"Who are you?" Enzo asked again, his voice low and dangerous. "And why are you buying me this?"
The Man in Sunglasses adjusted his cuffs. He didn't look intimidated by Enzo's tone. He looked like a man who was used to delivering messages that people couldn't refuse.
"Mr. Enzo. I am just the wallet," the man said smoothly. "The payment was a gesture. From The Madam."
The name hit Enzo like a physical weight.
His posture didn't change, but his eyes narrowed sharply.
The Madam.
The Madam was the unofficial queen of Cerulean City underground. She didn't run the Gym. She didn't run the Police Station. She ran everything else. The brothels. The information networks. The whispered secrets in the back of bars.
But to the orphans of Cerulean, she was something else.
Enzo's mind flashed back to memories of being eight years old. Hungry. Dirty. Scared. The Madam was the one who gave the street kids delivery jobs—running packages that no one else would touch. She paid in hot meals and clean clothes. And she had a rule: No one touches the kids. She was a criminal, a vice lord, and a predator, but she had a twisted code of honor. She protected the strays because the strays were useful.
She had paid for Enzo's meals more times than he could count before he was recruited by Team Rocket.
"She requests five minutes of your time," the Man in Sunglasses said. "She said the 'Little Enzo' she remembers knows better than to refuse an invitation."
Enzo went silent.
Beside him, Ronnie looked back and forth between them, his hand inching toward his belt.
"Boss?" Ronnie whispered. "Do we know this guy?"
Enzo held up a hand to stop him.
He calculated the odds. He had already accepted the incubators, the eggs, and now the Pokémon. He was thousands of points deep in her debt. And in Cerulean City, you didn't say "no" to The Madam. Not if you wanted to keep using the Black Market without being watched.
But there was also a flicker of something else…
"Five minutes," Enzo said, his voice cold.
The Man in Sunglasses smiled. "Excellent. Follow me."
He turned and walked deeper into the market.
"Are we really doing this?" Ronnie hissed as they fell into step behind him.
"We don't have a choice," Enzo muttered.
They followed the man away from the stalls and the cages. The path twisted into the darker sectors of the market. The air grew heavier, smelling less like animal feed and ozone, and more like cheap perfume, stale alcohol, and damp stone.
The lighting changed from harsh fluorescent strips to soft, red lanterns. The shadows got longer. They passed doorways where figures stood watching them—muscle for hire, silent and imposing.
Eventually, the Man in Sunglasses stopped in front of a double door that looked different from the rest.
It wasn't a warehouse. It was an old, ornate structure with a faux-marble façade that had seen better days. Steam poured out of vents near the roof, curling into the cold night air like white snakes.
A sign above the door, faded but elegant, read: CERULEAN SPRINGS.
"Here," the man said, opening the door.
A wall of warm, humid air hit them instantly.
"The Madam is waiting in the private sanctuary," the man said. "Please. Step inside."
Enzo looked at the steam rising from the vents. He looked at the dark windows.
Enzo stepped over the threshold, walking out of the cold underground and into the suffocating heat of the Madam's domain.
The interior of Cerulean Springs was a disorienting shift from the grimy tunnels outside.
The walls were lined with faux-marble tiles that gleamed under soft, amber lights. The air smelled of jasmine oil and expensive steam. It was quiet, save for the gentle sound of running water and distant, soft laughter.
The Man in Sunglasses stopped at a row of wooden lockers.
"Clothes," the man ordered, gesturing to the lockers. "Weapons. Belts. Everything."
He pointed to a stack of pristine white towels on a bench.
"Towels only beyond this point."
Ronnie looked at the lockers, then at the man, then at Enzo. His hand hovered protectively over the Poké Balls on his belt.
"Boss," Ronnie whispered, leaning in close. "Is this smart? Are we walking into a crime lord's den naked? I feel like this is how people get murdered in movies."
Enzo began unbuckling his belt without hesitation.
"She's powerful, Ronnie, but she is intelligent," Enzo replied quietly, placing his belt into the locker. "Do the math. You are a Squad Captain. I am a Squad Leader. We aren't expendable grunts."
He folded his jacket neatly, his eyes cold.
"She knows the rules. If she touches a ranked officer, you or me, it's not just 'bad for business'. It's an act of war. The Organization would burn this city to find her. If she harms us today, she would have to flee Kanto before the sun goes down, or she wouldn't survive the week."
He stripped off his jacket and shirt, folding them neatly.
"This isn't a trap," Enzo added. "It's a power move. She wants us vulnerable. It makes negotiation harder."
Ronnie hesitated for another second, then sighed. "Fine. But if I die naked, I'm haunting you."
They changed quickly.
Enzo wrapped the towel around his waist, his expression bored and professional. Ronnie wrapped his towel tight, looking like he was preparing for a trench war rather than a bath.
"This way," the Man in Sunglasses said.
He opened a set of double doors at the end of the changing room.
A massive cloud of steam rolled out to meet them.
They stepped through.
The main chamber of the bathhouse was vast. The ceiling was high and domed, trapping the heat. Through the thick mist, Enzo could make out the shapes of pools, lounge chairs, and massage tables.
And women.
Lots of them.
Ronnie froze in the doorway.
His eyes widened until they looked like they might pop out of his skull. His face turned a violent shade of red, making the jagged scar running down his cheek stand out in stark white contrast.
Ronnie wasn't used to this. With a face like his—ruined by a knife before he'd even hit puberty—his luck with the opposite sex had been non-existent. Girls didn't look at him with desire; they looked at him with pity, or worse, fear. He was used to being the monster in the room, not a guest.
But here? Here, no one was screaming.
He stopped walking. A very specific, very humiliating biological problem began to manifest rapidly beneath his waist.
Panic flared in his chest. He quickly shifted his grip, jamming both hands firmly in front of his towel, desperately pulling the fabric away from his body to create a tent, trying to hide his growing... situation.
"Oh no..." Ronnie squeaked, his voice cracking.
A woman walked past them, completely nude, carrying a silver pitcher. She didn't even look at them.
Ronnie's head swiveled, trying to look everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He looked at the ceiling. He looked at the floor. He looked at Enzo.
"Boss," Ronnie whispered, his voice cracking. "There are... a lot of... assets here."
Enzo walked forward, his face a mask of absolute indifference. To him, the nudity was irrelevant. He was scanning the room for exits, guards, and threats. But he glanced at Ronnie, who was currently trying to walk without moving his hips, looking like a malfunctioning robot.
Enzo leaned in, his voice barely a murmur.
"Just remember," Enzo whispered. "Right now, while you are here... Proton is sitting in a damp basement talking to Professor Leni."
Ronnie blinked.
The image of Proton's miserable, stoic face trapped in a conversation about bureaucracy flashed through his mind.
Ronnie let out a strangled snort. He bit his lip to keep from laughing, the absurdity of the contrast finally cutting through his panic.
"Okay," Ronnie whispered back, a grin fighting its way onto his face, though he kept his hands firmly planted in front of his towel. "I need to calm down. I'm a professional." He took a deep breath. "Professional."
"Yes. Keep it together," Enzo said. "Eyes forward."
They pushed through the final curtain of steam, heading toward the private VIP section at the far end.
They passed through a heavy velvet curtain and entered the inner sanctum.
The noise of the main bathhouse faded instantly. Here, the silence was heavy, broken only by the soft lap of water against stone. The air was thick with steam, but it was clearer here, scented with something sharp and herbal.
In the center of the room lay a large, circular pool. The water was perfectly still—no jets, no bubbles, just a mirror-like surface of dark, steaming heat.
And holding court in the middle of it was The Madam.
She sat on a submerged stone bench, the water reaching her chest. She was an older woman, her hair pinned up in an elaborate style that defied the humidity. Her face carried the kind of lines that came from decades of smiling at lies and ordering punishments. She was elegant, but it was the elegance of a poisonous flower.
Surrounding her, five young women floated or sat on the pool's edge, attending to her like handmaidens to a queen.
Enzo stopped at the edge of the pool. Ronnie lingered a step behind, eyes wide, trying desperately not to look at the five naked women while simultaneously trying to look at all of them.
The Madam took a slow sip of wine from a floating tray. Then, her eyes shifted to Enzo.
A slow smile spread across her face. It wasn't warm. It was possessive.
"Little Enzo," she purred, her voice echoing slightly off the stone walls. "How you've grown."
Her gaze drifted past him, landing on Ronnie. She studied his scar, his flustered expression, and the way he was clutching his towel like a shield.
"And I see you brought a friend," she added, amused. "With such a... peculiar face."
Ronnie stiffened, his knuckles whitening on the towel, but he held his tongue.
Enzo's expression didn't flicker.
Let's see what the old woman wants, Enzo thought.
Enzo didn't drop his towel.
Instead, he tightened the knot at his waist, treating the simple white fabric like it was part of a uniform. He stepped into the hot water, the heat biting at his skin, and moved with deliberate calm. He sank down slowly until the water lapped at his chest, sitting on the stone bench opposite her, the towel still wrapped firmly around him. His eyes remained cold, refusing to relax into the luxury.
Ronnie was less graceful.
He clutched his own towel like a lifeline, panic written all over his face. He scrambled into the pool, practically sliding down the steps and sinking up to his chin in record time to hide himself. He created a splash that sent ripples across the still water, making one of the girls giggle.
Enzo ignored the splash. He ignored the girls. He looked directly at the Madam.
"Thank you for the welcome," Enzo said, his voice level. "And for the generous contributions to my team."
He leaned forward slightly, the water swirling around his chest.
"However, I prefer to keep my ledgers balanced. I am prepared to reimburse you for the full amount right now."
The Madam laughed. It was a dry, raspy sound that echoed off the tiles.
"Reimburse me?" She shook her head, swirling her wine in the glass. "Oh, Enzo. We have known each other for too long for such cold formalities."
She leaned back, resting her wet arms on the pool's edge, exposing the scars of age and survival.
"I remember when you were knee-high, running packages through the rain just to earn a hot meal. Who made sure you weren't beaten in the alleys? Who made sure you had shoes in the winter?"
She smiled, a mix of genuine nostalgia and sharp calculation.
"I don't charge interest on family."
Enzo smirked, a sharp, humorless expression.
"I haven't forgotten, Auntie" Enzo replied smoothly, using the street title the orphans used to call her.
The Madam's smile widened slightly at the name.
"But," Enzo continued, his tone hardening instantly, "The Madam of Cerulean doesn't do charity. And she certainly doesn't spend thousands of Rocket Points on a whim."
He locked eyes with her through the steam.
"So let's skip the nostalgia. What do you want in exchange?"
The Madam laughed softly, the sound rippling through the steam.
"Little Enzo isn't so little anymore," she murmured, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "So direct. So serious."
She raised a hand and made a subtle, flicking gesture with two fingers.
Two of the girls detached themselves from the poolside. They didn't walk; they glided into the water like sirens, moving silently toward the two men.
Ronnie saw the girl approaching him—a brunette with a soft smile and eyes that promised everything—and his brain simply shut down.
She moved behind him. Her hands, warm and skilled, landed on his tense shoulders. She began to massage the knots of stress accumulated from a week of brutal training.
Ronnie let out a sound that was half-groan, half-whimper. His eyes rolled back. His face, previously red with embarrassment, went slack with pure, overwhelming bliss. He sank lower into the water until the bubbles reached his nose, completely useless to the conversation.
Enzo's experience was different.
The second girl approached him from the side. She was blonde, with a delicate face and a gaze practiced in the art of making men feel like kings. She slid through the water until she was next to him, pressing her side against his arm. It was calculated contact—soft skin against wet muscle.
She rested her chin on his shoulder, her hand trailing lightly underwater, dangerously close to his thigh.
Enzo didn't flinch. He didn't push her away. He allowed the contact, sitting perfectly still, but his body remained rigid. He was like a statue carved from ice—physically present, but impenetrable. When she tried to slide her hand further, his hand moved underwater, catching her wrist. Not hurting her. Just stopping her. A silent wall.
The Madam watched him closely, covering a smirk with her hand.
"Does Little Enzo not enjoy the company?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock concern. "Or perhaps... your tastes are more peculiar?"
Enzo looked at her, his expression bored.
"It's not a matter of taste, Auntie," Enzo replied calmly.
He tilted his head slightly away from the girl clinging to him.
"It's a matter of logistics. I never knew my parents. I never knew my mother," Enzo said, his voice flat. "I don't know the age of your employees... I'd rather not accidentally commit..."
The silence that followed lasted exactly two seconds.
Then, the Madam threw her head back and laughed—a loud, genuine cackle that shook her earrings.
"Oh, you are delightful," she wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye.
She leaned forward, her smile sharp.
"Rest easy, darling. She is your age."
Enzo raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me. Another graduate from the orphanage?"
The girl next to him blushed slightly, confirming the guess.
"I take care of my own," the Madam said simply. "Just as I took care of you."
Her expression shifted. The humor faded, replaced by a strange, probing intensity.
"Speaking of mothers..." the Madam said softly. "My network has grown since you left the streets. I have eyes in records that were previously sealed. If you wanted... I could find her. Your birth mother."
Enzo stared at her.
The girl next to him paused. Even Ronnie, in his massage-induced coma, opened one eye.
It was the kind of offer that broke most orphans. The promise of belonging. The answer to the question: Why was I abandoned?
Enzo didn't blink.
He laughed. A short, dismissive sound.
"Don't bother," Enzo said.
"You aren't curious?"
"I never knew my birthday," Enzo said, shrugging his shoulders under the water. "I never had a cake. I never had a card. And I survived just fine. She was never there when I was starving in the rain, so she doesn't get to be here now..."
He looked at the Madam with absolute finality.
"She doesn't matter now. Don't waste your resources on ghosts."
"Then tell me," Enzo said, leaning back slightly against the stone edge. "What can I do for you?"
He glanced around the pool at the five beautiful women watching them.
"And do we need an audience for this conversation?"
The Madam smiled, swirling her wine again. "These are my most trusted girls, Enzo. They hear everything, and they repeat nothing."
Enzo didn't take her word for it.
He shifted his gaze, studying them. Not with a digital interface, but with the cold, analytical eye of a predator.
He looked at the girl massaging Ronnie. To the naked eye, she looked lost in the moment, smiling adoringly at the scarred boy. But Enzo noticed the tension in her forearms—corded muscle, not soft fat. He saw how her thumbs rested just millimeters from the pressure points on Ronnie's neck. That wasn't the grip of a masseuse; it was the grip of a grappler waiting for a command. She was faking every second of it.
Then, he turned his gaze to the blonde girl pressing against his own arm.
She was different.
When he looked at her, she didn't hold the practiced, seductive gaze like the others. She blinked and looked down, a genuine flush of pink rising on her cheeks. Her body wasn't tense with combat readiness; it was trembling slightly. Not from cold, and not from acting.
Every time their eyes met, she seemed to shrink a little, biting her lip. She seemed... actually shy. Uncomfortably so.
Enzo frowned internally. One civilian in a room of killers? Or is she just that terrified of me?
"I see," Enzo said, nodding slowly. "Masters of their craft. Mostly."
The Madam's eyes twinkled, though she didn't comment on the blonde girl's obvious awkwardness.
"Get to the point, Auntie," Enzo said.
The Madam set her glass down. The playfulness vanished.
"I know what you are," she said softly. "I know you are a Squad Leader."
Ronnie stiffened in the water, his massage forgotten.
"For a boy of your age to hold that rank," the Madam continued, her voice low and serious, "it is statistically impossible. Unless..."
She leaned forward.
"...unless you have a Backer. A powerful one."
Enzo's face didn't move.
"I am a businesswoman, Enzo. I survive by knowing who holds the leash. I want an introduction."
Enzo stared at her for a long moment. Then, he started to laugh.
It wasn't a mocking laugh. It was a genuine, dry chuckle at the sheer absurdity of the idea.
He imagined Nero standing here, in this steam room. He imagined the Executive's cold, dead eyes looking at these women, at the Madam, at the wine.
"What's so funny?" the Madam asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Auntie," Enzo said, shaking his head. "I understand the hustle. Truly. But believe me when I tell you: the last thing you want is to meet my Backer."
He looked her dead in the eye.
"If you meet him... it will likely be the last thing you ever do."
The girls around the pool frowned, offended by the rejection. How could he say 'no' to the Madam after all she had given him?
But the Madam didn't frown. She went pale.
She saw the look in Enzo's eyes. It wasn't a bluff. It was a warning.
Giovanni? she thought, her heart skipping a beat. Or one of the Executives? Archer? Petrel?
If Enzo—this boy she had fed scraps to—had the backing of a monster like that... then his ceiling wasn't Squad Leader. His ceiling was the sky.
She took a deep breath and recalibrated.
"I see," she said quietly. "Then I will withdraw the request."
She picked up her wine again, her smile returning, though it was more respectful now.
"Little Enzo," she said. "We have known each other for many years. I only ask one thing. When you climb... and you will climb... do not forget your humble Auntie down here in the sewers."
Enzo studied her.
It was an alliance. She was betting on him.
"Of course, Auntie," Enzo said softly.
With the tension broken, Enzo finally relaxed his posture. He shifted in the water, lifting his arm and draping it casually around the waist of the blonde girl next to him.
The girl flinched visibly at the touch, her face burning red. She looked down at the water, her breathing hitching, but she didn't pull away. She just stayed there, frozen, unable to look him in the face.
"Since we are family," Enzo said, ignoring her trembling, "perhaps you can help me with a shopping list?"
The Madam, seeing the deal was sealed, beamed. "Name it."
"I am short on time," Enzo said. "And I need specific equipment. I need a Mobile Laboratory unit. High grade. And a Military-grade field tent. Reinforced."
He paused.
"And a list of chemical ingredients. Rare ones."
The Madam raised an eyebrow. "That is an expensive list."
"Consider it an investment," Enzo countered smoothly. "You help me now, and I promise to distribute the happiness with you in the future."
The Madam looked at him—young, dangerous, and backed by a demon.
"Done," she said. "Send the list to my heavy. It will be at your warehouse by morning."
Enzo didn't flinch at the mention of the warehouse. He hadn't told her where it was. But in Cerulean City, if the Madam didn't know where you slept, you didn't exist. He chose to ignore the breach of privacy completely. It was the price of doing business.
"Thank you, Auntie."
Enzo removed his arm from the blonde girl's waist just as she seemed to be working up the courage to look at him.
He stood up abruptly, water cascading off his chest.
"Ronnie," Enzo barked. "Let's go."
Ronnie, whose head was currently buried between the breasts of the brunette, lifted his face. He looked like a man who had seen heaven and was being dragged back to hell.
"Do we... do we really have to?" Ronnie whimpered.
Enzo gave him a Death Stare.
"Now."
Ronnie scrambled up, tripping over his own feet, grabbing his towel and looking back at the brunette with tragic longing.
As they walked away, the Madam watched Enzo's back until the steam swallowed him.
She turned to the blonde girl.
"Well?" the Madam asked softly.
The girl took a shaky breath. She wiped her eyes, forcing herself to regain composure now that Enzo was gone. The shyness faded, replaced by a quiet hurt.
"He didn't remember me, Madam," she said, her voice small. "We slept in the same room at the orphanage for three years. I used to bandage his knees when he fell."
"I used to be terrified of the dark," she whispered. "He would let me sleep in his bed, just so I wouldn't have to wake up alone."
She looked at the door where he had vanished.
"He feels different," she murmured. "Like a stranger wearing his skin."
The Madam sighed, taking a sip of wine.
"I have heard stories," the Madam said gravely. "About where Team Rocket sends their recruits. Trial Island. It is a place that breaks people and rebuilds them into weapons. He has seen hell, child. It is normal that he came back different."
The girl looked down at the dark water, tracing a ripple with her finger.
"I suppose..." she murmured.
Author's Note:
I want to give a big shoutout to everyone who has been leaving comments. Honestly, I was struggling a bit with writer's block when it came to choosing the 4th member of the Dark Squad. I read through all your suggestions, and you guys provided so many awesome ideas. It really helped me clear my mind and make the final decision. Also, a huge thank you for all the Power Stones. Your support keeps me motivated and helps me keep the chapters coming. See you in the next one!