The smell of sweat and jostling of bodies charges the atmosphere with primal energy as the match unfolds. The encouragement and heckling of the mob of Pokémon around me make the Gym Trainer-turned-commentator almost impossible to hear, even from my ring-side vantage.

“Hawlucha dominating this match it seems, he’s climbing up to the top rope and Machoke is still reeling, she’s got to get a grip! …Oh? Oh what is he doing? Oh Watch Out! WATCH OUT!”

A leap shakes the ropes. For a moment a small form hangs frozen in the air above the ring, a dark outline against the ceiling’s bright lights.

Then it crashes into the Machoke below, smashing her face-first into the floor. The crowd groans, me included.

“OOHH! FLYING PRESS! THE FLYING PRESS, OUT OF NOWHERE! Arceus almighty, she’s out! Out cold with no count! Hawlucha takes today’s MFT in style! Let’s hear it for ‘The Luchador’, everybody!”

The Gym echoes with claps and whistles for the winner of today’s Main Floor Tournament, the signup bracket competition that apparently happens every single day here at the Veilstone Gym.

Bills and Poffins are exchanged surreptitiously as bets are settled between people and Pokémon alike. The unconscious Machoke is quickly hauled to the nearest Chimecho by a supervising Gallade, waking up to a soft chime and mild disappointment that evaporates into determination remarkably fast.

The surrounding Pokémon, mostly of the Machop and Meditite lines, quickly disperse. They’re joined by the half-dozen Gym Trainers and patrons that simply pay to use the facilities for exercising, leaving me with today’s champion.

“Wow. That was…intense. …Why am I trying to play it cool? It was awesome!”

“Thank you, thank you. This is why I love the MFT. There’s room for the fun stuff you can’t do in the higher-badge matches,” my new partner says. Hawlucha adjusts the eye-searing green and yellow vest he wears over his already colorful plumage, then nods his head toward a corner of the room. “Alright, ready to get back to training?”

I blink. “You’re not gonna, like, rest or anything? Drink water at least?”

“That was the rest. Now we work! C’mon.”

Well. I guess this is what it means to be in a Fighting Gym.

I follow him to the spot we’ve been using for our Bounce training.

It’s my third day at the Veilstone Gym, and I’m getting a grip on my new routine. After a battery of tests to determine my physical abilities on the first day, and a few hours of Maylene researching Buneary and Lopunny information, she designed an entire dietary and training regimen for me in the blink of an eye. Four meals of especially chosen vegetables per day ‘Herbivores have to eat often!’, with crushed Carbos and Protein supplements mixed in ‘We must promote proper development!’, to give me energy for strength training in the morning- the machines, weights and repetitions all determined in advance- then sparring with Riolu or training with Hawlucha on alternating afternoons ‘Give it your all!’.

I now know why she’s Gym Leader.

Only two things left to figure out: what my fighting style will actually be… and what I’m supposed to do for my ‘rest day’ every four days.

I’ve looked in on the training of several species of Pokémon in the Gym, but none seem right for me. The Machop and Makuhita lines are slow and reliant on sheer power; Meditite and the Gym’s single Gallade are very impressive technically, but their Psychic abilities give them an almost prescient sense of what their opponent will do that I just can’t replicate; Croagunk seem to just rely on instinct and improvise a cheap shot half the time; even the Infernape and Heracross I caught a glimpse of in the Gym’s basement space for high-level Pokémon didn’t inspire me. That I can’t copy Lucario’s weird aura manipulation kung fu goes without saying.

I could emulate Hawlucha’s speed and use of his small body to attack joints and disrupt balance, but the plan isn't to stay small forever. I have to train for a Lopunny, not a Buneary.

In the end, it all comes down to one thing: they all rely on their arms.

There’ll be an eighth-badge challenge in two days. Hopefully I'll find some inspiration there.

As for my rest day tomorrow… sightseeing? That’s not going to last me five months…

Regardless, Hawlucha and I reach our little nook, height markings stenciled in black on the white wall. Ignorant of my dilemma, he stretches and prepares to start us off.

“Ready, kid?”

I finish my own Limbering stretches, then nod. “Ready.”

“Give me two meters then, go!”

I jump straight up, aiming to reach exactly the two-meter mark at the apex of my hop.

Ten centimeters too high. I click my tongue.

“We’re not using Flying energy until you get it within five every time. …Did I say stop? Keep jumping, c’mon!”

I hop again and again, getting a feel for how much force I need to use. Hawlucha watches me, muscular arm-wings crossed over his chest. There is no way he can actually fly with those.

“Two-fifty,” he says as soon as I start getting comfortable.

For minutes I jump, my rabbit legs compressing and releasing on impact like a pogo stick.

“Now two-seventy… one-eighty… ninety! …Yeah, short jumps are Skuntank to get right. One tiny change and it’s all out the window.”

Finally, after a half-hour of endless jumps, my drill sergeant calls for a stop. “That’s enough! Take a minute to breathe, nice and deep, then we get to the good part.”

I walk slowly to the corner and grab the water bottle I left here in advance. It feels momentarily strange to go forward after jumping up and down for so long. I pop the lid and partake of Manaphy’s ambrosia, sweeter than Sitrus.

“Don’t drink too much, you’ll be Bouncing in a minute. I don’t want to see you learn Water Gun.”

I sit and try to make the most of my short rest, already calling to mind the feeling of Flying energy.

Hawlucha demonstrated it when we first met. Like me, he’s not good with Special moves, but the weak Gust he managed to conjure did feel… different from a natural breeze. Sharper, somehow. Its application on one’s own body for Physical moves is thankfully more intuitive, and again my human memories help grasp the underlying principle.

He described it as a ‘sideways energy’- something that does not fight head on, but slides and slices in between things to cut and pierce. At first I tried to keep my Normal energy at the surface of my skin and give it some kind of edge, or harden it somehow.

Now, as I stand and Hawlucha calls out “Five meters, let’s see it!”, I think of friction. I think of fluid dynamics and the speed of laminar flow compared to turbulent flow, of vortices and low-pressure zones created in the wake of a moving sphere observed on the computer screen of a person whose name I'll never know. I hope they would approve of the use I’m giving their gift of knowledge.

A world of vertical lines forms in my mind’s eye. They curve gently around me, always maintaining their proper order, never crossing each other. They begin to separate above my head, as far away from my body as I can manage, and reunite below me.

My body’s energy feeds this image, and the Flying move comes into being. A faint shimmer forms a pointed, oblong shape of impossibly perfect aerodynamics. I crouch, then unleash all the power my legs can muster.

I soar.

Five meters… eight meters… ten meters. I fly upward without stopping, wind drag reduced to nothing as I-OW!

My head slams into a wooden crossbeam, body compressing painfully with the force of my inertia.

I fall.

“Kid? Hey, kid! Cleo!” Hawlucha calls out as I tumble limply toward the ground, dazed.

A pair of claws grab me, steadying our descent.

The landing is surprisingly gentle, and the claws lay me on the ground carefully.

I blink to clear my blurry vision. Hawlucha’s concerned face dances in and out of focus, until a loud tinkling chime enters my ears and soothes my pain.

“Ugghh… why am I so fucking stupid?”

“Feeling better?” a soft voice asks.

“Yeah. Thanks, Chimecho.”

“It’s what I’m here for! But next time you want to crash, don’t go head first. Head injuries can be very dangerous, even with us here!”

Not that stupid.

Then again, I did just jump straight up into the sky while indoors, so… fair.

Chimecho retreats to his overwatch position, and I’m left with my colorful yet singularly unimpressed teacher.

“…A bit off from five meters.”

I rub my still sore neck. “Yeah… on the bright side, I learned Bounce!”

“The only thing you learned is how hard the ceiling is. Once you can jump ten meters consistently, without giving yourself a concussion or staring vacantly at the air for half a minute beforehand, then we can get to the actually hard part: Aiming.”

“…oh.”

“Yeah. You may have gotten the gist pretty quick, and good on you for that. But Bounce is considered an inaccurate move for a reason. Not only does it take time to go up then back down to hit your target, but I’d like to see how you deal with a bit of wind. Y’know, wind, that thing that happens outside where you’re thrown about unpredictably-“ “Alright, alright, I get it! Arceus…”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Hawlucha are perfectionists, and I’m no exception. Don’t just say you’ve learned a move you haven’t even used once.”

“Sorry…”

An uncomfortable silence settles over us.

“…*sigh* Ok, rant over. Good job overall. Let’s get up and get Bouncing.”

We shake off the glum mood and resume our training with newfound determination. And a healthy respect for rafters.

-0-

Wow! Another meteor! It sure is… a rock. Again.

To be fair to Veilstone’s geological attractions, the first crater and meteor I saw were genuinely interesting. The space-rock called to mind Deoxys and theories on Cleffairy’s origins, and the site itself was pretty in its own way.

By the seventh crater, though, it begins to lose a bit of its luster.

What else is there to do in this town?

So far, I’ve managed to make my way around pretty well. If I hop along at a reasonable distance from a person like their Pokémon, most people ignore my presence completely, and should that fail I have the Veilstone Gym’s patented Machoke belt buckle pinned to my satchel. That should at least merit the benefit of the doubt.

The mall? There's fifty dollars to my name and nothing to spend them on. I would complain about work without pay at the Gym if I weren’t essentially receiving free room and board, with personalized instruction from experts in their field, for the price of participating in fun battles occasionally. If anything, I ought to be paying them.

I start heading vaguely southward, tailgating off the respectability of human pedestrians to traverse the city unmolested. The day is cold and windy, but it seems I managed to avoid yesterday’s rain.

After an hour of searching, my destination comes into view, elevated on a rocky plateau like the rest of the city’s ‘prestigious’ buildings. The Game Corner, as it was called in its game version. In reality there’s no need for euphemisms; it’s a casino. A big one, too.

Now how do I get inside?

The edifice’s somber stone façade is betrayed by its shining neon lights that beg incessantly for attention, even in the middle of the day. A single valet stands at the entrance, waiting to greet newcomers and distribute pamphlets.

Hmm. He wears a business smile and an immaculate uniform, but his eyes are tired. He might not care that much.

I turn to face the entrance and hop forward, confidently. My expression is placid and my gait unhurried, like this is the most natural thing in the world. The automatic doors slide open to let me in. The guy doesn’t even blink.

Am I that good of an actor? No… if I had to stand outside every day for hours looking pleasant, I’d probably check out too. In any case, it works out for me. I cross a short foyer decorated with the patron’s coats and hats, then I’m in.

The noise is deafening.

Aisles of pachinko machines blip and trill their constant jingles. Electronic imitations of the sound of coins falling overlap each other in an infuriating jumble, the slots two aisles over only adding to the cacophony.

I try to parse the mess of primary colors to find something I might actually enjoy, the red machines with yellow lettering and blue-lit screens all individually screaming for my attention.

Rolling up both ears to muffle the surroundings, I focus on the few people here in the early afternoon. A pair of elderly women, three young people who look like tourists, with big backpacks and disproportionate excitement, a pink-haired man working at the lever of a Fighting Pokémon-themed slot machine…

Wait, is that…?

I hop onto the seat next to him. He doesn’t visibly react to my presence.

Some sort of floor manager appears from a door at the opposite end of the room, then sets to walking through the aisles, inspecting people. Using what I suspect to be Maylene’s dad as an excuse, I avoid his eyes.

Unfortunately, the stick-thin manager still stops beside us, clearing his throat.

“Sir. We ask that patrons keep Pokémon balled here.”

Crap.

The man blinks, then turns to the manager. “…What?”

“The Buneary, sir. While not prohibited, we’d rather Pokémon stay in their pokéballs. For safety, you understand.”

Pink eyes look around in confusion, finally landing on me. “I… who…?”

Ok, I may be able to salvage this, still.

If he's just asking, then there's a chance. Leveraging my aesthetic advantages for the first time, I hit them with my best Baby-Doll Eyes. Ears flattened back, wide eyes filled with unshed tears, the faint quiver of the lip. The works.

Neither of them seem moved. I drop the act.

Whatever, it’s a garbage move anyway…

“I don’t know… Wait. That thing… on the bag. Is that... from Maylene?”

I nod enthusiastically. He reaches out to the Cobble Badge buckle, as if to touch it, but stops himself.

“Sir, I insist.”

“The… Buneary… can stay.”

“We’d really prefer it if-” “You’d prefer… to keep the mood… civil, I think.”

The manager is silent for a second, stunned.

“I’ve been coming to… this place for… for a long time. Let me get a… Lavender Town Gin, and we can stop… creating problems, hmm?”

The floor manager’s prim demeanor falters, and he sighs. “Someone will bring you your drink momentarily. Please excuse me.” He straightens his suit and cleans imaginary dust off both sleeves, then stiffly returns to his rounds.

Wow.

“...Do you want to watch?”

I turn back and nod.

He smiles slightly, looking… awake. Present. He cranks the lever on his machine, explaining what each Pokémon’s face means and how much the combinations are worth.

Our little celebration over the ‘Hitmon’ trio of lined up faces flashing on the screen is interrupted by an incredulous voice.

“Cleo!?”

Wait…

I whip my head around, and am faced with a disconcerting visage. Maggie, that scared girl freezing under a tree in the mud, stands before me now, a platter with a tall drink in her hands. Her outfit, consisting of a black cocktail dress short and tight enough to guarantee that anything she drops on the ground will stay there, paired with unreasonably high heels, suddenly makes me glad this place is climatized. I am one hundred percent certain she is not carrying her phone or wallet.

“Maggie, what are you doing here? Dressed like that!”

“…I work here now.”

“That’s a uniform?”

She takes a deep breath that threatens to release a certain barely contained pair, then sighs. “Yeah…”

She seems to remember what she came here for and extends the drink toward Maylene’s father. “Here you are, sir. Sorry for the wait. A Lavender Town Gin, on the house! Please enjoy.”

He looks between us, bewildered. “How many of these… have I had?”

Oh. I hadn’t planned on talking in front of him.

“Uhh… Cleo, let’s talk in the back. I can take my break now.”

The somewhat haggard-looking man is staring at the drink in his hand with trepidation.

“Listen, thanks for the save, and the company. It was nice.”

His eyes focus on mine.

“Maylene has a big match tomorrow. You should come watch, maybe.”

His rosy gaze regains that glimmer of light. “She does? Yes, of course I’ll go see it! I should…” he trails off.

He considers his drink.

His hand tightens briefly... then he shoves it back into Maggie’s hands. “Take it away. Sorry, I… sorry.”

Slowly, but without looking back, he gets up, then walks out.

I hop down from my seat and prepare to follow Maggie.

“What was that about?” she asks in a low voice.

“That’s the Gym Leader’s father, pretty sure.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can see it.” Her lips tighten. “The other waitresses told me he’s here almost every day…”

I can’t think of what to say to that.

A small sigh dispels the somber mood. “Come on, come tell me what the Gym is like somewhere I can sit down without letting everyone see my underwear.”

“You can fit underwear in there?”

“...shut up.”

-0-

“They have an entire tournament every day?”

“Yup. Not everyone participates, of course, but there’s always enough Machop and Machoke eager to fill the bracket. It’s designed like that- first everyone else signs up, then the Machop and Machoke have to decide between themselves who gets to enter. Usually with more fighting.”

“Sounds fun,” she says with a slight smile.

I sip the Berry juice Maggie insisted on getting me, watching her stare at the table in thought.

The casino’s break room is a utilitarian contrast to the whole rest of the place, all gray plastic furniture and off-white kitchen appliances. I suppose a rest for the eyes might be appreciated here.

“So… the pachinko place, huh?”

“There’s a classy section too, with all the card games and stuff, but it’s not open during the day.” She sighs.

Maggie looks around the space, as if confirming we’re alone, then allows her face to fall into her hands.

“It pays, y’know… who else is going to hire a stupid doomsday-cultist bimbo with a communications degree and no prior experience except at the most reviled organization since Team fucking Rocket.”

Woah.

She huffs lightly. “…It’s almost funny. The jobs I’m actually qualified for need a good public image, the one thing I’ve permanently obliterated. I would laugh if my tits wouldn’t pop right out of this parody of a dress.”

I hop onto the tabletop so I can reach her hands with mine. “Come on, it’s not that bad. People forget stuff as soon as the next big thing happens. You’ll see, by the time the Conference is over everyone will be talking about it, and the whole Galactic thing will be water under the bridge.” Especially with Mega Evolution this year.

Maggie looks up at me, blinking carefully to avoid ruining her makeup. “Thanks… Sorry about unloading on you. The people here don’t know who I am, and some of them had Pokémon stolen or got hurt during the whole… thing with Mount Coronet. I can’t really talk about this with anyone…”

“Don’t you have… I don’t know, old friends you can talk to?”

She scoffs. “All my friends are either in denial or in jail. There’s no one… That’s how they get you. The police finally gave me back my stuff, after wiping all the electronics clean, and I’ve been reading online about Magma and Aqua. How they recruited people.”

Maggie starts bouncing her leg, gaining a nervous energy as she talks. “They isolate us. Make it so we only talk to other people in the organization. Even when I realized what some of them were doing and thought of leaving, I didn’t know where else to go. I don’t know other people in the city. It’s all so obvious now… Keep us there at all hours, always with paid overtime or some company event for ‘collaborators’, or Executive Jupiter would have some inspiring presentation about our wonderful future…”

This time she does laugh, a grim echo of her confession in the dark night of Route 215.

“Even the stupid blue hair! An innocent fad that coincidentally made us different from everyone else. Alone, except for the rest of Galactic.”

Is that what the weird outfits are about? Separating outsiders from someone who’s part of the ‘team’? What the hell do I do in the face of that?

Is some of that happening with trainers and their Pokémon? Do ‘Trained’ Pokémon feel that they’ve become different from their ‘Wild’ family, separated by experiencing the human world and the cultural expectations of caught Pokémon?

I look at Maggie, angry and lonely and lost. What can I give her?

“Maggie… come to the Gym.”

“What?”

“Sign up to work out at the Gym when you have some free time. If you feel like you don’t have other options, like you have no one else to turn to, then come meet new people. Talk to them, get to know them, create connections that let you see how other humans and Pokémon live. Talk to me.”

She grips my small hands desperately, eyes locked onto mine.

“Also, you need the exercise. If you want to keep working here, you cannot gain any more weight.”

I startle a laugh out of her, a light and genuine and beautiful sound.

“Right you are! I’ll go first thing tomorrow.”

We sit in silence for a few seconds, simply breathing.

“…And if you don’t know where to go on your next rest day, just come to my place. There’s a TV, a laptop, I have a few books, or we can just hang out if I’m not at work. I’ll get you a key.”

“Thanks. I’d like that.”

We continue to chat about Maggie’s new co-workers and my training with Hawlucha until her break is over, and I leave the casino with her borrowed keys in my bag and a worthy pursuit to occupy my rest days.

With access to the Pokénet, I can research how this world works, the League’s regulations on battles, and study everything I might need to know for when I set off to make waves in the Pokémon world.

Or I can just spend some time with my friend.

Today I regained something I'd lost since Rayn's departure. Tomorrow I’ll see if I can complete my puzzle of the coming months.