Back when Hoshi would have begun his own Pokémon adventure, if his life had gone according to plan, any kid who got ahold of a ball could go out, nail a pidgey with the thing, and become a Pokémon trainer.
Not an official trainer, obviously; you still needed an Indigo League Pokémon Training Licence to collect Gym Badges, challenge the Indigo League, or participate in sanctioned tournaments. You also technically couldn’t operate a business utilising Pokémon without being licensed, but that wasn’t nearly as strictly enforced – not back then.
That changed as stronger Pokéballs became cheaper. There had always been little accidents here and there, but the unreliability of the base Poké Ball meant that an idiot who went out and tried to catch a scyther as their first Pokémon was more than likely to just die – which was tragic, of course, but much better than said idiot actually managing it, taking the completely untrained bug home, and releasing it to show off to his drinking buddies.
But as sales of Jet Balls and Pearl Balls began to eclipse those of Poké Balls and Great Balls, that latter situation started to happen with distressing frequency. In the same year that Silph Co. released the Indigo Ball, boasting that it had five times the effectiveness at half the cost of their previous super-premium Ultra Ball, the League began to crack down.
By 2009, only licensed trainers could buy Pokéballs. Only licensed trainers could own Pokémon. Giving a child a caterpie as a harmless pet was now Illicit Transfer of a Pokémon – smuggling, to say it in a single word.
But there remained a few, specific ways for a normal person to get hands-on experience with Pokémon battling. One of them was the League-approved ‘Little Cup’ events, where people could pick from a selection of carefully-chosen Pokémon, letting them experience battling personally in a low-stakes tournament.
Another, was paying for private lessons from a specially-approved individual, using their Pokémon. That privilege was given out incredibly sparingly, only to high-level, proven trainers – which included, of course, each of Kanto’s Gym Leaders.
“Voltorb, Sonic Boom!”
Responding to Hoshi’s command, the soccer-ball sized Pokémon rocketed forward, the explosive acceleration combining with a high-pitched screech to form violent shockwaves. Hoshi could see the exact moment the attack made contact: as his Pokéball-coloured orb rushed past its opponent, passing nearly close enough to touch, the pink dog-like enemy rocked in place, buffeted by the invisible force.
He pumped his fist. “Again! Keep attacking!”
The voltorb turned to make another pass, but it seemed his opponent wasn’t going to let Hoshi take an easy win. His uncle grinned at him across the field, his voice booming a command almost as loud as the electric Pokémon’s attack. “Scary Face! Ice Fang!”
The snubbull rocked on its feet, its eyes bloodshot from the sonic damage, but as the rolling ball bore down on it its stance firmed. All at once its thick fur puffed out, its expression turning from aggressive to downright murderous, its short fangs gleaming with palpable menace – and a coating of frost. Even though he had heard Surge openly shout the attack Hoshi was taken aback, a shock of fear rolling down his spine as all his instincts yelled danger, stay away.
“Dodge!” he managed to yell, but it was far too late; in the heat of battle, fractions of a second mattered. His voltorb’s rotation was thrown off by the same fear that had rooted its master in place, and when it passed the snubbull was able to lean away from the Sonic Boom – and then retaliate, clamping its jaws around the small orb.
The voltorb screeched like an exploding engine, its smooth surface becoming cloudy with a thin layer of ice.
“Spark!” Hoshi screamed, but to his frustration his Pokémon failed to heed his command; the voltorb ceased struggling, its expressive eyes becoming lidded and unfocused.
“Burberry, return.” His uncle’s command was accompanied by the distinctive red beam of a Pokéball’s return function, and the snubbull disappeared. “Two for three! Sorry little man, looks like this is my win!”
With gritted teeth, Hoshi hissed out his own command. “Return.” The unconscious voltorb also disappeared, returning to the ball in his hand as a torrent of red light. “Damnit.”
That one was winnable. If the stupid fucking ball had just hung on for one second..!
The anger ebbed away slowly as he stepped forward, meeting Surge in the centre of the field where he shook the older man’s hand.
“Good try, Hoshi. You wanna go over it?”
He forced the last dregs of rage away as an act of will. “Sure. From the top?”
The Gym Leader nodded.
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Surge’s office hadn’t changed much over the last week. Some of the paper stacks were taller, some were shorter, but overall the amount of care Hoshi had to put into his steps to reach the visitor’s seat hadn’t changed.
The photo of the two soldiers sandwiching the purple-haired Rocket had been returned to its place on the wall.
“So,” Surge began, ”Bear versus Chopper III. Your one win.” He raised his brow, and Hoshi knew he was emphasising the word just to get at him.
“Right,” Hoshi said, ignoring the bait. “That one was pretty easy; I had a solid type advantage.” The match had been short; Surge’s rattata had gotten in one good Quick Attack before Hoshi’s machop had trapped it in a cycle of being tripped, the rat enduring a few Low Kicks as it vainly attempted to stand, before the Gym Leader called the match.
Surge nodded. “Low-level matches can get pretty one-sided. Not a lot of moves to choose from – but I’ll compliment you on not messing up a winning strategy, at least.”
Hoshi pointed a certain gesture his uncle’s way. “Screw off. Okay, next one: magnemite versus pidgey.” He grimaced. “I’ve got no idea how I managed to lose that one.” Of all the matches he had fought since he started paying for lessons, that one stung the most. Fucking embarrassing. At least in the first match the rat could have hit pretty hard; the pidgey had to grind me down over like two minutes.
The Gym Leader sniffed. “Really? No idea? C’mon, at least try and fish for a reason.”
A moment of silence as Hoshi’s lip curled. “...You got lucky.”
“Hmm?” Surge put a hand behind his ear, flat palm pointing forwards. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that. Speak up, rookie!”
“I said you got lucky! Five fucking Thunder Shocks- if any of them had hit, your bird would’ve been fried!”
Surge did nothing but raise his brow, and Hoshi prepared himself for more of the man’s drill sergeant shtick – but he only shrugged, his smile sharp as ever. “Yup! You’re completely right – Blastwave managed to get some sand in Button’s eye, and then was really, really lucky.” His voice turned serious. “But more on that later – let’s get to the finale. Burberry versus Cromwell. Tell me how it went.”
“Before anything else, I have something important to say.” Hoshi took a breath. “You suck shit at naming Pokémon.”
Surge replied instantly, not offended in the least. “Noted. Next time I have to sort through fifteen newly-budded magnemite, I’ll call you up so you can name them – and no repeats, or the paperwork guys will yell at you. ‘Three pikachu named Bullet is really confusing,’ my ass!” He threw his chin upwards. "Now quit stalling. How’d you decide on your strategy?”
Again, Hoshi was silent for a moment before he answered – though this time it was because he was actually thinking.
“Speed and power,” he eventually said. “Voltorb is one of the fastest unevolved Pokémon, but it hits soft. I’m not as familiar with the other one, but I know it’s a slow normal type, and those usually hit pretty hard.” He leaned back in the cheap, plastic chair. “So I decided that hit-and-run was the best option. Spark would’ve done more damage, but it also would’ve left my Pokémon vulnerable if you decided to trade hits… not that it mattered.” His face scrunched as he remembered the way the voltorb had completely failed to endure a single attack.
Surge hummed. “Not the worst strategy I’ve ever heard.” He looked up for a moment, considering, before suddenly slamming his hands down on the table. “Okay, big lesson time! Professor Surge is in the house!” Hoshi flinched back from the volume. Arcus fuck, Bob, I’m like three feet away. “I’m gonna say one thing you did good, and one thing you did bad! You ready?”
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“...Sure?” We’ve done this like six times, do you really need to keep doing the song and dance?
“First, the good: you’ve really improved since you started.”
Hoshi’s expression soured further. “Wow, ‘you’ve improved.’ That’s definitely not another way of saying ‘you started as complete dog-’”
“No interrupting the professor while he’s lecturing! Okay, now the bad:” The man let the moment hang, drawing out the tension. “You’re way too offensively focused. When Button started whiffing his attacks, you should have had him back off – instead you just kept yelling ‘fucking hit it!’ and that was… not very effective.”
Hoshi sunk in his seat.
“Now don’t go feeling too glum! I meant what I said; you really have improved. The Hoshi of a few days ago would have just charged right into that last battle; instead, you made a solid plan that eliminated your opponent’s advantages, maximising your chances of winning.”
“...Thanks, Bob.” He still felt like he was being damned with faint praise, but it did take the edge off, just a little.
Surge smiled wider. “You only lost because I made good use of Burberry’s Mean Look – that’s the actual lesson here: remember your Pokémon can do things other than attack.” He stabbed a finger down at the table’s surface. “It’s applicable to the second battle, too; I did only win because I got lucky, but I was able to get lucky because I made the situation possible. If I had attacked straight out… Boom! One bolt, little Blastwave would’ve gone down. I aimed for the slim chance of victory, and happened to roll double sixes.”
Taking a satisfied breath, the Gym Leader sat back, folding his arms. “Chin up, little man. I’d say you’ve started to really get into the meat of first badge territory. Most trainers have to bash their head against wild Pokémon for weeks to start showing some actual strategy – and the rest show too much strategy! Ha!”
“Bob, I get it, you-”
He slammed his desk again. “Overthinking’s worse than underthinking – all the same downsides, and it comes with an extra helping of hesitancy! The first step to making a soldier is to teach them to attack, first, and then after they get that down, then you teach them when to hang back and think it through. So you’re coming at it from the right direction at least!” He let loose a bellowing laugh, and Hoshi allowed his spirit to be buoyed up.
“...Thanks, Bob,” he said again, meaning it more the second time. I’m not sure what you’d say if you knew what I was taking these lessons for, but I appreciate you taking me seriously.
Hoshi had told the man he was finally becoming serious about getting his licence, and that was… technically not a lie.
“Oh, don’t thank me – with the amount you’ve spent on lessons, I might be able to grab me a cool new Pokémon!” His voice lowered – relatively. “I hear buzzing that some guy got a whole bunch of Alolan magneton. No idea how he got them shipped in during typhoon season, but I’m curious to ask! Ha!”
Hoshi opened his mouth and began to form a sentence… but then let it go. Nope, not sticking my head into that. If Bob is dumb enough to fall for such an obvious scam, and Danny is dumb enough to try and scam a Gym Leader, then they deserve each other.
“Alolan magneton?” he asked, playing dumb. “Never heard of it. What’s different from the normal kind?”
His uncle clapped his hands. “Well, I haven’t managed to get any pictures of the things, but apparently it’s actually made up of five component magnemite. Now this is just me spitballing, but it’s known that Alola’s mountainous region is a lot less magnetically active than Mount Coronet up north, so I’m thinking that Pokémon that rely on a strong magnetic field to evolve might have adapted by living more communally…”
As his uncle continued to ramble on, Hoshi was pulled between amusement and concern. Okay, this is a little less funny. “Bob,” he interrupted. “You sure this is real? It might be like that fake gloom thing from last year – might be better not to get your hopes up.”
Surge waved him off. “No, I know the guy who knows the guy who got the tip. This is definitely more credible than that oddish fiasco – the guys who bought those were real idiots, had the gall to get the blues involved after trying to buy unregistered Pokémon. This one’s legit!”
He went back to talking about magnetic phenomena and their intersection with Pokémon evolution, and Hoshi could only shrug internally. Welp, can’t say I didn’t try.
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As July rolled through its second half, the weather only continued to escalate.
“We’re looking at the biggest storm since the seventies, folks,” blared the voice of the grey-suited weatherman on the television. “This is, I’m told, meteorologically speaking, the biggest event since former Elite Four member Walker Hayabusa attempted his doomed expedition to the Seafoam Islands. Now looking on the chart here, we can see the storm itself will be passing almost perfectly along Route 20, hitting the coast of Fuchsia – we can expect the bulk of it to dissipate over the mountains, but even in the best-case scenario large sections of coastline, notably Vermilion and Pallet, are likely to see heavy damage from the literal hurricane-strength winds. In the worst case scenario-”
With a soft sound the news was cut off, and Hoshi stared blankly at his barely-visible reflection for a fraction of a second. “Hey, that seemed important.”
Casca waggled the remote. “I know, but this is more important.” She tossed the plastic brick down onto its habitual resting place on the edge of the coffee table. “The intel guys finally got around to doing their jobs, and guess what?” Her smile was bright. “You’re good! Certified Team Rocket material!”
Hoshi blinked. Then, he stood up and hugged his girlfriend. “Fucking finally! Does it always take this long?”
The orange-haired woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, believe me, this was glacial. I think your uncle really spooked them, made them go over everything with a fine-tooth comb – and speaking of him, when am I gonna meet the guy?” Her eyes sparkled as her lips twisted into a pout. “We’ve been dating for like a whole month now, shouldn’t you be showing me off to your family?”
Her obviously put-on tone and equally fake pout drew a chuckle from Hoshi’s chest. “You really wanna meet Surge? Is that…” His voice grew more serious. “A good idea? With you being… you.”
Another roll of her eyes. “It’s not like I’m on wanted posters, Hoshi. I’ve never gotten caught doing anything – at most, I’m on a ‘watch this person’ list somewhere in the dank hole of Celadon’s bureaucracy.”
She flopped down on the couch, and Hoshi moved to follow her, though he sat normally rather than lounging. Their relationship following the Rocket reveal had… stayed the same mostly. But it’s not identical.
“You’re penciled in for tomorrow, just after noon. I managed to get you in on the exact day they hand out new Pokémon, so you’re welcome.” She leaned up to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I absolutely hated going through orientation without a Pokémon to my name – you’ll be able to skip to the hands-on lessons.” Holding her upper body up by her elbows, straight orange hair pooling under her, Casca looked like nothing less than a mischievous imp.
In the last few weeks Hoshi had been hyper-aware of the changes his girlfriend underwent, and in hindsight the barrier the woman had kept between them was obvious – she had been holding herself back from acting entirely natural around him, though if that was something manipulative or just to keep herself safe from emotional attachment, he didn’t know.
What he did know was that she hadn’t lied, that day when everything had come out; Casca Kichi did not lie, except by omission. No particular quality of hers had been hidden, just the differing magnitudes. Without her mask, his girlfriend was a damn brat.
He smiled, but thinly, anxiety about his initiation battling with excitement for the same. “You think I’ll make the cut?”
She gave him a flat look. “Honey, you’re overqualified. Most grunts start off as street thugs – you’ve been training with a Gym Leader.” The smile she flashed was all excitement, zero anxiety. “You are going to love the professors – or maybe hate them, they’re kind of a lot. Ahh, I can’t wait for you to meet them!”
She wriggled in place, but a moment later her face scrunched in an expression of annoyance. “Just steer clear of the other two, the ‘Rocket Professors.’ Those guys are creeps!”
They cuddled for a bit before Hoshi turned the TV back on, and the rest of the evening was spent clinging to each other as ten different channels documented the approaching typhoon.
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On Friday, July 30th, 2010, Hoshi Mutsu slept through the sunrise for the first time in over two years.
Or at least, he attempted to. For the last hour or so he tossed and turned, and when his girlfriend finally began to stir, he felt that the extra rest had paradoxically made him feel less rested.
Casca’s hand came up from under the thin summer sheets to stifle a yawn, the corners of her eyes glistening. “Morning, Hoshi!” Despite having just woken, her voice was bright and cheerful.
“Morning,” he replied. His feet touched the carpet, which was already losing the night’s stock of coolness – it would probably hit forty degrees today, and Hoshi was dreading stepping foot outdoors. I wonder if work is even happening.
A smile played over his face imagining the Ditto literally melting in the scorching heat. No way. People would actually die.
“Ready for the big day?”
He turned, considering the woman’s question as he watched her dress. He could almost feel a Pokéball in his hand. His smile turned sharp as he followed her lead, pulling his own clothing out from the dresser.
“I can’t imagine being more ready.”