I leer at their shadows spreading across the floor, reshaping themselves every few seconds, shifting again and again. Perhaps it's this wondrous motion that appals me, because I must be a sad blob in their carnival. After all, it is common knowledge that Hearthome City is the friendliest city in Sinnoh, and its population has the lowest risk of mental issues.

Look who contracted the anxiety bug. I swear, my head has to swivel left and right countless times and my eyes dart across the cityscape as if danger looms. Maybe my stalker Hypno is somewhere in the crowd, amid the hustle and bustle, joining in the brimming happiness I can be no part of. Something terrible must have happened to me for me to be so extreme.

Still I slink in between their figures, passing under the locked arms of couples, jumping over a Bidoof, nearly knocking into several sweaty bodies, before entering the Contest Hall, where a greater spectacle awaits. Dumb, isn't it, for someone who wishes to withdraw from society to enter the most populous area of the city? It's a death wish in process. Even as I occupy the seat at the back, the one at the leftmost corner, I turn from time to time as people and Pokémon flock to their seats, each group larger than the previous one, catching their cautious, judgemental gazes as they weave words out of their lips, every one of them contributing to the greater web that traps me in my red cushion. Perhaps it is how it is, how no one goes to movies or contests alone, because there is so much to discuss and chatter is a mandatory part of the activity (or even the highlight, because these things are deliberately purposeless, if not an excuse to spend time with those you care or don't care).

The host announces the winner, some fisherman and his Magikarp. Everyone else must suck a lot then, or a Magikarp couldn't have won at all. The contests are split into three segments after all: visual, dance and performance, all of which sounds ridiculous for a Magikarp. What can it do besides Splash, Tackle and Flail? How impressive.

More laughter bites my ears. Do the rest of the audience find this absurd too, or are they mocking the loner in the corner clawing at her knees and hair?

I don't understand why I would choose to go to a contest that doesn't interest me at all. I don't thrive well in the public, even if I'm lying at the peripheries, so this much is enough to twist my guts.

"Buneary, you got this! Use Splash!" Some trainer hollers in a an attempt, I soon discover, to mimic the fisherman. Copycats don't go too far, really. What wasted potential. If she had chosen to be genuine, she might just have won. A youngster and his Pachirisu, a picnicker and her Buneary, a Bug Catcher and his Beautifly, and the fisherman and his Magikarp all try to impress the three judges whose names I hardly bother to remember. Of course, one of them has to be Keira. Till now it's unclear whether the nosebleeds of men admitting into the emergency room after a contest are due to her beauty or simply a more... believable excuse that they utilise to see Nurse Joy up close.

Then again, who cares? They're both married, and no one in the right mind would love to be a homewrecker.

Anyhow, there are better things to consider, like why people and Pokémon materialise out of the blue, and how—

Distraction failed.

Why should I distract myself anyway?  Why is my parched throat regaining sense, like the waters of relief flowing in a pipe?

"That fish can dance!" Someone exclaims. I train my eyes on the stage, and sure enough, in the Dance Judgment, the Magikarp flops about with its dazed look, leading a strange dance that has led to several missteps from the other contestants.

Was I unaware of their presence? Or did I just choose to avoid seeing them altogether, that they fade into nonexistence, and only now they appear, a sign that I am comfortable in the past? But there is no comfort with a stalker on the loose. Anyone here can be watching me, with a pair of binoculars, or a kaleidoscope, or even the security cameras. Maybe they hijacked the system and are sniggering at my helplessness.

There is no miracle, you know. The Magikarp is different, facing against careless opponents, while here I am, with only myself as my enemy. There is no way I can win (whatever that entails) when I have little to no effect on my past actions. I am even more pathetic than a Magikarp, whose clownery gains some interest. My flailing is useless, as is my tackle against the past, so I am left alone to splash in a kiddy pool where no current can take me away.

"Woah!" The audience cheers for the Bidoof. Foolish of them to think the Pokémon will win.

Shame on me to be inspired by a Magikarp to go against the world, to ride my current, to be courageous. A Magikarp of all Pokémon!

Nothing appealing.

The mental note unpeels itself when the contest reaches the Visual Judgment, highlighting the superficiality of humans. I want to snort, but I lack control, and sneeze instead.

A wayward reflection during a contest is definitely a good way to pass time. I'd love to do this again.

But perhaps, a part of me truly doesn't regret this decision. Maybe the more absurd the situation, the better things will be. The end of the contest brings stress and tension to my chest, which suggests some level of catharsis. Also, this makes for a more backhanded self-deprecation.

Seize what thou canst thyself, and experience a venomous vengeance, Yan. No one can be too early to a contest, or too late for redemption; and I am no one.

With how my attention flickers during the contest, the distraction sure isn't worth the time. The events of Old Chateau, though, leave me no time for self-reflection.

I have been sitting, according to the clock, for seven hours. Still, I have yet to reach a conclusion to answer my questions.

Hiding under my hoodie, I leave the Contest Hall, only to come to face with the Hypno. Surely it can't be, that I keep making brief contacts with my stalker.

No one can be luckier.

I shrug. How dumb I had been to not realise the Hypno's pattern, only to recognise it in this rewound journey!

He must definitely be related to the reason I am stuck in the sky castle, for one. But it is fine. I'm no longer afraid of him.

All I have to do for the remainder of the journey is to sniff out his motive, and find that escape route. I'll seize what I can, and let fate's trigger handle the rest.