~~~ Chapter 11 - After-Breakfast Conversation ~~~

What do I want out of life? Hell if I know. My PhD? A visit from the deer god himself? I can tell you what Giratina wants though. That sweet Dialga and Palkia ass. It’s called the devil’s threeway for a reason, and it was a bit too spicy for the space and time lords. You won’t learn that in public school.

- Lyra, Hieroglyphics Major, excerpt from a Opelucid Weekly Student News Interview

~~~

Artemus approached the professor’s office after eating breakfast. The house was the nicest and largest one he’d ever had the opportunity to stay in, the guest bed extremely comfortable, the room filled with shelves of books dedicated to the taxonomy of pokemon and their behaviors. The house as a whole was plain, in a utilitarian way. Not dirty or unkempt. No pictures of the professor (colloquially known as the 'smiling demon') holding his vaunted trophies from his time as League champion. No pictures with his old students, not even Drayden. A painting of Arceus in the hallway to the guest bedroom. A photo of the small Juniper family—Cedric himself, his daughter Aurea, and his late wife on the wall in the kitchen. That was it.

If it weren’t for decorative flowers atop the kitchen cabinets, Artie would have thought this was a new house of a man who had just bought his first. No. Professor Cedric Juniper was as accomplished as any other regional legend. Possibly moreso, for his contributions to the region's current approach to handling pokemon, mass outbreaks, and infrastructure policies. The man’s accomplishments in the competitive circuit and guiding Unova's rangers from just the last twenty years in the history books would be pages long. But, from the man's generally stoic body language and average demeanor, Artemus suspected the professor's gravestone next to his late wife would have no marking or reference to said accomplishments. Perhaps a favorite quote.

The professor held a small soft smile, noticing the kid’s approach, closed up Opelucid University’s weekly newspaper, and put it down. The man’s smile and beard said, “Santa”; the office, house, and legacy had all said, “Try and impress me.” Artie moved, stepping into the office. Behind Professor Juniper, on the one shelf not occupied with various tomes of books on pokemon, was on one side, a trophy. From forty years ago, indicating his championship over the old champion of Unova from that era. A metallic, green-and-yellow rock sat on the other, shimmering in the light of the morning sun.

Artemus was trying to control his nervous excitement at the opportunity before him, intimidated despite the smile etched into the man’s face. “You said you wanted to see me after breakfast, professor?” Artemus asked, eyes not able to meet Juniper’s penetrating gaze. A reporter had once asked the man why he smiled so much, if he was so serious under the hood. Artie’s heart pounded in his chest, the old man looking him in the eyes, staring the teen down. He’d told the lady, “Because it scares the kids if I don’t.” She’d nervously laughed. No one knew if it was a joke.

“Yes. I have something I want to give you, Artemis.” Artie’s heart quickened, pounding in his chest. “But first I need you to understand, kid.” The smile dropped for a moment. “That I am putting my reputation on you. Even more than I do for the younger ones I endorse as trainers. Do you understand that?” The smile returned.

“I do, Professor,” Artemis said.

“Good,” the professor said. “Signing her endorsement of you as a trainer, Avery is also putting her future reputation as a nurse on the line for you, as well.”

Artie gulped. He’d heard of nurses losing licenses for abusing trainer endorsement.

“Are you absolutely certain you’re still committed to taking care of these pokemon?” The professor’s smile always conveyed levity. The lasers in his eyes bore into the boy’s soul, failing to convey the same.

Can you measure up to my expectations, random kid that got lucky? Really, if it wasn't for that nurse that spoke well of you, you would still be back in that dump.

The boy nodded.

“And?” Cedric Juniper asked.

“Yes, yes—sir. I want to learn to care for Pokemon. I’ll treat them like family!”

“That’s damn right,” the man responded, eyes unblinking, smile held and yet unmoving. After a moment, the professor broke the soul-searing stare. Artie sagged, his shoulders and body slightly slumping. He hadn’t been invited to sit. So he stood. The accomplished old man turned in his chair, bending over. When he sat up straight again, he set a box up on the desk.

Artie’s heart shot up into his throat, his eyes examining the cardboard box. The professor’s smile held, the wrinkles on his face etching ever deeper, the impression of that semi-permanent grin. Artie shivered; he could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, goosebumps on his arms rising.

“Then, with that promise,” the professor said, then paused. “With that promise then, I’m giving you an opportunity—” Artie tried to hold in his smile. He’d not even received the gift yet, but he had an idea of what was in it. “—and a bit of an apology.” The kid’s heart dropped again, but the smile still threatened to creep out.

Cedric Juniper returned to staring Artie in the eyes again, weighing and measuring the soul with that disconcerting mismatch of the sealed smile and the eyes, their separate tones telling their own separate stories. "I don’t have time for tutoring a kid from the burghs. I can’t—and I don't, and I won't—pick random shits off the street, turning them into champions. Most don’t have what it takes to do that or get into the sciences.” He held that grin as he motioned towards the box. The smile was warm. “And I’m a bit too old to go walking around the region anymore.” The man shook his head, holding the smile. "You’re not an outlier. You don’t have guts or gusto to be a champion, either. I expect you to wash out before you've been a trainer for even a year." Artie frowned, as Professor Juniper paused, sighing.

"But I made a promise to Avery and her mother. And I’m a man of my word. This box has items that will get you started." He shoved the box across the desk, over to Artie. The teen picked up the pox, opening it up, everything inside was jumbled, thrown together haphazardly, and worn. Art's eyes widened as he sifted through the mismash of old equipment, pulling out a worn, brown leather belt, slots for eight pokeballs, followed by a pokedex. The remains of a bygone era. He set it back into the box.

The Professor continued. “My endorsement is only a formality. I’m pulling strings just to get your license exam on short notice, just based on this promise I made to Avery when her own mother was in college. Do you understand?” Artemus almost expected him to finish with “and because of that, you mean nothing to me,” but the professor didn’t have any need to actually say that.

Artie nodded. "Yessir."

"You’re not an official intern or fully-endorsed trainer, not even a kid that shows promise from grade school. You will have no research assignment. Right now, you're just a kid who got goddamn lucky." The professor leaned forward. Art stepped back into the wall. “Until you get your second badge, and I'm wholly serious about this: anyone that asks who your primary endorser is, you either don’t tell them, or you tell them Nurse Avery Abbot is. I will reject my endorsement if you fuck it up, and you'll be on your ass. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man’s eyes lightened again, matching the stone smile. “With that out of the way, I managed to scrounge up some extra equipment that wasn’t being used. The tech is older, but for the most part, this is the same kit I give to the kids who go through the normal endorsement channels and get starters. It’s nothing special, but don’t lose it, because I’m not buying you a new one. It’s also your license for being a pokemon trainer. If something happens, you’ll have to sit out of the competitive circuit until a new one arrives.” Artie breathed, the man’s pressure letting off.

”You’ll probably want a new pokedex as soon as you’ve earned enough money to buy one, regardless. I’ve already sent the endorsements to the city. Your license exam will be in a couple of weeks once Town Hall approves.” The professor paused for a moment. Even under this political climate, even with the consistent cultural pressures for pokemon's rights making it more difficult to abbreviate the examination and approval process, the man seemed confident that the question was “when,” not “if,” Artie’s license would be approved.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The professor's public opinion alone could move mountains. What were a few questions about animal rights? Even so, Artie considered, the power he wields is probably why he doesn’t give his opinion out in public, he thought, picking up the box, his eyes welling up—whether from the weight of the burden or with gratitude or stress, he did not know. Once more, he picked up the box, pulling out the slotted belt with slots for eight pokeballs.

Again, the professor’s faux-smile was warm. He continued his business, the feigned ignorance of Artie’s emotional state. "It’s imperative you reach a positive flow with your leavanny and swadloon. They need to be obeying basic commands by exam day. You need to be comfortable around them, the leavanny needs to listen to you. I'm giving you the bare minimum resources for success, boy. I'm not going to lecture you on proper pokemon care. You only have a couple weeks or I will withdraw this endorsement and ship you right back to the Anville wastes." It was a warm smile. In the same way that a smile carved into black granite was warm on a winter day in the middle of an icy blizzard, spawned from one of Kyurem's mythical rampages decades before. The kind of smile that could freeze a frosmoth.

Artie wiped his eyes, taking a breath, working to regain composure. “You’ll take care of the other swadloon?” A granite smile that held, no matter how the elements slid over it.

The professor shook his head. “No. Our research is mostly done in the field. The lab here isn’t Oaks’. And we’re already keeping more than enough pokemon for my assistants to manage.”

Artie wiped his eyes again. “Then what do I do?” The growing concerns of animal rights in the region over the last few years had been putting a lot of scrutiny on trainers and catching.

The professor sighed. “Take Leavanny and the swadloon from last night. I have a friend at Castelia Gym. I’ll arrange to have them kept there and registered under my name until you’ve passed a few gym trials and shown dependability.”

“Thank you, Professor Juniper,” Artie said, bowing. “I can’t thank you enough. I’ll be sure to make Unova proud!”

“Yeah yeah,” the professor said, waving his hands dismissively. “You and that leavanny have a lot of practice ahead before you can get your trainer’s license. I’m fifty-fifty on if she’ll listen to you before the exam. From here forward, I expect you to treat your pokemon—the leavanny in particular—like a true trainer. This morning’s morning test was a failure,” the professor said.

“Test?” Artemus asked, gulping.

”Want to be treated like a trainer? Act like one. Good trainers do not eat until their pokemon do. Get them food when I leave. Learn to use your pokedex. There are a few trees in the backyard, and by Groudon's rumblings, work on your throwing arm."

Artemus practically gasped. “On the leavanny? It already stares at pokeballs when they’re in sight!” A flash—the smile disappeared from the professor’s face. Artie felt like he’d just slapped the stoic old man.

The smile returned again. "Of course not, damnit. Use your head," he corrected. "Rapid catch-release like that is absolutely animal abuse, and if anyone ever reports you going that or other common trainer abuses, I will revoke my endorsement! No. There are tennis balls and other things in the garage you can use. Come along now,” the professor said, standing up from his desk.

Artie nodded. He held the box, cradling it like a baby, staring at the mishmash of contents thrown inside it, protecting himself from penetrating eyes. A second-generation Unovan pokedex utility tablet, a backpack, an old emergency phone, and a couple of empty pokeballs. The latest ‘dexes were in their eighth generation by now, but even first-gen ‘dexes cost upwards of a thousand dollars, where the eighth generations could be ten times that cost. Many people saved their small pieces of their national income for years just to buy one of the older variants. And they proved out. Built and over-engineered to match the most strenuous situations, they'd been dredged from the bottoms of lakes and taken hits the vast bits of consumer waste tech could not; they were expensive for good reason.

Professor Juniper and Artemus both glanced at the clock. 8:27 A.M. Cedric shuffled the folded-up university newspaper and a few others on his desk into his pack.

Like a kid who’d just received that one video game they had been wanting on Christmas morning, Artie’s eyes began watering again. Like that quiet kid at school who couldn’t quite handle their excitement at winning the class bingo. Back in grade school, there was a joke he’d learned about pokedexes:

A bunch of rangers were out on a mountain, trying to investigate the angry rumblings of some migrating dragon-types. One ranger lady had been hit in the chest by an angry dragonite’s hyper beam. The other rangers, defeated and mourning, ran back to camp to regroup, leaving their fallen companion on the mountain. Later that night, as the rangers were packing up to leave with their tails tucked, they heard a rustling, as their companion walked in, a huge hole in her vest. The other rangers were astonished at her survival. Then, the lady pulls out a pokedex from her pocket, and says: “Nothing, and I mean nothing, gets through the type guides contained inside.”

“Hey,” the professor said as he packed up, snapping Artemus out of his reverie. “I get it. This is a dream come true for you, Artemis, but don’t get me wrong. I’m doing this because I made a promise, and we need more caretakers of bugs.” Artie stood up straighter. “You have to take this seriously. Avery and I are entrusting you with the lives of a bunch of amazing animals, and we’re under tight time constraints. You might be a guest in this house for the next few weeks, but you’re going to have to work hard. If you can’t handle it or I think you’re slacking off, you can go back to Anville.”

Juniper repeated his earlier interrogative question. “So I’m going to ask you again, boy. Are you willing to take this on, or are you going to wind up with your head in the clouds all the time?”

The stone-faced smile bore into Artemis, and he tried to meet the professor’s drilling eyes. “I’ll do my best, professor,” Artemus said, and he looked away.

“And if your best isn’t good enough?”

“Then you’ll have to find someone else?” Artie asked.

The smile flashed to a thoughtful look, Artie’s heart dropped. The smile swapped back. “That much is obvious, kid. But I expect you to succeed. Don’t get your head stuck in the clouds just because you had a roll of good luck. Feed your two new pokemon, do some practice, read up on the exam, then come to the lab around three P.M.”

“Yes, sir!” Artemus exclaimed.

The professor strode out of the office, pulling a strap of the case over his shoulder, heading towards the door to the garage.

“Come with me,” he said, walking through the kitchen into a hallway, where at the end of it was a door to a garage. “Your first assignment: If the leavanny tries to run away, stop her without using a pokeball.” He hit the garage door opener. A silent whirring of the machine and the tin door began to creak as it raised off the cement.

“What if it attacks someone? And for how long?” Artemus asked. The professor took a helmet. His shirt and pants had leather elbow patches, so he probably didn’t need elbow pads, the kid figured.

“Don’t let her attack anyone. And as for how long…” A clip of the helmet. Juniper grabbed his bike, pulling it up and kicking up the bike stand. “... how many years do you think leavannies live for?” He threw one leg over the seat. “Close the door to the garage after I leave,” he instructed. “You need to learn how to get her under control or she will never follow you into battle, competitive or otherwise. Pokemon are smart and strong, but they’re still just that: pokemon. Animals. You need to understand her, because if you don’t understand her, she’ll figure you out first. The ancients managed to make it work without pokeballs, kid.”

Watching the professor leave, Artie had a sour pit in his stomach. I have to work on my aim, so I can get the leavanny to return to the pokeball, but I’m also not allowed to use pokeballs?

He looked back down, staring at the box of stuff. The sourness fast forgotten. He disagreed with the professor’s attitude, but there could be some wisdom in there somewhere. He pulled the two pokeballs out of his pocket and attached them to the belt. If he wants me to treat the bugs like family, I can do that. Artemus smiled, putting a bottle of tennis balls in the box, heading back outside to the backyard.

He took a deep breath, pulling leavanny’s pokeball off. He considered the opportunity before him, pressing the button on the ball, enlarging it. The thought of being stuck in Anville City pervaded his fear. He thought of the opportunities before him: he could become a ranger, breeder, researcher… He could do some rounds on the competitive circuits and start a business with the money.

He was out of Anville.

Artemus released the leavanny, which stood, glancing around, clearly confused. The kid pulled it into his arms, giving it a big hug before it could run away, and cried into its leaves.