Training pokémon was different from learning. From the beginning he'd gone by feel, scrapping projects that didn't work, never taking the advice of anyone except Professor Oak. It ended up working nicely, considering how much he'd learned. Everything part of a battle could be trained—that's the best way that he'd describe it. Most people only saw the moves, the movement; those who went a little deeper described the bulk of their pokémon, the general tactics; and the most advanced wouldn't share their tips at gunpoint. Pokémon training was a personal hobby out of a mutual choice, two prisoners fully unwilling to speak rather than breaking under pressure. If your strategy was shared with the world while your opponent's wasn't, then you've boosted the general trainer's power without gaining a benefit yourself, because whoever had innovated with your strategy to make it better wasn't going to share it back. It made the whole community cagey about details as long as those details didn't blow a new trainer's arm off.

  But Red had figured out one of the big secrets to training after the fight at the Pokémon Tower. What stronger trainers didn't want you to know—or left as an intentional challenge to weed out the weak—was that every part of a battle could be trained. Fire a move a hundred times and it improves your pokémon's stamina. Dodge attacks and you teach your opponent what to do when another pokémon dodges the same way. Get your pokémon cornered and they learn how to fight when their back is against the wall. Take your fight from an open plain to a crowded forest and these essentials change. Every part of a battle can be taught. From the environment to the mindset, it creates an endless amount of paths that trailed an endless amount of distance that Red could continue exploring past his lifetime.

  A person wasn't like that, in Red's opinion. Improving oneself was a much less targeted endeavor. People couldn't be as specialized as pokémon. Infinite as a pokémon's potential was, it was finite because it was still limited as they only needed to focus on battling. Humans were more infinite if that made sense, and it made sense in Red's head so he concluded it made sense. Red could try to list all the things that humans could learn and wake up everyday remembering a new niche hobby. So in the little time that he had—shrinking with every step closer—he focused on the skills that would help with his new insane idea.

  'Learning' was merely training yourself, and Red thought that he was pretty good at training his pokémon, which gave him the confidence required to have sent most of his pokémon far away to do their training routines while he was hunched in a bush with a rope in his hand. It turns out this was wrong. Learning is different from training. He didn’t understand how, but he felt it, and since he felt it, it was probably correct.

  It was a juvenile trap. The cardboard box had been littered by a jerk, yet Red had given it a new life by making the typical improvised trap that you saw in cartoons. Inside the jokes were unique insights that shouldn't be ignored. The idea to ditch the thorn in his side had come from a show that he watched as a kid, "The Adventures of Marlon and Ivory", a series about parents who needed to become supervillains and the wacky hijinks that came from their career choice, culminating in some super serious ending that made him feel sad instead of satisfied. Red didn't like sad stories.

  The point was that he expected a pokémon, or one of those "animals" that Oak insisted were the prey of pokémon, to be illiterate in cartoon tropes, as tropes in media were hard to proliferate when the forest wasn't hooked up to the national power grid. Mounting piles of nature’s waste hid the white twine that snaked to the stick. Describing the whole scene didn't do it justice of how natural it looked. Detritus was stacked until the box, nudged against a mound of dirt, looked to be a normal piece of litter. Berries and seeds were stuck in the far corner of the hovel. Besides the white string that wrapped around its foot, a wandering pokémon could easily imagine that this was a hiding place for a smaller creature or a discarded piece of trash blown deep far from the route.

  Red himself was belly down. The bush he'd chosen was thick enough to feel like a weighted blanket over his back. Green and brown smudges from digging a tunnel through the brambles had created a natural camo, cloaking his eyes as they stuck out from the little hole of leaves parting. Both hands lightly held the threaded rope. Patience was required for the hunt. His opponents were alert for the tiniest hint. With his setup being suspicious in the first place, any extra tells would have his prey scatter away. Nervous habits were suppressed, breaths pointed towards the black dirt clumps that were making his chin itch. The position was uncomfortable and had been uncomfortable since he'd first crawled inside.

  Whatever was caught wouldn't be hurt, of course. He just needed to scan it. Though he'd seen it plenty of times, he had never gotten the idea to scan a Paras. The exercise combined training with productivity. Red felt proud of himself for thinking of it.

  Now if he could find a way to stave off the boredom from laying in the same place for eight hours straight, he'd be set.

  It was on the fifth hour that finally a bush rustled. Warily, a Paras was crawling forth from the other end of the clearing. Its eyes were glancing around the whole area as it kept its distance from the trap. Crawling forwards then crawling back seemed to be trying to bait out whatever predator could be watching. It did it again, then again, dragging on the process for an extra thirty minutes. Red recognized that a bug walking into the open was extremely stupid, meaning that this Paras had sharp instincts. His compliments ran out when the impatience made him forget that he was the predator.

  It finally stepped close.

  A blur came through the treetops. Leaves were flung against the rope. A single feather careened down.

  Red gently placed his forehead against the dirt. The coolness felt like it was smothering the flames of irritation.

  He couldn't give up however. Trapping was an art that meant to trap, tricking another living being that also had a logical process leading it through the world. Treachery, he supposed, was the natural way that a human was supposed to live, at least another part of humans that couldn't be ignored. Relying on the good will if he actually left for the wilderness would leave him as little trainer-bits to be picked up by archeologists ten thousand years down the line.

  He pushed the trap a little further back. There was a part of the mound still in the bush's sight and a distance from the free bits of sky that poked through the leaves. It was the best place available, allowing him to keep the same adjustments to the bush that he'd altered. Shearing the edges of the branches into nubs made those bits poking into his jacket become tolerable annoyances that faded into the background. Digging out a little more dirt allowed his uncomfortable position to become moderately more ergonomic. A little bit of extra depth allowed his arms and legs to occasionally flex out without brushing against a noisemaker. As a last second addition, he put a water bottle with a straw beneath his mouth. Puckering his lips would reach the straw.

  The trap was laid and vantage point created. He wiggled inside and waited.

  Fantasizing about other places became entertainment. The mountains were instantly the first place that he thought of, though exploring the world was also tempting. The former allowed him to fight against pokémon that were strong enough to repel the rare attempt of the League to move further into the ranges. It was the harsh climate that created such ferocious beasts, with the few times (it hadn't happened in his nor his parents' lifetime) they'd wander down to human settlements becoming a nationwide emergency if they were strong enough.

  But to travel the world! Red imagined himself knocking the Leagues one by one. Presumptuous? Maybe, yet he'd started to feel the confidence that each gym leader seemed to want instilled into him since the fight against Erika. Most trainers couldn't take down a single one of his pokémon. These weren't single badge trainers but cohorts, fellow trainers who were stalling on visiting Cinnabar or relaxing after defeating Koga. It was the type of strength reserved for those stories where a prodigy emerged from an unexpected place, defeating the whole League and achieving his goals and getting the girl; Red would rather die before admitting that his favorite of those stories had the protagonist get a whole load of girls by the end.

  The whole world—Kanto, Johto, Sinnoh, and Hoenn, the whole world—was waiting for him. Sights that he couldn't imagine and pokémon beyond his uncreative mind. But to travel like that would be admitting that there was nothing left for him in Kanto, in his opinion. Completely bouncing past Kanto, assuming that he won against the Champion, would say that every challenge had been usurped when he knew that wasn't true. Trainers who fought outside the League were aplenty, former Champions still living, dangerous areas where only the most elite of humanity had seen.

  It was also a matter of pride. He had nearly filled the pokédex, at least according to Oak, but the thorn in his side had left a scar that itched. Strange pokémon, abilities powerful enough that Lane could put up a fight with only two combat-capable pokémon. What else lay in the treacherous corners of Kanto? Places that nobody knew, pokémon that had never been seen.

  He wasn't attempting to become a parakologist (parakologist. Noun. pa·ra·ko·lo·gist. Pronounced / per??k?l?j?st /. Definition: derogatory word for a group of researchers, reporters, enthusiasts, and politicians who believe or actively search for a pokémon's existence who is disputed or unsubstantiated, such as 'Surf's Up Pikachu' and Ponyta's third evolution 'Imarediate'. Not to be confused with UFOlogists, whose biggest claim is that the aliens want to abduct Magnetites to power their spaceships, or the various fringe scientists whose views are so diverse that they aren't given a single name, who go against conventional wisdom such as implying dragons having a weakness besides Dragon.) since those people were crazy, but the tantalizing opportunity to be the one to discover that there was yet more to unearth in Kanto was enough to tempt him. No, it did more than tempt him. Thinking about it made him start to lean in that direction.

  He finally saw what Oak was talking about with discovery. The chance of something unfamiliar walking into his trap was making his heart race, making it a little disappointing when another Paras came out from the ruffling leaves. No matter, he repeated. He'd get the information about the pokémon that literally everyone had seen once in their lives and strike out another name.

  Its little legs scuttled like the last one. At least Red had the decency to not get impatient this time. Seeing was believing. Humans didn't have to worry about getting plucked up when buying a burger. So the minutes compounded, unblinking eyes watching as the bug skirted around the clearing. Its little beady eyes passed by his bush, the mushrooms given a front stage as its butt was shoved straight into his face. Then eventually it decided. Straying by the outskirts eventually had it get closer to the box than ever before. Its claws experimentally tried scooping the berries out before it fully entered into the hovel.

  Red tugged. The box fell down. There was an alarmed cry that came from inside as the box started bouncing around. He popped up from the bush in elation. It was his prey! This was his win!

  His victory sliced straight through the flimsy cardboard when it heard him move. The pokémon's mandibles clacked together menacingly. Its claws didn't seem sharp from a distance, but the clear cuts through the grass from its little swings showed that they weren't dulled grabbers. He may have felt threatened at the beginning of the journey, where he was unfamiliar with what to do in front of an angry pokémon. Many could be run away from as a human's long legs were the envy of stout pokémon.

  Badges made him different. Team Rocket made him different. With a sigh of annoyance, he gave the signal.

  A thunderbolt came from above. Despite holding back, the bug was still sent flying like a frisbee. Pikachu leapt down from the tree and landed next to his trainer. The huff made Red feel like he needed to defend himself.

  "It could've worked if it wasn't a Paras." His pokédex happily scanned the prone pokémon. "Look, you've trained your patience and I have another entry in my pokédex. Act up again and you'll be dragged out here with me next time."

  Pikachu grimaced, message received. Red pretended that he wasn't embarrassed for expecting a cardboard box to work.

  "Speaking of, how are you getting pokémon center use? Are you paying?"

  Pokémon centers had a specific set of rules on how they were to be used. Technically none of the services that they offered were free. If you were a civilian without insurance or a foreigner, then you'd have to pay the fee for anything they did. Showers, temporary boarding, healing, advice from the nurses, and more were provided at every pokémon center if you had permission. which came in various forms. Government subsidies pitched in to provide trainers with free services if they were specifically on their journey, though many were unaware of how many 'ifs' and 'buts' were included in the contract that they had to sign.

  It wasn't only young trainers of course, but it also was evidently obvious that the young boy wasn't on his journey when he didn't have a single badge. Blaine was the first one to notice as they had a brief spar and were waiting for their pokémon to be healed.

  Lane pointed upwards to the aged nose. "A riddle! How many jobs get free services?"

  "Free services from the pokémon center are provided for breeders, rangers, professional cartographers, sailors, foreign dignitaries, government employees, anyone employed within a gym, and miners. Nearly every insurance program comes with at least partially paid visits too."

  Lane's eyebrow rose. He asked because he wanted clarification in the first place, not really expecting an answer.

  "Some of those are out of left field."

  "Miners, sailors, and cartographers all have to deal with the wilderness with their jobs. It is often that they need protection against the wild pokémon who attack when their habitats are disturbed." Blaine cleared his throat despite nothing blocking his airway. It was a habit that came with age. "Other professions are seeking government-provided care too, arguing that they have the same problems, such as lumberjacks. From what I know about you, I'd reckon that you're a breeder."

  "By technicality," Lane said easily.

  Blaine leaned down to inspect the Fomantis that was lying on the younger boy's shoulder. It raised up one of its feelers in greeting.

  The past three weeks had been hard work renovating the gym. What Lane was thinking would become old within the first day had been filled with the two excitedly sharing pokémon facts. Lane would titter to himself at night thinking about the trainers in the coming years guessing the colors of the legendary birds and listing all the abilities that a Dragonair and Dragonite had. That was a coup de grace (pronounced: coo-dee-grayce) which made both of them proudly look at the question for a few minutes, camaraderie nearly bringing tears to their eyes.

  It created a new routine for the two. Lane cared for Lulu, talked with Blaine, joked with the villagers, and relaxed on the (currently) dormant volcano's side to spend time with his pokémon. It was slow. It was nice. Staying there for longer than a week made him start forgetting that there even was a world outside of the island.

  Some days were different from others. Blaine had plenty of work to keep himself busy and would interrupt their time together when it started piling up. Lane, to his own surprise, didn't mind just hanging around. Papers of all colors spread out in front of Blaine from the clipboard that he always carried around as his pen went to work marking down boxes. Lines were filled with a quick cursive font that was near-illegible to anyone not familiar with it. Pushed as far away as possible was a coffee cup. There was a primal fear deep within his chest that prevented drinks from being near important documents.

  "Is the League really sending me this? They already know that I can't be expected to deal with this. That's the entire reason that I submitted the form!"

  Lane glanced over to the ranting old man.

  "The mysterious water-type you won't tell me about again?"

  Blaine seemed surprised that he was called out. He'd never been a quiet man, and his wife had gotten used to him vocalizing his thoughts of whatever he was working on.

  "Y-Yes. There's a pokémon not native to Kanto who has taken residence on the volcano. I'd love to remove it, but even gym leaders are subject to type matchups, especially when the pokémon is so strong."

  "How strong?"

  "Strong enough that my usual methods in dealing with water-types don't work," Blaine grumbled. "It's causing all sorts of problems. When it hunts, massive amounts of pokémon are getting displaced. When it gets angry, it causes the entire island to shake. Give it enough time and I think it's going to come over here! It's not unprecedented. Gyarados have been known throughout history to be the doom of fledging fishing villages who settled too close to them. You know that's why Fuschia is where it is? That used to be Gyrados' hunting grounds, but a family whose name has been lost to time effectively ended their dominance—so said Frumpy in the ‘Families’."

  He slid a folded paper over for Lane to read. It had niceties about how the gym leaders of their regions were expected to take care of problems that cropped up in their cities and the League was very sorry as there was no possible way that they had anybody to spare. It was written in a vaguely apologetic yet clinical tone that only a government employee could stomach.

  Lane considered how many things Blaine missed out on because he was a bit of a dupe. Doing paperwork on an island makes you rather isolated from the mainland's politics. At some point you stop being the nice guy and start being the sucker.

  "You want me to deal with it?"

  Blaine took off his glasses to scrutinize the boy. "Well, I'd never have you go alone. We can—"

  "You can't let someone that young fight a strong pokémon. It isn't right," a new voice interjected.

  They both turned to regard the sudden interjection into their conversation. 'Trying too hard' was Lane's first impression. Black, white, black and white, white skin and black hair all made a monochrome girl who was giving a disapproving frown to Blaine. Her dress was thin, hugging her body tight enough to show that there was nothing to show. She'd been in the center for quite some time, but hadn't spoken since entering the room. A magazine about cars was splayed out on her table.

  Lane left the tourists alone for the most part. They were flashes in the pan, usually the boring type who loved to travel and talk about traveling since they came to Cinnabar of all places. Hearing the haunting majesty of the Pokémon Tower, the epicness of Celadon, the quiet solitude of Fuschia and so on merely made him feel like he was losing out. It must've been an age thing because he didn't feel the same emotions that they described. He felt that the Pokémon Tower was so boring that he didn't want to visit it, thought that Erika seemed nice though a bit incompetent if she had an evil base underneath her gym, and kind of felt bad whenever Fuschia came up. Flashes in the pan in the other week or so long time it took for the ferry to ghost them away.

  "If the pokémon is so dangerous that a gym trainer can't deal with it, then forget anybody that young," she said.

  Blaine's eyebrows progressively got higher the more that the girl talked. Other than her bold words, they were delivered without much inflection.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "I should emphasize that I'm merely particularly weak to water-types. Fire-type trainers who are much weaker than me can deal…" he trailed off, ending with a sigh. Her expression wasn't budging. "And what are you suggesting if you don't want him to go out?"

  "I'll do it. I'm qualified as an ace trainer in Sinnoh," she said.

  Her card was presented. Indeed, there was 'ACE TRAINER' in red above her portrait. The whole legal process to be considered an 'ace trainer' was different in each region yet they all respected each other's processes. Sinnoh's particular one was just raising a certain threshold of pokémon from their first evolution to maturity. There were just as many semantic caveats as there was with any legal term but the name affirmed that she had some level of competency. Marley, ace trainer, resident of Sinnoh, 15. She wasn't particularly happy that her bangs needed to be brushed aside while taking the photo.

  "This all checks out." Blaine hesitated before speaking. It wasn't as if she was that much older, if at all. Brief curiosity flickered at Lane's age that was catalogued for later. "Are you certain that you can deal with it?"

  She put the card away and crossed her arms.

  "Yeah."

  "Can I pretty please come? Please, please, please, please! I've heard alllll about ace trainers and I really, really, really want to see one in action!" Lane said.

  Blaine gave him a strange look. Gone was the person who could recite every normal type on the continent. In his place was a starry-eyed boy who clutched his Fomantis like a doll against his chest. The tiny pokémon willingly let itself get manhandled, though Blaine thought there was a bit of exasperation in those shiny eyes.

  She was unmoved. "No."

  "You misunderstand. Lane here is—"

  "C'mon, big sis! I really want to see you put in the effort!"

  Her entire body shuddered. "Okay. That's weird. I'm going to go and deal with that pokémon. Can you please not follow?"

  Unfortunately, she didn't realize what catastrophe she had stumbled into. She hadn't met a normal young child. She couldn't have known that stepping into that pokémon center, indeed, just entering Cinnabar Island out of curiosity would set her in the sights of a monstrously bored child.

  She left the building, walked through the town and stood at the foot of the volcano. The whole while there was an incessant voice that kept talking about nonsense that she didn't care about. It was something this or something that which had something to do with the current something. It was like a traveling minstrel, one who only knew how to speak in a continuous sentence that had no purpose or end.

  She turned around and waited until he stopped speaking. It took the better part of the minute, but eventually his dazzling eyes were staring up at her mischievously in sweet, sweet silence.

  "I need to focus. Can you go back to town?"

  "That's the wrong use of 'can', big sis! Don't do that in front of Blaine or else he'll wait for you to correct yourself!" Lane said.

  "That's not—whatever." She pointed at the center of town. Thankfully there was nobody watching. She felt as though the debacle would've made her shrivel in embarrassment if there were witnesses. "You can watch from there."

  "But then what if you fight behind the volcano? Then I wouldn't be able to see the awesome moves that you do!"

  Sometimes nature was the best teacher where parents failed, Marley concluded. With a shrug communicating her capitulation, Lane cheered and he followed close behind.

  The uninhabited part of the island was coated with a black soil that slid underneath their boots. It seemed hotter than the rest under the midday sun. There was a view over the entire island that served as a reminder of how small the town really was. A single eruption years later would level everything there, leaving only a pale pile. For now, Lane appreciated the view as he made sure to remain pressed against Marley's back. Just in case, Fomantis was put back into his ball and Lulu came out. The pokémon started sharpening her blades against each other when Lane started whispering the situation into her ear.

  It wasn't hard to find the pokémon since it didn't try hiding. Its rubbery body laid on a bed of grass that grew on the volcano's foot, opposite from the town. Waves lapped over its feet. Each touch of water would make a content croak rumble from its throat. When Marley became too entranced by the sight, he pulled her down. From a vantage point above from the resting beast, Lane laid on his belly while Marley was merely crouching. There conspicuously weren't any other wild pokémon. Only the waves and distant calls of seabirds awaited.

  "I'm not even sure what that is," she said.

  "Seismitoad! Water/ground, well known for using those sacs over its body to create vibrations," Lane said. His voice was kept low, sounding as if he were trying to mimic another person.

  Marley had a new appreciation for the ugly bubbles that rumbled when it exhaled. For goodness' sake, some of them were bigger than her head. "Okay. Why does a Kanto kid know about a pokémon that I don't?"

  He gave a beatific smile. "I know a lot of things! Are you proud of me?"

  "No? No! I don't even know you."

  "My name is Lane. Your card said Marley. I'm a historian!"

  "Is it hard being a historian that young?" she asked, nonplussed.

  "Never been one while old. I'll tell you if I live 'till there." He inclined his head down the slope. "So how are we doing this?"

  "Isn't it obvious? We use grass-type moves and beat it. I'm sure that your school has already gone over type advantages," she said.

  It was such a silly sentence that Lane had to look at her to be sure that she was being serious. Though they weren't together for too long, he'd already noticed she was one of those 'quiet, stoic' types, which had a name that he didn't remember. Kukuku—that's about all he had. There was genuine annoyance weaved into her tone which meant she wasn't an unfeeling microwave, but the expression looking back at him didn't lean one way or another.

  He was going to assume that she was doing a joke. It was better that way.

  "Ah, you Kanto people and your brute force," Lane said.

  "I'm from Sinnoh."

  "Same continent." The contrite look told him that the rivalry was alive past the mountain range. "Well? First shot's free."

  Without much more preamble, she took out two pokéballs from her (black) purse that was hanging off her shoulder. She pressed her lips against them before throwing both out.

  Ninjask was a tiny pokémon who was well known to be a speed demon. Being one of the fastest known things in the entire universe had given it an aura of impeccable strength. Using him disillusioned many trainers when they realized that the speed was obtained through sacrifice, a sacrifice of many things, such as important muscles to cleave through bulky pokémon and having a physique that would die to a fly swatter.

  She hadn't been disillusioned. It'd been that pokémon specifically to spur her further in the rabbit hole of speed. Her other pokémon, a tiny Growlithe, happily barked when it was free. Marley jumped down to grab the pokémon's snout, but it was too late. The ground rumbled. A beast which always slept with one eye open started pushing itself up to become bipedal.

  "Ninjask!" Marley yelled. "Absorb!"

  The Ninjask answered her cry by firing off a single, predictable green ball that sailed through the air at a good speed. It was fast enough that you'd be hard pressed to react yet your eyes could track it, like watching a race car speed by at its max velocity. Which is why when the hulking pokémon acrobatically leaned down with its torso nearly touching the ground, Marley realized that she may have walked into a dire situation. The green ball barely made a splash before fizzling out.

  Her primitive emotions made her leap in to substitute for the kid. Many water-types were bulky, entirely unfit for the speed demons of her team to deal with unless they had a typing advantage. That had been her plan until she learned that it was part ground-type. Now the only move which could hit its weakness was an untrained move that her Ninjask could barely form, as it had been months since it was last used. If she knew that water/ground dual typings weren't extraordinarily rare then she may have put more effort into Ninjask's Absorb. As it was, the attack was weak enough that the frog merely let the second one plop against its forehead.

  It leapt. Marley tracked the giant blue moon without much inflection. Lane whistled in admiration from the wild pokémon's strength. An eclipse passed by. Then, dusk. The impact shook the ground hard enough that it would've sent off earthquake sensors if anybody was manning them. One of the gym's labs had a machine beeping as its fifty-year old screen printed out a 0.5.

  The rumbling sent Lane backwards into Marley's arms.

  The beast towered over them. It spread its arms wide and roared.

  "Oh peanuts," Marley said, too shocked to move.

  Lane wasn't. He leaned forwards then jerked his head back into Marley's abdomen. An 'oof' sputtered out as she bent. With a hard push of his legs they started tumbling. The volcano was steep enough that they kept the momentum with little effort, though rolling against each other made the experience much more jarring when you were constantly bumping bones along with the rocky speed bumps on the way down. All three pokémon scattered as the Seismitoad's jaw opened wide, spraying so much water that its body was lost behind the screen. Jerking its neck soaked the other half of the island in rain.

  Only the sudden leveling at the bottom prevented them from getting submerged. Lane's body skidded against the sand. Marley's body was metaphorically crushing him with her 140 pounds, though even that weight may be generous. It still was enough to pin his arms down. A wave lapping onto land filled her mouth with salt water. Both of their limbs were tangled together. Another wave soaked them. By the third wave she finally got up, sputtering from the amount of ocean introduced to her taste buds. Lane scrambled up at attention with his pokéball already in hand.

  He took a moment to breathe when all the old hurts from the last rendezvous sprouted alongside his new bruises. The griping in his head stalled when the stomps became rhythmic, each shaking the earth, sending tiny rocks bumping down the slope. Its arms were throwing about with the full weight of its body controlling its descent. She took the initiative this time, leaping like a coiled spring and pushing both of them mostly with the power of gravity. All the lesser beings dived out of the way to avoid getting trampled as the tyrant smashed rocks and seashells.

  It skidded against the sand right at the precipice of the tide. Another Earthquake made the loose parts of the mountain that it had stomped free start rolling down. Both the humans had to crouch as close to the ground as possible, gritting their teeth as the vibrations bore down into the joints. The leaves that were coming from the top of the mountain were knocked off course, embedding themselves into the sand.

  The Seismitoad saw no need to change its strategy. Its foot rose again and struck the ground. Lane grinned savagely even as he was collapsing. Strong enough to make an entire island shake or not, it was still a wild pokémon. The ball unhooked, bringing out the second part of his plan. Dunsparce gave a weak mewl when it was released.

  Seismitoad didn't like being threatened. Its head lowered. Its muscles coiled.

  "Dunsparce! Sunny Day! Lulu! Solar Beam!"

  Realizing the plan, Marley threw her arm out wildly.

  "Ninjask! Target the joints!"

  Wild pokémon weren't dumb. Being that strong meant that they interacted with other strong pokémon and trainers, and it didn't go past instinctual thought when a water-type felt the sun become scorching hot. Escape it definitely tried, lowering down on all fours and running into the ocean. Its front flippers created cannonballs that sent packed sand flying. A slash of light flew past one of its elbows just as weight was put on that arm. Came forth were a painful sequence of croaks as it collapsed halfway into the risen wave, sinking slightly in the dune. The pokémon lifted itself up again only for its other elbow to be attacked. Its legs frantically tried leaping into the water, kicking up a cloak of sand as its chest pounded against the thin layer of ocean.

  Lulu was far above. She'd never aimed from a great distance before. Improvisation was one of her strengths, a self-proclaimed strength, that didn't make her question the order. With the same method that she used to aim her Leaf Blades against flying targets (self-taught, since Lane never even considered that it might be a problem), her blade centered in her vision. Only a single shot. Letting it leave would hurt her pride after Lane had asked her to deal with it.

  Light gathered into her body. Photosynthesis made visible. Aiming straight into its butt, she held out her other claw approximately angled to where she had pointed—dead center of the mass.

  The roar that came from the powerful beam belied its unimpressive appearance. The drill from heaven was barely a flagpole, a green-tinged beam that had all the spectators blinking the purple afterimage out of their vision. It smashed into the center of Seismitoad's back. The pokémon was involuntarily shaped into a 'U' as its limbs spasmed from the pain. Carried by the sheer force, the water briefly parted ways so that a flicker of the ocean floor was visible. It was dragged along until it found rest on a pile of conches, a curious horde of Krabby poking its twitching limbs.

  Both of their breaths were haggard. Marley looked down at the other trainer. She tried reconciling those star-struck eyes with the same person who just knocked a monster into next Wednesday. She really did try. It's not her fault that she failed. It's not her fault that Lane immediately switched faces.

  "Oh my gosh! Did you see that! It went like bwoosh and you were like bwang!" Lane laughed. "That was so cool! Your Ninjask pulled that off sooo well. Can I get your autograph?"

  He wasn't going to leave it there. They'd been traveling off route to get practice with what was coming. It made him feel like chuckling, remembering a month ago when he'd been too nervous to leave the route's safety.

  This wasn't to say that the officials were lying; being off route had him challenge pokémon that would've squashed him and his team into pancakes merely two gyms ago. What a difference it made! Separating himself from civilization and fully focusing on training barely had him recognize the pokémon that he was eating with. The few who hadn't evolved—Wartortle and Ivysaur—were a single serious battle away from evolving. He could feel it. How he could feel it wasn't explored. Experience from evolving two other pokémon, it must be.

  They didn't really have a destination. Wandering wherever the team members voted on had inflated the pokédex's numbers to over a hundred entries, far past the petty forty-three when he'd left on the cycling road. It was productive, though he could see it in the way that his pokémon had started to fall into routine during their spars. Charizard bodily flipping around the Water Gun that nearly hit dead-on, followed by a Flamethrower aimed at his opponent's feet, and how Eevee would use Quick Attack on the exact same angles every fight spoke of unhealthy habits.

  But he knew that simply beating them out during training wasn't enough. Each time that he saw a new habit formed made him want to battle powerful trainers a little more.

  He wasn't ready for the grand stage yet and he knew it. On a mountain somewhere near Fuschia and Vermillion, he was putting to work new strategies that he'd brainstormed. Little sticks broken off from fledgling trees were carried to a hole that he dug out himself. It wasn't too tiring with the help of a vaguely scoop-shaped rock, and it felt nice becoming stronger. This was being strong, sucking up any complaints and doing work that could be done himself. He was a team with his pokémon, a team that required him to exert effort too. Asking them to dig when he was fully capable would've embarrassed him fiercely.

  Patting away the moisture on the sides of his arm-shaped hole ended up getting the rag he used stained brown. The hole itself was a little thicker than his arm and could nearly swallow him to his shoulder. The exact size would trap many smaller pokémon's legs and hopefully even the larger quadrupeds. Burrowing the sticks in a hex pattern until they had dug into place gave a perfect net that held up the leaves and grass he layered onto it. With enough effort, the trap looked natural.

  Once the trap was workshopped, he could leave it alone. Seeing the exact moment when it went right (or wrong) would allay his concerns. So another tunnel was dug into a nearby bush, giving him a vantage point to watch.

  First was that the wind would dislodge the leaves and have them fly off, revealing a grate in the center of a forest bed. Using more sticks to weigh down the layer had them stay in place. Then, much more sinister, sleep started creeping up on him. It was understandable considering that he was doing an exceptionally boring activity the whole day. Putting another particularly stubborn stick underneath his chin had it continuously prick him whenever he started leaning down too much.

  Even then, sleep started degenerating his system of logic. Stay awake, watch the trap. Stay awake, let your gaze wander. Who's going to come? That stick is uncomfortable. Shove it away. Stay awake, close your eyes. Fall asleep. Don't snore.

  Rustling woke him up when the sun had gone down. A blurry shape was wandering, pushing past the bushes that had surrounded the clearing. Whatever hope that he could've felt was ruined when its gigantic paw broke through the thin carpet. It looked down, curious about the amount of snaps that it had just made, or maybe about its arch lacking any support. Its foot raised, showing the hole that attempted to swallow it.

  Red wasn't really worried. Maybe it was his degenerated logic, but he couldn't fear the yellow pokémon that had accidentally set off the trap. Why would it care? It couldn't see him. It would move along, not glance around the clearing until it perfectly picked apart the camouflage that he was wearing.

  Its fists banged against each other, sending off little sparks that lit up the night. His skin definitely lit up in greeting.

  Red sighed, standing up and waving his hand. A siege of poison started shooting out from the treeline as he started walking back to camp.

  He had a lot to learn. Time was scarce, yet there was so much more to learn.

  Everyday on the field required her to adapt to the surroundings. She was a person who liked routine yet liked traveling, and had to wrestle with the contradictions it created. Being on the move prevented any serious beautification so she used the brush that she carried around to the best of its effect while the blurriness in her vision faded to a manageable level. Then came the contacts. Pretending that glasses weren't real was one of her many duties in life. Finally came rereading her diary from the previous day so she could commit the memories to heart, though she suspected that day was unforgettable either way. A breeze slid through the window, white curtains fluttering as she stood up.

  A few simple workouts, pushups and the like, gave her a boost that kept her feet feeling light as she entered the shower. Afterwards she'd have an actual breakfast while reading the news if she were in civilization. Though the island may masquerade as civilization, her phone's empty bars said otherwise. Choppy connection had been an unending source of frustration since coming to Kanto. Being without service while knee-deep in muck made sense, not so when inside an official League building. The journey reminded her of all the cartoons that depicted Kanto natives as Marowaks.

  It was hard ignoring the two sets of eyes that were trailing her as she asked the nurse about breakfast. Both perks and limitations came with being at an obscure corner of Kanto; none of those perks were related to the food. Most of it was frozen stuff that was heated up. She grimaced at the breakfast sandwich that was handed to her, counting the calories. The tables were in an even more dire spot. Two existed, one used by old men playing chess while the other had them. Not that them were too bad—the old man hadn't really done anything—but the second half of them acted way too familiar way too fast for her to be comfortable.

  Lane's eyes couldn't get wider when she sat with them. Lulu just fondly looked at her trainer before shrugging at Marley. She wasn't sure how much the gesture actually meant when Lulu was wearing a matching pair of sunglasses with him indoors.

  "How's it goin', big sis?"

  "Please stop calling me that," she grumbled. The largest bite possible ripped into the sandwich. It didn't only look bad. It tasted bad. How they could stuff so many calories inside something without making it taste good was beyond the imagination.

  "Why so grumpy? Didn't get any sleep?"

  "I slept fine." She took another bite and swallowed it. Talking with food in her mouth was about the most disgusting thing she could imagine. "Look. It's really nothing against you. You're just…a lot."

  Blaine nodded sympathetically. "I'm not sure what came over him when he saw you. Before he was a perfectly reliable repository of information."

  "You looked easy to mess with," Lane cooed.

  "Seriously?" Marley asked in dismay. Her voice was almost pleading. "What makes me look like that?"

  "Nothin'. Just a hunch."

  "You look like a reliable young woman to me," Blaine said.

  That would've been a much better compliment in her eyes if it was done by a man perhaps a quarter of Blaine's age. "Well, I can't say that I was disappointed. I came to these islands for adventure and this could be mistaken as an adventure."

  She nearly bit her tongue saying something so sarcastic. That's exactly why she liked to fade into the background. Talking for too long let out the wry humor that she was so fond of. Fond, yet fully understanding that it made normal people leery of her.

  "You're traveling?" Blaine asked.

  "Around all of Kanto," she responded.

  "It's good to hear that you took the time to come down to our corner then! We're always forgotten in the grand scheme, especially by foreigners, so it's great to hear that somebody other than a trainer hoping for a badge made their way down here. There's so many interesting tidbits around. Not that the region as a whole is any less interesting, but there's specific history here that makes it unique from anywhere else that Kanto could offer!"

  She looked around the pokémon center. What normally would be stuffed with trainers, pokémon, books, information, life, was empty. Few houses stood outside and any complicated construction was dismissed for practicality. She didn't care much about the mansion since it was admitted by Blaine to only have worth as an urban explorer's dream, along with having belongings from his friend that he didn't touch. The only sight was the volcano, impressive insofar as any mountain was impressive and, last that Marley checked, there was an entire range up north.

  "I'm sure there's a lot that I'm missing out on," she said diplomatically.

  Lane put his fists up to his chin and made the best cutesy expression he could. "So you're traveling around all of Kanto? Want to come with me? I'm doing the same thing!"

  "No."

  "Aww. Come on!"

  "Sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but I barely know you and I'm doing a side project on the way. You'd get bored standing around random grottos as I searched for multiple days." She brushed hair out from her face. "Speaking of, I'm going to be doing some diving in the area, so I'll be around for a bit. Don't act like I'm leaving immediately. Between visiting the areas that I want, I'll be here resting."

  Not as if there were any other place to do so unless she wanted sunburn.

  "It would've been bizarre to come here for a mere day," Blaine said.

  She found it hard to keep any snide comments within her. Her natural fretting made her research the region before coming. That's what her sister said in agreement: "Kanto is weird, sis. They're really regional and have people who can ruin your life without repercussions if they want to. Make sure that you know those people from the normal ones." So scared of her ruined future, she spent sleepless night looking up names.

  Blaine. Hermit, once ridiculed for living on an empty island just for research. Now there were a few people there, but his reputation hadn't improved. There were a lot of rumors that floated around which couldn't be substantiated since it was generally a trainer or tourist doing he-said, she-said. Either way, rumors said a lot. If people thought so little of you that it was plausible catching you taking apart sushi into its individual parts before eating, then Marley thought it hypocritical calling anyone else bizarre.

  "Well, when you're not diving, you get to help us with the riddles. Hooray! Making puzzles with big sis!" Lane jumped out of the chair, pumping his fist. Lulu squeaked when she was lifted and spun around. "Woohoo! Let's throw a shindig everybody!"

  There was no party. They were all responsible people there. Marley started researching her downloaded material about the underwater areas around Cinnabar while Blaine had gone to his homework. Out of respect he quieted, going through the grooming process with Lulu.

  It was probably the routine getting shaken up that made him a little more incorrigible. So, patting his hands against the table, he turned to Blaine.

  "So, Blaine, you're a fire-type leader. You deal with fires. Fires are like explosions. You're also a scientist, meaning that you've taken a single chemistry class. Do you have an explosive device on hand?"