Chapter 1: Aspen Meloc

A lively voice from the television filled our cozy living room, where the late-afternoon sun streaked gold across the floor:

“Good evening, Kanto! Today’s big headline focuses on the Federation of Pokémon League—better known as the FPL—and their ongoing collaboration with the FPP, or Federation of Professors Pokemon . Together, they’re unifying trainer education in every region. In a recent press release, they hinted at an advanced interregional academy program—one that goes beyond traditional Gym battles and trains top performers in archaeology, Pokémon breeding, research, and more. Only the highest-ranked students at each regional academy will qualify for this elite institution, so be sure to stay tuned!”

Animated graphics of beaming students and modern high-tech facilities danced on-screen, followed by a catchy commercial jingle. The broadcaster’s enthusiasm was undeniable: this new advanced academy, though still in its planning stages, was already stirring excitement across Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, Unova, Kalos, Alola, Galar, and Paldea.

I let out a soft sigh and sank deeper into our well-worn couch, letting the TV chatter wash over me. Around me lay signs of my (somewhat scattered) interests: half-finished mechanical gadgets on the coffee table, a few potted berry plants by the window, and a couple of notebooks where I’d scribbled everything from engineering sketches to notes on horticulture. The subtle scent of herbs drifted from the kitchen, where my grandmother had probably been experimenting with new berry-based recipes.

“Brrrrurrrrrurrrr!”

At my feet, an Alolan Grimer sprawled over the plush rug. Its green-blue sludge glistened in the orange glow of the waning sunlight. Two feet tall—maybe a bit more—and weighing around fifty pounds, it was sturdy enough to be felt when it plopped against my leg. Bright neon stripes of yellow marked its mouth, giving it a funky, tropical look that contrasted with the typical purple sludge of a Kanto Grimer. For all its Poison-type classification, it didn’t reek, which was a small miracle—and the key reason I was allowed to keep it indoors.

I reached down to pat its head, and my hand almost slipped off its slick surface. “Yeah, I know,” I murmured. “Another big announcement about some ‘world-changing’ academy. I guess they’re always pushing for bigger, better things, right?”

Grimer gave a lazy, rumbling gurgle, as though it agreed but couldn’t be bothered to show more enthusiasm. If it weren’t for the occasional flick of its eyes, I’d assume it was half-asleep. Actually, scratch that—it probably was half-asleep. Alolan Grimer might be docile by nature, but mine seemed especially lazy. It spent more time napping than any other Pokémon I’d met—fitting, I suppose, given that I also wasn’t the most active guy in the world.

…..

My name is Aspen Meloc. I’m fifteen years old, short, a bit on the chubby side, and stuck with a babyish face that I’ve never considered especially cute—just round and perpetually younger-looking. Tomorrow, I’m starting my first day at the newly established Kanto Academy, which is part of a broader initiative from the FPL. Instead of letting us roam the region at age ten or twelve like in the old days, the new system requires that we attend a formal academy until we turn eighteen if we want to officially register for a League challenge. No diploma, no Gym badges. That’s the rule, and my mom—Rosa Meloc—works in IT for the FPL, so I’ve heard plenty about it.

The door of our house opened, and Mom’s voice called out, “Aspen, are you watching that news again?”

She appeared in the living room archway carrying two bags of groceries. Her short, dark hair was slightly mussed, and her eyes had a weary gleam that came from working long hours. Setting the bags on the kitchen table, she rubbed her temples and exhaled.

“Yeah,” I replied, raising the volume a notch. “They’re covering that advanced academy that only top students can attend. Archaeology, breeding, research, specialized battle tactics—it’s all so… futuristic.”

Mom nodded, swiping at her phone to check notifications. “I’ve been buried in system updates at the FPL all day. Everyone’s excited, but also swamped—coordinating among so many regions isn’t simple.” Then she looked at me more directly. “You know, Aspen, your father always said you had a knack for technology. Maybe once you settle in, you’ll realize you want to aim for the advanced programs, too.”

I shrugged, feeling a twinge of discomfort. Dad was away in Alola, traveling or working—I honestly wasn’t sure. He wasn’t exactly present in my day-to-day life, apart from the occasional gift. Like the Alolan Grimer egg he’d shipped to me on my fourteenth birthday. It was the reason I’d come to have this sleepy companion.

Grimer let out another low rumble—“Merrrr”—and shifted on the rug, half burying itself in its own sludge as if it planned to doze off right then and there. I gave it a gentle nudge with my foot. “Don’t pass out in the doorway, buddy,” I teased. “We have to walk around you, you know.”

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Mom chuckled, glancing at Grimer’s content expression. “I swear that thing could sleep through a thunderstorm.”

We both laughed softly, but she soon straightened up. “By the way, please don’t forget you start tomorrow morning. We need to get your uniform—well, the partial uniform, since I know you’ll insist on wearing that hoodie.”

I looked down at my oversized black-and-purple hoodie, the sleeves swallowing my arms. “It’s comfortable,” I said defensively. “Besides, if I’m going to be at some official academy, I might as well keep a piece of my old self, right?”

Before she could respond, I heard another familiar voice. “Aspen, you’d better not be messing with the remote again!” My grandmother, Julia Meloc, hobbled in from the backyard, cane tapping the floor. Short and stocky, with silver hair in a tight bun, she had the spirit of someone half her age. She always insisted the cane was just for show—or for whacking troublemakers.

She squinted at the TV. “More talk of that fancy advanced school, is it? Hmph. I remember when we could just up and leave to face Gym Leaders at twelve years old. None of these complicated regulations or forced schooling.”

Mom rolled her eyes in a good-natured way. “Mama, times have changed. This system keeps kids safe and ensures they get a well-rounded education. Not everyone thrives on the seat-of-your-pants style you loved so much.”

“Maybe so,” Grandma countered, “but that’s how I learned. At twelve, I was out exploring Viridian Forest, befriending wild Pokémon. Facing real dangers taught me resilience. The academies might coddle them too much.”

I slipped away to help put away the groceries, leaving Mom and Grandma to their never-ending debate. Grimer, too lazy to follow, simply gurgled on the rug as though deciding whether it was worth the effort to move. Finally, with a drawn-out “Brrrrurrrrr…” it slithered closer to the kitchen threshold, but still didn’t cross it.

In the kitchen, I carefully placed fresh produce in the crisper, then lined up potions and other trainer supplies on a side shelf. Mom had a knack for stocking up on whatever the Academy might require: from Poké Ball components to first-aid kits. Even if I wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of a structured school, I had to admit there was some relief in being prepared.

We made dinner soon after—vegetable stew with a side of rice and berry garnish. Grandma’s love of horticulture meant we always had fresh produce on hand. Once the meal was cooked, we gathered around our small dining table, a soft overhead light illuminating the modest spread.

Grimer lazily dragged itself into the kitchen, sniffing (if you could call it that) around my ankles. Alolan Grimer feed on different wastes than Kanto’s version, but this one also seemed quite fond of leftover veggies. It gave an imploring burble, propping itself against my chair in a half-hearted attempt to beg for scraps.

“All right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You can have some, but you have to wait until we’re done.”

Grandma smirked. “Spoiling that thing, aren’t you? It’s already too lazy. If it’s not careful, it’ll melt into the floor permanently.”

Dinner itself was pleasant, aside from the occasional friction between Grandma and Mom whenever the subject of the new system arose. They tried not to drag me into it too heavily, but it was impossible not to listen. One side insisted the Academy was the future; the other side lamented how kids no longer went on spontaneous journeys to discover themselves. Caught between them, I found myself nodding politely, focusing more on my stew than anything else.

Eventually, we finished and I helped wash the dishes. Grimer got a small portion of leftovers in its own bowl, which it savored with excruciating slowness—every gulp turning into a lazy, drawn-out slurp. By the time I’d dried the last plate, it was still finishing up the final bits of food.

“That is one unhurried Pokémon,” Mom observed, shaking her head.

“He fits right in,” I joked, suppressing a yawn. Truth be told, I felt a bit drowsy myself—the day had been long, and anxiety about tomorrow churned in the back of my mind.

I drifted toward my bedroom, with Grimer sloshing behind me, occasionally bumping into the walls with a low, dopey “Merrrrr.” My room was small, with grayish-purple walls and shelves overloaded with mechanical odds and ends—old Poké Ball parts, circuit boards, leftover scraps from a broken Rotom Phone I’d once tried to fix. My bed sat against the far wall, a swirl of pillows and crumpled sheets where I’d been lying around earlier.

Grimer made a beeline for a nest of towels I’d set up in one corner. It collapsed there, evidently done for the night. I watched it for a moment, noticing how its body rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic pattern. Sometimes I wondered if I’d ended up with the sleepiest Grimer in Alola’s history. Then again, I could relate—sleep was my favorite escape from stress.

I changed into loose pajama bottoms and an oversize T-shirt, letting the nighttime hush settle over me. The wind outside carried faint echoes of distant traffic, and from somewhere in the neighborhood, I heard a mewling Growlithe. My eyes felt heavy, but my mind spun with questions: Would the Academy be a place where I’d find friends, or just a bunch of strangers bent on becoming pro battlers? Would I have time for the mechanical projects I loved, or would the schedule overwhelm me? Was I aiming too low by just wanting to pass my classes without drawing attention?

With a quiet sigh, I flicked on a small desk lamp and started organizing my bag for the morning. A fresh notebook, a set of pens, and a battered old multi-tool for minor repairs—enough to get me through orientation, I hoped. The schedule indicated a group assembly, a campus tour, and a chance to sign up for elective tracks like horticulture, technology, breeding, or specialized battle training.

I checked my phone: 11:45 PM. Later than I thought. Yawning, I turned off the desk lamp, leaving just a nightlight near my door. The soft glow revealed Grimer already dozing in the corner, barely distinguishable from its own shadowy outline. Its lumps seemed to spread out, as though it had relaxed so completely that its shape was melting. I shook my head affectionately.

“Good night, buddy,” I murmured. “Please don’t ooze under the door in your sleep.”

Another lazy rumble was my only response. I climbed into bed, sinking into the mattress with relief. Tomorrow loomed like a giant question mark in my mind, but at least I had a Pokémon companion who, in its own passive way, supported me just by existing at my side.

I was half-asleep, drifting through hazy thoughts of me and Grimer building weird contraptions in a big workshop, when I heard the soft knock at my door. Three gentle taps, as though the person outside was hesitating. My eyes snapped open, disoriented by how quickly the drowsiness vanished.

“Aspen?” came my grandmother’s voice, low and cautious.

I shuffled upright, blinking away the heaviness in my eyelids. “Uh… yeah, Grandma?”

The door opened, allowing a slender strip of hall light to spill across the floor. Grandma stepped in with measured slowness, leaning on her cane. She hadn’t bothered with her usual witty remark or playful scolding, which instantly put me on edge. Her face was tense, and she squinted at Grimer—still curled up in the corner—before turning her gaze to me.

She said nothing at first, just studied me. In that sliver of light, I noticed the faint lines of worry around her eyes, the way her lips were pressed into a thin line. My heart gave a nervous thump.

“Grandma?” I asked softly. “Is everything all right?”

She closed the door behind her, the latch clicking into place with a note of finality. The hush in the room was palpable now, as if the entire world outside had vanished. Grimer shifted slightly, but didn’t wake, its gentle snores punctuating the silence.

Grandma tapped her cane once against the floor, then exhaled. In a voice just above a whisper, she said, “There’s something we need to talk about, Aspen.