A fisherman spat. “You helped create it. We don’t want your kind here.”

“We don’t eat that here,” he said flatly, though they absolutely did.

Lyra laughed it off. Her mother didn’t.

The kimono girl turned first. Then the fisherman. One by one, the crowd dissolved back into the fog.

“The war was twenty years ago. We were babies. Gold wasn’t even born. You want to blame Kanto? Blame their government. Blame the old syndicates. But this kid? He beat Team Rocket. He saved the Slowpokes. He—” Her voice broke. “He’s my friend.”

The crowd turned on her. Her own neighbor, Mrs. Fennel, shook her head. “You’re young, Lyra. You don’t remember the embargo. The poisoned berries. My brother still can’t walk straight.”