Chapter 31: An Echo

POV – SIOBHAN

Siobhan sat back on her sofa, legs drawn in, surrounded by the familiar comfort of the room she knew so well. The sitting room of her house, at the back of the Stout Slowpoke, her family’s modest pub. It was not luxurious exactly, but it was homely in its own way. The air carried the faint scent of wood and aged stone, it felt both warm and lived-in, though tonight it seemed a touch too small for the occasion.

A pale evening light filtered through the small window, painting soft shadows on the faded wallpaper. A few framed photos dotted the walls, showing her family and various Pokémon they had raised over the years, Slowpoke in the main, unfortunately.

A low wooden table, sat cluttered with the remains of snack plates and a few half-empty glasses, evidence of the impromptu gathering. The TV, slightly retro with its rounded edges and fat remote, hummed softly in the background, though no one was really paying attention to it. More for ambience than anything else.

It had been Jake’s idea to throw the send-off party, a last-minute celebration to mark her departure before she left for Wedgehurst the next morning. Siobhan had protested, albeit weakly—she didn’t want a fuss. But Jake had insisted, and with the Unseen Fist training schedule Mustard had set them upon, neither he nor Ciara would be able to see her off at dawn. Siobhan suspected they would be far too exhausted by the time morning rolled around, even if they wanted to.

She smiled to herself, sinking back into the cushions. It had only been a week of Mustard’s boot camp, but she too felt the tiredness seep into her bones. Three more like this? She certainly didn’t envy them that.

But tired as she was, she couldn’t deny how much she’d learned already. The Urshifu were incredible instructors, their knowledge vast. She knew they were considered nearly legendary Pokémon, but after seeing them most days for so long, she had probably not truly appreciated what that meant until now. Watching her Pokémon grow under their guidance was something else—remarkable even, especially since, despite officially being Fighting-types, they seemed to be able teach skills beyond one's type restrictions. This was an opportunity that was not to be lightly wasted.

This last week, Hyde had provided her with a special training module encoded with the techniques from the Golden Path, allowing her to continue her team’s progress even away from the Master Dojo. The small, mustard-yellow plated disk fit snugly in her hand, subtly designed with the dojo’s Kubfu crest. Once bonded to her phone, the module connected securely and would recognise no other device. To access the teachings, she only needed her private PIN, a code known only to her.

It wasn’t about trust; it was a responsibility. These teachings were not hers to own but to honour. She would keep them close, exactly as they were meant to be.

Outside, Applinby lay quiet under the dusk, peaceful streets winding through orchards and meadows filled with sleepy Applin. The village, with neat rows of stone cottages, weaving paths, and the ever-present scent of fruit blossoms in the air, was the heart of the island. Simple, idyllic, and slow-moving, life here felt timeless, not much seemed to change that often. People lived close to the land, tending to orchards, fishing or caring for their Pokémon. It was not a place for grand ambitions or rapid change, more for retirement and peace. For so long, Siobhan had imagined she would leave it behind. She had thought she wanted to see bigger, better things—to go beyond the familiar and explore the world.

But lately, things had felt different. Training with Mustard, sparring with Ciara, and laughing at Jab and Bab’s usual antics had all been more fun than ever. It wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed things before, but she could admit now, that she had long been in a rut with her Pokémon training. The drive and passion she once had seemed to be fading. It was not uncommon for trainers to go through phases like that, and in her case, it had steered her down a different path—where she was more focused on supporting Pokémon through wellness and nutrition, helping them be their best in a different way.

Ciara and Mustard were incredible trainers, and she admired them both deeply, but their approach had always felt more competitive, more driven, kind of overwhelming really. That veneer of intensity never quite appealed to her, and sometimes, made her feel like she didn’t quite fit in.

But then Jake had come into their lives, seemingly out of nowhere. Somehow, without even trying, he had changed things. Especially for her. She hadn’t realised it until now but watching him with his Pokémon had reminded her of something simple: that Pokémon were friends just as much as battle partners.

Jake brought a fresh perspective. He trained hard and strived for success like Ciara did, but he went about it with a different kind of energy. It felt reliable, but less intense. Watching how he interacted with his Pokémon reminded her that there was much more to being a trainer than just pushing for power or success — that it was perfectly valid to enjoy the bond you shared with your Pokémon along the way.

And it had made her reconsider things she thought she knew—about battling, and about what she truly wanted with her Pokémon.

“Packed yet?” The boy in question broke into her thoughts wearily, and she glanced over at him.

Jake was slumped in one of the side chairs, exhausted. Earlier, Trixie had earlier been an energy ball, zipping about, teasing and playing with the Slowpoke in equal measure, who were now scattered all over the room in various states of sleep or inanity, depending on one’s outlook. One Slowpoke had even become an unwitting footrest for Jake, who had propped his feet up on its back. The Pokémon didn’t seem to mind—or even register—the contact.

Trixie, was by now completely conked out, curled atop Jake's lap, while Jekyll sat beside her, jabbing at the Emolga with his claw, likely irritated that she'd stolen what he considered his rightful spot. Jake, too tired to pay attention, absentmindedly petted them both, fingers gently running through Trixie’s fur while giving Jekyll a few calming strokes as well.

Siobhan had noticed that lately, Jake was keeping Jekyll out of his Poké Ball almost as much as Trixie. At first, she had found Jekyll a bit intimidating—Ghosts were rare in peaceful Armor, and their presence was often shrouded with rumour and superstition. Jake had apparently found him in a forest not far from Applinby, which had worried her slightly.

Wild Ghost-types were considered dangerous. They tended to be solitary, keeping to hidden places and rarely venturing into crowded places. Their elusiveness only added to their mystique, and Mimikyu, little known as they were, still carried a reputation as a creature to approach with caution, even fear. If one were discovered so close to town, it would normally be reported to the rangers.

But from the start, Jake had been calm and confident, introducing Jekyll with an ease that quickly softened her initial fears. Jekyll, from what she’d seen, was more shy than sinister, with a surprisingly innocent side. His almost possessive attachment to Jake might have unsettled anyone else, but Jake seemed to handle it with a lightness she couldn’t help but admire.

Before Siobhan could respond, Jab and Bab—now they were not tired at all—cut in.

“Packed?” Jab scoffed, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “She’s packed so much that I reckon she’s prepared for every possible thing that could ever happen.”

Bab added, “Oh yeah, this isn’t new. Remember that time we all went to Timeston a few years back? She had more for that two-day trip than most people do for a month! And then... what was it? Oh, right—she didn’t even need half of it, I think the bag was bigger than her. She wouldn’t let us leave until she triple-checked everything.”

“I like to be organised, all right?” Siobhan protested, crossing her arms. “There’s no harm in thinking ahead. You two could stand to try it sometime.”

“You still managed to lose your hat in the fountain.”

Siobhan cringed. “It was windy!”

“Are you two ever quiet, or do you just talk until people leave?” Ciara cut in, eyes half-closed, practically dozing in the armchair. Siobhan had rarely seen her so tired. She was pushing herself again. Siobhan felt a pang of worry about how she would cope without her.

Jab let out a dramatic gasp, nudging Bab with his elbow. “My ears must be deceiving me! Hath the Fighting Princess herself deigned to recognise our humble presence?”

Bab wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Aye, Jab. The day the heavens themselves parted, the day we were seen.”

Jab placed his hand over his heart, looking upwards with reverence. “I shall remember this until my last breath, etched in glory amongst our finest hours.”

Ciara glanced at Siobhan, through tired eyes. “You're seriously leaving me with these two? I’m not sure I can guarantee their safety.”

Jake chuckled. “At least they’re durable, I guess. But what’ll they do without you to keep the peace, Siobhan?” He turned to Jab and Bab, raising an eyebrow. “So, how about you two? What’s been keeping you busy? Still Pokémon training?”

“Oh, you bet! Training with the juniors is a riot. Those kids have got spirit—and probably some questionable judgment if they think we actually know what we’re doing! But we're giving it our best shot—League qualifiers, here we come!” Jab exclaimed.

“Can you not infect the juniors with your bad habits?” Ciara interjected harshly. “I’m not convinced either of you knows how to battle, let alone qualify, even for the amateur divisions.”

Bab’s eyes lit up, practically bouncing with excitement. “Oh, you underestimate us at your peril Ciara, you would not believe what we've been cooking up—something so awesome, even Mustard’s gonna be blown away! I can't say too much, but trust me, it's genius. Shame you're missing out, Jake. Must be tough sitting with the serious lot while we're over here making history.”

Jake half-laughed, bemused. "Sure, you are… Wait, are you two still actually trying for the Pokémon League?" He shook his head slightly. "Are you even allowed after failing Mustard's trials?"

Jab and Bab both winced. “Ouch," Jab said, clutching his chest. "Fail is such a harsh word."

“Don’t sweat it, Jake,” Bab assured him with a confident nod. “Plenty of trainers are out there winging it, like us!”

Siobhan sighed to herself. Some things never changed; the chaos twins were still as inseparable, hopeless and carefree as they’d been as kids. With no other peers her age in Applinby, they had become somewhat like childhood friends she supposed. She’d had little escape from their pranks until Ciara had come along. Over the years, she’d become used to them, maybe even a little fond of them, though that was not something she ever wanted to admit out loud. And despite everything, she knew she’d miss them in a strange, irritating way.

Her gaze shifted to Jake, who looked befuddled, and once again his confusion told her he didn’t quite grasp a common concept. Did he think Mustard’s Master Dojo was the norm?

“Jake,” she said gently, leaning over. “You don’t need Mustard’s trials to be a trainer, you know.”

“It’s actually pretty simple,” Ciara cut in, giving Jake a brief understanding look. “You just need to be ten, have a trainer ID, and a Pokémon. That’s it.”

Siobhan sensed Jake’s unanswered question. “But there is a difference between a regular trainer and a professional,” she explained. “In Galar, to become a pro, you have to place high enough in one of the Shyr tournaments. Without that, you’re a hobbyist, basically.”

Jake blinked, taking that in. “Shyr?”

Bab jumped in, practically bouncing on his heels. “Yeah! Like the Armorshyr Cup. Each shyr in Galar has its own version. Win, or at least finish in the top eight, and boom—you’re in the big leagues!”

Jab grinned, adding, “That’s when you’re officially in the GPL, battling the top trainers from across Galar. It’s what separates amateurs from serious trainers.”

Ciara watching Jake’s reaction closely, clarified. “You can train and battle all you like, but until you qualify, no sponsors, no official tournaments.” She paused, adding pointedly, “And even if you get in, only the Crowned 32 are considered elites. The rest? Just… rookies or wildcards.”

Jake tilted his head, thinking it over. “So… everyone who qualifies competes together?”

Siobhan nodded. “Sort of, but there are lower divisions too,” she explained. “It’s pretty rare for someone to go straight into the GPL on the first try. If you place in the top 16, you qualify for GPL2, and if you make it into the top 24, you’re in GPL3, and so on. The secondary leagues give trainers a chance to compete, so if you don’t make the top eight, there are still plenty of ways to work up.”

She paused, then her eyes lit up. “Wait, this might help.” She flipped open her phone—a solid, retro-green model with sharp edges and all-practical look. The screen wasn’t exactly huge, but it did the job.

She tapped through a few menus and then handed it over to Jake. “Here—this will give you the full picture.”

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Official Rulebook of the Crowned Galarian Pokémon League (GPL)

Issued by the Pokémon League Association, this rulebook provides the official regulations governing trainer participation in League-certified competitions and outlines the criteria for eligibility in Galar’s premier tournament, the Crowned Galarian Pokémon League.

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Registration

To participate as a registered Pokémon trainer in any League-certified competition, aspiring trainers must meet the following criteria:

* Minimum Age: Trainers must be at least 10 years old.

* Trainer Identification: All prospective trainers must obtain a Trainer ID, available at any League-authorised Pokémon Centre. Trainers are required to present their Trainer ID upon request at all League-sanctioned events. Please note that Trainer IDs must be renewed annually to maintain active status within the League.

* Pokémon: Trainers are required to have at least one partnered Pokémon registered under their Trainer ID.

Note: Trainers under the age of 18 are eligible for free registration under the 1952 Youth Trainer Provisions Act. Upon turning 18, trainers are required to pay the standard annual registration fees unless sponsored by an affiliated team.

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Qualification Pathway via Shyr Tournaments

Galar is administratively divided into 18 regional districts, known as Shyrs, each of which hosts an annual regional tournament. These tournaments are the primary pathway to GPL qualification, where trainers compete to secure a position within Galar’s competitive league system.

* Qualification: Trainers must place within the Top 8 of their respective shyr tournament to qualify for the GPL.

* Regional Competition Structure: Shyr tournaments rank and select the highest-performing trainers within each shyr. Larger shyrs may organise multiple preliminary rounds to accommodate a higher number of participants.

* Seasonal Qualifiers: Each shyr’s annual Top 8 finishers secure 144 qualifying spots in the GPL. The top 32 performing trainers from the previous GPL season may automatically retain their positions based on their final standing, expanding the competitive field to 176 trainers.

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Crowned Galarian Pokémon League (GPL): Structure and Competition

The Crowned Galarian Pokémon League is Galar’s premier level of competition, where the top trainers vie for the title of Champion. The GPL recognises both individual and team accomplishments, with standings tracked separately on dedicated Leaderboards.

A. GPL - Trainer Leaderboard

The Trainer Leaderboard ranks the achievements and standings of all 176 qualified trainers, with performance monitored throughout the season.

* Leaderboard Composition: Trainers earn rankings based on win-loss records, battle points, and cumulative performance in GPL-sanctioned battles. A trainer’s standing on the Leaderboard determines eligibility for post-season tournaments.

* Top Performer Retention: Trainers who place in the Top 32 on the Trainer Leaderboard automatically retain their place for the following season, exempt from the Shyr tournament requirement.

* Champions Cup Qualification: At the end of the season, the top 32 trainers on the Leaderboard qualify to compete in the Champions Cup, where they are joined by the top 8 ranked Gym Leaders. This tournament determines who is crowned the Champion of Galar.

* World Championship Eligibility: The top 4 finalists in the Champions Cup qualify to represent Galar internationally at the World Championship.

B. GPL - Team Division

The Team Division represents Galar’s 22 premier teams, ranked annually based on the combined achievements of their registered trainers. Each team competes collectively for the Team Championship.

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* Team Composition: Each premier team in the GPL maintains a roster of 8 trainers per season. The Crowned 32 are eligible for transfer during the off-season transfer period, which takes place between the end and start of the new season. All GPL participants must be affiliated with one of the 22 premier teams; independent participation is not permitted.

* Team Points System: Teams earn points based on battle outcomes, season standings, and trainer achievements. A team’s collective performance determines its rank within the GPL Team Division.

* Promotion and Relegation: At the season’s end, the bottom three teams are relegated to GPL2, while the top three teams from GPL2 are promoted to the GPL.

* Team Championship: The top-ranking team at the season’s conclusion wins the Championship. This honour is separate from the Champion title.

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Secondary Leagues

Trainers who do not place within the Top 8 of their Shyr tournaments have the opportunity to instead participate outside the GPL’s primary division.

* League Structure: The leagues are divided into multiple tiers: GPL2, GPL3, and amateur divisions. Each season, teams compete for placement within their tier. The top-placed teams advance to the tier above, with bottom-placed teams relegated to the tier below.

* Competitive Experience: The PLA supports continued trainer growth and experience; each division is designed to provide a standard level of competition.

These guidelines are provided to clarify entry and progression within the Crowned Galarian Pokémon League. For further details, please refer to the complete rulebook available at your local Pokémon Centre or on the GPL’s official netsite.

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Jake blew out his cheeks, handing her phone back. “Wow, okay. So, this is… much more, uh, detailed than I thought it would be. Hmm. So… the Isle of Armor is a Shyr, I guess?”

“Yep. Armorshyr is the smallest in Galar, with only a single qualifying tournament. No prelims at all.” Siobhan replied.

“S’not exactly a crowd around here,” Ciara commented drowsily from her spot across the room, eyes half-closed. Despite her disinterested tone, Siobhan could tell she was listening closely.

Jake nodded, watching a Slowpoke eye the snack table, possibly hungry but too dim to know what to do about it, it was hard to tell. “I noticed,” he mused, then glanced back at her. “Not like, say… Castelia?”

Ciara’s expression darkened. “Yeah, Castelia’s… different. Busy, crowded, loud.” Her tone clipped. “Wyndon’s probably the same.”

Jab jumped in, grinning wide. "Come on, Wyndon’s like… the biggest city in the world! Nothing else even comes close!"

Bab nodded eagerly. "Yeah, Wyndon’s huge, practically its own country!"

Ciara narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. “No. That’s Castelia. And it’s bigger.”

Jab scoffed, dismissing her with a wave. "Pfft, bigger? Wyndon’s enormous! Everyone knows that.”

Bab crossed his arms, looking at Ciara as if she’d lost her mind. “Yeah, have you even been to Wyndon, Ciara?”

Ciara let out a sigh, giving them both a withering look. “And you two haven’t been to Castelia. I have.”

Siobhan smirked before interrupting gently, “Wyndon’s actually got some tough preliminaries,” she said, steering the conversation in a more neutral direction. “They run pretty much non-stop throughout the year, especially with so many trainers coming in from all over. The ones who make it through are usually some of the best trainers in Galar.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, grinning at her as he leaned back in the armchair. “So, is the registration age really ten? Are there actually, like, ten-year-olds running around in the GPL?” He sounded half-joking, but undeniably curious.

Siobhan chuckled, shaking her head. "Not that I can remember… hmm, let me think… if it’s ever happened, it’s got to be way before our time."

“It’s practically impossible.” Ciara agreed. “A ten-year-old would have to be a total prodigy to qualify on their first try. Most kids just wouldn’t have the experience at that age.”

Siobhan smiled. “You can start at ten legally, sure, but most wait until they’re ready to qualify.”

Ciara followed up, shooting Siobhan a glance. "Look at us—we’re fourteen, and none of us have competed in the Armorshyr Cup. Start too soon, and you’re just setting yourself up for failure."

She paused, thinking. “Some trainers do enter young and try their hand in the lower leagues first, to build up experience. They work their way up, but hitting the top eight on their first try? Not likely.” She gave a casual shrug. “Most don’t want that early loss on their record, so they wait until they’re prepared.”

Bab, who’d been listening with a smirk, nudged Jab. “But if they’d been training as long as us…”

Ciara ignored him, turning to Jake. “Here’s the thing. Sometimes, you get really strong trainers in the qualifiers—usually those who just missed out on the Crowned 32 or have been grinding in the lower divisions. They still have to qualify through local shyr tournaments, which makes it difficult for anyone new trying to break in.”

“Really?” Jake’s eyebrows lifted.

“Yeah.” Ciara nodded, voice sharpening a bit. “Even Armorshyr, as small as it is, can draw in some good trainers. Mainlanders sometimes think it’s an easy qualification—a back route they can just breeze through.”

Siobhan smirked, amused. “They’re in for a surprise, though. I don’t think they realise what the Master Dojo and the other schools can do. The locals here are better than they’d expect.”

Jake glanced between them, curiosity lighting his face. “Are trainer schools really that rare?”

“Armor’s unique, I would say. Three battle schools on one small island? Nowhere else in Galar has anything close to that… maybe Indigo or Sinnoh. They’ve got plenty, but here? Not common.” Ciara replied.

Jake’s eyes widened, and Siobhan picked up the thread. “Most kids just get the basics in school—Pokémon care, ethics, maybe a little battling. If you want to go further, though, you need a dedicated centre. That usually means evening classes, part-time training, it’s a big commitment. Pokémon Gyms or places like the Master Dojo? That’s not the usual experience for most kids.”

Ciara crossed her arms. "Consider the expertise. You need real veterans, trainers who’ve been through the League and know what it takes. People like that are not easy to find."

Siobhan nodded, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “The cost is not to be sniffed at either. A training school needs high-level Pokémon, good battle arenas, specialised equipment… it's a significant investment. Gyms have community support and League backing, but independents? They’re on their own. Without sponsors or the right connections, it’s hard to start one, let alone keep them going."

Jake absorbed that, frowning slightly. “So… it’s kind of like, only if you’re lucky enough to live near a place like this—”

"Or afford to travel to one regularly,” Ciara cut in. “Most trainers just keep it simple: you get better by going on your journey, joining Pokémon Gyms, taking part in unofficial tournaments, and then working up to the League.”

Siobhan concluded. “It takes time to become a skilled trainer—to find the right Pokémon and then actually learn how to battle with them. Most trainers don’t even try their first tournament until they’re around twelve to sixteen, depending on how long they’ve been able to train and get ready.”

Jake smiled, processing it all. “That’s pretty cool—and makes a lot of sense. Thanks, you two.”

Siobhan returned the smile, and Ciara gave a small nod of acknowledgment, satisfied that he understood.

Jab added. “Actually, Leon himself didn’t enter until he was fifteen? And he’s been undefeated ever since.”

Bab nodded eagerly, putting on an exaggeratedly wise expression. “That’s the secret, Jake. It’s like Bide, yeah? We lay low, building up power… then—BAM! You take the world by storm.”

Ciara snorted. “Sure, wait it out. Maybe in a hundred years, you’ll finally have a shot.”

Bab pretended to wipe away a tear, putting on a wounded expression. “So cruel, Ciara… so very cruel. Don’t you want to see us succeed?”

“Not particularly,” she replied, deadpan.

Jab and Bab gasped in mock horror, launching into overlapping, dramatic protests as Ciara rolled her eyes, their playful squabbling filling the room with cheerful background noise.

Siobhan leaned over to Jake, sighing half-seriously. “Think you’ll be able to keep her from killing them?”

Jake chuckled, shrugging. “Not sure I’m ready for that kind of responsibility. Might be above my pay grade.”

A soft, polite knock interrupted the conversation, and Siobhan glanced over to see her mum peek in. She was a petite woman, a kind face framed by light brown hair swept back in her usual style. She wore a dark green jumper and a practical, long apron, dressed well for managing the pub, but there was a warmth about her. A Klefki hovered at her shoulder, jingling softly as it cheerfully circled her with quiet loyalty.

At the sight of her mum, the Slowpoke scattered around the room miraculously snapped to attention, sitting up straighter with eyes half-open, looking almost... alert. Jake was caught off guard as his Slowpoke footrest shifted beneath him. He scrambled to sit up properly but only ended up in a half-sprawl, more like he’d fallen out of the chair than sat up in it. Trixie, rudely woken from her nap, blinked up at him with a sleepy pout, tiny paws rubbing her eyes.

Siobhan remained unimpressed. Typical Slowpoke—acting all placid and useless, then somehow turning into model mons the moment her mum walked in.

With a soft, warm smile, her mum looked over the group gently. “It’s getting late now, love,” she said to Siobhan, soothing as ever. “I’m sure your friends could use their rest before tomorrow’s training with Mayor Mustard, and you’ve got a big day yourself.” She turned to the others. “I hate to rush you off, but it might be a good time to wrap up for the night.”

Siobhan nodded, a slight lump forming in her throat as reality set in—this was it. Her mother’s presence only made it sink in deeper. She took a slow breath, nodding in reluctant agreement, and sighed, looking around at her friends, throat tight with unspoken words. With that, everyone began gathering their things, talking and tidying up, filling the silence as the evening’s excitement softened to a farewell.

As they packed, Siobhan’s gaze drifted over each of them—Jab and Bab bantering as they tried to shove leftovers into their pockets, Jake pulling on his jacket while grinning at Trixie, Ciara casting her usual glances to make sure everyone was set. She would miss them. A lot. But something warm and steady in her chest reassured her that she would see them again, just on a different path.

At the front door, with the cool night air filtering in, Siobhan took a moment with each of them. First, Jab and Bab, who each looked oddly serious for a change. She wrapped them both in a hug, shaking her head with a small smile. “You two—try to keep out of trouble, alright?”

Jab grinned, already slipping a leftover sandwich into his pocket. “You know us, Siobhan. Nothing but gold-star do-gooders, we are.”

“Yeah, we’re pillars of the community,” Bab chimed in, giving a wink.

She rolled her eyes, stepping back as they sauntered off, already squabbling over whose fault it would be if they got caught with the extra snacks.

Next, she turned to Jake, who held back a little. She gave him a warm hug, arms wrapping tightly around him, and leaned back to look at him seriously. “Keep in touch, alright? You’ve always got a friend in me, no matter where you are.”

Jake’s face softened, his smile grateful. “Thanks, Siobhan. I mean it.” He hugged her back, and she could feel his appreciation in the squeeze of his arms. When they pulled back, Trixie flitted to Siobhan’s shoulder with a cheerful “Emol!” and raised her tiny paw for her signature high-five. Siobhan smiled, meeting it with a tap, as Trixie gave a delighted little pat in return.

A small, shy ‘kyu’ followed, and Siobhan glanced over to see Jekyll watching with wide ‘eyes’ from behind Jake’s leg, usual intensity softened by a slight indignance. Not wanting to be left out. Jake chuckled, coaxing him. “Go on, Jekyll. Give it a try.”

Jake always seemed to really understand what Jekyll needed somehow; she was not sure many others would have been able to do the same. Jekyll hesitated, hidden claw barely peeking out from his disguise as he wavered. But with a little more encouragement, he held it out, somewhere between proud and terrified. Siobhan just gave him an encouraging smile, reaching out to gently tap his claw.

The Mimikyu froze as if stunned, looking up at her in shock, Trixie giggled at the sight, Jake burst into laughter, patting him lightly on the back. “See? Not so bad, right?”

As they all disappeared into the night, a comforting feeling settling over her. Siobhan turned to find Ciara still lingering by the door, usual calm replaced by a stubborn hesitation. She looked almost unsure, glancing away as if debating something.

Siobhan smiled at her best friend. “Wanna stay over, C? Like old times?”

Ciara met her eyes, a small, genuine smile breaking through. “Sure,” she replied, softer than usual.

The two walked back inside, an unspoken understanding passing between them—they weren’t quite ready to part just yet. In the morning, she’d leave for Wedgehurst, the start of a new adventure on the mainland. Wedgehurst was in Cavunshyr, which held its own qualifying tournament, and much like Armor—it had a smaller pool, but typically not as challenging.

As she looked out at the faint moonlight filtering through the window, a certainty settled over her. She would keep in touch, make her mark, and qualify for the League her own way. This was just the beginning.

Tomorrow, Wedgehurst awaited—a new path, a new chance, and a memory of Armor she’d carry with her forever.

POV – IGGY

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Iggy darted to the right, a Bubble Beam fizzling past, so close that she could feel the fine spray on her fur—a stream of sparkling bubbles that hissed and popped in mid-air, bursting with tiny flashes of iridescent light.

She zipped to the left, not a second to blink before she moved again. Quick Attack, like lightning! The thrill sent a jolt of energy through her nimble body, feet skimming against the stone with barely a sound. Her whole being hummed with focus. Her opponent, a round little blue ball that was Marill, frustrated as the last of her bubbles popped harmlessly against the courtyard wall. Iggy grinned to herself; cheeks puffed up with glee. Ya not gonna get me!

Move, move, move! she urged herself, heart pounding with determination. The Unseen Fist training had drilled it into her—never stop, never give them a chance to think! Hours of running, dodging, and blazing around like a little firestorm had made her fast. Not as fast as Artie or as zippy as Trixie, but she was a strong third place! And now, she loved making her opponents scramble, just like the Urshifu had taught her. Keep them on their toes, never let up—that was how battles were won! If Jake and Urshifu believed in her, then she was unstoppable. Well, third-fastest unstoppable.

The courtyard buzzed with life around her, the low, dark stone walls snug like a battle ring, and the Master Dojo’s mustard-yellow roof glowing in the sunlight above. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a few spectators just outside the small battle court—residents of Applinby, leaning in to catch the action. She didn’t know who they were, but that didn’t matter. They’re watching me! The thought sent a thrill through her. Bet they’re impressed already!

Her chest puffed out with pride as she imagined them talking about her new moves. A star in the making, she thought, her flames crackling a little brighter. Everything was better with a little flare—and she was all about that!

“Smokescreen, Iggy!” Jake’s call.

Smoke poured out of her like a miniature volcano ready to erupt, thick and acrid, a dark, ashy cloud, blotting out the stones and swallowing her in darkness. The air tasted faintly bitter, carrying that rich, volcanic scent that she found oddly comforting, like power building within her. She breathed it in, vision sharp even through the haze, eyes immune to the sting of her own smoke.

The strange mix of bubble residue and smoke gave the battlefield an unusual quality. Around her, the remnants of Marill’s soapy bubbles clung to the air, catching the ashy plumes and scattering flashes of rainbow light. She powered down her flames, the bright blue sky overhead adding to the surreal contrast. But none of that mattered. She had a job to do.

From within the smoky cover, she spotted Marill’s faint outline, bouncing in place as her trainer—a young girl with a big grin and an even bigger attitude—huffed loudly from the other side of the smoke.

“Oh, hiding already?” the girl—Wiz, Iggy was pretty sure—called out with a chirpy laugh. “Come on, Marill, a little smoke’s not gonna scare us! I’ve got the eyes of a Nickit and the nose of a Fearow! Or… wait, was it the other way around?” She giggled, having the time of her life. “Doesn’t matter! We’ll sniff you out either way!”

Her tone shifted, still cheerful but with a sharp edge of defiance. “Marill, I won’t let that smoke slow you down—Bounce!”

Jake’s eyes didn’t leave the field, one hand resting casually behind his back as he gestured lightly with the other. His stance was focused but relaxed, a peculiar blend of command and ease. “Bold move,” he said evenly. “Let’s see if it pays off.”

Iggy crouched low, her paws light against the stone. Thick, dark smoke swirled around her, cloaking her presence as she prowled through the cloud. Eyes locked onto Marill’s silhouette, rising higher and higher, little legs tucked in tight like a spring ready to snap.

She heard Jake’s call from somewhere behind her: “Ember!” And there it was—the faintest click behind his words. Her flames leapt higher, painting the smoky air with a warm glow. Marill twitched, zeroing on her with the light, and dropped down fast, using her weight, aiming right where Iggy had been. Hah! Right into the trap!

Shifting to one side, Iggy narrowed her eyes, trying to time it perfectly, just like she’d been taught—to catch Marill as she was coming down. A kind of... half-volley? She wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but Jake had said it once, and it sounded awesome! Okay, here we go!

She twisted, her body coiling like a spring as Marill hurtled down toward her. Just gotta hit it right! With a fierce grin, she fired her legs in a decisive Double Kick, her stubby hind legs deceptively powerful—solid and spring-loaded. The impact sent a satisfying thud through her as Marill’s soft, squishy body bounced away like a beach ball.

Marill skidded out of the smoke, tumbling across the stone courtyard in a blur of blue, rolling end over end like a ball shot from a cannon. With a soft, elastic thud, the round Pokémon hit the courtyard wall before bouncing back, looking dazed but otherwise fine.

Take that! Iggy thought with a burst of triumph. Bet ya didn’t see that one coming!

“Hey, mister! Didn’t anyone tell you girls don’t like guys who play tricks?” Wiz called out, flashing Jake a cheeky grin, hands planted on her hips.

Jake smirked, light but professionally. “It’s a battle,” he replied simply, before glancing at Marill, who was already getting to her feet, shaking off the impact like it was nothing. “Gotta admit, Marill’s got some serious bounce-back. Must be that—” he paused, eyebrows raising slightly as the words came out, “—thick fat?”

He blinked, realising what he’d said, quickly trying to backtrack. “Y’know, ability-wise! Resistance to damage, not… uh… you get the point.”

But as he spoke, Marill’s nearly spherical shape, with her round, white belly, only seemed to puff up even more. Her sensitive ears twitched, picking up every single word. Jake froze, noticing the way her gaze fixed on him, and he stammered again, waving his hands as if that would somehow help.

“I mean, it’s a compliment! Really! Thick Fat’s a great ability!”

Iggy tilted her head. Jake, you can’t just call someone fat... even if it’s true!

“I’m not fat!” Marill squeaked huffily, indignant but undeniably cute. Her little arms flailed as she protested, glaring. “I’m sturdy!”

Wiz let out a dramatic gasp, hands flying to her cheeks. “Mister! How could you? Calling a lady fat—shame on you!” She grinned, turning teasingly fierce. “Especially one who could knock you out with a Splash!” With a quick wink at Marill, she added, “Alright, Marill, let’s teach this bully a lesson! Make him eat those words—maybe with a side of Water Gun!”

Don’t think! Act! The thrill surged through her like a wildfire—this was her moment to show off everything she’d trained for. Jake’s voice echoed in her mind: “Think of it like this, Igs—you’ve got a small toolkit right now, but it’s a solid one. So, we master the basics first. Then we just keep building it up, step by step.”

There was a lot to learn, sure. But who cares? That just meant more room to grow! Blitz ‘em, blast ‘em, beat ‘em—let’s go!

As Marill’s small cheeks puffed up with liquid power, Iggy’s eyes narrowed, her focus razor-sharp. The Water Gun shot out like a blade, cutting cleanly through the smoky haze—but she was ready. I got this!

Planting her feet firmly, her flames crackling along her back, she took a sharp breath. With a quick whoosh, her Ember hit dead centre, slicing through the Water Gun and turning it to steam with a sharp, satisfying hiss.

Wiz’s eyes went wide. “What? No way! How’d you do that?”

Iggy grinned to herself, pride burning as hot as her flames.

Then—another click. No time to slow down! She fired a quick burst of Embers, her flames lighting up the air like little fireworks against Marill’s water spray. Marill dug in, trying to hold her ground, but Iggy wasn’t giving her a second to breathe. She kept her breath steady, her Embers firing in perfect rhythm, each one sharp and right where she wanted it.

Jake’s voice echoed over the courtyard, “Quick Attack!”

She burst through the last trails of smoke, a streak of fur and fire zooming straight at Marill. Even as she charged, she kept rapid firing Embers, little bursts of flame boiling through Marill’s watery sprays. She felt it—her speed, her power—just like they’d practiced. No stopping now! Keep pushing forward, keep the heat on!

Marill dug in, bracing herself, but Iggy already had her target locked. Her head low, a fierce grin plastered across her face, she barrelled straight for Marill’s soft, squishy middle. The collision landed with a satisfying whump!—but then, whoa! The impact sent Iggy springing backward, legs flailing as she tumbled through the air.

“Wheee!” she cried, spinning wildly, courtyard turning into a blur of grey and mustard yellow. She stuck the landing with a dizzy wobble, feet skidding across the stone as her flames crackled back to life on her back. Whoops! she thought, shaking off the spin.

Jake’s chuckle reached her ears. “Look at you, Iggy! All that training’s paying off!” His grin was wide, his voice full of pride. “Alright, give me your best Howl to finish strong!”

Iggy’s heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, she almost darted over to him, her paws itching to show him just how happy she was. But she stopped herself. Nope, time for the big finale! With a bright, determined spark in her eyes, she raised her snout to the sky, took a deep breath, and let out the loudest, boldest Howl she’d ever managed.

It echoed across the courtyard, a bold, powerful call that seemed to shake the air. She felt the fire deep inside her roar to life, flames on her back leaping higher and brighter, almost as tall as Jake himself. The warmth flooded her chest, wrapping around her like a crackling, fiery battle cry. This is it! This is my moment!

Across the courtyard, Marill wobbled to her feet, shaking off the daze. Wiz, grinned, eyes alight with excitement. “Well, who would’ve thought fire could be such a match for water?” she called over cheerfully. “But don’t think Marill’s out yet! Aqua Jet!”

Marill narrowed her eyes, focusing, and with a determined squat, her round body became encased in a sleek layer of water, glistening and swirling like a capsule of pure, pressurised energy. Iggy’s eyes widened, tracking the water that wrapped tightly around Marill, like she’d summoned her own tiny wave. Marill crouched low, coiled, and then—boom!—she launched forward in a burst, rocketing toward Iggy like a water-powered missile.

A faint click sounded from Jake’s direction—no words, just the signal she’d been waiting for. This was it!

Iggy took a deep breath, feeling the energy from her Howl ripple through her like a furnace ready to roar. She closed her eyes, letting the power build tighter and hotter, a spark waiting to go off. The flames on her back shot up, burning so hot that the air around her shimmered and bent.

Marill was hurtling toward her like a speeding bullet. She caught Wiz’s confident shout, saw Marill’s determined eyes behind the water shield. They thought they had her.

But just as Marill closed in, Jake’s final call rang out, strong and sure: “Now, Iggy!”

She raised her chest, all the fire, all the power built up and ready to unleash, taste some of this!—

Puff.

A pitiful wisp of smoke drifted lazily from her snout.

Iggy blinked in horror, desperately trying to push out more fire, but it seemed lodged somewhere between her chest and her throat. Her eyes went wide as she coughed, spluttered, and sputtered… then spluttered some more, managing only a few sad little fireballs.

Her grand finale had fizzled out like a snuffed candle, leaving her… completely empty.

She looked up just in time to see Marill, Aqua Jet roaring like a freight train, bearing down on her.

Uh-oh.

POV - JAKE

"Well, that didn’t quite go as planned, huh?" Jake sighed to himself, looking down at Iggy sprawled across the pale grey stones. He knelt beside her, retrieving a revive—a small, diamond-shaped vial that fit snugly in his hand.

He cracked it open carefully, and the scent hit him immediately: sharp, fresh, of berries and earthy plants, like someone had bottled up a burst of pure energy. The intensity prickled his nose. No wonder this wakes them up—this stuff’s potent.

Holding it just under Iggy’s nose, he waited. Her nose twitched once, then wrinkled, as if something tickled deep inside. A second later, her eyelids fluttered open, forelegs stretching in a cute little flex.

She blinked up at him, eyes hazy but gradually sharpening as recognition returned. “Cynda…?” she murmured, looking around like someone trying to piece together what just happened. Jake grinned. There she is.

She leaned into his hand as he scooped her up, settling her onto his shoulder. “Cynda,” she murmured, swaying a little, still groggy but quickly getting comfortable. She nuzzled against his neck with a soft, contented sigh. Jake imagined her saying, “Sorry I couldn’t pull off the big blue fire this time, but I really tried my bestest!”

He smiled, rubbing her head gently. “Don’t sweat it, Igs. Maybe I was aiming a little high?” He gave a small laugh. “Thought maybe a battle might give you one of those last-minute power-ups. Y’know, Shounen-style.”

Iggy blinked up at him, her wide, curious eyes catching on that last part, trying to decode his Earth-talk. Jake chuckled softly, adding, “You did great. Seriously.”

It was true—she had come such a long way from the almost-baby Cyndaquil he’d met back then. That battle had been theirs to win, no doubt, and they probably would have, if he hadn’t gotten a bit greedy pushing for the big finish.

She was almost at peak physical condition now, her foundations rock solid. She had everything she needed to succeed in the future. But the dream of seeing her unleash blue fire… that still eluded them, and Jake couldn’t quite put his finger on why. They felt so close to a breakthrough. The higher temperatures were there—he could see that. The breathing techniques—extra oxygen, holding it, compressing it—those were coming together too.

But for some reason, projecting it forward as a real, proper move still wasn’t happening.

He smiled, giving her a gentle scratch behind the head. “All those hours of running and training... they’re paying off, big time.” With a soft chuckle, he added, “I swear, I’ve never met anyone who enjoys cardio as much as you do. Almost wish you could convert me to your way of thinking.”

“Cynda-quil!” Iggy chirped brightly, all puffed up with enthusiasm as she nudged his cheek, her wisdom practically radiating: Run till your legs feel like they’ll fall off! That’s when it gets fun!

Jake raised an eyebrow, shaking his head with an amused grin. “That... sounds a little dangerous, Igs. Your powers of persuasion shall not work on me.”

Iggy let out a contented hum as she nuzzled into his neck, Jake chuckled again, murmuring, “Alright, let’s go make some peace.”

Jake strolled across the courtyard, still a bit bemused by this unexpected duty. His post for the weekend was right here at the entrance to the Master Dojo, standing as a kind of gatekeeper. Apparently, the other schools on the island had their own trials—counterparts to Mustard’s—and the dojo played its mutual part.

It was a funny role for him, stepping into what felt like the shoes of a gym trainer. As one of the dojo’s senior students, it was his job to represent the Master Dojo against would-be challengers. The whole thing felt almost nostalgic, as if he’d become one of those NPCs he used to battle over and over in the games.

Jake saw it as a solid chance to test some ideas—and Mustard, of course, had fully encouraged it. His gaming knowledge didn’t always translate neatly here, especially when it came to moves with those vague, in-game descriptions that probably worked a little differently in real life. This was the perfect place to figure that out. Plus, it gave him an excuse to try out some of the techniques he’d been working on all week—bits from the Unseen Fist, the Golden Path, or any of the ideas floating around in his head.

Sure, he’d lost a couple of battles this way, but that was the point, really. There was little pressure to win here. This was about learning, testing things out, and getting some real practice without any pressure.

And so, here he was, kitted out in the mustard-yellow gi of the Master Dojo on yet another sunny, postcard day in Applinby. The pale grey stones of the courtyard practically shimmered in the light, and even a small crowd of locals had turned up to watch—mostly kids, faces bright at the chance to see a few casual Pokémon battles. He could think of few ways better to spend a weekend.

Jake approached Marill, who was still catching her breath but looked pretty pleased with herself, round little body bobbing slightly with each exhale. An adorable, if slightly unusual creature to see up close in real life. He crouched down to meet her eyes.

“Hey, sorry about that, Marill,” he said with a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to call you... er, thick. Though, I guess some might take that as a compliment these days.” He grinned lightly. “You gave us a great battle out there.”

Marill gave him a long, pointed look, ears twitching as if weighing his sincerity. Then, with a little hmph, she turned her head away dramatically, still a bit miffed. Jake sighed, figuring he’d blown it.

But then, after a moment’s pause, she glanced back, expression softening. With a decisive little waddle, she marched over and hugged his knee with a cheerful “Ma, rill!”

“Thanks, Marill,” he said, scratching her gently behind the ears. “You’re a tough one, that’s for sure.”

Wiz came bounding over, grin as wide as her victory. “Thanks for saying that,” she said brightly. “She’s a little sensitive, y’know?”

The Tower of Waters student was a sight—vibrant and full of life, both in looks and attitude. Cerulean-blue hair, rich umber skin, and those striking, natural bright yellow eyes glinting with triumph. All a reminder of how humans here could be as wildly unique as the Pokémon they trained.

Jake straightened up, clearing his throat as he slipped into his “official” persona. “Congratulations, Challenger,” he said, theatrically serious. “By defeating the first trainer of the Master Dojo, you’ve earned the right to advance to the next stage.” He pressed his hands together and gave a small, martial arts-style bow, selling it as best he could.

Wiz giggled, covering her mouth before throwing her hand up in a mock salute. “Thanks, Sensei!” she said, her laughter bubbling up again. “That was so fun! And your Cyndaquil—” she leaned forward, beaming at Iggy, “—you’re one little firecracker!”

Wiz tilted her head, her bright eyes sparkling with curiosity. “You’re a new face! Don’t think I’ve seen you around before—and I’m at all the island gatherings. Like, if it happens on Armor, I’m there. You’d be hard to miss, y’know?”

Jake raised an eyebrow, smirking lightly. “Guess I’m doing a bad job of blending in.” He leaned on his heels. “So, a Timeston local, huh? What’s it like?”

“Oh, Timeston?” She grinned, rocking back with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Well, it’s… quaint. Beaches, cute little shops, tourists everywhere—a proper holiday spot. You know, the kind mainlanders love to visit.” She threw her hands up with mock exasperation. “And it’s all great until tourist season. Then it’s wall-to-wall chaos! You can’t walk five steps without some family spilling ice cream on your shoes or baking themselves to a crisp.”

Jake grimaced slightly, her words painting a vivid picture in his mind, thinking back to some of the popular holiday destinations on Earth, that could be... memorable, for better or worse. “I’m sure it's a paradise,” he said dryly.

“Oh, in many ways it is,” she agreed, flashing him a grin. “We’re hosting the Armorshyr Cup this year, too, so no doubt it’ll turn into even more of a safari! But I can’t wait for it!”

“Right!” Jake’s eyes lit up. “The Cup rotates, doesn’t it? I think it was in Applinby last year.”

“Yep, and now it’s Timeston’s turn!” Wiz grinned, a spark of excitement in her eyes. “Which means yours truly is entering too. Gotta represent!” She struck a playful pose, Marill mimicking her.

Jake smirked, crossing his arms. “Well then, you best get a move on, Challenger. Can’t win the Cup hanging around here.”

Wiz snapped a salute, grinning ear to ear. “Roger, roger! C’mon, Marill, let’s get to work!” With a cheerful wave, she started up the stone stairs leading to the next challenge. Marill waddled beside her, head held high and tail swaying like a little metronome.

Jake watched Wiz disappear up the staircase. Ciara would be her next opponent—and if by some miracle she managed to beat Ciara, then it’d be Master Mustard waiting at the top. But Jake wasn’t holding his breath. Facing Ciara would be a very different experience.

He didn’t need to imagine how tough she’d gotten—he’d experienced it firsthand. Every week, he and Ciara had mid-week battles to decide who’d take on the role of the first gym trainer, and every week since Siobhan had left, she’d beaten him. Twice now.

That said, Jake had his reasons for holding back, both tactical and practical. Ciara was shaping up to be his ultimate opponent—not just in the Cup, but possibly beyond that. Their mid-week battles had become an intriguing balancing act: staying competitive without showing all his cards. And Jekyll was a wild card Jake wasn’t ready to play yet.

By keeping Jekyll benched, he could sharpen his own skills and push the rest of his team to grow. Despite their progress, Jekyll was still leagues ahead of the others, and Jake knew the future depended on levelling up Trixie, Arthrox, Iggy, and Tuli to be as close to his strength as possible. He needed to teach himself how to manage without his strongest Pokémon as a crutch, too.

Besides, there was always the risk of over-relying on Jekyll. Winning practice battles easily might feel good in the moment, but it wouldn’t teach him—or his team—much of anything. The harder battles, ones where he had to think on his feet and adapt without his trump card, those were the ones that would prepare him for the real challenges ahead.

For now, letting Ciara think she had the upper hand wasn’t such a bad thing. Let her confidence grow—it would make his eventual victory all the sweeter. Or so he told himself.

Jake returned Iggy to her ball. “Good job, partner,” he murmured, clipping the ball back to his belt. He glanced around the courtyard, taking note of the few remaining spectators, who gave him friendly waves as they headed off to enjoy the rest of their weekend. Jake nodded back, polite and easy.

The courtyard was quieting now, the excitement of the battle fading into the hum of serene rhythm. Jake strolled over to the wall, leaning against it and stretching himself out, gaze drifting out to the horizon. The view was as breathtaking as ever. The late morning sun sparkled across the endless blue, light flashing across the rolling waves. The salty breeze swept through the air, carrying the faint, laughing calls of Wingull swooping in wide arcs above. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sounds and scents of the sea wash over him, fresh and invigorating.

With a satisfied sigh, Jake brought his wrist up, the familiar weight of his PokéGear prompting him into action. He tapped the screen, the device lighting up with a crisp display. The PokéGear was a peculiar piece of technology—simultaneously clunky and sophisticated, a surprisingly fat display that could be extended by rolling a nodule on the side. Jake flicked the nodule, and the screen unrolled smoothly, giving him an expanded view.

He flipped through the icons, each one brightly coloured and neatly arranged. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got,” he muttered to himself. His fingers hovered briefly before settling on PokéNet, the app that had quickly become a cornerstone of his life here. He tapped the icon, and the familiar interface loaded up—a giant forum that served as the hub for just about everything online.

PokéNet wasn’t just for trainers, though it did have entire sections dedicated to battle strategies, team-building tips, and heated speculation about the GPL. It was also the go-to source for breaking news, local updates, and even casual fun. There were sections for meme-sharing, fan art, and quirky little discussions about Pokémon habits or random encounters.

Jake scrolled through the front page, his eyes catching headlines like “Andshyr Cup Predictions—Can Castleguard Defend Their Title?” and “Top 10 Ways to Counter Trick Room Teams.” His lips quirked up in a faint smile at a pinned post titled “Ranking Every Meowth Meme—#7 Will Surprise You!”

The most remarkable thing about PokéNet, though, was the atmosphere. For a guy used to Earth’s internet, it was surreal how civil the discussions were. Sure, there were a few hotheads and occasional drama, but somehow, everyone managed to keep things remarkably respectful. Arguments stayed on-topic, personal attacks were rare, and the moderators barely seemed to intervene. People actually... followed the rules.

Jake paused, mulling it over. It wasn’t that it felt artificial—it wasn’t. It was genuine, a reflection of the culture here. It was just different. No flame wars, no devolving into chaos over trivial stuff. Intent did seem to matter and be understood. The sheer decency of it all felt equally refreshing and unnerving.

He swiped away from PokéNet, thumb hovering over the bright orange PokéPix icon, that stood for the device’s camera interface. He recalled how versatile the app was. Not just a camera, it was an experience in itself. The filters and curation options could rival professional photography software, and the autofocus was so advanced it could capture even the swiftest Pokémon mid-flight or mid-battle. The images it produced were so sharp and vivid they might as well have been a window into another world.

Jake swiped through a few test photos he’d taken during training sessions—a shot of Trixie mid-air, electricity crackling behind her, Arthrox rolling at top speed. The sheer quality was insane, impossible even—way beyond 8K.

It was one of the odd aspects of technology in this world—Pokéballs, for instance. They were something he’d grown up imagining but never truly thought about. Now? They were everyday objects. How could they shrink creatures down, transport them, keep them safe, and somehow maintain all of their energy and personality intact?

Jake had tried to dig into the science once, expecting to find a neat, clear answer. Instead, he’d stumbled onto explanations involving dimensional compression, manipulation of something called stasis states, and energy preservation that sounded more like magic than science. One article had even noted, somewhat chillingly, that Pokéball technology could theoretically work on humans. Jake had decided to stop reading after that.

Flicking back to the home screen, his eyes caught the MoodMatcher, its icon a little cartoon Ludicolo face that changed expression every time he looked at it. “This one’s a classic,” he muttered, tapping it.

The screen loaded with an upbeat jingle, an interface that seemed part science, part toy. The app’s premise was simple: it scanned a Pokémon’s current mood and reported back with a combination of words. Jake had initially written it off as nonsense until he’d tested it out on his team. Surprisingly, it had seemed to have some degree of success.

He flicked over to a saved result from a previous test, one of Tuli.

🌀 Current Mood: Relaxed but Feeling Naughty! 🌀

Looks like your playful partner is in a creative mischief kind of mood today! Perfect time for light-hearted activities. Try a puzzle, scavenger hunt, or maybe something involving a little harmless experimentation—supervised, of course! 😉

✨ Trainer Tip: Pokémon like Inkay thrive on mental stimulation! Why not encourage her to engage in some gentle playtime, perhaps with reflective surfaces or light puzzles? And maybe keep an eye on anything shiny… just in case.

🎭 MoodMatcher’s Accuracy Level: 110% fun, 12% accuracy. 🎭

“I am not naughty!” Tuli had projected indignantly into his thoughts, her voice clear in his head. At the same time, she let out a determined “Ink, inku!” aloud, doubling down on her stance. “I just… want to know! That’s completely different.”

“Sure, it is,” he’d agreed lightly, trying to keep a straight face, flipping his house keys in his hand. The shiny metal caught the sunlight, sending tiny flashes dancing around them.

“Jake, you can’t believe I would fall for such simple....” Tuli had started, trailing off as she became entrapped within the mental prison of her own making. The keys flashed again, her big, round eyes locked onto them as if on instinct, mesmerised. For a moment, she seemed to fight it, tentacles bunching up in resolve. But the allure was much too great. Too irresistible. Unable to escape her desires, Tuli drifted almost magnetically through the event horizon, the inevitable singularity that was her curiosity.

Jake chuckled at the memory, Tuli was definitely one of a kind. Despite her antics—or because of them—she was an endless source of intrigue and no small amount of concern. He had been delighted to discover that she had such a cute side to her. It was a reminder that no matter how mysterious or dangerous Tuli had the potential to be, she was still a Pokémon, and just as adorable as any in her own way.

A soft beep from his PokéGear pulled him from his thoughts. Rolling his wrist, he brought up the screen, tapping into the familiar interface with its cheerful, retro design. He navigated to Pidgeon, the messaging app. Its logo—a cute, cartoonish Pidgey mid-flight—was iconic. Jake had quickly discovered that it was an app of global proportions comparable to the top brands back on Earth, developed by an Indigoese tech company apparently.

Jake tapped the notification and up popped a new photo. He tilted his head, a grin sliding across his face at the image: two almost identical people posing for a selfie. Siobhan, in her usual cute green outfit, a Yamper in her arms, little tail wagging even in the still shot. Next to her stood another girl—older but uncannily similar—dressed in a lab coat. The same vibrant orange hair, the same bright green eyes. They could’ve been twins. Siobhan and Sonia.

Siobhan had stayed in touch since leaving for Wedgehurst two weeks ago. updates of her journey had soon followed, from the boat journey to the arrival at the harbour of Hulbury, and the long train journey up to Wedgehurst. It had all been more mundane than Jake had expected.

As it turned out, Corviknight taxis were not exactly an everyday convenience here. Far from it, actually. Corviknight were far too rare a species as it was, and their services were mostly reserved for urgent deliveries or VIPs. Even then, a variety of Pokémon handled much of that workload—it wasn’t a Corvi-only gig. Like so many things, reality did not quite translate to some of the more meta gameplay liberties. No handy flying service for the average traveller here. Boats, trains, and buses were still the backbone of public transport, much like back on Earth.

Sure, some trainers travelled by Pokémon, but there were plenty of caveats: the right species, at the right size, with the right training. And even then, it wasn’t practical for everyone. A shame, really—Jake had kind of looked forward to seeing if T-posing on a Spearow was a legitimate form of transport. Sadly, life had once again refused to imitate art.

Jake finally turned to what had quickly become one of his lifelines in this world—BattleLog. An app that was core to his Pokémon training, the central hub of all his plans and strategies. If he had an edge in this world, it wasn’t because he was particularly strong or skilled; it was the knowledge he carried over from Earth.

It had hit him early on, in conversations with locals and his peers. Although Jake might lack much of the common-sense the residents here took for granted, his understanding of Pokémon—moves, abilities, typing, strategies—was leagues beyond what was considered normal. Back home, he’d been obsessed with Pokémon in every form, devouring information about the games, the stats, the lore. He’d known pretty much every move a Pokémon could learn and every advantage a type matchup could bring. Perhaps only his friend Josh could rival his enthusiasm for geeking out over Pokémon trivia.

Here, though, that same knowledge was extraordinary. Even Mustard, for all his incredible experience, did not seem to hold even close to the encyclopaedic details Jake did. Why would he? People did not think in game mechanics—hidden abilities, move priorities, or meta combos was not part of their day-to-day thinking. And as far as Jake could tell, there wasn’t even a widely accessible equivalent of a Pokédex.

Jake had quickly realised he would need to tread carefully. His knowledge could raise questions—especially when it came to topics like Legendary or Mythical Pokémon. People here treated those stories with reverence and mystery. His casual familiarity with them was something he would have to keep close to his chest.

Anyway, that was where BattleLog came in. While it wasn’t a Pokédex, the app was versatile enough to act as one in Jake’s hands. Voice notes, text fields, and team data—it was a tool for a trainer to help manage their team. Jake had already begun transferring as much of his Earth-bound Pokémon knowledge as he could, creating his own reference system for the future. It was also how he tracked his team’s progress and planned their training, acting as both a diary and a strategy guide. He was only human after all, and memories faded even of the things he loved.

Jake sighed sadly at the thought as he navigated to Iggy’s profile; the information neatly laid out on the screen. The first thing that greeted him—a goofy close-up of Iggy mid-yawn, flames flickering along her back, eyes squinting as if she’d just been woken up too early. He knew she was already a star in the making.

She was slightly smaller than the average Cyndaquil listed in the games—1’06” compared to the standard 1’08”. Lighter too, at 6.7kg rather than the usual 7.9kg. Maybe it was because she was young? Or perhaps it had something to do with her being female? Earth animals often showed similar variations, though Jake was not biologically expert enough to say for sure.

The next section displayed her move pool, that Jake had neatly categorised:

Current Moves:

☑ Leer

☑ Tackle

☑ Smokescreen

☑ Ember

☑ Quick Attack

☑ Howl (EM)

☑ Double Kick (MT)

To Learn (Level Progression):

☐ Flame Wheel

☐ Defence Curl

☐ Flame Charge

☐ Swift

☐ Lava Plume

☐ Flamethrower

☐ Inferno

☐ Rollout

☐ Double-Edge

☐ Overheat

☐ Eruption

Beneath the checklist was a section for additional notes. Jake scrolled down, focusing on the role he’d outlined for her along with the tips and tricks he had picked up from the Unseen Fist. “Explosive Blitz Specialist” was written at the top of the field, underlined twice for emphasis.

The Cyndaquil line were among the faster fire-types outside of legendries. So, aligning with what he had learned from the Urshifu, he’d decided to focus on harnessing her speed and firepower into a relentless, blitz-style battling approach. Overwhelm opponents before they had a chance to think, let alone counter.

The issue was, Iggy wasn’t quite there yet. She did not currently have the destructive move set needed to truly embody that role. But that was fine. Her progress was steady, but she still was young Pokémon with plenty of room to grow. One of his primary strategies for her was to build her physical condition to the peak of what a Cyndaquil could achieve—stamina, agility, accuracy, and dexterity. The foundations of battling.

Pokémon moves developed via two methods. Energy expansion, as he’d already noted, was the natural process. With repeated use in a variety of situations, a Pokémon’s internal energy reservoir would grow, much like a muscle building over time. It was a grind, with progress almost imperceptible at times, but every time Iggy fired off an Ember, executed a Quick Attack, or even a Leer, her type aura strengthened ever so slightly. Bit by bit, those marginal gains would eventually unlock the ability to perform more powerful moves and, in time, even trigger evolution.

The second method—specialisation—was where things became more challenging and, in Jake’s opinion, more interesting. Much of a Pokémon's natural move development was rooted in their behaviours in the wild. Their learned abilities were a direct response to the challenges they faced for survival, shaped over countless generations in an almost Darwinian process. Moves were honed by necessity: predators to evade, prey to catch, rivals to outmatch.

But for trained Pokémon the boundaries of what could be learned expanded beyond nature’s script. The combination of a trainer’s understanding with a Pokémon’s adaptability opened many new possibilities. Moves outside of a Pokémon’s typical pool—sometimes completely uncharacteristic of their species—became possible. A collaborative process that unlocked potential neither could achieve alone.

The most common tools for this were TMs and move tutors. TMs worked by transmitting detailed instructions directly into a Pokémon’s mind, a framework to learn the concepts of a move almost instantly. However, they were not without their limitations: they were costly, one-use only, and notoriously unreliable if you were not sure whether your Pokémon could handle the move. Jake was lucky in that regard, and he was quite possibly the only one in this world who would not suffer that problem.

Move tutors were the more organic option. A tutor could be a seasoned trainer, a specialised expert—or the Pokémon’s own trainer, provided they understood what they were teaching. This was where Jake’s knowledge could shine. Tutoring relied on repetition, creative thinking, and the ability to adapt to the Pokémon’s unique capabilities.

This was what made training here so different from the games. There was no neat little level-up ding that instantly made a Pokémon stronger. Progress wasn’t handed to you—it took patience and hard work. Every move, every ounce of power, came from conscious effort. He could see now why being a Pokémon trainer wasn’t for everyone. The level of dedication required to become the best there ever was wasn’t all that different from pursuing a professional sports career back on Earth.

"BattleLog," he started, his voice steady. "Opponent: Marill, water-type. Outcome: Loss." He let a small chuckle escape. "But not without some valuable takeaways."

He paused, organising his thoughts before continuing. "First off, Iggy. She looked great out there—fit, fast, and ready. Her conditioning has come a long way. This was our first time going up against a direct type disadvantage, and while we didn’t pull through, it was an experience. A good one, I think, for both of us."

He shifted his weight, gazing out at the sea for a moment before refocusing. "The biggest takeaway here? Smokescreen. It’s a crucial move in situations like these—buying time, breaking line of sight, disrupting the battle. But it’s only as good as how and when it’s used. Timing is everything, and I need to make sure we’re maximising its potential. Might add some drills to focus on strategic deployment under pressure."

Jake glanced at the small device in his hand—the clicker Morgana had introduced him to. He turned it over in his fingers. "This was my first time testing out the clicker," he said, holding it up. "It’s... clever. Extremely useful for misdirection, especially in battles where that can turn the tide. But it has its limitations."

"Number one: it requires a Pokémon with excellent hearing. Iggy, fortunately, fits the bill, but Arthrox and Tuli? Not. Each of them has their own methods—Arthrox’s vibrations and Tuli’s psychics—but they would not fit this method. Not to mention, it’s not the best tool for battle arenas. The noise would just get drowned out in the crowd."

Jake smiled faintly, thinking back on the battle. "Still, I like it. It adds a layer of strategy that feels… right. It forces me to think ahead, to adapt in real time. I’ll definitely use it again, at least in the right settings."

He glanced at the PokéGear screen, watching as BattleLog automatically filed his voice note under the appropriate topics and Pokémon profiles. The device’s ability to interpret intent and organise his thoughts so seamlessly never ceased to amaze him. It was like having a highly efficient assistant in his pocket.

"Blue fire," he began again. "We gave it a shot, but it’s still not there. Something’s off with the method."

He paused, thinking back to his school days. Chemistry had been one of the few subjects he’d actually been interested in, and this felt like one of those problems he should be able to solve. "I know the theory. More oxygen equals hotter flames. If Iggy can breathe in more oxygen and hold it, that should work. We expand her lung capacity, focus on fitness, and we’re golden. Or, well, blue."

"So, where’s the problem? Maybe it’s diet? Should I feed her metal? Heavy metals, perhaps? Gas? Get her... high on gas?" He snorted softly at the absurdity of it. "Yeah, no. That’s a fast track to a disaster, and quite probably unethical. An exploding Cyndaquil is kind of the goal, but that’s not quite what I meant.”

Jake shook his head. "No, no, let’s shelve those for now. I think it’s something else—projection. Iggy’s fire is cooling too quickly as it leaves her throat. She’s got the power, but it’s not staying hot enough on the way out."

Suddenly, his train of thought hit a sharp turn, derailing into something completely unexpected. "Metal," he murmured, the word lingering in the air. "Heavy metal."

A memory bubbled to the surface. His dad—risk accountant by day, unapologetic metalhead by night, or any time really, much to his mum’s chagrin—once went on an enthusiastic tangent about the mechanics of vocal growls. “Dad said it’s all about controlling your throat muscles, narrowing the airways. That’s how they get those crazy guttural growls."

Jake paused, the pieces clicking together in his mind. "If Iggy learns to control her throat muscles like that, narrowing the path, it might increase the fire’s compression. Hotter, more intense, and voila, blue fire."

He burst out laughing, unable to help himself. "Oh no. I’m going to teach Iggy how to death growl. Poor, innocent Iggy— What will she think? What am I even doing to this world? "

Jake laughed again, shaking his head, but the idea stuck. It was ridiculous, sure, but it was also the best lead he had. "Alright. Fire compression. Let’s see if we can’t turn Iggy into the cutest metal vocalist the world’s ever seen."

The thought lingered, smile fading as he mulled over what to tackle next—when it hit.

The horn.

Out of nowhere, a thunderclap in the still air, deep and resonant, tearing through the silence like a blade through silk. The courtyard seemed to shudder under its weight, the sheer volume crashing over him in a wave that left no room to think, only react.

The sound swelled, smooth and commanding, each note steeped in authority. It filled the space, wrapping around him, vibrating in his chest and making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The notes curled through the courtyard, each one lingering before being carried off by the wind, only to echo back with doubled intensity from the surrounding mountains.

Jake jolted upright, his ears ringing, a dull thrum remaining as the sound ebbed.

Wiz had been defeated. Quickly. Too quickly. Jake felt a pang of sympathy for the lively girl but pushed it aside. He had his own concerns now.

Mustard’s Final Trial awaited.

Jake had worked hard to get here. His rite of passage was about to begin—this time, for real. All his training, the familiar and unfamiliar, the practical and fantastical, had been leading him to this moment. The Armorshyr Cup, the GPL, Galar’s Champion—they were all pieces of a much larger journey.

And somewhere at the end of that path, of sword or shield, of shadow or light, was a God.