Chapter 7: Interlude

Vera reappeared on a secluded hill, where the grass swayed gently in the evening wind and the sky stretched out in a dying orange hue. The sharp glow of Abra’s Teleport vanished instantly, leaving behind a faint trail of residual energy. The girl with burgundy hair was breathing so heavily that her ribs showed through the dark fabric of her clothes. She felt an unrelenting tremor in her legs and a sharp pain in her temples, the aftermath of the brutal eruption of powers she had unleashed minutes earlier in the library. Abra, floating just behind her, tilted its head, alarmed.

Vera raised her eyes to survey the place where they had landed: a rocky, desolate hill, accompanied only by a few scattered wildflowers among the stones. It might have been a tranquil and even beautiful spot in the twilight, but her mind remained trapped in the sequence of images haunting her: collapsed bookshelves, shredded books, that young man with an Alolan Grimer who almost seemed innocent, and the name “Sabrina” invading her consciousness like poison. A strange pain coursed through her—something she couldn’t tell was born of guilt or fury.

She needed to let it all out. Or rather, the psychic power within her demanded release. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, and upon reopening them, she felt a throbbing in her forehead. A pink light began to flicker, faint at first, but it quickly grew into an intense beacon. Her blood raced, accelerating the pulse of that glow, which carried an almost palpable resentment. Abra, frightened, floated a few steps back and let out a faint warning cry, sensing the chaos emanating from its trainer.

Suddenly, the air grew heavy; even the gentle wind seemed to shudder in the face of the energy discharge. The grass surrounding Vera’s feet leaned and, moment by moment, began to lift off the ground and levitate. Every blade floated in an unusual dance, as if gravity had failed. Small stones rose an inch or two. Certain medium-sized rocks cracked and shattered into a dozen pieces. An invisible force—pure, uncontrolled psychic power—exploded in tandem with the rage Vera had been holding back.

Vera noticed the heat radiating from her forehead and felt a growl trapped in her chest. She cursed her own weakness. She couldn’t afford to lose her composure like this, not when the very essence of the Psychic type demanded control. And yet, that anger—ancestral fury—frequently overwhelmed her. It was a painful reminder that her relationship with her clan and roots was nothing but a paradox, a dead end that haunted her. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, releasing a long sigh. In doing so, she tried to anchor her mind to the image of Abra, to memories of a time when things were less complicated. After a few seconds, the light on her forehead began to dim, as did the tremor in her body. The stones and grass in the air shuddered and fell abruptly with a dull thud. A bird flying nearby fled in alarm at the sudden noise.

Abra cautiously moved closer, letting out a faint whimper, as if fearing another psychic outburst might shatter the hill’s fleeting serenity. Vera opened her eyes, still shaken by the pain now concentrated in her brain, threatening to become an unbearable headache. She placed a hand on her forehead, feeling the cold sweat on her pale skin.

“Relax, little one…” she murmured, seeing Abra floating nervously. “It’s over. Forgive me.”

She reached out a trembling hand to her Pokémon’s shoulder, stroking it clumsily. Abra tilted its ears in an almost human gesture and closed its eyes, slightly more at ease. It kept watching its trainer’s face, as if each blink was evaluating whether the fury would possess her again. Vera inhaled the clean hill air and let the breeze renew her lungs. She felt the fatigue typical of someone who had expended massive mental energy in an uncontrolled outburst. “Again,” she reproached herself silently, “can I not keep my composure?”

She scanned the area, visually confirming there was no one else around. Part of her was relieved she hadn’t hurt any innocents with this episode. On the other hand, she worried she had strayed too far from Kanto Academy. The sun’s light was slowly fading on the horizon, dyeing the clouds a purplish gray. It wasn’t safe to remain there if she didn’t feel capable of walking. But she had Abra, her faithful companion, who could Teleport her back. She stroked its head again, seeking inner balance to focus her psyche.

“Let’s go back,” she whispered, as the image of her room came to mind. It was a somewhat chaotic place but also intimate. Being in Class B gave her the right to reside at the Academy, away from the crowded dormitories or external lodgings for Classes C, D, and E students.

Abra closed its eyes and, after clearly sensing Vera’s will, emitted a soft flash. The hill blurred, and in a blink, the young woman’s room materialized around them. They were back at the Academy, in a space with pale walls adorned with paper scraps, incomplete maps, and a couple of old posters. Books were everywhere—some stacked carelessly on a worn desk, others scattered on the floor. The violet aura surrounding them faded entirely.

The moment they arrived, Vera let out a groan of exhaustion and allowed her body to slump against the closed door. For an instant, it felt like the whole room was swaying. She wanted to collapse onto the bed, but she forced herself to stand. She noticed Abra’s faint heartbeat beside her, as if her companion reminded her it wasn’t time to give up.

“I know…” she murmured, guessing Abra’s intention. “But give me a moment.”

Straightening herself, she stepped into the room. The bed with its messy sheets lay to one side, almost buried under some clothing. The first thing that caught her eye was the daggers and knives carefully wrapped in a dark cloth inside the slightly ajar nightstand drawer. She blinked, noticing one was out of place—likely moved the night before. She smiled bitterly, wondering why she’d grown accustomed to sleeping with weapons within arm’s reach. The world had been too hostile for her not to be cautious.

She also noticed a Pokémon egg resting in a kind of thermal capsule beside her bed. The container emitted a soft warmth and a rhythmic hum, ensuring proper incubation. Vera approached it tenderly, placing her hand on the transparent surface. The egg had reddish specks on its shell, as if tiny flames reflected within. She sighed, and for a moment, her expression softened.

Abra floated beside her, sitting at a low height. She glanced at it and gave it a pat on the head.

“Don’t worry, I told you we’d survive together, didn’t I?”

She then lay on the bed. The mattress creaked. She raised an arm to her forehead and closed her eyes. Her throat burned as she remembered losing something incredibly valuable: her books, the two volumes of Encyclopedia of Moves and Encyclopedia of Abilities, which she’d left behind in the library in her hasty exit. They were gifts from her parents.

A sharp pang of pain tightened her chest. Remembering her parents plunged her into a lament of confusion and rage, mixed with the longing for a childhood she had never been able to enjoy normally. She wanted to cry, but her eyes only felt dry. She promised herself she would recover those books, even if she had to sneak into the library at night or steal them from the headmaster’s office. Wherever the Academy had stored them as “evidence” of the destruction she’d caused, she wouldn’t abandon them.

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She lay still, staring at the ceiling with a turbulent mind and a racing heart. She stroked the egg as if it were a protective talisman, trying to calm the storm within her. Finally, that mix of sadness and fury was buried under the cold mask she knew all too well. It was her survival method.

“The books are mine,” she muttered hoarsely. “And no one will take them from me.”

Abra approached with a mournful sound, as if lamenting the loss as well. Vera let out a sigh and gave a small nod. The last thing she wanted was to lose control again. She vowed to herself that the next time she faced a battle, it wouldn’t be in a blind rage. She would learn to control that devastating power glowing on her forehead and avenge anyone who dared call her an unworthy impure with powers she didn’t deserve.

Then she touched her cheek, still feeling the dampness of sour sweat, and for a moment, she let out a bitter laugh. Just for a second. Then her features hardened once more.

“Rest, Abra,” she whispered. “Tomorrow, I’ll find out what happened to my books.”

The lamp’s light flickered slightly, casting shifting shadows across the room. Vera didn’t bother to make herself more comfortable. She remained lying down, her mind anchored to her rage and determination.

—————————————————————

In a vast, ancient mansion, so old its walls seemed to whisper forgotten tales, the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through a long corridor. The building could easily be described as a castle, with its carved stone walls, towering gothic windows, and a lengthy hallway lined with candelabras. The flickering flames cast warm light on the wide carpets, and portraits from various eras hung solemnly on the walls, their subjects’ eyes appearing to follow any movement.

Agatha, her silver hair tied neatly into a bun, advanced with an air of amusement and thoughtfulness. She leaned on her cane, which tapped rhythmically on the stone floor. She came to a stop before a set of grand double doors made of dark wood. With a push, the doors creaked open, revealing a large chamber dominated by an oversized communication screen. Her sharp eyes glinted with a mischievous light as she approached the console. Someone was waiting on the other end, as the screen lit up almost instantly, dividing into four sections displaying the faces of Koga, Bruno, Lance, and Sabrina.

“Oh, what a delight to see all my old colleagues!” Agatha exclaimed, making no effort to hide her sarcasm. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

Lance, dressed in his signature cape with his fiery red hair swept back, nodded politely. Bruno, seated cross-legged on what appeared to be a tatami mat, inclined his head in a formal greeting. Koga remained silent, his brows furrowed in deep thought. Sabrina, on the other hand, regarded Agatha with her characteristic enigmatic expression, though a subtle tension flickered in her violet eyes.

“Agatha…” Lance greeted her with a faint smile. “Is there something official you’d like to discuss, or is this one of your infamous ‘anecdotal reports’?”

Agatha tapped her cane against the stone floor, the sound reverberating ominously through the room.

“I’ve been hearing some rather curious rumors about Kanto Academy and how young trainers no longer venture out to Gym battles. Isn’t it a shame? There was something so thrilling about watching them travel, face the dangers of wild Pokémon, and grow stronger through real experience.”

“Times have changed,” Lance replied calmly. “The Pokémon League Federation decided to institutionalize training to prevent unnecessary losses and tragedies. It’s not a bad idea.”

“Boring,” Agatha quipped with a shrug of mock despair. “Where there were once passionate youths ready to shoulder their backpacks and challenge any Gym Leader, now there are kids in uniforms, taking classes and exams. A bit disappointing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Bruno, the Fighting-type master, maintained his stoic demeanor, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Koga, more concerned with the affairs of the Poison Clan, averted his gaze, seemingly uninterested in the topic.

“It’s a natural evolution,” Koga remarked, his tone dismissive. “And it spares us the trouble of dealing with reckless individuals who call themselves trainers without understanding the consequences.”

Sabrina blinked indifferently. Since defeating Lorelei some time ago and taking her spot in the Elite Four, her aura had grown even colder and more distant. To her, Kanto Academy and the other institutions served as efficient filters, separating the truly gifted from the rest.

“The establishment of Kanto Academy, like the others, is just the first phase,” Lance added. “The plan is for the most promising students to advance to Arándano Academy, where they’ll receive elite training. Only a select few graduate with the skills of an Elite Four member or a Champion. The rest, no matter how much they study, remain in lower ranks.”

“Tsk,” Agatha scoffed. “So, the goal is to groom a future Champion who represents the clans, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” Lance confirmed. “And the idea is to give smaller clans or even unaffiliated individuals a chance if they demonstrate enough potential. Other regions have implemented similar systems: many clans reach Gym Leader-level strength, but there’s a shortage of Elite Four members or Champions.”

Sabrina, clearly unimpressed, shifted slightly in her seat at the mention of “smaller clans.” She had little patience for regions that didn’t adhere to strict hierarchies. Bruno, with a subtle hand gesture, broke the brief silence.

“Major clans have already started merging to consolidate their power,” he murmured. “Like the Rock and Steel clans under Steven Stone or the Water, Grass, and Ground clans under Cynthia. It’s no secret that Lance represents the Dragon Clan, and there are rumors that Cynthia could fit there as well. This is how power is concentrated.”

Agatha’s sharp smile widened.

“Exactly. And yet, old rivalries persist. Not everyone agrees to these alliances. But I suppose that’s none of our concern.” She tapped her cane against the floor again. “Speaking of old rivalries, I came across something peculiar. There’s a girl named Vera…”

Sabrina’s eyes widened slightly, a keen light flashing in her gaze.

“Vera?” she repeated, crossing her arms. “That name rings a bell. Ah, yes, I remember. An impure with certain abilities she doesn’t deserve.”

Agatha’s expression shifted to one of intrigue.

“Impure, you say? Does her presence bother you?”

Sabrina turned her head slightly, her prideful demeanor as sharp as ever.

“The only thing that bothers me is when someone attempts to wield psychic energies beyond their limits. If her parents mixed with unworthy blood, that’s her problem. It’s none of my concern as long as she doesn’t tarnish the Psychic Clan’s name.”

Koga, preoccupied with untangling an imaginary knot in his headband, refrained from commenting. His only interest lay in ensuring none of his own clan members caused disturbances or brought shame to the Poison Clan. He let out a quiet sigh as Bruno, still impassive, added:

“As for me, the true heirs of the Fighting Clan will surpass anyone from outside. I’m not worried about ‘impures.’”

Sabrina’s lips tightened at the subtle mockery in his tone. Agatha chuckled, clearly entertained by the underlying tensions between the principal clans. It was as though she thrived on these subtle rivalries among the elite.

“In any case,” Lance interrupted with a diplomatic air, “the important thing is to maintain our focus. The academies, including Kanto, are meant to nurture future talents. Those who excel, whether through merit or connections, will move on to Arándano Academy.”

Agatha gave him a sly look.

“And how do you plan to choose those who excel? Surely you’re not letting just anyone in, are you?”

Sabrina’s eyes flickered with a sharp glint.

“That’s why we established the class system,” she replied coolly. “A, B, C, D, E… Only those who stand out in Classes A and B can apply for Arándano. We also ensure recommendations from Gym Leaders or Champions. That way, we filter out the best and discard the rest.”

Koga nodded in agreement.

“Our people don’t cause trouble. They focus on their training and preparation for the elite. There’s nothing to fear.”

“The same with mine,” Lance added with a shrug. “Most are disciplined, unlike some others…” He cast a sideways glance at Sabrina.

“My students are under control as well,” Sabrina shot back coldly. “And if any of them step out of line, I’ll handle it personally.”

Bruno remained silent, but the tension in the room was palpable. Agatha laughed again, her cane tapping the floor lightly.

“You all act like young adults arguing over trivialities. This is what makes life entertaining.”

“Enough,” Sabrina growled. “I don’t have time for idle chatter.”

Lance’s firm voice reclaimed the conversation.

“To summarize, we all agree: by the end of the year, students from Classes A and B will advance to Arándano Academy for advanced training. This will ensure we cultivate a future Champion or, at the very least, produce more Elite Four members.”

Agatha nodded, satisfied. Bruno and Koga confirmed with a nod. Sabrina stared at an indefinite point on the screen, her expression unreadable.

“So be it,” she murmured. “I have no objections to the elite accepting real talent.”

“And to ensure only the best rise, we’ll propose a challenge system,” Bruno added calmly. “If someone from a lower class manages to defeat a higher-class student in an official battle, they’ll switch places. This will encourage competition and guarantee the proper hierarchy.”

“Perfect,” Koga agreed with a slight nod. “That way, those with true power will rise, and those without will fall.”

The discussion abruptly ended, and the five exchanged glances through the large screen, weighing the implications. Agatha’s smile carried a faintly malevolent undertone as the connection was severed.