Verdanturf Town, Hoenn Region
Emma, Housewife.
Verdanturf always smelled of clean grass, until the thermometer hit thirty-nine-point-five, and her son could no longer stand.
Wally never complained. That was what scared her most.
She wiped his forehead for the fourth time that hour, her hand trembling only slightly. Ralts sat by the bedside, silent and wide-eyed, hands clasped as if trying to will Wally back to health through sheer presence. Roselia perched on the windowsill, petals closed tighter than usual, watching the sunlight fall across the bed with a quiet stillness.
Lily, her daughter, peeked into the room, face pale. "Is he going to be okay?"
"He's just… resting," Emma said gently, smoothing the edge of the damp cloth again. She didn't say barely conscious, or burning up, or worse than before. She didn't need to. Wally had always been the quiet kind, but even in silence, he had his tells.
The fact that he hadn't tried to reassure her was all the confirmation she needed.
She turned to Ralts, offering a small, soft smile. "You're doing great, sweetheart. Just stay close. He'd want that."
Ralts nodded, or something like it, and edged closer, its hand barely brushing Wally's. Roselia unfolded one blossom just slightly and gave a slow blink, like it was standing guard.
Her son had won a tournament.
Her son had pushed his body until it buckled.
She pulled the blanket up a little higher and whispered, "Sometimes I wonder if you're chasing strength because you never got to feel normal."
He stirred then, faintly, just a murmur in his throat. Enough to startle her upright.
"Shhh," she whispered, placing a kiss against his damp hairline. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone."
A few hours passed. Then there was a soft knock at the door.
Not loud. Not frantic.
She opened it to find a girl with wind-mussed hair, wearing a jacket two sizes too big and a worried look even bigger. A Pikachu peeked out from behind her leg.
"Hi, ma'am. I'm Sparky. I, um, I was in the tournament with Wally. We're rivals," she spoke meekly. "Can I see him?"
Emma smiled, tired but kind. "He's resting. But I think he'd like that."
Sparky stepped inside, carefully toeing off her shoes. The moment she saw Wally, her confident grin softened into something smaller, quieter. Pikachu jumped onto the bed and curled next to Ralts without asking.
"I didn't think he'd crash like this," she whispered. "He looked so calm in the final."
"He always looks calm," Emma replied. "Even when he isn't. That's the trick with Wally."
Sparky nodded and placed the small envelope she'd been holding on the nightstand. "The gym sent this. Said it was part of the prize. One of their assistant instructors might stop by later."
Emma blinked. "So it's real? The Gym Assistant position?"
"Yeah. Both finalists get it. One-week trial."
"…And you're going ahead?"
Sparky hesitated. "I'll wait one more day. But I think he'd want me to go first."
She turned to Wally. "Don't keep me waiting too long, alright? I'll zap you myself if you fall behind."
A faint chuckle broke the silence.
They all turned to see Wally's eyes half-open, lips curling into a weak smile. His voice rasped low: "That sounds… a little... shocking."
Sparky's expression eased at hearing that. "Jerk," she muttered. "Rest up."
She left soon after, her hand brushing Wally's shoulder on the way out.
Later, the Gym Assistant representative arrived, a tall woman in yellow, hair tied back like lightning. She asked a few questions, left a folder on the table, and told Emma that Mauville was expecting Wally… once he could stand without wobbling.
She saw them all out, then returned to the bedside. Wally's fever had broken, but his expression was still pale as a frostlass.
He turned to her as she sat down.
"Mom," he said softly, voice still rough from fatigue, "don't worry too much."
"I'm your mother," she said, brushing his bangs back. "It's my job."
"I know," he murmured.
Then, after a pause: "But I really want this."
She looked at him, his pale face, the sweat-matted hair, the stubborn eyes too tired to sparkle but too alive to dull.
"Why, Wally? Why this?"
He gave a crooked, exhausted smile, the kind that barely lifted his cheeks but still carried all the stubborn light in him. "Because… there's a mystical Llama god out there."
Emma blinked. "…I'm sorry, what?"
Wally's voice was thin but steady. "They say only the worthy can find it. Not just strong in battle, but strong in heart and spirit." He paused, then added with a casual conviction that made her worry even more, "I want to meet them. Maybe ask the reason for it all."
She let out a breath, halfway between a laugh and a sob. "You're ridiculous."
"I know," he said, closing his eyes again. "But maybe I'm getting stronger… one ridiculous thing at a time."
The room was quiet for a moment, filled only with the low hum of the fan and the rhythmic snuffling of a dozing Ralts curled up by his side. She brushed his fringe back from his forehead, watching his brow furrow lightly in sleep.
Then her voice broke the hush, soft but firm. "I can't let you go to Mauville."
Roselia, perched near the headboard, raised her blossoms slightly in alarm. Even Ralts opened one eye, blinking up at her.
"You're still sick. You pushed yourself too far. This, this Gym Assistant trial? You'll just get worse. I know you want to be strong, but, " her voice cracked, "Wally, you've always been fragile. We almost lost you once. I won't… I won't risk it again."
"I want to be the very best," Wally rasped from the bed, not even fully awake. "Not to prove anything. Just to see how far I can go. Just to see what's out there."
Before she could answer, the screen door creaked behind her.
Wally's grandfather stepped in, leaning on his cane like it was more for style than support. He nodded once to Roselia, who politely dipped a blossom, then looked at his daughter-in-law.
"He's got a dream," the old man said simply.
"A dream won't protect him from a fever, Dad," she snapped, voice tight.
"No," he agreed. "But it might carry him through one." He limped over to Wally's bedside and looked down at his grandson with a proud, tired smile. "You can't stop a river by blocking its flow. You've got to guide it."
She looked between them, her pale, sleeping son who dreamed of gods and glory, and the quiet conviction on the old man's face.
After a long moment, she sighed. "One week. In Mauville. Then he comes home. Agreed?"
The old man nodded. "Agreed."
Ralts sat up straighter. Roselia seemed to breathe easier. Wally, half-conscious, smiled faintly and murmured, "Thanks, Grandpa…"
And for the first time since the fever had begun, Emma let herself believe, just a little, that maybe strength wasn't something you were born with.
Maybe it was something you built.
Even one ridiculous dream at a time.
...
Route 117, Hoenn Region
Bredan Birch, Pokemon Enthusiast
Brendan Birch adjusted the straps of his backpack as he jogged along the grassy trail that led toward Mauville City. The sky stretched wide and blue overhead, dotted with a few lazy clouds, and his PokéNav buzzed with nearby trainer signals, none of which he had time for.
He had a mission. A destination.
"Mauville Gym," he muttered, pumping his arms. "Next stop: Electric Badge, or at least a peek inside."
His Grovyle loped beside him, blades of leaf shimmering in the sun, keeping perfect pace. They moved in sync, two halves of the same curiosity-driven coin.
It wasn't really about badges for Brendan. It was about seeing, about what was out there. His dad, Professor Birch, always said the world was full of wonder if you just looked at it sideways. Brendan preferred looking at it upside down, through binoculars, from a mountaintop in the rain.
He was halfway into fantasizing about finding a Tropius in the nearby woods when he heard it: shouting.
He slowed. Around the bend in the trail, a group of teens stood near the edge of a shallow stream. Brendan crept forward, narrowing his eyes.
Two older boys in dark jackets, local punks, from the look of it, were snickering and tossing pebbles toward the water.
"Seriously, what kind of loser Pokémon is this?"
"Ugliest fish I've ever seen."
A sickly-looking Feebas cowered near the reeds, its dull scales mottled, one fin twitching like it wanted to vanish into the water.
Brendan's hand dropped to his belt. Grovyle shifted beside him, eyes narrowing. He was halfway to releasing his partner when a sharp voice rang out.
"Hey."
He paused.
A boy had stepped out onto the path, green-haired, slight, but standing firm. His fists were clenched, his stance quiet but unwavering. Beside him hovered a pale, glimmering Ralts, its color subtly off from the usual hue, shimmering faintly like glass under moonlight.
Brendan's breath caught.
A shiny.
The bullies turned, unimpressed. One of them scoffed. "What's this? A Pokémon ranger in hand-me-downs?"
The green-haired boy didn't flinch. "Mocking a Pokémon for its appearance," he said, voice steady, "says more about your character than its scales ever could."
His tone wasn't angry. It was sincere. Almost formal. It carried across the water like a gentle warning.
Brendan held still.
Ralts floated upward, its glow deepening. The green-haired boy didn't notice, but Brendan and Grovyle did. Something shifted in the shadows behind the boy. A large boulder rose silently, hovering behind them, impossibly, unnaturally, its shadow falling just enough to be felt.
Grovyle tensed.
Brendan watched, wide-eyed. That Ralts…
It didn't make a sound. It just waited, suspended like a guillotine made of moss and fury. Ralts' eyes glowed with quiet intensity, not even looking directly at them, just letting the implication settle in.
The bully holding the stone paled.
"Tch. Whatever. Have fun with your ugly fish," he muttered, backing off a little too fast.
The other one shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly all bravado and no spine. "Weirdos."
They left.
The boulder lowered itself soundlessly to the grass. Ralts gave a tiny huff, brushing off its hands as if it hadn't just threatened psychic rock-based justice.
Brendan let out a breath and stepped from the brush. "That was… something."
The green-haired boy looked up. Not startled. Just a little curious. "Oh. Hello."
Brendan pointed toward the trail. "Did you see what your Ralts just did?"
The boy glanced at his partner. "Hm?"
"The boulder," Brendan said, gesturing. "Behind them. It was levitating. Super threatening. Like something out of a boss battle."
The boy turned to Ralts, who folded its arms innocently.
"Did you do that?" he asked.
Ralts tilted its head, then gave the tiniest shrug.
The boy turned back. "It's possible my partner has a flair for the dramatic."
Brendan laughed. "Like trainer, like Pokémon?"
"Maybe," The boy said, a little smile at the corner of his mouth. "I talk. She lifts rocks."
He reached into his bag and pulled out a soft cloth, gently cupping the trembling Feebas in it. "Still, I'd rather win them over with kindness."
"Sure, sure," Brendan said, walking closer, watching with open curiosity. "But the rock doesn't hurt."
The boy chuckled under his breath. "Only emotionally."
Brendan blinked, then smiled widely. "That was cool."
The boy stepped down toward the stream, kneeling beside the trembling Feebas with slow, careful hands. "It's alright now," he murmured. "They're gone."
Brendan hung back, watching. Grovyle was still alert, but no longer tense.
"You were ready to help," The boy said suddenly.
Brendan blinked. "What?"
"You had your hand on a Poké Ball." The boy didn't look up, just kept tending to the fish with a damp cloth. "I could feel it. Like… pressure in the air."
Brendan rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, well. I wasn't gonna let them get away with it. But you had it under control."
The boy dipped the cloth again, dabbing at the scrapes. "They listened."
"They ran," Brendan corrected.
The boy's expression didn't change. "I'll take what I can get."
For all the weirdness, Brendan was struck by how calm the boy had been. Not showy, just... right. Like someone in the middle of a story he already knew how to tell.
Brendan crouched beside him. "You're really gentle with it."
"I'd be scared too, after that."
The Feebas made a soft bubbling noise, more confused than frightened now.
Brendan tilted his head. "You gonna catch it?"
Wally nodded. "If it'll let me."
Feebas stared up at him, unblinking. Wally paused, lowering the Poké Ball just slightly.
"Only if you're okay with it," he said quietly.
A beat.
Then Feebas, ever so slightly, leaned forward.
He tapped a Poké Ball to the Feebas's side. It clicked shut and barely wiggled once.
Caught.
The boy held the ball in his palm and studied it for a moment before speaking.
"There," he said quietly. "We'll leap over the Dragon Gate together, won't we?"
Brendan tilted his head. "The what?"
"It's an old myth," The boy said. "A carp swims upstream and leaps over a waterfall. It becomes a dragon."
"Feebas isn't a carp."
"No," The boy said. "But stories don't always follow science."
Brendan grinned. "That's a good one. I'm stealing it."
"Only if you cite your sources."
They walked side by side, the path winding gently toward Mauville.
"I'm Brendan, by the way. Birch. My dad's the Professor in Littleroot."
"Wally. From Verdanturf."
Brendan gestured toward the horizon. "Heading to Mauville?"
"There's a Gym Assistant program I need to check in for."
"Hey, me too! I mean, I'm just hoping to check it out. Maybe challenge it someday. You mind if I walk with you?"
Wally nodded. "Sure. Ralts likes new people. Most of the time."
The shiny Ralts gave Brendan a flat, unreadable look.
"…Most of the time," Brendan echoed nervously.
...
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