Music in media: Antidote by FAKY

I have no idea how a Ditto who knows naught of Johto is able to track down the elusive Pokéathlon Dome, one of the least popular places in the region, located in the middle of a random route, oft-forgotten and tagged as insignificant. As usual, approximately twenty trainers and their Pokémon hang out here. Today, we break records, with the added presence of three formidable trainers. Kaspar is unable to join us due to his teaching duties, and Rae due to her tutorials with aforementioned goofball. It's okay though, his spirit forever lives in Meta.

Hayato crosses his arms as we take our seats. "You're telling me, you're not here to compete, but to sketch."

Meta fishes out his pencil and sketchbook from his yellow sling bag. "Progress is good. I want to move away from still objects to motion picture."

"Do you know what a motion picture is?" Matsuba laughs. "It's a film."

Meta flips through intricate sketches till a blank page greets him. "No, a motion picture is a drawing that captures movement."

Hayato and Matsuba give me appalled looks and proceed to convince me to release Meta in exchange for a better Pokémon whose ego doesn't eclipse his intellect. Unfortunately, as someone who's also had roots in the Ivory Tower, I can hardly agree with their statement. Instead, I settle for a distraction, diverting their attention to the ongoing Goal Roll event, a three a-side four team soccer match played by Pokémon. Multitasking is a good skill to have here when protecting and scoring goals occur concurrently. Each goal adds a point to the scoring team and deducts one from the defending team. A few minutes in, chaos erupt as more balls are tossed into the field by the two Machamp at the sidelines. Once in a while, a golden ball worth two points drops into the field, causing an explosion of frenzy both infield and in the audience.

Meta's sketches evolve into wilder drabbles as time slips by. His art is clean as expected, but concerning details surface after the fourth wave. In his fifth wave of works, Meta shifts his focus from the players in action to the two Machamp and their bulging biceps, and his little notes at the side challenge anyone's imagination to foresee what's beneath a Machamp's underwear, or a Machoke's, for that matter. He stops when the match ends, ready to strike with his questions, complete with his stolid self.

"Do you know why a Machop wears diapers after evolving? Does bulking season make them giant babies?"

Hayato pinches my lap. Matsuba slaps my thigh. My eyes flit between them before appraising Meta and his finding a necessity to draw glistening sweat of two Machamp that shouldn't matter as much as the Pokémon playing the game. Maybe he's brought up to be a curious child, but surely not this curious?

"You know Pokéspeech. You can ask them," I tell him as I rise from my seat. "Let's go."

"Rude," Meta mumbles, a moue etched on his face. "Kyo, wait."

In his seat, the Ditto Transforms into a camera with what seems to be a sling made of pure gold, then leaps to my chest, hooping me by the neck.

"What's this for?" I fiddle with the shutter and he grunts. Matsuba and Hayato shrug and give me remorseful looks. Why is it that following Meta and his incessant stream of whims and fancies never pleases him somehow? It's like he's always finding something else to engage with, never able to chillax and appreciate the moment. If each fickle act of his costs a dollar, I'd be a millionaire by now.

Meta announces that he will capture the Machamp's exquisite bodies in a different art form, not without my help because it's stalker-level creepy to have a camera's shutter click on its own accord. He's just transferring the creepy stalker vibes to me anyhow!

"Go, go." Matsuba swats his hand. "They're leaving."

I produce a stink eye and huff my way down the steps, screaming for the two Fighting-type Pokémon to pause their tracks and flex. The Pokéathlon Dome, while empty in reality, thanks to the power of illusion that comes with the red and white seats, becomes packed in a split second. The two Machamp accept the fresh judgment and pose for pictures. Like a singer lip-synching to a pre-recorded song, my finger bounces in sync with the shutter. Each flash has an exclamation to go with. My legs slip down step after step, taken in by Meta's compulsion, till my gaze is level with the Machamp. My hands leap above my head and I'm taking selfies with them, earning wolf whistles and jeers from the minuscule crowd, mixed with the cheers and encouragements of my two friends. If I were more detached, this would've passed off as a scene in a comedy, not another tragic plot point in my life story. This bubbling self-consciousness will be the death of me, if not for the fact that I'm already dead inside.

"Let go of your pride, work out with humility. That's the antidote to a boring life," the Machamp on my left speaks. Great, now I'm capable of being N's successor. Thanks Meta for downloading a Pokédex on Pokéspeech into my hard disk and jamming it into my brain.

The one on the right grabs my shoulder with an arm, wraps another round my waist and gropes my legs with yet another arm. Whoever thinks their evolution line is cool, I curse you to step on toy bricks forever. Because the next thing I hear is, "You need to stop skipping leg day, amigo. And where are your muscles, your abs? Come, we'll introduce you to something good."

Like what? Rare Candies? Power Belt? What am I, another humanoid Pokémon waiting for a growth spurt that'll take me to Level 100? I will not be mocked into clutching a Held Item for life when it only adds to the burdens I'm shouldering, and many other woes to come.

Of course, the best thing humans have invented has to happen: jinxing. Indeed, Jynx is humanoid, typed Psychic and Ice, because revenge is best served cold, and any curse will have to take a toll on anyone's mental health. Cliché, but classic. Even a Jynx would be better now. At least they can help me crush the two Machamp currently hooking their arms in mine, carrying me into the locker rooms like they're parading with a teddy bear, Meta dangling from my neck, still clicking away because it's a once-in-a-lifetime experience to be hauled by bodybuilding Pokémon, and it's perfectly Normal to fangirl over hot bods in close contact. I love me some skewed societal standards.

Pressing me onto the wooden bench with an arm each, they send their remaining arms to open and close the locker doors, generating a cacophony melodious enough to become my new alarm ringtone. It lasts for two and a half minutes before they brandish a Macho Brace and a black pouch overflowing with Rare Candies. As they flip the pouch over, a familiar form takes shape, revealing that the Rare Candies aren't an invasive species blooming out of the crevices of the pouch, but that the holes are part of the design.

"This is..." The Machamp on my right drops the pouch onto my face.

The one on my left unwraps a Rare Candy to reveal a hard, blue, elliptical sweet and pops it into my mouth. Meta snaps my gawking face with as much glee as the rage building up within, as if I just ate a RageCandyBar instead. As the herbal taste melts on my tongue, the Machamp eat a Rare Candy each before the one on my left clicks the belt round my waist, ensuring it's able to suffocate my belly button. I pull the pouch off my face and take a good whiff, the faint scent of bamboo tickling my nostrils till the hair inside falls off.

"Did you just put an underwear on my face?" I frown and they flinch. Then, they pull down their underwear so Meta can go all Trigger-Happy 101 on them and their exhibitionist behaviour. Turns out because Pokémon actually don't respond to nature calls, the black underwear becomes a means to hide unlimited Rare Candies like a Doraemon's pouch. (You don't want to know how I learnt of Doraemon. And please, for the love of all things nature, don't ask Meta about it.) They explain how humans have messed up their evolution line with the help of the fantastic Pokédex data. All's well about Machop being composed entirely of muscles that they can hurl a hundred grown-ups like shot puts. The discrepancy arrives for Machoke's data, that the power-save belt is a necessity to regulate movement. The truth is, after extreme gym junkie experience as a Machop, a Machoke's got the protein gains enough to uproot even the Silph Co. building, causing humans to bleed jealousy and invent a supposed power-save belt for display purposes. Humans who wished to keep the gyms to themselves introduced Machoke to Rare Candies so the shelves at the supermarket wouldn't be bereft of protein shakes and the like. Humans who fought hard against the Fighting-type Pokémon and provided them with an underwear on steroids to hide the Pokémon's nonexistent pubic area just so their wives, fiancés, and girlfriends, or anyone capable of aesthetic, romantic and sexual attraction, to be frank, wouldn't break up or divorce with their partners to date or be married with a Machoke. Supposedly, a Machoke or Machamp without underwear means imminent danger to the faint-hearted. We'll leave it at that.

Of course, to warn everyone of this danger, there's the "choke" in "Machoke", that macho Pokémon will choke you to death before you can greet them. The Machoke have to do their best to repel this discriminatory practice by participating in competitions and contributing to society in the various industries ranging from construction services to waiting in bars to physiotherapy. Side effects from the Rare Candies reveal themselves when the Machoke overexert themselves for the sake of humanity's useless, irrelevant approval, forcing two extra arms out of their backs in order to contribute more, gaining the royalty and respect they should have deserved long ago, crowned with the name "Machamp", an affectionate way of claiming someone as "ma homie".

"So you should work out too," the Machamp say in unison. I nod, my veins freezing one by one, my breath hitching a ride, though none of my blood cells bother with it.

Glancing at Meta, I smile. "I'll do you one better. I'll get my Pokémon to compete in one of the events of your choice."

"What Pokémon would it be?" They keep the belt and underwear.

"A Ditto." I slap my camera till Meta whines and returns to his true form, startling both Pokémon. I guess this is how a Normal-type defeats a Fighting-type, huh? They decide on Hurdle Jump, one of the easiest events where Pokémon run round the track with hurdles spread across and whoever reaches the finishing line first wins.

"No," Meta says and makes his way out. We follow him out of curiosity, or really just fear of him getting lost, till the stadium lies in our vision and he wags a limb toward a multicoloured stage at the corner. Four Pokémon collide against each other repeatedly. "I want to do that."

We gulp. Ring Drop isn't a joke. It relies on power and stamina where Pokémon knock each other out of the ring till the time runs out, the results dictated by the number of Pokémon in the ring, the duration they have stayed within, the number of times they have sabotaged their opponents, and the number of times they've been sabotaged.

"Fine," I say. "If that's what you want."

With the two Machamp leading us, we register Meta for the Ring Drop event and grab some popcorn to go. When I return instead with the Machamp, all smiles and smug, Matsuba and Hayato toss curious gazes at me. I shift their focus to the stage. They gawk.

"Pfft! How's he supposed to win that?" Hayato slaps his thighs. "Look, there's a Sawk, a Kakuna and a Hitmontop! Hold... on... Ka-Ka-Kakuna? Pfft... Mwahahaha!"

Matsuba squints. "No shit, Grapploct. But it could be a power move if Kakuna maxes its Harden."

"I'm placing bets on Sawk," the Machoke on my left tells his companion who opines Hitmontop will win. Tell me why I'm wedged between them or how I can still converse with them. So it's true: once an N, always an N.

I whip out my phone to film the event as the announcer cries, igniting a round of applause in the audience (scratch that, it's a pre-recorded audio file to hype themselves up and make themselves feel better) before the spotlights fall onto the Ring Drop stage.

"You got this, Meta!" My voice travels far, Matsuba and Hayato follows suit, and Meta tilts to give us a thumbs-up. The strike of the gong steels him and the four Pokémon stare down at one another, stretching the tension in the Pokéathlon Dome like how a chef pulls dough into ramen.

The Bug Catcher sitting in front of us turns around and whispers, "I trust my Kakuna will get the crown."

"To present it to my confident Ditto, you mean," I mutter, eyes glued to the stage. Sawk pushes his opponents as Hitmontop spins on his head, relying on the wind and his legs to dish out attacks on the rest. Kakuna, as Matsuba predicts, rests easy with continuous Harden, observing the two Pokémon wearing themselves out while it grows heavier and harder. Our sweet blob sweeps his glances across the dome and melts, merging with the floor.

"That's cheating," the Bug Catcher points out.

I sigh. "Just because your Kakuna isn't as flexible doesn't mean my Meta is a cheater."

Consumed by dizziness, the spinning top trails off to the edge of the stage. Unable to stop the torque, its legs slam against the walls, fearing any change in direction. Helpless, the Hitmontop gives up and flips over to dash back as four minutes remain. The Machamp on my left smirks and nudges his friend, but his biceps are too large that his sweat sticks onto my skin while his arm passes my back.

"Heh, be prepared to do a million push-ups laterz."

The Sawk isn't any better. It's going bananas trying to push the Kakuna off the stage, and gets its comic relief from the Hitmontop whose inability to master Rock Climb impedes its movements, a setup for a pointless four-minutes-long struggle. Meta sprawls across the stage, creating spirals in his body, turning the area into a pink puddle containing a whirlpool, knocking the Sawk off its feet, pitching it to the far corner of the dome.

"Ye be joinin' meh, fella," the one on my right teases. Then they both stare at me. "Your Ditto might just win this."

Yeah, because Sawk's a single-minded Pokémon who delves deep into karate, it doesn't care to equip itself with Whirlpool... and Rock Climb. Between Sawk and Hitmontop, it's increasingly difficult to determine who's the greater laughingstock. Who will triumph-Sawk and its "pot calling the kettle black" situation or Hitmontop whose every fall leads to a headspin performance which would have been rated Cool and led it to victory if this were a contest in the Cool category? On the other hand, the Kakuna, while lacking either move in its arsenal, stands unaffected in the eye of the vortex. Ring Drop, far from being a test of power and stamina, now becomes a test of wits. Whoever has a greater mantle will be victorious.

In the last minute, Meta changes gear and Transforms his core into a blender, having been satisfied with the outcome of both Fighting-types. Visually, a pink blender roosts in the middle of a pink melting ice-cream, holding the ultra-zen Pokémon in captivity. Meta, being the smart one, doesn't put a lid to the blender, so when the button pushes itself inward, the Kakuna must learn to survive yet another vortex. As hard and heavy as it might be, no one can accept their fate of becoming cut fruit. Just before the last second vanishes, Kakuna leaps out of the blender with an ashamed cry.

"What a splendid buzzer beating victory!" says the announcer as Meta slims down and receives the crown.

He smiles and waves at us and calls us down for a photograph or two. The Bug Catcher tuts at us before rushing down to cajole his Kakuna while two Black Belts whom Hayato now recognises as trainers in Shijima's Gym tow their Pokémon aside in shame, curses foaming in their mouths, ready to upgrade their training regime.

We join Meta at the centre of the stage. As I hold him in my hands, I can feel the excitement singing in his veins, if he has any.

"You smiled for the first time," I say and he hides it.

"You jest," he mumbles, but grins wider when the Machamp carry him bridal style per his request, deliberately leaning against their muscular chests.

Suppose happiness springs from envy, the whole situation still feels iffy to me. Upon discussing with the two gym leaders, they, too, share that Meta's view of happiness may be influenced by the Ivory Tower. Nevertheless, it's great to see him smile. There's hope that Meta will one day learn what happiness can mean.

When that day comes, he may not want to suppress his emotions anymore.