Gladion.
Aether's runaway heir—carved from privilege and spite.
In the original timeline, the Aether family's "love" was a gorgeous lie with teeth: Gladion escaping with Type: Null, Lillie running with Nebby, Lusamine calling it devotion while tightening the leash. A tragedy wrapped in silk.
But this timeline had a wrinkle Damian hadn't planned for.
Gladion didn't vanish into the shadows.
He walked straight into Team Rocket.
Damian didn't delegate. If the Aether heir wanted to step into his world, Damian would look him in the eye and decide what he was worth.
Thirty minutes later, the door opened.
Gladion stepped in like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath.
The hair was Lusamine's—immaculate blond, the same curated bloodline. But the rest of him carried none of her polished madness. His features were sharp, disciplined, almost severe. And his eyes—
Cold. Not teen-angst cold.
Caged-animal cold.
Plumeria rose as Damian entered. "Boss."
Gladion's gaze snapped to Damian and held, measuring him with open contempt.
So that's him. Team Rocket's boss is… a kid.
Damian slid into Plumeria's seat like it had always belonged to him. He didn't flinch under the stare.
"So," Damian said, voice light in a room that didn't deserve it, "you want in."
Gladion didn't nod. Didn't posture. He let silence do the work.
Plumeria stayed at Damian's side, jaw tight. When Gladion first approached her, she'd almost laughed him out of the room—another runaway looking for a gang to hide in.
Then the intel came back. Domino's watchlist.
And Plumeria's stomach dropped.
Aether's eldest son.
"…Yeah." Gladion finally answered. One word. Dry as bone.
Damian's fingers tapped the tabletop, slow and steady—like a countdown.
"Why?"
Gladion's eyes narrowed. "Do I need a reason?"
"Everyone has one." Damian smiled politely, and it didn't belong here. "Money. Thrills. A life that got too small. No place left to go." Tap. Tap. Tap. "But you, Gladion? You're not desperate. You're not broke. You're Aether."
A shadow crossed Gladion's face—quick, real.
"The Foundation is dead to me," Gladion said, clipped and controlled. "My name is the only thing I own."
Damian leaned back, amused. "That's not an answer. That's a tantrum with good tailoring."
Gladion's jaw tightened.
"Whether you like it or not," Damian continued, "you're still Lusamine's heir on paper. You can spit on the title all you want—it won't change what people see when they look at you."
Gladion's stare sharpened. "Is Team Rocket actually scared of her?"
Damian's laugh was short. Mean.
"Scared?"
He said it like the word tasted wrong.
"The Aether Foundation is loud in Alola," Damian said, calm and contemptuous. "Loud isn't the same as strong." His head tilted a fraction. "No Champion-level trainer. Not a single one."
Gladion didn't blink.
Damian's smile widened—predatory now. "Aether Paradise is a floating castle built on glass. If I felt like it, I could send it to the ocean floor before noon."
Silence.
Not awkward silence. The kind that presses on your throat.
Damian's tapping stopped. He leaned forward.
"This isn't Team Skull," he said softly. "You don't drift in, play outlaw, then wander off when you get bored." His eyes held Gladion's, and something in the room clicked shut. "You join us, you're ours. Betrayal isn't a mistake you get to survive."
Gladion's hands clenched on his thighs until his knuckles went pale. For a moment, something flickered behind his eyes—anger, fear, the memory of a voice that sounded and felt like chains.
He thought of Type: Null. He thought of Lillie.
He thought of her.
"Power," Gladion said at last. The word landed like a confession and a threat. "I want to be strong. Strong enough that nobody can put a hand on my life again." His gaze didn't waver. "Give me that, and I'm yours."
Damian's grin spread, slow and satisfied.
That wasn't kindness. It was a predator recognizing a weapon asking to be sharpened.
"Good," Damian said. "That's honest."
He stood and offered his hand.
"Welcome to Team Rocket, Gladion."
Gladion rose and took it. His grip was firm—controlled—like he was afraid that if he squeezed too hard, something inside him would crack.
Damian didn't let go right away.
"Believe me," he said, smooth as oil. "We'll give you resources. Pokémon. Training. The best." His eyes gleamed. "But you'll earn it. Every step."
Gladion didn't care about a stage. He cared about results.
"I'm not here to accomplish your dreams," Gladion said flatly.
"Perfect," Damian replied. "Then you won't get sentimental."
He released Gladion's hand and gestured to the chair.
"I'm not handing you a rank because your mother has money," Damian said. "You start at the bottom. You need the experience anyway."
"That's fine." Gladion hesitated, then added, "But I'm not stealing Pokémon from random people."
There it was. A line in the sand.
Plumeria's eyes flicked to Damian.
Damian waved it off like smoke. "Relax. We're not running street snatches." His smile returned—thin. "Not unless I say otherwise."
Gladion's shoulders loosened by a fraction. Not trust. Just relief.
"For now," Damian continued, "you work under Plumeria. Someone's already gutting the Hunter organizations on Melemele. The other three islands?" He shrugged. "Not yet. You want merit fast? That's where you start."
Gladion gave a single nod.
Damian stepped closer and patted Gladion's shoulder—casual, almost friendly, except the message underneath was pure ownership.
"Power. Money. Status. Pokémon," Damian said, light as conversation. "Do well, and you can have all of it."
"I only want strength," Gladion answered.
"And strength needs tools." Damian's tone didn't change, but the logic was merciless. "Excellent partners. The right potential. You don't climb with mediocre Pokémon and hope."
Gladion's eyes narrowed slightly. He already had Type: Null—the Foundation's failed miracle, engineered to counter Ultra Beasts. If it became Silvally and reached its ceiling…
It would be terrifying.
Damian read the thought on his face and smiled.
"Merit gets you access," Damian said. "Earn enough, and you can apply for exchange—Pokémon with superior talent. We have breeding bases. Farms. Dedicated breeders. Controlled lines."
He spoke like a man describing inventory.
Gladion sat still, listening.
"Rare regional stock," Damian continued, "and even pseudo-legendary infants. If you want to rise fast, you don't do it with 'good enough.'" Damian leaned in, voice lower. "You do it with the best."
Gladion's expression tightened with something like hunger.
Not greed. Need.
He nodded once. "I understand."
"Good." Damian straightened. "Then let me show you what 'the best' looks like."
He pulled out a tablet. A few taps.
An interface opened—sleek, categorized, layered with tiers and locked rewards.
Team Rocket's exclusive app.
Gladion stared. He didn't speak, but disbelief was written all over his face.
…They have an app.
Damian glanced at him, amused. "What? You thought we were stuck in the stone age?"
Gladion's eyes tracked the screen—exchange page, rewards, systems built like a machine designed to manufacture monsters.
For the first time since he'd walked in, Gladion looked genuinely shaken.
Not by threats. Not by Damian's contempt.
By the scale of what he'd just stepped into.