“Now call that stupid thing back into its ball already!” Rika hissed—eyes darting around frantically.

Bidoof still trudged beside them as they walked back to Trainer School. Not only did it act like a human—with both its romantic and eating manners—but now it also wanted to attend school with them?!

If any teacher saw this, Mason would be done for. His chances at a license? Gone, just like that. People were already giving them strange looks on the streets.

“He needs some exercise, though!” Mason insisted. "Good trainers make sure their Pokémon walk at least five thousand steps a day. I heard about it in a TV show from the Jojo region.”

"Johto," she corrected.

Just the way Bidoof’s butt wiggled back and forth made her blood boil. If she had been burdened with a creature like that, she would’ve thrown in the towel by now.

Bedhead wasn’t great either, but at least it was only incompetent, not stupid.

And she still couldn’t believe that one of the most prestigious schools in all of Orre was located here, of all places, at the hills of Molehill Village. Right at the top of the smaller hill of the two.

All around lay flat land, nothing but forest and grass. The other hill? Only Pokémon inhabited that one.

The school building stood out in this small backwater town like a Wailord among a herd of Caterpie.

White marble stone, adorned with blue-and-gold monuments depicting majestic Pokémon silhouettes. A meticulously maintained Galarian garden surrounded it, filled with neatly trimmed hedges, vibrant flowerbeds bursting with Lupine, Bellossom Petals, and fragrant Roselia blooms. Elegant stone paths wound between the greenery, leading to ornate fountains and delicate topiaries, taking the shapes of various Pokémon.

That was the precious Diglett Academy.

Okay, that wasn’t its real name, but most people called it that. An obvious, and really bad nod to the village’s name.

Moving masses of students shuffled through the hallways, most of them looking like rich brats. Rika could practically smell how wealthy these kids were—or rather, their parents. The way they spoke, and dressed, and most importantly how they looked down upon her. Nevermind, scratch that—Mason was the one getting those looks.

Rika took a step to the side, hoping to somehow distance herself from him, but he clung to her like a Doduo. Annoying.

At least he had finally called Bidoof into its Pokéball. But not only that. He had even used the Pokéball’s mechanism properly, twisting the top half counterclockwise to lock it. Rika had insisted on that.

It was one of the most important rules, and she couldn’t risk him failing the exam just because of that stupid Pokémon appearing at the worst possible moment.

All the students from their year had gathered in the auditorium.

Excited murmurs buzzed through the crowd, reaching their peak when he stepped onto the stage.

Everyone looked up to him—literally—as the stage was at least a quarter Onix high.

The man waved at the students, dressed nobly in a green jacket and brown pants, resembling a tree. His wild, green dreadlocks dangled almost to the ground, and his eyes glowed in a determined red. Fabio Rosenfeld, former Elite Four Trainer and Grass-type specialist. Now that he’d retired as a Trainer, he served as a teacher and director of Molehill Academy.

Rika’s faint interest in joining the school stemmed solely from him, along with the cringe promise between her and Mason.

Becoming the best Pokémon trainers ever…

Yeah, sure.

Not like that’s every second child’s dream and pretty much impossible to ever achieve.

An unease filled Rika. Her head tilted to the side, almost as if a magnetic force had pulled her. She squinted at the sight of her.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

That stupid Jynx again!

Shaniqua stood there, her hip bent way too far inward, hand propped on her side. She looked like the fusion of a Fairy and Dark-type Pokémon. Though, she was neither pretty nor cool enough to be either. Her vibe was more akin to a gothic clown that put on their makeup hanging upside down a cliff.

The worst thing, however, was her perfect, golden hair—so blonde it looked like Bidoof himself had pissed all over it.

She was probably never laughed at for its color, unlike Rika.

Shaniqua had finally noticed her stare.

Their eyes met, and Shaniqua winced for a split second. Of course, she immediately put on a confident scowl, but Rika saw right through it.

She responded with an exaggerated grin, slowly rubbing her fist into her palm in a deliberate, threatening gesture. Rika didn’t believe in Arceus, but this one time she prayed with all her heart that she’d face Shaniqua in the upcoming challenge.

Shaniqua pondered for a moment, looking defeated, when her eyes wandered off to the side. Rika’s gaze followed, eventually landing on... Mason? What did he have to do with their beef?

Looking back at Shaniqua, Rika saw her sticking out her tongue and moistening her lips before parting them, playfully puckering as if blowing kisses.

Rika raised an eyebrow.

Is she having a stroke? she worried for a moment.

Then, Shaniqua turned to Cori, another boy from their class, leaning forward and laughing amusedly.

For some unknown reason Rika couldn't help but feel like they were laughing about her.

"Dear students...!" Mr. Rosenfeld's voice ripped her back into the present. "I would appreciate it if you calmed down."

The murmurs slowly faded, though everyone was still too excited to take their seats.

“We will now proceed with the practical part of the trainer examination!” Mr. Rosenfeld smiled as if looking forward to this—eager to crush the dreams of those who wouldn’t pass.

Rika and Mason exchanged tense glances.

"I guess every examiner must carry some satanic roots within them," Rika joked, but judging Mason's confused expression, she feared he didn't get it.

She had spent weeks contemplating the exam’s possible format. While one thing was certain; it would involve some sort of Pokémon battle—that could still take various forms. Even the idea of a race, a riddle, or some other gimmicky task wasn’t too absurd to happen.

In the end, the examiners only cared about one thing: how well would the trainer work together with their Pokémon, even in tough situations—and whether they stood firm or crumbled under the pressure.

Rika knew she could withstand. Yet she found herself nervously biting on a fingernail.

Mason bounced from one foot to the other, like he was about to shit himself. She forced her gaze back on Mr. Rosenfeld, or his nervousness might rub off on her.

Noticing the nail-biting, she became aware of her own anxious state. Startled, she pulled her hand back. Her gaze briefly wandered around, embarrassed at the thought that someone might have noticed it.

“The first part will consist of a 1-on-1 battle, each of you facing off against another student!” Mr. Rosenfeld said.

Rika nodded. She had expected something like this.

Hopefully, they won’t just evaluate based on victory or defeat... it could be tough for the weak students otherwise. But at least it would be over quick for them.

She looked at Mason, who definitely fit into that category.

The boy, however, stared into nothingness.

Not even now he was focused on the important. Just as Rika wanted to poke him into the side, her eyes followed his. A chill ran through her body.

“This can’t be true...” she stammered.

Mason grabbed her jacket, tugging on it several times, not getting out a single tone.

Mr. Rosenfeld gestured to the scoreboard behind himself. “These are the pairings for the battles.”

Rika swallowed.

No way.

She had prepared for all kinds of scenarios, but this…? Was that, perhaps, why it did happen? Because it was the one thing she hadn’t accounted for?

“We have to... fight against each other...” Mason said, horrified.

Rika forced herself to remain calm—wouldn’t let herself give in to the despair. That was exactly what the examiners wanted.

“It-It’s not so bad”, she said. “We can still both do it. We just have to do our best and convince them of our skills-“

“But there’s yet another catch,” Mr. Rosenfeld said with amusement. “Only the winner of this round will qualify for the chance to obtain a trainer's license! So give it your all, trainers.”

She stared at the man with hollow eyes, his words incomprehensible to her, like a foreign language. Suddenly, she felt nauseous, helpless. She didn’t want to fight Mason. They were supposed to succeed together! As a team! This wasn’t fair!

But then she remembered something.

Something very important.

“Being a Pokémon Trainer isn’t about fun, it’s a business.” Her father had repeated those words all his life.

So much so that they had slowly become Rika's very own beliefs.

And looking back at it, he was right.

Pokémon were weapons, and humans used them.

That’s what she was here for: to gain the right to use such a weapon.

And for what?

To be a Pokémon trainer?

To gather all badges and become a famous Champion?

That, for sure, was an option. But that also meant she’d have to prove she was capable of doing so.

Then why was she so surprised to be matched against Mason?

Did she really think this was a coincidence? Being put against her best friend out of all these people?

No—certainly not.

The sardonic smirk on Mr. Rosenfeld’s face was more than evident.

It was all part of the test—Rika was sure about that.

For the examiners, it were exactly those kinds of situations that mattered—situations where you had to do the right thing, even when it felt impossible.

Yet, deciding against doing what’s right could be even harder than that.

Her success or Mason’s dream?

Right or wrong?

The decision was up to her.