Fake News!
Akira's gut reaction—shaking out some American-style hand gestures.
You kidding me?
Gojo got lured away once already—again?
Fishing's got rules, man. Fish aren't that dumb, or half the old-timers wouldn't come back empty-handed.
Surprise—Gojo matched him with a dismissive hand wave.
"Not necessarily fake. Last Hokkaido trip, I felt something off. Didn't faze me, but for Pokémon… wait, Voltorb started puffing up after that vibe hit—your 'evolution' thing."
"That happened? Why didn't you say?!" Akira was floored.
Leveling Voltorb through brawls versus environmental triggers—totally different ballgame, dude.
Dropping the ball at crunch time—got some Tōsaka blood in you?
"Meant to. Got out of the Spirit Field, then bam—word you're soft-locked by the geezers. Shitstorm after that, slipped my mind."
"Write it down next time—phones have memos."
"They do, but I'd forget to check."
"You little—"
If Gojo hadn't been slammed lately—no fish-touching time—Akira'd spar him right there.
He'd cooked up a sneaky way to pierce Gojo's "Holy Shield"—would've been a show.
"Not my fault—how many check memos daily?" Gojo whined.
Akira: "…"
Damn, he's right. I blank on mine too.
"Forget it—serious talk. So this mission's legit?"
"Yeah," Gojo nodded. "Task assignment and grading are the Alliance's twin pillars. Geezers won't mess with that. Last time was a diversion, sure, but the gig itself held up. Plus, they're patient as hell—too soon for tricks."
Tokyo branch is short-staffed—pull a Special Grade now, think Gojo wouldn't kick down their door?
Akira smirked. "Old tortoises—thousand-year kings, ten-thousand-year turtles."
"Traditional craft. Remember Tokugawa Ieyasu's nickname?"
"Old Turtle. Should've skipped the turtle doodles."
"No sweat—I tossed in extras."
Highlight: "It's small" scrawled on a thigh root—Gojo's signature move.
Mood lifted, Akira asked, "So we take it?"
"Yep. Special Grade means Land of Binding—can't dodge it forever. Without that last line, I'd send Yuta."
Simple—Yuta's got the lightest load, most replaceable.
"But Pokémon confirmed, plus your nod—I'm in," Akira jumped in. "Feels too neat, though—like something's reeling us forward."
"Why can't we reel it forward? Coincidences pile up around us too, no?" Gojo jiggled Akira's phone.
Akira got it.
Mission popping up—coincidence.
Porygon and the "Black Tech Office System (WIP)"—coincidence too?
With it, Team Gojo's comms tighten—snap responses to curveballs get smoother.
Real talk—if it weren't Gojo next to him, Akira'd be sweating.
Sweating the other guy's angle, their take on him.
Two Kyoto trips, coincidence overload—mostly orbiting Akira and Gojo. Once or twice, fine—too many, and conspiracy brain kicks in.
Gojo—lured out on purpose? Timed his return to swipe the win? Held Pokémon intel till now on purpose?
Akira—every Pokémon perfectly timed, every game-changer tied to you, even meeting Tokyo High a fluke—you sure it's not staged?
Only Gojo's big heart—full trust no matter Akira's moves—and their shared disinterest in power kept it chill. Otherwise… Alliance brass-style "bro on the surface, blade in the back" is the norm.
"Coincidences stacking? Let's see what else piles up. You're invincible, I'm a wrecking ball," Akira grinned. Hard power's the perk.
Gojo nodded. "Before we bounce, lock in the software. With it, Megumi, Yuta, and crew can step up—time for non-combat lessons."
"You teaching?"
"No way—Hayami and Ijichi's gig."
"Knew it."
Akira rolled his eyes. Big stuff needs Gojo or him—grunt work's Hayami and worker-bee Ijichi Kiyotaka's turf.
"Oh, lend me your Voltorb—I need its know-how."
"Sure," Gojo said, popping the window, letting out an inhuman, "Marurururu…"
Echo from afar: "Maruru~"
Dude, you cracked Marowak's code?
Free-range doesn't mean hands-off—classic Gojo.
After some encrypted "maru" chatter, Gojo sucked Marowak into the office via the window, plopping it on Akira's head. Good thing Akira's perma-Super Rookie Physique held—anyone else'd be flattened.
Marowak weight: 66.6 kg.
"Told it—charge up, do whatever."
"Maruru~" Marowak flexed on cue.
Thunderbolt: Precision Micro Edition.
Full zap on Gojo, Akira atop unscathed—looked like Gojo unlocked "Lightning Rod."
Fine-tuned as hell—Akira clapped.
Spun an imaginary cap, pointing ahead.
"You're the one, Marowak—use Tackle!"
"Maru!" Marowak charged, smashing a hole in the door, startling two outside.
One: Hayami, Akira's mom, clutching fresh-faxed files, waiting.
The other: a classic-dressed, maid-vibed traditional woman.
New Tokyo branch hire—Natsuko Minami.