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Still working on Chapter Two. Not sure if a ton of people see this, but I might as well share again. My hope is to have the next chapter out next week. Thanks to those who’ve read so far!

Chapter 1: C is for Connaisseuse

The line at check-in isn’t as long as I expected, but I still keep my scarf high on my face while I wait on the street. People walk along the sidewalks, their Pokémon—Audino, Patrats, Pidoves, even the occasional Lilligant or Darumaka—following in the early spring chill. The many skyscrapers that make up Castelia City block the morning sun, making Mode Street even colder than it would be. While it keeps the cold at bay, the scarf is more to hide myself from my old coworkers than to stay warm.

--

There must be three hundred photos from the launch party. I sift through image after image of glowing, smiley models, influencers, and staff in front of a Gracidea-covered wall, with giant Shaymin statues flanking them. Of course, the people in the pictures are as much decorations as the flower wall and statues; Madame Freesia’s main concern is the oversized perfume bottle on the pedestal in the middle of each pic. I haven’t smelled Grace yet—my coworkers never bring me samples—but I know that the launch party turnout and the buzz on social media are good signs about the new fragrance.

Madame Freesia, dressed in a highlighter-green dress, sweeps her way into my office without knocking.

“Annette, how soon can you get those pictures online?” she asks sharply.

“Once I pull the best ones,” I’ll send them to you for review,” I reply, “just as you asked me to before. Once you approve everything, I should have them up by tomorrow.”

“And why can’t you put them out today?” I see her cross her arms as I look over my glasses.

I sigh. “Well, Madame Freesia, it’s two o’clock now, and I only received the images ten minutes ago. With our goals being ‘clean, pretty, joyful perfection’ for our social media, I need to analyze each image for symmetry, facial expressions, and other minor details that could make the guests look bad or that could mess up the view of Grace. I then have to narrow our images down and determine how many and which ones to put on each of our ten social media accounts, all of which I can’t schedule until you decide whether you like them and the caption, which I haven’t written yet.”

Madame Freesia snorts, but the sound of glass breaking on the floor keeps her from saying what she wants to say.

“Fine,” she huffs. “You have until tomorrow to get all of them up.”

The peach-colored wall of the store’s hallway disappears as she slams the door. I take my glasses off and press on my eyes until spots form.

“Just a little longer, Nettie,” I tell myself as I put my glasses on. “Just a few more days and everything changes.”

Back to the launch party.

--

“Hello, Miss,” the smiling woman at the check-in desk says. “Can I have your name please?”

“Annette Sweets,” I say, pulling my scarf away from my face.

She looks over a list of names, looking for mine. The Joltik on her shoulder waves a little leg at me, and for a moment, a faint pink glow outlines its fuzzy body. I wave back before a chilly breeze sends the Pokémon scuttling into the woman’s shirt collar.

“Ooh, it’s so cold today,” she says as she checks off my name. “I could’ve sworn today was supposed to be the first warm day.”

“I don’t think it’ll get much warmer until the sun is overhead,” I say. “I hope you don’t have to be out here for too long.”

“Thankfully, no.” The woman pats her dark hair back into place, then gets back to work. “Annette Sweets, here for the C-Class Pokémon Connoisseur Assessment, which will begin in half an hour. As I’m sure you know, there’ll be a written portion followed by an evaluation portion. The assessment will end at one o’clock at the latest. Your results will be listed an hour after the assessment is over, at which time, you may come collect your C-Class badge from this table if you passed. Hopefully it’ll be warmer by then.”

The woman winks at that last part, and the nerves slowly building up inside of me ease, but only a little bit. I smile as she hands me a folder full of information, most likely the dates for Connoisseur meet-ups and events in the area. Having already looked at the Castelia City branch’s website, I probably know all the dates anyway.

“Thank you,” I say, feeling myself shrinking into my dark coat. I stand up straighter.

“Good luck, Miss Sweets.” The woman nods at me as I walk around the table and into the Castelia City Connoisseur Association building.

--

“Are you still working?” Dye asks over the phone. It’s ten o’clock.

I stop typing on my work laptop, which I brought home. “No?”

I can feel the judgement through the phone, imagine her eyes narrowing and her lips pursing across from me. I can even picture her Whimsicott and Lilligant joining in behind her.

“Okay, fine, I’m working,” I say. “Madame Freesia sent me another hundred photos to go through, and the posts have to be ready by tomorrow.”

“Nettie, what are you doing? I thought you said you were gonna ease up on the work!”

“I know, I know. I just don’t want to leave anything incomplete, y’know? This is like the last bit of the Grace campaign, and then I can make changes to how I work without being right in the middle of a campaign.”

“Okay, but what good does that do? It’s not like you want to go into this kind of work again, and even if you do get back into social media management—like if you lose your memory and think you like this work—wouldn’t it be better to start putting boundaries in place?”

“I know what I need to do. If I can just make it to Saturday and pass the assessment, I can do all of that, with the knowledge that the next phase of my life is already in the works.” I finish up the captions for the posts. They’re all versions of the same thing: Thank you for joining us! Look out for Grace, exclusively at Madame Freesia’s! The details may vary based on the character count, but it’s the same sequence of information. There’s creativity in it—figuring out how to get all the information in, making use of varying formats—but it lacks anything remotely satisfying.

“Okay,” Dye says. “I guess that makes sense. How goes the assessment prep? I know nothing about Pokémon Connoisseurs.”

“I’ve watched videos, read the recommended books, taken the practice test—the only way I could be more prepared is if I had shadowed a Connoisseur beforehand.” I attach the captions to an email to Madame Freesia and turn back to the photo gallery and the new, sometimes blurry additions. “I think that the evaluation part of the test will be the hardest, just because it’s hard to practice that on your own.”

“What’ll that entail?” The sounds of a videogame go off in the background. Dye groans. “And don’t mind me. Mom just beat me in the new Battle Tournament.”

“Hi, Nettie,” Dye’s mom says. The clearness of her voice tells me that we’re on speaker now.

“Hi, Ms. Lynn,” I say. “Sounds like you’re getting better with the games.”

“I know! I’ve been on quite the winning streak! Now, what’s all this about your Connoisseur assessment?”

“I was going over the evaluation portion. From what I understand, we have to evaluate the relationship between a volunteer trainer and one of their Pokémon. Despite the fact that everyone’s a beginner, that part of the assessment is worth more than the written portion.” I attach the pictures I chose before to the email and send them to Madame Freesia before shutting my laptop. At this point, there’s no reason to keep plodding along; going through the others in the gallery would just mean staying up past midnight.

“That sounds like a difficult test, Nettie, but I’m sure your experience with your family’s Pokémon should help you get through it.”

“Yeah, maybe. All I know is that if I can get through this workweek, I’ll be good.”

“Well, take care of yourself at least,” Dye says. “You won’t make it very far if you don’t get some sleep and put those boundaries in place.”

“Yes, Mom.” I smile, practically hearing her roll her eyes. “I’ll let you two go then—you, too, Whimsicott and Lilligant. I’ll let you know how I do with the assessment.”

“Alrighty then,” Dye says. “We’ll talk to you later.”

“You’ve got this!” Ms. Lynn cheers. “We’ll be here rooting for you with the rest of your family.”

“Thanks. Bye.” I hang up and look at the clock. It’s almost eleven. I take my glasses off and pull the mattress out of the couch.

As I drift off to sleep, the gray walls of my little apartment fade into the darkness of night. A final thought crosses my mind: What happens if I fail? I’m too tired to think of an answer.

--

The written portion of the assessment is full of scenarios: a young trainer picking out a first Pokémon, a trainer and their partner working to get used to settling down after years of travel, a Pokémon getting used to a new trainer after the passing of their former. They’re situations I read about in books; they seem almost ubiquitous for Connoisseurs, although I doubt I’ll be handling them on my own anytime soon.

But what if I do have to handle them on my own? I find myself thinking as I write out my answers. What if the evaluation portion involves helping people in these situations? What if that’s why it’s worth more, because we have to put our written answers to the test?

The thought of trying to help someone so soon makes my heart race. As I train my eyes on my hands, hoping to keep myself from thinking too far forward and psyching myself out, a faint lilac light glows around them, ebbing and flowing like a tide. I squeeze my eyes shut, and it’s gone when I open them again. I sit up and look ahead. No one else has that light around them.

Why does that keep happening?

I shake it off and turn back to the assessment. I can’t afford to get distracted and fail.

--

Madame Freesia’s is as much a gossip mill as it is a perfume store. With my office being in the back, I rarely hear the rumors and news that get shared out on the floor, but I know my coworkers well enough to know that they share and speculate just as much as the customers. Too busy tying up loose ends—answering and getting rid of DMs and comments on our posts, checking the changes for our social media scheduler, ignoring the flurry of texts from my Castelia friends about not being invited to the launch party—it's only when the sound of voices and heels reach me that I realize that my door didn’t close fully after Madame Freesia came to approve the posts I made.

“When do you think Madame Freesia’s going to do it?”

“I heard that her niece is graduating in May. She should be here not long after that? Then again, there’s not even a guarantee she’ll want the job.”

“It’s so dirty of her to put all that pressure on Annette, just so she can fire her as soon as her niece is out of college. Besides, is she even any good with social media? Just because you have a personal account doesn’t mean you can handle a professional one and bring in new followers.”

“She’s her niece! I doubt she even cares if she knows how to manage a social media account. Madame Freesia would probably make up a new nonsense position for her if she asked.”

“I just don’t want to pick up the slack if she can’t do the work. Annette’s the only reason our online presence is what it is.”

“Look, at the end of the day, it’s not our problem. As long as I get paid at the end of the week and get free samples every month, Madame Freesia could hire a Trubbish for all I care. Annette seems like a smart girl. I’m sure she’ll find another job. We should get back out there. Why do you even make us gossip back here? Not like we’ll get in trouble for doing it on the floor.”

A pair of heels click down the hall towards the floor. The other pair stops at my door. Fey pops her head in, her shiny brown bangs slipping into her face. She winces at me.

“Just an FYI,” she says in a low voice. “I didn’t want Madame Freesia to know that you knew, in case it made her act sooner, but I also didn’t want you to think I wouldn’t say anything to you if I knew something.”

I nod at her, still not sure I heard her right in the hall. “She really wants to replace me?”

Fey readjusts her bangs under her headband and nods lightly. “She was out there talking to a regular about it, according to Miki. It’s almost April, so I thought you should know.”

I slouch back into my chair and press my hands into my eyes, not even bothering to take my glasses off. “Thanks, Fey.”

“I’m really sorry, Annette. Maybe you’ll be able to find a better job. Maybe your Aunt Lenora could give you a position at the museum, although I’m sure you’d confuse guests with how similar you look.” She lets out a nervous chuckle.

When I pull my hands away, my lenses are smudged enough that—it has to be—a peachy pink light outlines Fey’s upper body. I take my glasses off to clean them on my shirt and the light’s still clear, even as everything else becomes blurry. Maybe the lighting from the hall is stronger than I thought. The light’s gone when I put my glasses on again.

“I’ll figure it out somehow,” I say. “Thanks, Fey.”

Printouts from Madame Freesia cover my desk, alongside coffee stains, my endlessly buzzing phone, and my computers. When was the last time I cleaned any of this up? It feels as if all these things have been here this entire time. At the top of a short stack, my calendar sits on top, Saturday’s date circled. The assessment. I turn back to Fey.

“I…I think I know what I want to do next,” I say. “No, I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m just sorry you’ll all have to pick up the slack.”

Fey takes a big sigh, then nods. “I’ll understand if you do what I think you’re going to do. Just do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Make sure you don’t come back here.” She turns back into the hall, then back to me. “I have to go, but good luck with whatever your plan is.”

She disappears, and as her heels reverberate down the hall, I get to work.

--

It seems that a lot of people turn to Connoisseurship to restart their lives. Talking to the other assessment-takers during the break, so many are looking for new paths forward. One guy’s dream of beating the Champion of the Pokémon League fell apart after an accident. Someone else got laid off and wanted a job that wasn’t rooted to a desk in some poorly lit office (I can relate). An older woman in her sixties is looking for meaning in her life after her husband left her and the Scolipede they raised together for another woman. Another just wants to find a side hustle now that she’s an empty nester. It’s interesting how so many of us found our way here after big changes or realizations.

As I sip on some water and listen to their stories, I wonder how many of us will actually get to the next step. How many will take the assessment over and over again until they pass? How many will give up and go do something else? Do any of us really have it in us to do this, or is it just a fantasy that keeps us going, the hope that this will be more fulfilling and worthwhile than what we left behind?

--

I know that when Madame Freesia sees how spotless my office is, how the computers are reset and ready for new hands to use them, how the USB I left behind has everything organized for whoever takes my place—she’ll know that I really am gone. Perhaps it was too kind, clearing so much away and preparing everything for her niece, but it felt so good to write my resignation letter in a clean office, so good to be free of all the clutter. I feel light enough to skip through Central Plaza, especially since everything I had in that office fits in my purse. Funny that after three years there, I hardly had anything to make that box my own.

As I reach my apartment by Skyarrow Bridge, the sun taking the day’s warmth with it as it sets, I freeze. I don’t have a job anymore. I don’t have a plan beyond the assessment.

Oh no.

--

The evaluation portion begins. A sharp-looking Connaisseuse in a black, pinstripe skirt set walks up to me as I mill around the association’s gallery.

“Ms. Sweets?” she asks, looking over her clipboard. “You’re next. Please follow me, and we’ll get your evaluation started.”

We walk out of the gallery and into a white room off to the side. A fidgety guy about my age stands at the back of the room. I don’t see it until I’m farther in, but a Sandile is here, too, camouflaged on the light wood floors. The little Pokémon growls and huddles further into the corner, away from the guy.

“This is our volunteer Nathan, Ms. Sweets,” the Connaisseuse explains. “He and his new Sandile aren’t getting along well, and so he’s asked for an evaluation. You have an hour to provide some solutions to their situation. You may begin when you’re ready.”

I walk up to Nathan. He keeps his face straight, but his reddened ears tell me he’s nervous. My stomach shifts the closer I get to him. I blink and a red light envelops him, much like the lilac light I saw around my own hands. His feels harsh, though, like standing next to a heater on high, and yet the hairs on my arms stand up like the room is as cold as the outside. I force a small smile. No matter how uncomfortable I feel, I still have to pass this assessment.

“Hello,” I say, trying to keep the feeling I have out of my voice. “My name is Annette, and I’ll be taking a look at your Sandile.”

I put my hand out to shake, but his grip makes me wish I hadn’t. I don’t know who taught him how to do a handshake or what he wants to prove, squeezing so hard, but the full, constant eye contact that comes with the handshake makes me want to leave the room. I take my hand back and move over to his Sandile.

The Desert Croc doesn’t have the harsh redness of her trainer. Even as she sits defensively in the corner, a gentle silvery light radiates from her like moonlight. My sense of dread and fear fades in her presence. The feeling takes me back to playing with Aunt Lenora’s Pokémon at the Nacrene Museum when I was a kid.

“How long have you had this Sandile, Nathan?” I sit down on the floor next to her. How do I know she’s a her in the first place?

Nathan shrugs, his face unchanging. “A few days. A friend traded her to me.”

“It sounds like the two of you need more time, but let’s see if there’s something else going on.” I lay my hand on the floor in front of Sandile, making sure to give her room to come over if she wants. “Take your time, Sandile. I just want to know how you’re doing. There’s no pressure.”

Not entirely true—this is an assessment I’d like to pass right away—but with an hour to complete it, I know that I can be patient.

Sandile’s growling stops, and a little trill hums out of her. She creeps towards my hand, keeping her small black eyes on me. She puts a claw on my palm, and something shoots up my arm, although I do my best not to flinch away from her. Visions flash in my eyes: a small boy in the desert, a playground, Nathan, the boy fading away, tears on asphalt. I turn to the Connaisseuse, and the same red light around Nathan envelops her, although the edges are rigid and don’t come out in erratic waves, like her—her brother.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help them,” I say as Sandile crawls into my lap.

The Connaisseuse blinks at me. “You only just started. You’re doing so well, too. What makes you think you can’t do it?”

“Because this isn’t his partner. He took her from someone else, not as a trade, but like a kidnapper.”

Nathan’s face grows redder with every word, and so is his sister’s. Before either of us can stop him, he snatches Sandile and runs out of the room. The Connaisseuse runs after him.

“Hey!” she shouts. “Stop him!”

Security blocks off the main entrance, so Nathan turns, looking for another exit amongst the crowd. I move in front of his sister.

“Sandile, use Sand Tomb!” I command.

The Pokémon releases a flurry of sand that envelops her and Nathan and makes everyone else back up and shield their eyes. In little time at all, the gusts of sand die down, and a trill pulls my eyes from my sleeve. Sandile stands on top of the pile of sand, her front claws on Nathan’s mangled hair. I sigh in relief. His sister doesn’t.

“How could you do this to me?” she hisses at him when she walks up to him. “I thought I made it clear that you come here with a Pokémon you didn’t steal!”

“Do you know how hard it is to find a Pokémon with Intimidate?” he asks at a normal tone.

The Connaisseuse groans, then turns her eyes to me. She stalks towards me.

“How did you know he took the Sandile?” she asks, loud enough for everyone else to hear. “How would you know that? Do you know him?”

“I-I don’t know,” I say, feeling eyes turning on me. “I just felt it, and I saw it when Sandile touched me. I don’t know who he is otherwise.”

“I’m sure. We’ll see what you have to say when the police get here.” The Connaisseuse pulls out her phone, but a slender, wrinkled hand reaches out and stops her.

A tall older woman in a mint-green cardigan and floral dress stands next to us, her ornately carved cane sloped between us. Her quiet gray eyes search my face, then crinkle with her smile.

“Now, now, Louise,” she says, keeping her eyes on me. “There’s only one thief here, only one cheat, and he’s already caught. Although, as his sister and the one who brought him in, you should’ve checked and made sure that was actually his partner before the assessment even began.”

“But Ms. Cyra—” Louise starts, but the older woman puts her hand up.

“She doesn’t know him. She is just like me, is all, and I know every Connoisseur in this building knows what I mean.” She turns to a man holding a clipboard. “Thomas, look through the written portion’s scores and tell me if this young lady passed.”

Thomas fumbles with the papers for a moment, then looks back at Ms. Cyra. “The tests were scored immediately after being turned in, Ms. Cyra. Annette Sweets passed with full marks.”

I stand a bit straighter, more out of shock than pride. I passed.

“She’s passed the evaluation portion, too, as far as anyone’s concerned. How often do we have candidates catching Pokémon-nappers? In all my years of helping the association evaluate potential Pokémon Connoisseurs, I certainly haven’t seen it before. Give the woman her badge, have the police collect our thief, and help Sandile get home. That’s all that must be done.”

Louise huffs, but she doesn’t argue with Ms. Cyra. “Very well. Sorry, Nathan. I can’t get you out of this one.”

Nathan tries to pull himself from the mound of sand, but Sandile only adds more, until it’s high enough for him to rest his chin on it. The little Desert Croc Pokémon trills and wags her tail.

As Louise walks away, the lights fade from everyone. Ms. Cyra turns back to me.

“You did lovely work, Miss. Certainly not the way Connoisseurs would do it, but with a good mentor, I think you can blend those skills with your gift in time.”

“Um, thank you—wait, what gift?” I take her arm when she offers it to me and walk her to the front door, too confused to question much of anything.

“You’re only just beginning, Miss. You’ll understand soon enough, perhaps with the help of a Pokémon partner by your side.” She turns to look at me and smiles. “Do come and visit me someday. You have much to learn on your own first, but I’ll be waiting to give you help when you’re ready.”

She walks out the door, and before I can process anything else, Thomas presses a C-Class badge into my hand.

“Congrats, Annette,” he says. “You’re officially a Connaisseuse.”

—

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I've been stuck in writer's block for a long time, and I wanted to write something meaningful to me. I hope to write and share more of the story in the future. It's nice to have somewhere to share this work, even if it might not seem important or anything like that. Even if no one sees this, I've got the motivation in me right now to keep posting. I've got nine other chapters that I'd like to put out. I look forward to sharing with whoever reads this.

Chapter 2: An S-Class Assistant

Ariella’s shop reminds me of Madame Freesia’s: the peachy-pink walls, the bubbly pop music playing in the storefront. She even sells perfume, although it’s geared towards the Pokémon rather than her human clients. Sitting in her pink office, I have to stop myself from expecting Madame Freesia to burst in and tell me we’re not getting enough likes online. Instead, I look at Ariella as she goes over the notes from our interview.

Only a couple of years older than me, Ariella has a bright joy to her, which has given her a good reputation in town. From the bouncy blonde curls on her head to the Emolga pins connecting her shirt collar, she seems more of a yellow person than the peach she surrounds herself with. Letting my eyes soften, the light around her confirms this. A sparkly yellow shimmers around her. I turn it off as she lifts her head to look at me.

“Now, I said I didn’t want you to wait for an answer,” she says with a smile. “I know how nerve-wracking it can be to wait for a job offer, so let’s go over what I’ve heard and seen from you.”

I nod. “Okay.”

She puts down her notes. “Well, it’s clear from your CV and your former employer’s social media that you’re a hard worker with an eye for detail. You’ve also got a very professional vibe to you, and based on your outfit—your deep blue waistcoat and pants really make your hair and eyes pop, by the way—you have a sense of style, too. That doesn't seem all that important when working with Pokémon, but believe me, our clients appreciate a well-dressed Connaisseuse. As for your referrals: they’re glowing. It’s hard to argue when the Castelia branch of the Connoisseur Association itself recommends you.”

“Thank you,” I say, but a sinking feeling starts in my stomach. Ariella’s eyebrows knit together, and eyes take on an apologetic look.

“Unfortunately,” she continues, “I’m not sure you’d be a good fit here. While I think you’ll be great as an assistant, I’m looking for someone with a little more experience. There’s also the fact that you don’t have a partner Pokémon—there’s nothing wrong with not having a partner, of course. Lots of people don’t. It’s just that my clientele come here not just for evaluations, but to connect with other trainers. Not having a Pokémon of your own means that your advice will be limited and even mistrusted, even with your family’s reputation in town. I just see this having a bad effect on the business, not having a partner. You understand, right?”

I take a deep breath, then nod, regardless of my real feelings. “I understand. Thank you for the interview, Ariella.”

“Thank you for coming in. Consider this a practice interview before your big break, okay? I’ll walk you out.” As she stands up from the other side of her desk, she puts her arm out. Her Emolga flies out of a box on a nearby shelf and onto her arm, before settling on her shoulder. We walk out of the office.

“Now, don’t get discouraged,” she says as we reach the door. “Nacrene City is nowhere near the size of Castelia City, but there are still plenty of Connoisseurs who might want to hire you, and there’s always your communications work to fall back on. There isn’t a shop out here that wouldn’t hire you for social media management.”

I try not to look too incredulous. Emolga chatters from her shoulder, the swift twitching of his tail telling me that he’s annoyed with what she said. I think he’s scolding her. Ariella simply pats his head and goes back into her shop.

Well, at least someone was listening during the interview.

--

“How many shops is this now?” Dye asks as she sips her latte.

Café Warehouse is bustling, the lunch rush just getting started. The diner’s waitstaff rush by, dropping off meals so quickly that I’m sure the only thing they notice is which table the plates go to. The owner’s Reuniclus uses Psychic to hand out delivery and pickup orders at the counter. In the constant movement, the various flashes of lights go by, and I can just barely turn each one off. I realize that Dye’s waiting for an answer and turn back to her.

“Four now,” I say, taking a bite out of my spinach quiche. “All for the same reasons: lack of experience and lack of a partner.”

“It’s just unbelievable that all of them have the same excuses.” She crosses her arms, and despite chopping her hair off ages ago, she still looks like the little girl I befriended in preschool, the one who pouted and tossed her long brown hair around every time the swings were taken on the playground. I try not to laugh.

“It’s out of my hands, as much as it annoys us both,” I say, trying to sound even-tempered despite my own frustration. “Many Connoisseurs prefer hiring B-Class because they have more experience evaluating than C-Class. As for having a partner Pokémon, those without one are less likely to be hired to receive the experience needed to advance to the next level.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Dye reaches for her latte and realizes she’s run out.

My Rotom-phone flashes awake and levitates into our line of sight. An article comes up on the screen.

“It’s all in the Connoisseur Association’s trade magazine. Passing any class’s assessment comes with a six-month subscription. The most recent edition is all about the basics of Connoisseurship, from hiring to fee to professional style guides.”

“Please tell me you didn’t read the entire thing already.” Dye looks disappointed, as if she had no idea that I’m a nerd who reads absolutely everything after all the years we’ve known each other.

“There wasn’t much else to do on the train ride to town.” I take a few more bites of my quiche. “The point is that C-Class Connoisseurs don’t seem to have enough experience to be truly helpful in a shop setting, so they’re usually hobbyists who study for the B-Class assessment before trying to get into shops. At least, that’s the current way people do it.”

“And the partner nonsense?”

“For many clients, a Connoisseur without a Pokémon seems sketchy, as if you yourself can’t handle a Pokémon, so why should they trust you to know how to help them? As a C-Class Connaisseuse, it would initially seem to be a non-issue. It’s not like I’d be evaluating them, but for many, it feels like that. They want a full team of trainers to ensure that we’re knowledgeable enough to work with them.”

“So, it sounds like the only thing you can do is find a partner. Aren’t Connoisseurs supposed to help with that? Why haven’t the others when you interviewed with them?”

“They want their money for something like that. They’re not just going to determine what Pokémon I should catch just because I’m a beginner or because I would make a good assistant to them.”

Our waitress brings us our receipt, so we get up to pay (and to clear the space for whoever’s next in the long line forming at the front). Dye turns back to me.

“So, what are you going to do about this?”

I put on my denim jacket and focus on turning off everyone’s lights. It’s all I can do to keep the stress from paralyzing me.

“I’ll come up with something.”

--

Carlos walks me to the door of his Connoisseur shop, something I’ve gotten used to over the past couple of weeks. He wipes his bald head with a red handkerchief.

“I really am sorry, Nettie,” he says for the third time in a row. “I just need someone with experience raising Pokémon. While being your aunt’s niece helps, it’s not quite the same thing as raising your own.”

I raise an eyebrow at that last part, but I put it down before I turn around to face him.

“I understand,” I say as I step out the door. “Thank you for the interview.”

As I turn out onto the street, Aunt Lenora and Uncle Hawes are waiting, Casteliacones in hand.

“Your aunt and I figured that, no matter what happened, you could probably use this.” Uncle Hawes hands me a cone, then points across the street to the park.

“It drives me crazy,” I groan, once we find a stone table to sit at. “Between all of them telling me that I’ll always have communications to fall back on and then bringing up you guys or my siblings—when I don’t even mention anyone, not even in my CV—it’s like I’m having the same interview over and over!”

“Certainly sounds like it, Nettie,” Aunt Lenora says in between her ice cream. “It’s hard to get to know who someone is now and what kind of Connaisseuse someone could be when all you’re focused on is who someone was and how they fit into their family. It shows a real lack of curiosity on their part.”

“At the end of the day, I can’t get more experience if no one’s willing to take a chance with me.” I finish my Casteliacone, hardly savoring its flavor.

“What about getting a partner Pokémon?” Uncle Hawes asks. “Would getting a partner increase your chances of getting hired?”

“It would, but I don’t even know what to catch. There are so many Pokémon to pick from in the region alone, and since I’m no longer eligible to get a starter Pokémon, I have to find a partner for myself.” The thought of going out and trying to catch something, especially without a Pokémon to help me, makes my stomach turn. It wouldn’t be safe to go alone, even if the wild Pokémon I find have lower levels.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever asked you this,” Aunt Lenora starts, “but why didn’t you get a Pokémon before?”

I pause for a moment. “I guess, when you grow up in a family full of trainers who have full teams, I guess it feels like you have lots of Pokémon around.”

Uncle Hawes nods. “As if they’re yours, too. I can see how that would happen, and with the variety of Pokémon, I’m sure it’s easy to get overwhelmed. If you’re not sure what you’d be looking for, getting assistance from a Connoisseur with more experience would be a good idea. Although I imagine you wouldn’t feel comfortable going to the Connoisseurs you interviewed with for help.”

“They know their work, but no, I don’t think I’d bring my business to them.” I try to think of another local Connoisseur to go to, but I draw a blank. I’ll have to check my list again.

“I hope you find a position soon, Nettie,” Aunt Lenora says. “I know that work can just be work, but I haven’t seen you so determined to do something in a long time. It’s good to see that spark in your eyes, even if you’re frustrated.”

Uncle Hawes checks his watch and stands up quickly. “Dear, the new exhibit should be here shortly. We should head back.”

“Oh, shoot, I almost forgot.” She gets up, too. “Keep your head up, Nettie, and we’ll see you at family dinner if we don’t see you beforehand.”

The two of them rush off in the direction of the museum. I stay put in the park, my elbows resting on the table as I cradle my head in my hands.

What kind of Pokémon would I want?

--

The afternoon is fading, and I’m not sure there’s much else I can do today, besides going home and filling out more applications. Looking over the list of Connoisseurs in the area, I stop walking as it dawns on me: there aren’t any other shops in town. All the energy drains out of me. I plop down on the nearest bench.

When I came home to Nacrene City, I was excited to be with family and friends again and to find work as a Connaisseuse, even if it’s just an assistant position. Now the same feeling of being lost that I felt in Castelia City comes racing back.

What do I do now?

A strong, cold wind whips through the street. I turn my body away from the chill, and in the midst of its whistling, the screeching of a metal sign swinging wildly catches my attention. Right across the street from the bench, on the corner of the intersection, a cast iron sign settles back into place, revealing the Connoisseur Association insignia. I walk across to get a better view.

I look up at the sign and notice that a name wraps around the insignia. Neil Nouveau. Turning to the glass door, the insignia and name appear there as well, alongside a bit of information that makes my eyes go wide: S-Class Connoisseur. S-Class is the highest level a Connoisseur can reach, the best of the best. To see that such an expert decided to set up shop here in Nacrene City—I’m shocked.

I peek inside through the door. The interior is quiet, almost empty, save for the large green plants by the windows and the soft-looking green armchairs that sit in pairs around the main floor. The walls are a bright white, but the dark wood of the floors, wraparound balcony, and beams keep it from being blinding. A spiral staircase in the far corner leads up to shelves full of books, likely either for decoration or for beginners guides for each species of Pokémon. The whole place looks so pristine that it’s clear that this Neil Nouveau just moved in.

I check the online list of Connoisseurs, both to see if this is real and to see if he’s looking for an assistant. I scroll down and quickly find his name, alongside a similar one…

“Excuse me.” A gruff voice makes me jump and turn.

A guy with graying, blond hair and a sharp but exhausted gaze looks at me, as if I’m inconveniencing him. Based on his outfit—the starched shirt, the purple waistcoat, the bowtie emblazoned with the Connoisseur Association insignia—I can tell that this is Neil Nouveau.

“Sorry.” I move away from the front door.

Neil unlocks the door and walks inside. He looks back at me.

“Are you coming in?” he asks, his voice as exhausted as his expression. “Beats standing out here and staring in.”

My face heats up, but this is my last chance to find work in a Connoisseur shop. I walk in with my CV ready.

“Mr. Nouveau—” I start, but he puts his hand up.

“Miss Sweets,” he says, as he pulls a cookie tin from behind the dark counter. He hands me the tin, swiftly pulls a Pokéball and tosses it over his shoulder. With the typical flash that all Pokéballs come with, a Delcatty emerges and kicks their ball back to their partner’s waiting hand.

“Wow.” The word slips out of my mouth.

“It’s a trick I learned in another region,” Neil says as he points to a pair of armchairs and a side table. “It’s simple but fluid, and it impresses clients. Go on and sit. Help yourself to the tin. I’m making tea.”

I sit down in a chair and get comfortable. The tin, unlike so many I’ve seen and checked at Grandma’s house, has small shortbread cookies inside. They’re shaped in rings and stars. I take a few in my hand and put the tin on the table between the chairs.

Neil comes back with his waistcoat unbuttoned and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. He still looks…rough, the same way anyone would look if they stayed up two days in a row, but he seems more relaxed. He puts two teacups on the table, settles into the chair opposite my own, and takes a big sigh. Delcatty lays out on his feet.

“I’ve heard about you, Miss Sweets,” he starts. “There isn’t an A-Class Connoisseur in town who hasn’t mentioned you during my introductions with them. The former gym leader’s niece is a Connaisseuse. Talked about your whole family, too, as if that should have any bearing on whether you get hired. Now, are you here hoping I’ll hire you?”

“To be honest, I just stumbled on your shop,” I say, like an idiot. Why tell him how I found out about him?

He nods and sips his tea. “So you’re sitting here just because? No, that’s not it. I saw a spark in your eye when you walked through the door. You may have found this place by accident, but right there at the door you decided to try your luck without an appointment. Does that sound right?”

I nod. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Good.” He dips a shortbread cookie in his tea. “Now, kindly tell me why I should hire you.”

“Oh, well, I’m detail-oriented, I’m used to working with short timelines—” I stop when Neil waves his hand at me.

“No, no, that’s not what I’m asking for. There isn’t a job out there that doesn’t look for answers like that. I want to know why you got into this. Why are you a Connaisseuse? Why do you want to work with Pokémon? What will tell me that you’re a good fit for the work that Connoisseurs are known for?”

For some reason, this question stumps me. It’s so simple that I should have an answer for it. None of the other Connoisseurs had asked me this, despite it being such a simple question. I don’t even know why I can’t answer this. Why did I do this?

Delcatty mews at Neil’s feet, drawing my eyes to him. A deep purple light wraps around him, and looking back up, Neil has the same light. A word comes to mind: truth. Neil sips from his cup.

“Do you have an answer for me?” Neil asks. “I should let you know that I asked the other Connoisseurs what they asked in their interviews, and they seemed to have forgotten this question. Or they didn’t think to ask in the first place. If you don’t have an answer, just say so.”

“It’s not a great answer,” I start after a minute. “I was originally just looking for a way out of a job that made me unhappy. I spent my days staring at a screen in a little office wondering if that was all my professional life could be. I knew that I didn’t want to spend a third of every weekday on the clock in a place where I was unappreciated, bored, and alone. I had always loved Pokémon, but because I didn’t want to be a gym challenger or a coordinator, I decided to go down a route that I knew would be financially secure. I figured that I could get a Pokémon and be a trainer in my free time. But then three years went by, and I was still miserable and didn’t have the time or energy to care for a partner. I thought that being a Connaisseuse would give me a new path that could make me happy, but without a place to learn more about the work, it hasn’t been easy.”

Neil sits up in his chair. “So this is about personal fulfilment? You wanted to become a Connaisseuse because you thought it would make you happier?”

I nod. “Yes.”

Delcatty purrs. Neil smirks and puts his teacup on the side table.

“Well then, Miss Sweets,” he says. “I thank you for your honesty. I think that you have great potential as a Connaisseuse, given everything that I heard before meeting you. The fact that you don’t have a partner is irrelevant to me—a skilled Connoisseur typically provides a partner to their assistant after a time. If a Connoisseur ever has a problem with a potential hire not having a partner, they’re most likely younger. Such a tradition has fallen out of favor because many feel that they should only use their skills for payment. They’re not wrong for wanting their money, but any good assistant should be invested in.”

“Wait, does that mean I’m getting the job?” I ask. It immediately sounds ridiculous coming out of my mouth, but he hasn’t said no yet.

“It means that I appreciate your answer. Honestly, you’d probably be better off traveling and experiencing different regions and Pokémon and taking the higher assessments whenever you’re back in the area, but if you want to stay here and work, I’d be more than happy to have you as my assistant.”

“Really?!” I sit up in the chair so fast Delcatty hops up and jogs away.

 Neil laughs. “You bet. I’ve seen and heard too many horror stories of Connoisseurs wanting to change the world or be the very best at this, only to abandon their personalities as soon as they enter a shop and work until they’re miserable and leave the field. Your motivation, however, is more in your control than whether or not you make a big impact. You want to make sure that what you do is enjoyable to you, which means that you’ll most likely bring your personality to your work and attract clients you connect with. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make a change in your environment, but I believe such a change begins within, not solely with clients. Focusing on what makes you happy and fulfilled is a good start down that road.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nouveau.”

Neil shudders. “Never call me that. My first name will be fine.”

We walk to the door, but this time it’s different. I’m smiling, and there’s no long apology coming my way.

“I’ll see you tomorrow to go over the paperwork and things like that. Once everything’s squared away, you’ll start next week. Get some rest, get things tailored as needed, and don’t stress about getting a partner Pokémon.”

I turn around again. “Thanks again, Neil.”

He shrugs, and then reaches down to pet his Delcatty’s head. “Never thank me for what you did. I just asked the questions.”

He closes the door as he goes back in, and I take the opportunity to dance a bit in the street, before heading home.

------------------------------------------------------------

Well, Chapter 2 is finally up. I had planned on getting it out before the Indigo Disk part of the DLC came out, but life got in the way. I'll be working on Chapter 3, but don't expect it until after New Year's. For now, I'm going to take a much-needed rest. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Chapter 3: A Day at the Shop

Blossoming wisteria crawls along the brick walls of the warehouses, the red stone drawing the eyes to the purple flowers dotting their woody vines. In the places where flowers aren’t blooming, the city’s muralists are out in full force, working on various projects now that the skies are clear and the weather’s warmer. People and Pokémon walk around without worrying about a sudden gust chilling them despite their scarves and coats. Even the Pidoves that fly over the city seem to warble a brighter tune. Spring is here in Nacrene City.

I stop to readjust my mask, making sure that I have an air-tight seal. This time of year in Nacrene City is always beautiful, but the layer of pollen lining the cars and light posts is another story. If I don’t wear a mask, I won’t be able to walk down the street without sneezing myself dizzy. As I turn the corner and walk towards the shop, Neil stands at the entrance, his Delcatty sitting politely beside him.

“We’re almost ready for the day, Nettie,” he says. “We’ll have our morning talk in five.”

“Okay,” I nod, then pat Delcatty as I head in. Somehow, I’m not allergic to him. As I learned my first week in the shop, I can’t say the same about many of our clients’ Pokémon.

I come behind the L-shaped counter and lock my bag and denim jacket in the locker underneath. As I stand up, a piece of paper titled Partners for Nettie pokes out between piles of client notes from the week. I catch Neil heading to the back to make the morning tea, so I slip the piece of paper out of the pile, making sure to keep a finger in the space where it was.

The list itself is made entirely of normal-type Pokémon, and every option would do well in an apartment: Minccino, Lillipup, Audino, Eevee, Pidove—there are even Pokémon that can’t be found in Unova no matter where you look. I knew that, after only working here for a week, Neil started looking for a partner for me, but I didn’t think he would have so many options. The list must have forty Pokémon here, and many of them would require more work to find and bring here than I think is necessary. After all, how easy is it to find a Kecleon or a Ditto out in the wild? Of course, Neil could have contacts after all his travels who could probably help—he might even know breeders who could provide the Pokémon to him—but the time, effort, and money to bring a Pokémon here would hardly be worth it in my opinion.

Before I can look up how much it would cost to transport from other regions, the faint squeal of the kettle on the stove in back makes me jump. I carefully slide the list back into the pile and turn to go. I freeze when I spot Delcatty watching me with a glint of mischief in his eye.

“Don’t say anything, and I’ll give you some treats,” I whisper. Bribing a Pokémon seems weird, but this is no ordinary Pokémon. He flicks his tail and sashays to the armchairs for morning tea. I take a deep breath and join him.

--

I can’t sit in during our next client’s evaluation. Don’t get me wrong; I’d love to be in the room taking notes and learning about the signs of a strong partnership between a trainer and their Cinccino. This, however, is spring, and it’s shedding season. The minute the two of them came in, I could see the long, silky hairs dripping onto the floor. I can only get near them at broom’s length before my eyes water, so that’s where I’m relegated today. At least I know one Pokémon Neil isn’t catching for me.

Delcatty mews at me from behind the counter. Somehow, Neil taught him how to use a cash register, and he’s very good at it. He even provides exact change! I walk over to him, and he immediately points his paw at the shelves of potions and revives behind the counter.

“I’ll get them,” I say. He blinks at me.

I look at the customer—a woman in an orange, paint-covered hoodie. She gives me a small smile, drawing my eyes to her pierced dimples.

“I just need a couple super potions,” she says.

I nod and climb the ladder to the shelf of potions. As I look down, I see a long white tail behind the customer. At the end of it is a plastic egg, similar to a kid’s toy. I come down the ladder and put the potions on the counter. Two large eyes peek out from behind her.

The woman raises her arm, showing her Smeargle’s full face.

“Don’t let his timidness fool you,” she says. “He’s a mischievous little guy when he wants to be.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Smeargle in person before,” I say.

“Yeah, they’re hard to find. Sometimes people spend thousands to get a hold of one, but I got lucky on a trip to the Ruins of Alph in the Johto Region and found him. He’s been with me ever since.”

“That’s cool. I bet he helps with your art. Are you two working on a mural?”

“I’m working on a mural, but brick walls aren’t really his canvas of choice. He’s my teaching assistant, actually.” She looks at her watch. “Speaking of teaching, I have a class in a bit. If you’re ever looking to make some art, look up the Paint Swipe Building on Cheri Street. We offer a bunch of classes there. Tell them Aya sent you, and you might get a discount, too.”

I nod, trying to remember if I heard anything about a new art center in town, before realizing that I’m still holding her up. Thankfully there aren’t any other customers waiting to check out. I bag the rest of her purchase, but before I can hand it to her, Smeargle slips past her and grabs it before scampering off to the door.

Aya shakes her head at him and turns back to shrug at me. She leaves with her Smeargle.

--

Among the books on the shelves upstairs, I find a book on Smeargle. It’s short and mainly goes over the thousands of unique marks they use in the wild, but it’s full of information about dealing with them specifically—their grooming, diet, cleaning up their paint on surfaces, even use of the only move they learn on their own: Sketch. I flip through the book during my lunch break, taking notes and wondering what it takes to care for a Pokémon like that. Neil pops his head up from the staircase.

“Doing research?” he asks, before Delcatty’s head shoves his out of the way.

“Yeah, I was just looking up info about Smeargles,” I say.

He and Delcatty come over to me. “Smeargles, huh? What brought this on?”

“A customer came in this morning with one, and I wanted to learn more.”

Neil nods and looks into the distance. “They’re pretty rare in Unova—pretty rare everywhere, in fact. Smeargles can be incredibly expensive to get a hold of…Were you thinking of one as a partner, or are you just curious?”

“Just curious, for now. There are still my allergies to consider.”

“Hmm.” Neil turns and walks down the stairs again. I peek over the railing and watch him walk to the back of the shop. Delcatty and I look at each other and shrug. I turn back to my reading, and he drapes himself over my feet for a nap.

--

The young boy sits in the armchair, his Boldore tapping around and humming at me and Neil. The large Pokémon’s orange crystals shine brightly in the sunlight drifting through the windows, but the light he and his trainer give off is a bright green, like new spring grass. Everything looks good, but I can’t rely on an assessment like that. As much as I use it, I can’t let this strange ability be my main evaluation skill. I didn’t do all that research just to let the weird thing with my vision inform my decisions as a Connaisseuse.

“Now, what’s the main issue, Ryan?” Neil asks, kneeling down to give Boldore a closer look. “Your partner looks healthy and happy.”

“He is?” the boy says, his eyes wide. “But my big brother said that Boldore isn’t happy because I’m not a strong trainer and keep losing against him.”

Neil looks at me, brow raised. I step forward and pat Boldore, who taps his feet on the floor and hums. The green light around him intensifies. An image flashes in my mind: a boy, older than Ryan, cheering with his Samurott and taunting the younger boy, who had come around to check his Pokémon. Even in the midst of the loss, a feeling of care still warms my heart. I shake the image away and turn back to Ryan. I try not to show my frustration with the vision, but I can’t help but feel it. Why can’t I turn this off all the way?

“Your brother isn’t a nice winner, is he?” I ask. “Does he make fun of you when you lose?”

Ryan nods. “All the time.”

“Well, that isn’t your fault. We can tell that you and your Boldore have a good connection, and that he really cares about you, even when you lose.”

Ryan looks at his partner, who hums and leans lightly on his knee. The boy smiles and looks back at us.

“So, I’m not a bad trainer,” he says.

I nod. “You’re doing well. Being a strong trainer just takes practice, and your older brother has had more time to build up his skills. Just give yourselves some time to figure out what works for you.”

“Okay! Did you hear that, Boldore?”

His partner taps his feet on the floor. Ryan stands up from the chair.

“Thanks for your help. Boldore and I are gonna train hard and beat my brother someday.”

“If I can make a suggestion,” Neil jumps in, “if your brother has a Samurott, a grass-type move would help. If you plan on evolving Boldore further—which would require a trade—Gigalith can learn Solar Beam, which is super effective against water types. If you need a trade partner, you can always come back here, and we’ll be happy to help.”

“Really? Cool! I don’t think we’re ready for that yet, but maybe we’ll do that someday.”

We watch as Ryan leaves with his Boldore, another satisfied client. Still, I kick myself a bit for the vision. I just don’t have enough control of it. Sure, I probably reached the same conclusion Neil would have, but it feels like I’m cheating to get there. This was a fun little trick at first, but now I’m wondering how much my skills can improve when I can just receive a vision or see a light and fix things accordingly. Maybe I should tell Neil about it, since it doesn't seem like it’s going away any time soon.

“You seemed to be the right person for him to talk to,” Neil says as he turns to reshelve some items other customers had taken down.

“You know how it is with siblings,” I shrug, trying to look relaxed. “Sometimes they’re just bad sports and you have to bolster the confidence of the one who’s struggling.”

Neil snorts. “I guess. I’m a twin, so the older-younger sibling dynamic isn’t quite the same, although my brother would probably say otherwise.”

“Oh yeah, I saw someone else with the same last name listed on the Connoisseur registry the day we met.”

“Yeah, Ricard Nouveau is my brother. He’s still a traveling Connoisseur. Last time I talked to my mom, she said that he’d joined the S Class.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “You don’t talk to him?”

“Let’s just say that we don’t get along much. Don’t worry about it; you’ll probably never meet him.” Neil turns back to me. “For now, our main concerns are to maintain the shop and find a partner for you.”

“Is that really such a big priority? We’ve got a serious number of clients that want us to help them pick their first Pokémon. I would think they would come first.”

“The key is to look for more than one person at a time.” Neil picks up a box of assorted poffins. “You can look for who you’re supposed to look for, while also recognizing that there’s a Pokémon there that might fit someone else you’re working with. You’re not a client, Nettie, but it’s my job to keep an eye out for you, just as I would for them.”

I nod. “That makes sense, I guess. Is there anything I can do to help the process along?”

Neil smiles. “Well, there is somewhere I have to go for one of our clients. I was going to ask you to stay here and manage the shop while I’m gone, but I think it would be better if you joined me.”

His Rotom phone floats over and shows me a webpage, an image of students in uniforms smiling in front of a gate.

“Pack your bags, Nettie. We’re going to school.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

So I finally got this written. In addition work and everyday life, I spent weeks fighting this chapter. It just wasn't working and required SO MANY REWRITES. I really didn't know if I going to finish this chapter, let alone the fanfic. At some point, though, you just have to let the thing go and move on, so that's what I'm doing. I hope that the next chapter's an easy write.