Viridian City I - Press Start
“Thunder Punch!”
“Bide!”
Two Pokémon clashed, lightning dancing over their forms. One glowed an ominous red as it tanked the damage, drawing in the physical force of the punch even while the lightning danced harmlessly over its tough skin. The two Pokémon disengaged.
Their Trainers stood on dark podiums, concealing them from view. Above and beyond the touch of the field, only the Pokémon could be seen battling below, only the voices of the Trainers revealing their presence. The Pokémon clashed together once more.
Hits and blows were parried and exchanged. Powers to melt steel, break rocks, drown enemies were called forth with precise instructions, wearing both competitors down. And through it all, in the darkness two pairs of eyes were locked on one another.
On both sides of the field stadium seating was installed, running the full length of the room. If one were to sit on one of those stands, the other would be concealed to them, giving the observers the sensation that they and those beside them were alone in watching the battles taking place.
Yet most of the seats were empty. A few men and women sat and watched, talking quietly to one another or eating snacks. A Skitty sat curled on one woman’s lap, purring in contentment as its owner stroked its fur, reaching the hard to reach spots.
Further beyond her was a small group of young men and women, cheering on one of the Pokémon below. Each wore dusty clothing, torn and ragged in places and patched in others, but fit on their healthy frames. Only Poké Balls on their belts and in their hands revealed their status as Trainers, all holding a creature of amazing potential.
Pokémon. Creatures that could live in every environment imaginable, wielding powers that could bend the universe to their whims, who filled the world with wonder, adventure, and danger. Pokémon, a collection of creatures that could be tamed by humans and worked alongside of, to achieve great things.
But they were not civilized creatures. They wanted to grow stronger, to become better. Rare was the Pokémon who never wanted to fight, never wanted to grow, as they were one and the same to Pokémon. All Pokémon wanted to be more. Early humans recognized that and formed a partnership with Pokémon, a Trainer and their Pokémon, fighting together.
At first it was the wars and conflicts between man. But as humanity grew more tamed, so did their battles. Fewer wars occurred as generations passed, as humanity settled down into settling their differences with Pokémon Battling. An art, sport, and lifestyle, all rolled into one, every year thousands of Trainers from all over the world would start on their Journeys.
They would gather Pokémon, train them, push them to their limit as they explored. Upon their completion they’d return home, settling in using their newly gained knowledge and Pokémon to expand and improve their community. Year after year, generation and generation, society grew.
A Pokémon fell to the floor below, their energy spent and their chest heaving for air. Even as the crowd roared its pleasure, the group of Trainers among them, the battling Trainers shared a long look between them before fading into darkness as they recalled their Pokémon.
One of the shadows moved toward the stands, revealing a young woman with a wide but exhausted smile on her face. The group of Trainers surged to their feet, wrapping her in hugs and back pats and words of congratulations even as the stands slowly emptied of other observers. Save one.
His name was Slate and he too was a Pokémon Trainer. That very day he registered at Pokémon Center Delta in Viridian City, the westernmost Pokémon Center of the four that catered to Viridian City and the Trainers that passed through it. The Viridian Gym was his first stop.
He sat on the stone bench, a field notebook on his lap and a pen in his hand, as he wrote down his thoughts on the battle and how the two Pokémon fought. Comparisons, differences, everything that caught his eye as interesting or odd. He was so focused on his notebook that he didn’t realize someone had approached until they sat down next to him.
“It was a good match,” the older man said as a Persian sat down next to him. “She fought well.”
Slate jumped but settled down when the man seemed content to ignore him, eating from a small bag of berries while his gaze watched the group of departing Trainers. Instead, Slate snapped his notebook shut and put it in his new hiking pack. He made to rise.
“Not going to challenge the Gym Leader?” the man asked, his gaze pinning Slate in place. “You look about the age for those starting their Journeys.”
“I am,” Slate said. “But I’m not here to battle the Gym Leader. I need to find my Starter.”
The man nodded in understanding. “Ah, I see. Is it playful or just scared?” he asked.
That made Slate confused, causing him to sit back down. “Yes to the first and no to the second but why would that matter to finding her?”
Confusion crossed the man’s face for only a second before it vanished behind a cool facade. “Don’t you need to retrieve your Starter? Isn’t she hiding somewhere?”
“I do need to retrieve her but she isn’t hiding, I think. She’s missing. She’s been missing for years,” Slate explained. Even the Persian was looking at Slate now.
The man frowned. “Perhaps you should explain.”
Slate shrugged. “My Journey is to find her. She saved my life years ago but vanished without a trace. So now that I’m 18 and can go on a Journey, I’m going to go look for her.”
“You’re going on a Journey to look for your Starter.”
“Yes.”
The duo was silent for a moment before the man began to chuckle. His Pokémon looked at him as though he were insane, a look shared by Slate as he carefully began to edge away. Eventually the man’s mirth subsided and he gave Slate an amused smile.
“I have been alive for many years and I’ve heard all sorts of reasons for young Trainers to go on their Journey. Most often it’s for personal ambition or strength. Then there are those who think they can ‘game’ the system, creating new synergies that haven’t been explored a dozen times over. Rare are the ones who are on missions, set after some goal, most often vengeance or something of a similar nature.”
The man shook his head. “But a Trainer going on a Journey to look for his Starter that’s been missing for years. Why, that possibly has to be the oddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Blood rushed to Slate’s cheeks but he refused to look away to hide his shame. Instead he rallied back. “What’s your point?” he asked.
The man finally finished shaking his head and relaxed like a king on the stone bench beneath him. “My point is more of a question, my young friend. Namely, how are you going to find your missing Starter?”
Slate finally looked away. “I have my ways.”
The man hummed in thought. “I’m sure. And how are you going to protect yourself? After all, the world is not a safe place outside the protections of society’s walls.”
Slate’s hand almost drifted to the knife strapped to his belt but he stopped himself when the Persian began to growl. Instead, his hand drifted over to the Poké Balls on his hip. “I’m going to catch a Pokémon to protect me and together we’ll go on a journey to find my Starter.”
“Wouldn’t they be your Starter then?” the man asked with no small amount of amusement. Slate’s stubborn glare and clenched hands were particularly amusing.
“No. My Starter will always be her,” Slate countered. The man hummed.
“Her, her, her. So what is she?” the man asked. Slate’s fists unclenched.
“I don’t know.”
The man paused, bafflement claiming him as Slate studiously ignored his gaze. The man snapped out of it. “You don’t know what your Starter is, you’re going on a Journey to find her, and you have no Pokémon to protect you. Is that all correct?”
Slate paused for a moment to think about it before nodding. “I also grew up in a Pokémon Center.”
That earned him a sigh. “Of course you’re an orphan, why not? Young man, do you even understand how dangerous the world out there is?”
And that was when the man saw it. A spine forged from steel, eyes focused and intense, never wavering from their target, the man’s jugular. Fingers clenched into fists, revealing the light dusting of scars almost hidden on Slate’s pale fingers.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“I understand more than you could imagine,” Slate growled in the way only a teenager sure of himself could.
Yet, the man did not disbelieve him, instead looking at him with a calm and calculating expression. There was something in Slate’s body language, something that could never be faked by even the most skilled actors, that lent credence to his words. Whatever Slate’s past, he did not doubt that the young man before him had gone through something and survived.
“Perhaps you do,” the man murmured. He leaned back slightly, giving Slate an evaluating stare. “So do you intend to try your hand at the Gym Circuit while on this Journey to find your Starter?”
Slate shrugged. “I do but I have no ambition for the crown of Champion,” he explained.
The man’s lips twitched but he pushed past his initial response. Instead he asked, “So that’s all Gyms are good for, hmm? A step ladder to the ultimate position a Trainer may rise to?”
“They hand out pretty Badges.”
The man snorted. “A childish answer but also an amateur diversion. Speak your true thoughts, Trainer,” he barked, almost a command.
“What?” Slate asked, his eyes wide with shock.
The man gestured to where Slate had placed his notebook. “Young Trainers do not sit taking notes on the battles they see. They do not speak calmly of catching Pokémon without any aid, or traveling without any protection. They are wide-eyed, naive fools that are chewed up and spat out by a dangerous world that they are ill-prepared for. Filled with hopes and dreams that have been shovel-fed to them for years by their parents and teachers.”
Persian growled alongside its owner in confirmation, half-lidded eyes lazily watching Slate even as its tail swept back and forth. The man continued. “When threatened, your hand didn’t move to a Poké Ball, understandable if you discount the fact they’re empty. No, your hand moved to a knife such as it does now.” Slate’s hand jerked away from the knife handle as if burned. The man’s eyes never left Slate’s though and he continued.
“Scars are marks of injuries, both accidental and intentional. You don’t conceal yours nor do you show them off, you consider them a fact of life. You sit calmly but aware, unless your focus is on another task in which case you dedicate yourself to it wholeheartedly. A noble skill but one that must be used with caution lest it betray you. But your scars don’t speak of an accident prone childhood, not with how you sit and act. You grew up around great danger.
“It’s curious even now. You do not twitch or react, you wait and analyze. Waiting to run? No, whatever that occurred left its mark on you. You’re waiting to strike but will it be with words or blade?”
Neither said anything for a long moment as masks bled away from both of them, leaving two focused combatants staring one another down. And then the man smirked, leaning back in his seat, utterly relaxed.
Slate nearly leaped forward but controlled the motion. Yet the knowing glint in the man’s eye told him he knew and Slate grit his teeth as he forced himself to sit back in his seat. “Why are you interested?” he finally asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” the man asked, one eyebrow raised.
“That’s why I’m asking,” Slate said, irritation lacing his tone. The man hummed before smiling.
“Well, I’m always curious about the Trainers I’ll have to battle in the future,” he said. Slate blinked in confusion before realization filled his face.
“You’re. You. You’re,” Slate said, his eyes drifting from the man to the shadowed podium the Gym Leader had once stood.
A satisfied smirk graced the man’s face. “I am the Gym Leader of the Viridian City Gym. I am Giovanni.”
Silence fell between the two as the knowledge settled in Slate’s mind. The stands were long empty of anyone else, leaving the pair alone in the cavernous room with naught but a Persian languishing by Giovanni’s side, swishing its tail back and forth.
“Why does the Diglett line come out of the ground?”
Gym Leader Giovanni stared at Slate as the young man’s question hung in the air around them. Even the Persian looked at Slate as though it had never seen a Trainer like him before. “What?” Gym Leader Giovanni asked blankly.
Slate pulled out his notebook before showing the Gym Leader his thoughts on the Pokémon that had been on the field not even half an hour before. It was a neat but lengthy list of observations and questions that were as baffling as they were varied.
But the young Trainer explained anyway. “Your Dugtrio spent the entire battle with its three heads above ground despite never using an attack that required it to do so. So why not have it stay underground for the entire battle to strike without exposing itself? And are they called heads? Or are they protuberances that are used as decoys while the real body is underground? If they are, do you have any idea what hunted the Diglett line to encourage them to evolve that physical camouflage?”
On and on, Slate went, pointing out various questions and observations about Giovanni’s and his opponent’s Pokémon. Where do Wartortles produce the water they expel? Why did the Nidoran lines only breed on their middle evolution and not their final evolution? Why were Onix so weak defensively? Why? Why? Why?
Finally Slate ran out of questions, taking his notebook back and sitting there patiently with it and a pen in hand. Gym Leader Giovanni couldn’t help himself; he laughed.
Long and deep, he laughed until he nearly cried. Persian looked at her Trainer aghast as his composure left him while Slate frowned, looking up with a bewildered look on his face. After several long moments, Gym Leader Giovanni’s laughter subsided.
“I haven’t been hit with a deluge of questions like that in years. Not since Samuel was a wet behind the ears Trainer at least. Thank Arceus you look nothing like him otherwise I’d be concerned he cloned himself somehow.” The Gym Leader chuckled again before looking at Slate with humorous eyes. “I suppose that answers the question honestly in any case.”
“Which question?” Slate looked down at his notes to see if any of the questions he had written down had been answered. The Gym Leader waved a dismissive hand to get him to stop and to reclaim his attention.
“Almost everyone competes on the Gym Circuit in their first year. The only ones who don’t are those coordinators or the rare individuals who have a fear of Pokémon, including friendly ones. But everyone has different reasons for competing, for walking the same path that’s been walked thousands, nay millions, of times before. I was trying to determine yours but it is rather easy.
“You want knowledge. An admirable ambition and a worthy one at that. I respect it for the pursuit and accumulation of understanding allows one to truly grow, to become more, not unlike a Pokémon. Far too few Trainers appreciate that these days.
“And your line of questions reveal the focus of your interests. You’re a budding Ground-Type Master, a Trainer after my own heart. That’s fantastic,” Gym Leader Giovanni said with an air of satisfaction.
“Nope.”
The Gym Leader looked at Slate. “Did you just nope me?”
“Yup.”
Gym Leader Giovanni’s eyes narrowed. “This best not be some childish game, young man. Explain.”
“You were right about me wanting to collect knowledge. Knowledge is good, it keeps you from dying. But you’re wrong about which Mastery I’m interested in,” Slate explained. Giovanni relaxed slightly but an air of disappointment hung around him like a cloak.
“I see. That’s unfortunate; your questions and observations were unusually insightful,” he murmured. “What’s your targeted interest then?”
“Everything.” Giovanni’s eyes snapped to Slate’s and the young man quickly explained. “I’m interested in all of the Types. I don’t want to be a Specialist, focused on a narrow view of the world. I want to see everything as it truly is and how it all connects. I want to be a Generalist Master.”
“Pity.”
Giovanni did not roll his eyes. He was a refined gentleman above such petty gestures. He had more classy ways of indicating his contempt for others than merely rolling his eyes.
“You are aware that the Generalist Mastery is considered a poor joke at best, correct?” he asked as one would a small child. He brushed an invisible piece of dirt off of his pants. “There’s never been an acknowledged Generalist Master, not one who could display their understanding and ability over every Type. At best there are Dual or Triplicate Masters. There was that one idiot who claimed to be a Quad Master but was found to be lying despite his cult-like following. It’s simply too much for any one human to do in one lifetime.”
“I agree,” Slate said before smirking, “and disagree. It can be done.”
The Gym Leader leaned back in his seat, an unimpressed look on his face. “Oh? Then share with me your plan.”
So the young Trainer did. And as he spoke Giovanni’s relaxed and dismissive body grew more alert and upright, tensing as his eyes locked onto the young Trainer before him. Slate spoke of his plans and ideas, the qualifications of gaining a Mastery and the limitations that held Trainers back from achieving them in a timely manner. He broke it down and explained how he was going to overcome every single hurdle.
When Slate finished speaking, neither spoke. The young man was tired from his explanation while the Gym Leader’s thoughts whirled at the possibilities and potential before him in this young man. Giovanni sat quietly looking at the young man, evaluating him, his worth, and his potential. He arrived at a sum but he needed more.
“That’s an ambitious plan. Daring and ambitious and not one that I’ve ever heard of being attempted in such a way. Are you truly prepared for it? You’re talking about years, possibly decades.” Slate shrugged.
“No. But what is life without challenge?”
That earned Slate a small hum of agreement from the Gym Leader. “Quite. Still the breadth of everything you must do,” he trailed off as he shook his head.
“No matter. It is your Journey, your path. Never allow anyone to deter you from it. Instead I will offer you this bit of advice that you won’t get by observing battles: You must battle Pokémon to understand Pokémon and so must they. But while your Pokémon are waging their battles, growing stronger, so too must you hone yourself against other Trainers.”
He gestured to the arena below them, still shadowed and ominous with broken rocks and poor light. “Every time you face a Trainer, remember that you are facing a foe even if no physical blows are exchanged. You must learn from battling the Trainers, the Gym Leaders, even the Elite Four, to prepare for even greater challenges. You will learn things you may only learn from facing Trainers just as you will learn things you may only learn from facing Pokémon. Masters of every Type understand this. It isn’t enough to understand the Pokémon, you must understand the Trainers that are drawn to them, their methods, their logic.”
Gym Leader Giovanni smirked as the light in the room cast deep shadows across his face. “You must understand their Type.”
Slate wrote that down. It was good advice.
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Time Tracker:
Journey start: Spring 1
Days passed in Chapter: 1
Total Days: 1
Trainer Card:
Name: Slate
Occupation: Trainer
Ambitions:
* To find his long lost Starter
* To become a Generalist Master, a Master of all Types
Badges: None
Trophies: None
Carry Limit: 0/1
Key items: None
Pokémon: None