Champion of the People

"Three hours..." Magnus wheezed. "How can it still be three hours away?"

He'd been up since the crack of dawn, completely unable to sleep, his mind far too preoccupied with whirring and worrying and thinking to bother considering an activity as mundane as sleeping. The morning had passed slowly, and the day was passing even slower. Time itself seemed to be against him on this day, the day that should've belonged to him and him alone and yet everything seemed to be doing its best to take it from him. Even now he was stooped over the sink, feeling sick to his stomach with nervous anticipation, a feeling he'd never had before and had no idea how to properly deal with. He couldn't let it stop him though. He wouldn't let it stop him. Today was his day, and nothing would change that.

Magnus straightened up, the sickening dizziness having eventually passed. He glanced at the mirror in front of him, meeting eyes with a devilishly handsome man who looked not a day over forty-three years, seven months, two weeks and six days. His greyed hair was shaped like the Pokéathlon punching fist logo, which was either a really weird coincidence or a bizarre joke from his branding team. His eyes wandered left and right, inspecting the other two mirrors, which were necessary in order to view the entirety of his enormous moustache, which was rumoured to contain at least fifteen undiscovered species of Pokémon.

He cleansed both face and facial hair—the latter taking considerably longer—and was just firing up the hairdryer—a most necessary tool when more than half of all hair in the known universe resided upon one's face—when he was rudely interrupted by a knock at the door. He let out an exasperated sigh and turned to his partner. "If it's anyone but Tim, let them in."

"Poli!" His partner in crime, Poliwrath, proudly thumped its chest and set about its most important task, waddling from the bathroom with adept clumsiness and returning with Magnus' agent, Tim Shaw.

Magnus looked from Poliwrath to Tim and then back to Poliwrath. "You had one job..."

"Poli..." Poliwrath dropped its head, walking away in shame, leaving the two humans alone.

Magnus glanced back at Tim, who was eyeing the hairdryer, shaking his head. "Good grief, Magnus, why don't you just shave that ridiculous thing off? You'd be so much more aerodynamic! It could save you a couple of seconds."

"And ruin the image that I've worked so hard on?" Magnus said, gesturing toward his rather flattering figure. "Besides, as long as there's a chance I can win a race by poking my tash over the line, it stays on my face."

Tim shook his head and sighed. "You know, they call you the People's Champion, but a more accurate title would be the Agent's Nemesis. Or perhaps the Stubborn Bastard?"

Magnus didn't bother rising to the bait. "Look mate, I've got a race to prepare for. I've got a race to win. So, if you came here to distract me or prove some kind of point, just save it. I don't need any of that today."

Tim gave a rare smile. "Actually, I came here to wish you good luck." Magnus' mouth hung open in confusion. His eyes scanned the agent suspiciously, looking for any trace of trickery or treachery. "Come on, mate, I only want what's best for you."

"But—"

"I know we've not seen eye to eye recently, but everything I've done, every decision I've made, I had only your best interests at heart. I just want to see you do well; I want to see you be remembered for the right reasons." The look in his eye was genuine, yet Magnus still struggled to believe him. After all, it was two years to the day since their relationship shifted from that of an old friendship to one more closely resembling a purely professional association. He could still remember the heated debate they'd had as if it were yesterday.