Jonas struggled with the small wooden boat, dragging it down the bank the last few yards before finally allowing it to rest on the grass. Flint sniffed in the grass nearby, racing to Jonas’s side when he knelt.

“I’m still not sure about this, Flint,” Jonas whispered, gently stroking Flint’s back. A mercifully cool breeze blew across the lake, cooling the midsummer day despite the afternoon sun overhead.

A crowd had gathered on the banks of the lake; seasoned fishermen chatting as they attached new lines to old rods, children sitting with their feet in the water, waiting for the tournament to start, and parents fretting nearby that their children were too close to the water. It seemed as if the entire community had gathered for the tournament, whether participating or simply spectating.

Silas emerged through the crowd grinning and carrying a battered old rod.

“I knew I kept it!” he said, offering the rod to Jonas. “It just needed a little work. That there’s a special rod son. It’s lucky.”

Jonas smiled, taking the rod from the aged fisherman.

“Is that so? Then maybe this year…” he started, but trailed off as a hush fell over the crowd.

A short man with a tan and thinning black hair stepped from among the gathered townsfolk and stepped onto a dais that had been erected on the banks. The gathered fishermen pressed in close to the dais.

“Anglers, trainers, and spectators,” the man said in a loud voice turning to look at those he addressed. “Welcome to the eighty-third annual Pisces Village fishing tournament.” A cheer rose through the onlookers gathered on the upper banks, but the fishermen were quiet, faces stern. Even Silas looked grim, his usual smile gone, mouth set in a hard line. The speaker reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper from which he read.

“For this year’s competition, the rules are as follows: You will have 4 hours on the lake. You may fish anywhere on the lake so long as you return with your catch by eight o’clock. The prize for this year is five-thousand pokédollars!” The man was interrupted by another cheer, this time from some of the younger fishermen.

“Yes, young men, it is a fantastic prize. Which will only be given to the fisherman with the largest catch. Measurements and weights will be taken only for those who return to shore by eight. In addition, we’re excited to announce a new rule for this year that we think makes this a true display of sportsmanship and pokémon mastery. Each participant…” he paused, allowing tension to grow in the silence. A ducklett flew by overhead, descending toward the lake. The announcer grinned before continuing, satisfied with the drama of the moment, “… will only be allowed one pokéball!”

A cry erupted from the crowd, both those gathered on the banks and the fishermen. Jonas looked to Silas, who seemed worried. The old man sighed deeply while the announcer tried to regain control of the crowd.

“We know this change is upsetting to some of you, but the committee believes it is in the best interest of healthy competition. With that being said, I believe it is…” he paused again, pulling out a pocket watch, a groan rising from the crowd. “Four o’clock on the dot! Your time starts now gentlemen! Good luck!”

For a moment, no one moved. Then, like a thundering herd of tauros, the fishermen took to their boats, the crowd dispersing almost immediately, seeming to forget about the restrictive new rule. Jonas looked to Silas, whose smile had returned.

“Come on, boy,” he said, turning to follow the anglers who ran ahead of them. We’re burning daylight. And the King ain’t gonna catch himself.”

***

Small waves splashed against the sides of their boat, rocking them with a steady rhythm while Jonas paddled across the surface of the lake. Silas sat opposite him, deftly baiting his hook with experienced hands. Flint stood between the two of them, carefully peering over the edge of the boat and barking at shadows that passed by beneath the surface.

“That’s the spirit, buddy,” Jonas laughed. “Just be careful we’re going to run into a lot of water types out here, and I don’t want you getting in over your head.”

Silas chuckled, eyeing Flint as the growlithe plunged a paw into the water, swatting at a pokémon that swam too close to the boat.

“The trick to fishing,” he started, casting his line into the water a few yards away, “is location. Everything else is manageable. A man with horrible equipment can find a good spot, and still come home with a whole mess of fish. Now, you see those ripples over there?” Silas pointed to a spot nearby, and Jonas quickly spotted the small undulations of the surface.

“Try casting over there,” Silas directed with a nod in the direction of the ripples. Jonas glanced at his rod, then at the ripples, and finally back at Silas, who gave him a knowing smile.

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“You’ve got your rod there. Firmly grasp it in your hand.” Jonas followed instructions, dropping the paddle into the boat and picking up Silas’s old fishing rod. It was made of a thin, flexible wood, and a reel was mounted near the end.

“Now, place your thumb on the line like so, and hold it there until your rod is here,” Silas guided Jonas through the steps, placing his hands and going through the motions with his own rod. He swept it in a slow arc overhead. “Then you can let your thumb off the line. Not entirely though! Keep it close, and when your line reaches where you want it…” Again, he went through the motions, but this time, he cast out his line, stopping its progress with a press of his thumb once it reached his desired distance from the boat. Jonas let out a soft gasp, then smiled, understanding. He placed his thumb on the line, drew his arm back, and whipped the rod forward, letting off the line ever so slightly. The hook soared out from his rod until he pressed his thumb down hard on the line again. His hook arced through the air, falling very short, and slightly to the left of his target. Silas bellowed with laughter, and Jonas felt himself growing red with embarrassment as he reeled the line back as quickly as he could.

“Not bad, son,” Silas wheezed once he had stifled his laughter. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, especially for a beginner such as yourself. You’ll get…”

Jonas’s line snagged tight on something.

“There’s something on the line, Silas. What do I do?”

“Give the rod a tug, to set the hook! And then start reeling, boy!”

Jonas pulled the rod, making sure the hook was firmly set, then began turning the handle of the reel, winding the line back toward the boat. The pokémon on the other end struggled against Jonas, Silas coaching him the whole time, telling him when to let out line, when to reel. After minutes of their tug-of-war, Jonas saw the red-orange scales of a magikarp as it broke the surface, flailing wildly.

The magikarp thrashed violently against the boat, connecting hard with the side, and threatening to tip them out. Flint barked fiercely, and, without waiting for a command, issued forth a shower of sparks, which struck the magikarp in the side, sizzling on its wet scales. The magikarp eyed Flint angrily, thrashing harder, splashing water into the boat and soaking its occupants.

“Flint, use ember again!” Jonas said decisively, and Flint repeated his attack, again finding his target. The magikarp writhed about, the flame dancing across its scales leaving scorch marks. With a final bout of thrashing, the magikarp managed to free itself from the line, turning from the boat and swimming away as fast as it could manage.

“That’s rotten luck,” Silas grimaced, “losing your first catch like that. Still, that’s quite the pokémon you’ve got there,” he pointed to Flint, laughing as the pokémon shook the water from his fur. “Yes sir, I’ve felt that sting all too many times. But that’s fishing for you. The thrill of the catch, the fight to reel it in, the agony of watching it slip away at the last moment.” His weathered features took on a distant look as he stared across the waters. “Plenty of times I’ve lost a pokémon in these waters.”

Silas fell silent, his eyes staring wistfully across the lake, clearly lost in some powerful memory. Jonas sat patiently, quietly, sensing there was more to the story. Finally, Silas shook his head, smiling again.

“You know, I don’t believe I’ve told you my history with this lake. Do you mind letting an old man talk while we wait for another bite? Might help you understand what we’re doing, and why I care so blamed much about catching the king.”

Jonas gave a solemn nod, and place the rod in the bottom of the boat, as Silas began his story.

***

“I was just a lad. Couldn’t have been more’n ten. I grew up right here on Lake Pisces. Now, growing up in this village, everyone fishes. It’s just the way of life. But my pa was the best. And so, I was fishing for as long as I can remember. Ma said I took to the water better than I did the dry land.” He laughed at this, and Jonas smiled in return. He knew the feeling. While fishing wasn’t something he thought he would ever be good at, he had taken to orchard work and pokéball crafting like second nature.

“Dad brought me out here on the lake on a day like any other. I wasn’t expecting anything to change. But lo and behold, I had the best fishing day of my life. Now mind, I didn’t catch a lot of fish that day. Just one. But, that fish…”

“The King of the Lake,” Jonas whispered, awestruck. Silas’s smile grew wider.

“Except back then, he was just Finley. He didn’t look like anything special, maybe a little larger than most goldeen. But I loved that pokémon more than I knew I was capable of. He was my best friend.”

Jonas nodded along, eyeing Flint. He remembered the day he caught him, how a growlithe had been the furthest thing from his mind. But now, he couldn’t imagine life without him.

“The boys of the village were relentless. They called Finley ugly. Weak. Worse. Of course, I didn’t let them get away with talking about my friend like that. Got so bad I was kicked out of school for fighting,” he snorted a laugh. “Hard to believe now, I ‘spose. Anyway, you might not know this yet, but if you hear something enough, you start to think it’s true. And even though I was kicked out of school, the bullies didn’t stop. They kept coming after me and Finley. And somewhere along the line, I reckon I started to think they were telling the truth. Maybe Finley was weak. After all, a stronger pokémon wouldn’t let that happen. A strong pokémon would have protected me from bullies. Or so I thought. But I was wrong. He was my pokémon. It was my responsibility to look after him, not the other way ‘round. But I didn’t know no better.” Silas grew quiet again, and Jonas sat in confused silence, certain that wasn’t all there was. After a long pause, Silas continued.

“I let him go, Jonas. Released him back into the lake. I’ve regretted it every day since. That year, while everyone else was in school, I went out on the lake and tried to find him again. But I’m sure he was just as hurt as I was. Confused. Angry. I saw him a lot, but could never land him again. I’ve missed so much time with him. I missed his evolution. But I never forgot him. And so he we are, 56 years later. I’ve never been able to bring him back home. No one has. This is the year we change that.”

“Silas…” Jonas started, unsure of what to say. The old man interrupted him before he could say anything else, a determined look on his face.

“Enough fish tales! Let’s go get my pokémon back.”