Chapter 20: Cynthia

The little restaurant was quiet, tucked on the edge of town where the mountain air seeped faintly through the old wooden beams. Lanterns glowed low, their light flickering against the stone walls.

Steam curled lazily off their plates, rich with garlic and tomato, but neither of them had eaten more than a few bites. The hum of other diners felt distant and muffled, as though the whole room leaned in to listen.

Cynthia set her fork down carefully, the faint clink loud in the silence. Her steady gaze lifted to Ace.

“I heard about your championships,” she said softly. “Unova. Paldea. I’m ... really happy for you.”

Ace’s nod was stiff, his eyes dropping back to his untouched pasta. “Uh, thanks. Took a lot of work. Had to ... be the trainer my Pokémon deserved.”

Cynthia leaned forward, her expression sharpening. “Ace. You’ve always been the trainer your Pokémon deserved.”

A short, humorless laugh escaped him. He shook his head. “No. Not always.”

Cynthia’s eyes narrowed, catching the weight behind it. “You’re talking about our battle.”

Ace sighed. “Cynthia, I don’t want to—”

“Why not?” Her tone spiked, not angry, but raw. “It’s been almost five years, Ace. Five years! You disappeared after that battle, and this—” she gestured sharply between them, bracelets glinting in the lantern light “—this is the first time you’ve even looked me in the eye since?”

Ace sat back, jaw tight, his hand curling around his glass. Words balled in his throat and stuck there.

Cynthia’s voice cracked slightly but pressed on. “You were too hard on yourself. You still are. Just because I won doesn’t mean you weren’t, aren’t, an incredible trainer.”

Ace’s laugh this time was quieter and hollow. “It’s not the loss,” he muttered. His eyes finally lifted to hers, dark with weight. “It’s how I lost. One moment I thought I had it. Then I didn’t. And I didn’t know if it was my skill ... or...”

“Or what?” Cynthia pressed, sharper now. “Your feelings for me? That’s rich. If you think that’s why you lost, then what? You don’t respect me as a trainer?”

“You’re wrong,” Ace said quietly but firmly.

Her brows lifted, almost daring him. “Then please enlighten me.”

He exhaled slowly, folding his arms like bracing himself. “I went into that match knowing I’d be facing the strongest trainer alive. You. And I believed, I really believed, I could stand toe-to-toe with you. That maybe, finally, I’d proven myself, but when your Garchomp swept my last three Pokémon ... I don’t know ... it like ... shattered me. Made me wonder if I’d ever been who I thought I was. If all my victories were just ... timing or luck, and yeah, I wondered if how I felt about you meant I’d never stand a chance.”

The fight drained from her expression. For once, Cynthia didn’t have a retort. She looked down at her hands, the lamplight catching on her rings, then back at him, her eyes were softer but lined with hurt.

The silence stretched long enough for the sound of clinking dishes in the kitchen to fill the gap. The scent of basil and roasted bread drifted between them, grounding the moment in something achingly ordinary.

Finally, Cynthia’s voice broke through, quieter but sharper for it. “You think you were the only one who lost that day?”

Ace blinked, looking back at her with furrowed brows.

She leaned back, folding her arms like she was holding herself together. “I wasn’t just heartbroken by how you handled the loss. I was heartbroken because when the battle ended, you didn’t just walk off the stage, Ace. You left me. No calls. No letters. Not even a sighting. Four years.” Her throat caught, but she forced the words out. “I meant what I told you that night we spent together before your Elite Four challenge. I told you how much that first night we met meant to me, how those feelings had only grown. Then after our battle, it was like I never existed to you at all.”

Ace blinked, stunned. His chest felt tight. The weight in her voice cut deeper than any accusation.

“You think I didn’t notice how broken you looked after the match? Of course I did,” Cynthia continued, eyes glistening now with a hard sheen. “I wanted to reach for you. To help you, but you shut me out so completely that I didn’t know if you even wanted me there. You weren’t the only one hurting, Ace. You just never gave me the chance to hurt with you.”

The words hung heavy, almost like the lanterns had dimmed. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Ace stared at her, at the faint sheen in her eyes, and realized this wasn’t anger anymore. It was scar tissue, finally splitting open.

Ace sat motionless. Words didn’t come easily. He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Cynthia...” His voice cracked lower than he meant. He exhaled, shoulders slumping. “You’re right. I wasn’t mature enough to see what I was doing. To you. To us.”

She looked up, surprised at the admission.

“I thought losing meant I wasn’t good enough. For Sinnoh, for the title, for you,” Ace continued. “Instead of facing that, I just ran. Told myself I was protecting you from my mess, when really, I was protecting myself from facing you.” He shook his head, a bitter laugh undercutting it. “It was selfish, cowardly, and I hurt you because of it.”

The silence that followed was softer, almost fragile. Cynthia studied him across the table, the tension in her shoulders loosening just slightly.

“You were a fool,” she said at last, her voice quiet but no longer sharp. “But at least now you can admit it.”

Ace managed a crooked smile. “Guess I finally grew up a little.”

“Too bad it took so long.” The corner of Cynthia’s mouth lifted faintly, almost against her will.