One Step at a Time

[BEARiiKADE]

I'm liking this fic so far, good team and interesting premise. Only complaint is that I wish the MC seemed to have some more fun. Stop and smell the roses while he can before things get too serious. The pokemon world is a wonderful place, just wish we could see the MC experience that.

 

[Frost41]

One Step at a Time
Chapter 16: Signals in the Fog



The clearing behind the Ranger substation was quiet.

A low mist clung to the outer edges of the grass, softening the outlines of scattered training posts and half-buried marker flags. The morning air was cool, dry, and still laced with the scent of ozone from the night before—residual energy from the station's floodlights humming down into silence.

Kael stood at the far edge of the field, arms crossed, boots planted in the dust. The sun hadn't crested the ridge yet, but the sky had begun to pale, casting long, low shadows behind him.

Leaf approached without a word, her jacket drawn close around her shoulders. She let her bag slide off her back and land beside one of the old training posts with a soft thud.

"This place always look like this?" she asked.

Kael glanced sideways. "Clearing's probably not been used since the last rotation. Used mostly for basic team checks. Not battles."

"Good. We've had enough action for a while."

He didn't disagree.

They didn't coordinate. Just moved—setting up on opposite ends of the field like magnets repelling without conflict. Two halves of a wheel already in motion.

Leaf pulled her Pokéballs free and released her team one by one.

Quilava landed in a crouch, flames low, exhaling steam into the air. Mankey emerged mid-bounce, shook once, and darted up a wooden post before immediately dropping back down. Lotad blinked up at the sky before waddling a few slow circles around her boots. Weepinbell stretched into a tight coil, leaves wide and body already angled toward the sun.

Houndour had followed behind her on foot, limping slightly. He didn't need a Pokéball. He hadn't left her side since the night before.

Kael watched from across the field, then turned away without a word and released his own team.

Spectre emerged in a low crouch, eyes already scanning. Vespertil shot straight into the sky, looping once, then angling into a slow, high glide. Tarrasque dropped into a squat the moment his feet hit the dirt, snorting once before beginning to test the ground, raking the dust with his claws. Praxis appeared with a shimmer of light and a faint pulse of pressure, his blade already hovering loosely in one hand.

Leaf stepped forward and raised her voice—not loud, but clear.

"Quilava, we are focusing on footwork, since I've noticed you haven't fully adjusted to how you move differently. Lets run a fan-pattern perimeter, with low flames. Keep it even."

The fire-type hissed softly, then took off at a steady loop around the edges of the field, embers trailing in short, controlled bursts behind him.

"Mankey—quick step work. Keep the pivot tight, and watch your recovery."

Mankey snorted but obeyed, diving into a sequence of short dashes, planting on one foot and spinning in controlled arcs.

"Lotad, we need to work on your tracking pattern. Stay near me. We'll work on reaction timing."

Lotad blinked and shifted sideways, matching her movement in a slow follow-loop.

"Weepinbell—razor leaf strikes only. We need to work on your long-range accuracy. Low power shots, but make sure they hit the target. No physical moves today."

The grass-type pulsed once—petals flaring wide—then began snapping leaves in low arcs at the trees at the edge of the clearing.

Kael observed the group without comment, then turned to his own.

"Spectre—run pattern 4, but focus on the corner angles. Mark the perimeter, then draw in tight."

The Umbreon broke into motion immediately, tail flicking once before he vanished into low zigzag sweeps along the boundary of the field.

"Vespertil. Gliding practice, form 6. None of the speed dives, only flap to return to the start."

Above, the Golbat chirped once in acknowledgment and shifted his angle, wings flattening as he adjusted to the shallow pattern.

"Tarrasque—rooted earth pulse drills. You know the rhythm. Don't rush it."

The Larvitar grunted as he moved to a corner of the clearing and dropped into a braced stance, stomping once—then again—his weight moving with measured bursts in time with the jagged pillars of earth that appeared around him.

Kael turned his head slightly. "Praxis. Phantom tracking and Shockwave practice. Low power, no interaction."

Praxis gave no verbal reply, but the faintest flicker of acknowledgment echoed through Kael's thoughts before he faded into the background—hovering just beyond easy sight, scanning.

Leaf watched them for a moment from her crouch by Houndour, then said dryly, "You ever just tell them 'go left' or 'do a cool move'?"

Kael didn't look at her. "I did. Once."

"Let me guess—never again?"

"It wasn't efficient."

She rolled her eyes. "You know, I'm starting to think the whole mysterious-silent-tactician thing isn't an act."

Kael didn't answer.

That, apparently, was the answer.

---

A hour passed like that.

No battles. No shouts. Just a steady churn of motion—controlled drills, formation testing, quiet movement. Each trainer managing their own rhythm. Each Pokémon falling into pace.

Quilava's loops shortened, then reversed. Mankey's footwork tightened into nearly dancer-like precision. Weepinbell flicked razor-thin air arcs and began adjusting mid-swing, calibrating her balance.

Spectre doubled back through a path he hadn't made previously, tail flicking once as Praxis phased silently across the far side of the field, trailing his movements by exactly two steps. Vespertil softly flew above them in patterns. Tarrasque continued his rhythmic stomps, shaping the dirt beneath his feet in short, compact pulses.

Houndour did not move.

He lay in the shade beneath a half-burned trainer post, his eyes locked on every motion. His head tracked Spectre. Then Mankey. Then Weepinbell. His ears never flicked. His tail never twitched.

Just watching.

Leaf knelt beside him at one point, brushing her fingers just behind his ears.

"Not today," she murmured. "But soon."

Houndour didn't respond.

He didn't need to.

---

Kael circled back toward the edge of the clearing, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. Praxis drifted into formation behind him, silent as a shadow.

"They're trying harder, learning faster," Kael said, almost absently.

Leaf nodded. "It's different now."

"They've seen how real the stakes are."

"Yeah." She looked toward the field. "And they're still moving forward."

Kael didn't speak.

He just watched.

And made sure they all kept moving.

One step at a time.

------

The trail south was narrow—half-choked with tall grass and old root clusters that poked up through the dirt like fossilized ribs. The trees had thinned since the substation, and the sun now filtered freely across the path, washing everything in late morning gold.

Kael moved at a steady pace, head slightly lowered, one hand adjusting the strap on his satchel to keep it from bouncing. Vespertil swept low overhead in wide, lazy arcs. Spectre flanked his left. Praxis his right. Tarrasque had been recalled—for now.

Behind him, Leaf picked her way over a patch of broken gravel, muttering as she shifted her pack higher. Mankey clung to her shoulders like a scarf, tail curled around one arm, occasionally chittering if a branch got too close. Quilava followed close on her heels, moving smoothly across the rugged terrain.

They hadn't spoken much since leaving the field. There wasn't really a need to.

The silence wasn't heavy—just habitual.

Kael's eyes flicked across the horizon. He could see the shimmer of heat beginning to rise where the grasslands met the edge of the industrial outskirts. Distant silhouettes of fencing. Power poles. Concrete.

Vermilion wasn't far.

Still maybe another hour, give or take.

Kael slowed without warning. Something felt off.

It wasn't abrupt—just a subtle shift in pace, like something was out of alignment. He reached down to his belt, fingers brushing each capsule in sequence, reassuring himself.

One.
Two.
Three.
Four.

…Five?

He stopped walking.

Spectre halted beside him with practiced ease, posture still but alert.

Leaf turned. "What is it?"

Kael didn't answer right away. His eyes were on the unfamiliar Pokéball—clipped neatly to his belt as if it had always been there.

It hadn't.

He unhooked it slowly.

The casing was standard. Untagged. Smooth. Balanced. But it felt slightly off—cooler than the others. The locking ring was stiff, like it had never been used.

Definitely occupied. He could feel the subtle pulse of internal energy, faint but steady.

Leaf stepped closer. "That's… new."

"I know," Kael murmured.

"You didn't catch anything."

"No."

"Then where—"

"I have a feeling I know."

He pressed the release.

With a soft hiss of expanding light, the Pokéball opened—and from the swirl emerged a Gastly.

It floated forward in near silence, suspended in the air like it had always belonged there. The gas around its core rippled gently, the edges flickering like smoke caught in still wind. Its wide eyes were half-lidded, as if amused. As if waiting.

Leaf took a cautious half-step back. "Is that—?"

"The one from the base," Kael confirmed, watching closely.

"You caught him?"

Kael shook his head. "No."
Then he paused. "Well... I guess, yes."

Gastly chuckled as he tilted his head forwards in a nod—not a taunt, not a threat. Just acknowledgment.

The silence stretched.

Then, without a sound, it drifted back toward the Pokéball still in Kael's hand. The light drew it in. The ball shut with a clean click.

Registered. Claimed.

Accepted.

Kael stared down at it for a long moment. Then clipped it back to his belt.

Leaf let out a breath. "So he just… decided?"

Kael nodded once. "Apparently."

"That's really weird."

"He's a ghost."

Leaf rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, but ghosts don't usually self-capture for trainers, do they?"

Kael didn't answer. His expression hadn't changed.

Leaf glanced sidelong at him. "So…what's the plan for Vermillion?"

"Not sure yet."

She raised an eyebrow. "Planning to ask the locals first?"

Kael didn't blink. "Maybe."

---

The city came into view not long after.

Not the full skyline—just the outer layers. Storage lots. Rail lines. Long stretches of fencing topped with angled barbed wire. The smell of salt and distant oil drifted in with the breeze.

Vermilion hummed ahead like a live wire beneath pavement. Not as clean or curated as Cerulean. Not as quaint as Pewter. But real. Lived-in. Moving.

Kael adjusted his gait slightly as the path merged into gravel and the shadow of a substation tower fell across them.

Leaf exhaled. "Back to civilization."

Kael didn't respond.

He just reached for the new Pokéball again—confirming it was still there—and started walking.

-----

The streets of Vermilion buzzed with late afternoon activity—couriers and Pokémon weaving between shopfronts, drone carts rumbling along embedded tracks, trainers checking Pokégear readouts while their partners trotted at their heels. Steam curled from rooftop vents. Somewhere, a Magnemite hummed as it latched onto a streetlight.

Kael and Leaf moved side by side through the city's outer layers without any meaningful conversation. They pointed out storefronts and kiosk vendors that appeared with more frequency as they moved. The transition from overgrown trail to cracked pavement had been gradual—sheds, fences, and storage lots giving way to larger buildings and old signage faded by sea wind.

Spectre walked at Kael's side, poised but at ease. Praxis had opted out of his capsule for now, and kept pace slightly behind Kael. Leaf's Mankey clung lazily to her shoulder, his grip relaxed but alert, Quilava trotting at her heels.

They passed a food stall, a repair shop, an open-air mechanics bay. Signs of daily life. Nothing out of place.

Until the scream.

It wasn't close—just sharp enough to cut through the din. A woman's voice. Brief, but panicked.

Kael didn't break stride.

He just turned.

Spectre vanished from his side in an instant, slipping into the shadows of a nearby alley without command.

Leaf adjusted course beside him, already moving. "That sounded like it came from—"

"Three stores down. Near that bike lot."

"Got it."

They took off without another word.

---

By the time they reached the corner, a crowd had already begun to stir. A few pedestrians had gathered near a fenced-off side lane behind the lot, where a pair of men in dark coats were half-dragging a third man toward the alley mouth.

The third man was struggling—older, finely dressed, his satchel half-open and papers scattered along the curb. One of the attackers yanked it away. The other muttered something sharp and fast, barely audible under the crowd's confusion.

Kael didn't hesitate.

He bent down and flicked a pebble from the gutter toward the far side of the alley.

The impact made one of the attackers turn—just slightly.

Spectre struck a half-breath later, rings flashing in the light. The man hit the wall with a grunt, gasping for air and trying to regain his feet as the Umbreon flowed past him and circled low, eyes glowing with the beginnings of Mean Look.

Kael stepped into view just as the second man started to run.

Praxis reappeared in a shimmer of light—directly in his path.

The man skidded to a stop.

"Down," Kael said.

Both men dropped. Spectre put his front paws on the back of the one closer to him, keeping pressure on him to keep him pinned.

The older gentleman was breathing hard, one hand braced on the wall.

Leaf stepped forward and helped steady him as he stumbled around, scrambling for the loose papers strewn about. "Are you hurt?"

He shook his head. "No—no, I—thank you. That was… those men—"

"They're done," Kael said flatly.

Spectre released his pressure just enough for the downed Rocket grunt to wheeze, as an Officer Jenny showed up on the scene, barking orders at people.

"Thieves," the older man managed, trying to collect his things. "They were after my satchel. Unbelievable. In broad daylight!"

Kael glanced down at the satchel. A League registry tag was stitched along the top flap, half-torn.

"I'm Kael. This is Leaf. You're with the Fan Club?"

The man blinked at him, fhen straightened up slightly. "Oh, yes. Yes, I'm the chairman."

Kael nodded, looking at the approaching Jenny, who had just cuffed the two assailants. "We'll walk you home. After we give our statements."

---

It had ended up being a much less time consuming process than Kael had anticipated, with Jenny not caring to keep them for longer than it took to get their version of what happened, and turn over custody of the would-be thieves.

They escorted the Chairman, Reginald, to his home. He had made sure to have his Togetic out with him this time. On the way, he gave them an inpromptu tour of the city, complete with historical locations and events. He proved to be a surprisingly quick walker for a man his age, but he slowed often to gesture at buildings, bridges, and the occasional street-side statue.

"This quarter," he said, motioning to the wide avenue they followed, "was the original harbor road. Merchants used to line both sides with stalls so close together you could barely see the cobblestones. Now it's mostly League offices and shipping manifests — dull, but vital."

They passed under a curved iron arch stamped with the year 1854. Beyond it, a narrow canal ran parallel to the street, the water reflecting a web of overhead power lines. Reginald pointed out the restored ferry dock ahead, its stone pylons darkened by decades of salt spray.

"That's where the S.S. Anne anchors when she's in port, and the next scheduled stop in in three days. My grandfather used to take me there to watch the crews load supplies. Entire crates of apricorns from Johto, berries from Hoenn…" His voice warmed at the memory.

They turned down a quieter side street, where old gas lamps leaned slightly over brickwork older than the city's League charter. "And this—ah, this is the Old Quarter. Fewer tourists, more stories. If you ever have the time, ask for the brewer's alley. Best nanab-berry cider in Vermilion, and no two batches taste the same."

---

The Fan Club chairman's manor was tucked just off the main thoroughfare—decoration modest but well-kept, with hand-painted shutters and a stone path framed by flowering grass. Inside, the foyer was a maze of curiosities—shelves lined with display cases, glass jars of polished stones, and a wall-mounted cabinet filled with evolution stones and rare minerals.

Leaf's eyes widened slightly. "Whoa. That's a lot of rocks."

The chairman, who was petting his Togetic, smiled a little sheepishly but clearly proud. "Oh, I've collected stones and fossils for years. Fire Stones, Water Stones, even a Moon Stone fragment from Mt. Silver. Some of these are too rare to use—just having them is enough."

Kael stepped past her without comment, scanning the display. He slowed near the center of the cabinet, eyes narrowing slightly.

His hand hovered near a pale, luminous stone nestled between a Dawn Stone and an opalized Helix Fossil. The surface shimmered faintly under the ceiling light—like polished snowglass.

"You have a Shiny Stone," he said.

The chairman blinked. "Ah—yes? That one's from Johto, actually. Found it near a cliff outcrop by accident. I've never figured out what it does, but it's beautiful, isn't it?"

Kael didn't answer. His eyes had shifted.

The cream-colored Pokémon hovered nearby, blinking at him with red eyes and a soft chirp.

"Your Togetic," Kael said.

The chairman turned, his smile warm. "Ah, yes, dear Elisar. My oldest partner. He's been with me since he hatched when I was about your age. Why?"

Kael looked back to the cabinet. "Why haven't you evolved him?"

"Wha–I—" The man looked surprised. "Well, he is evolved. From a Togepi. Togetic's the final form, isn't it?"

"It's not," Kael said simply. "He can evolve again. If you use a Shiny Stone. You have one right there."

The room went still.

Leaf slowly turned toward him. "You're saying—what, that he just can evolve again? With this sparkly rock?"

Kael didn't answer.

The chairman frowned, but moved closer to the cabinet. He carefully opened it, reached inside, and picked up the Shiny Stone—handling it like something fragile. "You're certain?"

"Togetic responds to it. It's one of the few known lines that trigger."

"Known to who?" Leaf muttered, eyes flicking between him and the stone.

Kael ignored her.

Togetic floated forward, staring at the stone with curiousity in its wide, glimmering eyes. Its small wings gave a few fluttering beats, and it chirped—soft, but steady.

Something in the air shifted.

A faint pressure. Like static before a storm.

Kael took a step back, holding up his Pokédex to record.

"Go ahead," he said.

The chairman blinked. "Now?"

Kael gave the faintest nod.

The man held the stone out with both hands, leveling it gently toward Togetic, who extended his nose curiously.

The stone pulsed once—soft white light blooming from its center.

Togetic flared with light.

The evolution wasn't explosive. It was graceful. Quiet. Light spilled outward in rippling waves as the little Pokémon's shape grew, its wings stretching wide, its form smoothing and unfurling into something sleek and serene.

The glow faded.

Hovering in the air before them, still radiant with residual energy, was Togekiss.

Larger. More majestic. Its wings spread like soft banners on a breeze, eyes closed in silent peace. When it opened them, they glinted with something old. Something calm.

Leaf exhaled. "Well, that's… wow."

The chairman stepped forward, awe-struck. "He's… I never imagined…"

Togekiss turned and dipped low toward its trainer, gently nuzzling against his chest.

Kael watched without speaking.

"Why doesn't anyone know about this?" Leaf asked, still stunned. "Why isn't that in the Dex? Or the League registry?"

Kael didn't respond.

But his eyes flicked briefly to the stone—now dim and inert—and then to the display shelves, to the quiet corners of the room most trainers wouldn't look at twice.

Some answers didn't live in books.

The light from Togekiss's evolution had faded, but its presence lingered—soft and gentle, like warmth after a storm.

The chairman hadn't stopped smiling. He stood near his partner, one hand resting lightly against Togekiss's side as if afraid the moment might vanish if he let go.

Kael observed quietly from his place by the shelf.

Leaf leaned against the wall with her arms folded, a subtle grin tugging at her mouth. "You know," she said, "for a guy who acts like emotions aren't a thing, you sure know how to cause them."

Kael didn't answer.

He was still watching Togekiss.

"Togekiss, a Flying/Fairy-type," he said, almost to himself.

The chairman blinked. "Fairy?"

Kael glanced toward him. "New type classification. Relatively recent. Togekiss is one of them. Immune to Dragon-types. Strong against Dark and Fighting. Weak to Steel and Poison. Porfessor Oak is looking into them."

"Fairy-type," the chairman echoed softly. "I like that."

"You could show Elisar off to Professor Oak," Kael said.

Leaf turned, brow raised. "Oak?"

Kael nodded. "He's cataloging Fairy-type emergence across Kanto and Johto. He'd want this logged. Real-time evolution, long-term trainer bond, rare catalyst. I have the recording, but he will have other questions. Togetic is a bond evolution, and the whole line is Fairy-typed."

"Didn't realize you were his secretary now," Leaf muttered.

Kael ignored her. "You mind if we make a Pokégear call real quick?"

The chairman nodded. "Of course! I—yes, yes, hold on. Let's go outside, I want to see Elisar in full form."

He quickly shuffled off into a side hallway and returned with an ornate black and gold Pokéball.

Togekiss floated serenely in place, wings barely moving. Its eyes passed over Kael once—not dismissively, but almost like… recognition. Gratitude.

---

A minute later, Kael stood outside, Pokégear in hand. The Chairman—"Reginald, I insist" he had said—mentioned, "I have Professor Oak's personal number from a number of League committees, if you think he'd really want—"

Kael had already stepped forward.

"I have it on speed dial."

The chairman nodded and turned, releasing Elisar into the air, and watching him float around.

The screen lit up. A soft buzz rang out.

One ring.
Two.

Then the call connected.

The feed resolved into the familiar face of Professor Oak—half-lit by a desk lamp, brows furrowed as he glanced toward the screen, distracted.

"Yes, hello—this is Professor Oak speaking, if this is about—"
He paused.

Then blinked.
Then smiled.

"Kael! And... Leaf, too. What a surprise."

"Hey, Professor," Leaf said, lifting a hand. "Sorry for the drop-in."

Oak leaned forward, his tone immediately curious. "Where are you two now?"

"Vermilion," Kael said. "At the Fan Club chairman's home. We just witnessed a live evolution you might want to see. I just sent you the video."

Oak sat straighter, pulling up the file that popped through. "Live evolution?"

Kael angled the Pokégear toward the open space beside them.

Togekiss floated serenely there, watching the camera with the same gentle calm it had shown moments ago.

For a moment, Oak didn't speak.

Then he exhaled, low and astonished. "Is that…?"

"Togekiss," Kael confirmed. "Evolved from a Togetic using a Shiny Stone. Lifelong bond. Minimal exposure to battle stress. Smooth transition. Fairy-type."

The professor rubbed his temple, a slow grin spreading across his face as he watched the clip. "Incredible. I've been chasing secondhand reports for the past two weeks, and you just… hand me one on a silver platter."

"It handed itself over," Leaf said. "Kael just knew what to do."

Oak laughed softly. "That sounds about right."

The chairman stepped into frame briefly, smiling and waving. "Hello there, I can provide any documentation you need, Samuel. The stone's origin, the duration of our partnership, even the original hatching records."

"I'd be grateful, Reginald" Oak said sincerely. "This is the most detailed firsthand Fairy-type evolution I've seen in Kanto. And from an evolution triggering stone not yet categorized in the current League index…"

Kael tilted the screen back toward himself. "The shiny stone also evolves Roselia, into something called a Roserade. Solid Pokemon."

Oak raised a brow. "You just love to give me more work, don't you?"

Kael didn't answer.

Oak chuckled. "I just wish that I could have sent you into the field years ago."

Leaf made a face. "Please don't say that–you'll only encourage him."

Oak gave her a warm look. "And you, Leaf—still keeping him from walking off cliffs?"

"Barely," she said. "But I've gotten good at redirecting existential dread into sarcasm, so it evens out."

Oak laughed again. "Glad to hear it."

His expression sobered slightly. "You said you're in Vermilion now?"

Kael nodded.

Oak's voice lowered, the warmth in his tone edged with something harder. "Kael, listen carefully. There's been more than 'chatter' near the shipping quarter. Three Ranger patrol signals have gone dark in the last week, and their reports never reached the network. No wreckage. No witnesses. Just silence." He glanced offscreen again before meeting Kael's eyes. "If you go there — and I suspect you will — stay sharp. Whoever's responsible isn't sloppy, and they're not afraid of League eyes. That makes them dangerous."

Kael's eyes narrowed slightly. "Rocket?"

"Possibly. Or someone with their level of resources." Oak glanced offscreen for a moment, then back. "If you see anything unusual, don't engage alone."

Leaf snorted. "Do we ever engage alone?"

Kael ignored her. "Understood."

Oak looked between them, thoughtful. "I'll loop you into the Fairy-type database update when I get it up and running. And if you do find another undocumented evolution, Kael, please do me a favor?"

Kael blinked once. "What?"

"Try pretending you're surprised next time."

The call ended before Kael could reply.

Reginald stood quietly for a moment, one hand resting lightly on Elisar's side. The Togekiss hovered beside him, wings barely moving, casting soft shadows in the waning afternoon light.

Then he clapped his hands together, startling a passing Pidgey from the rooftop eaves.

"Well!" he declared. "That settles it. You're staying here for your time in Vermillion."

Kael tilted his head slightly. "We were planning on roughly a week, maybe even up to ten days. We couldn't impose on you like that."

"Pah." Reginald waved a dismissive hand. "Ten days is nothing. You'll stay here. My home is open—more than enough room for both of you and your teams."

Leaf raised a brow. "That's very generous."

"It's not generosity, it's repayment," Reginald said with a grin. "You saved my life, preserved my satchel– and my documents!–, revealed my partner's true form, and apparently you just handed Professor Oak a scientific breakthrough over tea. The least I can do is feed and house you."

Leaf blinked, already reconsidering. "Wait—feed us?"

"I insist," he said, already heading for the front door. "And I do mean properly. No negotiations. You'll dine like League royalty tonight!"

Kael glanced at Leaf.

Leaf shrugged. "I'm not saying no to a real meal."

-----

The dining room looked like it had been untouched for weeks—but not due to disuse. It was simply pristine. Lace runners lined the long, dark table. Glass lanterns glowed gently from the walls, casting flickers of light over the cabinets filled with polished cutlery and vintage dinnerware.

Reginald had changed into a formal crimson tunic and a gold-embroidered sash that looked suspiciously like a retired League commemorative garment. Elisar hovered at his side like a silent co-host.

Kael had tied his hair back into the pineapple ponytail he had grown accustomed to. He was grateful for a hot shower, but the full blown contest level spa treatment that followed was... interesting. His usual travel-mussed look replaced by a clean, brushed sheen he didn't quite know what to do with. His boots had been polished, jacket dusted, and even his belt aligned with almost military precision. He'd accepted it without complaint, but not without quiet suspicion.

Leaf, on the other hand, had fully embraced the luxury. She emerged from the parlor in a soft forest-green wrap over fresh outerwear, her hair brushed out in long waves and her nails faintly glossed. She basically glowed with happiness.

Their Pokémon had received just as much attention.

Spectre's fur gleamed in the light, groomed smooth and dense with a faint lavender oil that enhanced his natural sheen without muting the dusky tones. He moved like a shadow painted by moonlight.

Quilava's pelt had been trimmed and brushed with a fireproof silk cloth that made his flame vents pop like polished bronze. He prowled now with quiet pride, head held high.

Mankey had begrudgingly endured a full claw buffing and tail detangling, and now sat like a gremlin noble on the back of Leaf's chair, posture regal and fur fluffed with barely-restrained smugness.

Houndour had initially resisted, but a combination of Leaf's soothing whispers and the soft sponge bath, paw massage, and ear brushing had worn him down. He now lay curled beneath the table at Leaf's feet, cleaner than he'd ever been, eyes half-lidded and watchful.

Vespertil had received a flight membrane check, ultrasonic frequency calibration, and a special mineral mist for his wings. He clung to the dining room's upper rafter now, judging the room like a bat-borne aristocrat.

Praxis stood behind Kael's seat like a statue, mustache neatly combed, blade polished until gleaming, and movements refined. Even the groove between his brow plates just seemed more symmetrical.

Gastly had proven more challenging for the staff—not due to behavior, but composition. Traditional grooming tools were useless, but a League-approved spectral harmonizer was brought out: a small orb that resonated with calming pulses of frequency. The ghost had circled it curiously at first, then allowed himself to be enveloped in a faint mist of purified incense and static discharge. The result was a strangely crisp outline to his vapor—more defined edges, deeper saturation of color. Now, he floated near the chandelier like a polite haunting, quietly observing the room with unreadable amusement.

Reginald clapped his hands once. "Dinner is served!"

And it was.

A procession of dishes followed—each more elaborate than the last.

First came a delicate soup of sautéed wild leek and Psyduck egg yolk, garnished with thin ribbons of steamed bell peppers and bean sprouts. Then a tray of roasted Farfetch'd breast with a tart nanab glaze, accompanied by crispy rice cakes seasoned with sweetroot oil.

Leaf leaned back halfway through the second course, blinking. "Okay, I take it back. You're not eccentric. You're spoiled."

Reginald beamed. "I had to learn something from years on the League sponsorship committee. You should see what Lance eats."

The third course was a palate cleanser—shaved ice with bluk berry syrup and a twist of fresh mint.

Fourth: thin-sliced grilled Magikarp flank, marinated in fermented tangela vinegar and served on a bed of steamed jasmine rice with crushed walnut crumble. Spectre sniffed the air once and gave a pleased rumble before settling back into his crouch.

And finally, the fifth course: miniature lava cakes with spicy cheri compote and whipped cream infused with powdered figy.

Kael took a measured bite. The spice hit first—then the richness.

He blinked. "…That's good."

Reginald beamed. "High praise indeed."

Leaf made a muffled sound into her dessert. "If I die right now, tell the Rangers I went happy."

Reginald raised his glass of dusk-hued berry wine. "To heroes, revelations, and unforeseen guests."

Kael raised a glass of cheri soda and nodded.

Leaf lifted hers as well. "I'll drink to that."

They clinked lightly.

---

Later—when the plates were cleared and the lanterns burned low—Reginald guided them down a hallway to two guest rooms.

"They're simple," he warned, "but quiet. And secure. No thieves, no Rockets, no unannounced guests."

Kael stepped inside his room and scanned the layout: modest bed, clean sheets, small desk with a globe lamp, and a window overlooking the garden.

Leaf poked her head into her own room next door. "Better than most Pokémon Centers."

Reginald grinned. "And no overnight curfews. Just let somebody know if you need anything."

He gave them a mock salute, then retreated down the hall.

Kael stood still for a moment, then turned and gently set about releasing his team, setting his belt with their Pokéballs on the side table by his bed.

The room was quiet, filled only with the odd shuffling of his team as they found comfortable positions.

Outside, Elisar glided past the window as he circled the manor, trailing faint starlight from his wings.

------

Kael sat cross-legged near the foot of the bed, boots lined up by the door, jacket folded neatly on the desk chair. The room's low desk lamp glowed warm, casting amber light over the rug.

His team had gathered loosely.

Specter lay at his side, tail curled just close enough to touch. Tarrasque perched at an angle, one arm across his chest. Vespertil hung upside down from the curtain rod, wings partly sheathed like a cloak. Praxis hovered, calm and steady, blade resting across his knees.

Gastly drifted in near-silence near the ceiling light, his outline pulsing gently in and out of focus.

Kael looked across them. "Let's talk."

The room didn't shift—but attention focused.

"I've been giving orders," Kael said. "Acting like I always know what's best. But with Praxis here… we can have a real conversation. So I want to start doing that. Now."

Praxis's mind-voice answered, clean and soft.

—Accepted. Communication strengthens cohesion.—

Kael nodded. "I'll go down the line."

He turned to Specter. "You've been with me the longest. I trust your judgment. But if I've misread you, or misused your talents—tell me."

Praxis translated
—Spectre remains your sentinel. He asks to be tested beneath shadow, not sun — night maneuvers, low-light responses, and drills against unseen strikes. He will meet danger first, and hold it.—

Kael looked at him. "You want to train to reaction tank better?"

Specter gave a soft growl. Confirmed.

"I can do that. We can work on expanding your move pool, and combining them or theory crafting new ones to fit the role you want to play. But we will also need to keep up our single combat training."

He looked to Vespertil. "You've adapted fast. Smarter than most people would give you credit for. What do you need?"

Praxis pulsed:
—Vespertil seeks grandeur. He craves the artistry of motion — high arcs, bold strikes — and wishes to witness the Contest arenas you have spoken of. He believes spectacle can sharpen skill.—

Kael tilted his head. "Risky for us to be involved in that sort of thing. It gives our moves screentime and our opponents material to scout. But... I suppose we could concoct some things specifically for the routines. It would also be a good exercise in creative tactics. And nothing says we can't slip in what we use into our style irregularly."

Kael glanced up. "You want high-impact, showy moves?"

A soft squeak and wing pulse. Agreement.

Kael marked it mentally.

He turned to Tarrasque. "You don't ask for much. But I see how you train—like you're bracing for a fight that hasn't come yet. Am I pushing too hard?"

Praxis paused. Then translated:

—Tarrasque seeks stability. In body, yes—but also in identity. He was driven away from his home. He now seeks to build the armor of a mountain around himself. He asks for lessons in redirection and precision, so that his power is not wasted in blunt force.—

Kael blinked. "…You want to lean harder into battlefield control?"

Tarrasque gave a slow nod.

"That I can definitely work with."

He turned to Praxis himself. "You already translated for most of them. But what about you?"

The psychic's gaze met his own—and spoke.

—As an Abra, I was born for clarity. Connection. I learn by guiding others even as I was guided. But I would also like to experience the unpredictability of the battlefield . Not just control, but chaos—so that I can better manage it. I wish to test my coordination against volatile opponents. Shifting terrain. Misdirection.—

Kael considered. "Team Rocket. Wild arenas. Simulated crisis drills."

Praxis inclined his head.

—Also... I would like to train communication further. Other Pokémon. Other humans. Perhaps... even diplomacy.—

Kael smirked. "You want to be the team's PR face?"

Praxis gave a perfectly neutral shrug.

Kael looked to the last member—the ghost.

"You didn't ask to join. But you're here. So I'll ask you once: why?"

Gastly didn't move.

Praxis waited a long moment.

Then: —He sees this path as inevitable. He has watched many trainers. Few ask the right questions. He believes you do. He joins not to follow, but to see where the path leads. He will not speak often—but he sees everything. He asks only for space. And moments of… resonance.—

Kael narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"

Gastly floated forward, slowly. He passed by Kael's shoulder—not threatening—just present. Then dipped down toward the lamp.

The light dimmed as he passed, and then flared again. Faint whispers echoed, but only Praxis tilted his head to listen.

—He is drawn to places where the Veil is thin.—

Kael's eyes flicked toward Praxis.

—Graveyards. Ruins. Battlefields. Places where death and memory converge. He will lead us to them, if allowed. He seeks answers no living thing remembers.—

Kael nodded once. "We'll follow. If the answers don't come at a cost."

The ghost pulsed faintly. Agreement. Maybe approval.

–He also mentions that there was an observer at that base. I did not sense anyone, but he saw a female human observing you for a few moments just prior to you making the call to law enforcement.–

Kael stiffened for a moment as he thought frantically, then relaxed. "So Surge was right. We are on someone's radar. We will need to prepare accordingly. If you see her again, let me know."

An affirmative chuckle eminated from Gastly as he bobbed up and down in the air.

Kael nodded and sat back. "Last thing."

He looked at them all.

"Tomorrow, we explore the city. Check the shipping district. If there's trouble brewing, I want us ready. You have roles, but I'm open to changes. Questions?"

Spectre tilted his head.

Vespertil made a soft chitter.

Tarrasque grunted once—affirmative.

Gastly dimmed. Then brightened.

Praxis replied: —No questions.—

Kael exhaled.

"Then we keep moving."

 

[Frost41]

One Step at a Time
Chapter 17: Beneath the Surface


Vermilion's streets shimmered under the late morning sun, the salt-laced air sharp with sea breeze and the faint tang of ozone from the power lines above. The cries of distant Wingull wheeled overhead, blending with the muted clang of dock machinery. Somewhere beyond the buildings, a ferry horn let out a long, low note that rolled through the city like a wave.

Kael and Leaf moved at a comfortable pace, boots tapping the stone-paved sidewalks as they followed the path Reginald had traced out for them the night before—a looping route that circled the harborfront district, passed through several historical quarters, and dipped near the League-certified supply market.

"Alright," Leaf muttered, checking her Pokégear's map overlay. "If we loop south along the tramline, we'll hit Skywatch Plaza, then the Relay Spire, which is the Ranger HQ for Vermillion and its surrounding territories. After that, we follow the line here to the League Quarter for gear and then the commercial strip over here. Sound good?"

Kael nodded. "Alright, let's go."

"I'll handle the groceries part," Leaf said, adjusting her bag. "You handle the… whatever it is you do when you stop dead and stare at nothing. You just call it a 'feeling' and refuse to elaborate."

He didn't answer, which was the answer.

---

The Skywatch Plaza was quieter than expected—a circular park nestled between a decommissioned power tower and a League signal relay. The metal framework of the old tower rose like the ribcage of some long-dead machine, its cables cut long ago, plating dulled to a sun-baked gray. Wind chimes hung from those cables now, spinning lazily and letting out soft metallic notes that mingled with gull cries and the faint slap of waves against the seawall.

Children played near the benches, flinging Pokéballs that bounced harmlessly before releasing family Pokémon. A Chinchou's antennae blinked in rhythmic pulses while a young boy shouted commands. A Marill bounded across the grass before being scooped up by its trainer with a laugh. The filtered movesets produced only flashes of light and puffs of harmless mist, but the excitement in their voices carried genuine weight.

Kael's steps took him to the outer rail overlooking the harbor. The wind pushed against his jacket, carrying brine, machine oil, and faint diesel. Below, tiered walkways extended like veins into the bay, dotted with anchored vessels, crane booms, and slow-moving skiffs.

And one tug that didn't belong.

It sat squat and quiet at Dock 7B, broad-beamed and dull red, its hull layered in mismatched plating that didn't match the paint beneath. Patches on top of patches, some fresh, some so weathered they blended into the salt-crusted metal. It rode lower in the water than a tug of its class should—weighted deep, like it was carrying something heavy and hidden.

No nameplate on the stern. No registry number stenciled near the bow. Just bare steel where both should have been. The wheelhouse windows were blacked out from the inside, and the deck was stripped of anything that would normally betray its use—no coil of rope left loose, no tools hanging, not even the usual scuffs and stains of honest dock work.

A faint, uneven ripple spread from beneath its shadow, disturbing the oily sheen on the water. Not from engines—they were dead silent—but from something shifting below the surface.

"That one," Kael muttered.

Leaf stepped beside him, brushing a stray hair from her cheek. "The red one? Looks like it belongs in a scrapyard."

"Too patched," he said. "Armored hull. No lights. Hiding weight."

"How can you tell?"

"No offset drag. No cargo movement. No one topside. Dock lines are too clean—new rope, fresh knots. It hasn't been here long." His eyes narrowed. "That's dormant—on purpose."

Specter flicked his tail once, ears tilting forward in a silent warning. Praxis's spoon rotated in an idle arc, but his gaze was fixed on the vessel.

"Smugglers?"

"Could be. Or worse."

---

The Relay Spire stood taller than it looked from the harbor.

Up close, it wasn't the relic the name suggested. The base rose from slate-gray alloy, matte panels absorbing sunlight without glare. Reinforced windows spiraled up one side like vertebrae, and sleek antennae bristled at the top. A faint hum from the signal mesh overhead was steady, tuned, alive.

The walkway was flanked by Ranger personnel—two at the gate, another pacing a slow loop near the training grounds to the left. Pokémon darted and vaulted across adjustable terrain grids while Rangers barked clipped commands. A Machoke hauled weighted sledges along a marked track.

To the right, the cliff dropped into open sea. The balcony there offered a sweeping view—harbor to the south, dense coastal trees to the north, sunlight flickering in bright bands across the water.

Leaf leaned on the rail. "Weird how peaceful it feels up here."

Kael's gaze swept the harbor again. The red tug still sat at Dock 7B, squat and unmoving, but it wasn't the hull that held his attention now.

Across the harbor, three perimeter tower pulses were cycling in sequence. The scans were subtle— narrow-beam, low-frequency sweeps that shimmered faintly where they passed over water. On paper, the coverage was complete, but from here, Kael could see the flaw: the arcs overlapped everywhere except a narrow strip between two dock pylons.

That strip just happened to fall directly beneath the tug.

The blind spot was too precise to be accidental. It wasn't wide—no more than fifteen meters—but in the right hands, it was enough to slip cargo, people, or an entire submersible in or out without tripping a single alarm. Even a small pod of Pokémon could be moved that way, undetected.

He followed the pulse pattern again. Same gap. Same untouched waterline.

"A blind spot," he murmured.

Leaf glanced sideways. "For the tug?"

"Possibly. Whatever's under it could be sitting in that dead zone."

"Rocket?"

"It'd fit."

They didn't linger.

---

The League Quarter shimmered with the kind of light that made every color seem sharper. Merchant tents and League kiosks ringed a central plaza, their canopies rippling under a steady breeze that carried the mingled scents of fried street food, fresh ink from printed flyers, and oiled leather from newly crafted belts and holsters.

Banners in elemental colors—yellow for Electric, green for Grass, blue for Water—hung from overhead lines strung between buildings, swaying gently. Trainers of every stripe wove through the space. Some were fresh-faced and wide-eyed, taking in the stalls as if the entire Quarter were a festival. Others moved with the heavy-booted efficiency of people who had spent too long on the road to waste time browsing.

Their first stop was a sprawling TM vendor tent set back against the shade of a brick building. The awning was reinforced with metal struts to hold the weight of several rotating holo-displays above the entrance, each one cycling through a sequence of projected move animations: a jagged arc of electricity for Thunderbolt, a spinning sphere of frost for Ice Beam, a blur of green leaves for Leaf Blade.

The owner, a stocky man with sharp eyes and a jacket marked with faded League sponsorship patches, leaned forward on the counter as Kael approached. He gave Kael a quick once-over, lingering on the way he carried his pack and the absence of any loud, visible flair.

"You look like one of those types that plans three moves ahead." the man stated, voice rough but not unfriendly.

Kael didn't blink. "Yes. I'm looking for synergy first. Some kind of scaling moves."

The man's grin widened. "Thought so." He tapped something into a recessed panel on the counter, and the holo-display in front of Kael flickered, the looping advertisements replaced by a sparse, stripped-down menu. No splashy art, no animated Pokémon models—just the move names, stats, compatibility data, and price. "These aren't for impulse buyers," the man said. "Most kids just want the flashy stuff. This list? It's the real workhorses."

Kael's gaze slid down the list once, quick, then again, slower. In his mind, each move became a puzzle piece, slotted into place with a specific Pokémon, a specific scenario, a specific countermeasure in mind.

Throat Chop – His attention lingered here. The ability to physically interrupt an opponent's command cycle was rare in a clean League match, but not impossible if timed well with a sound-based move. In the field, though, Throat Chop was brutal and effective—especially against trainers who relied on calling tight, complex sequences in rapid succession. Stopping voice-based moves was also a solid tool for his arsenal.

Psycho Cut – He pictured Praxis here. Kadabra already had the raw psychic strength, but his combat style was too stationary for Kael's liking. Psycho Cut gave him a cleaner mid-range strike that wasn't as taxing as a full Psychic push. Precision over force. In a tight urban fight or on a Gym field with cluttered terrain, being able to slash through a weak flank without overcommitting could keep him alive in a rotation battle.

Shadow Claw – this would serve as Gastly's coverage against Psychics once he evolved, yes. For Haunter, Shadow Claw was a way to force faster targets into evasive patterns—burning their stamina and mental focus under pressure.

Brick Break – This was for Tarrasque without question. If Surge ran barriers—and Kael suspected he might—being able to break them on command was essential. Screens turned an Electric Gym from dangerous to nightmarish. And Brick Break was reliable, didn't need setup, and could be blended into a chain of force moves like Rock Slide or Ancient Power without wasting tempo.

Snarl – A defensive disruption tool. Against heavy Electric-types with strong special offense especially, that could mean the difference between losing the frontline or holding it.

Substitute – High risk, high reward. Substitute wasn't a damage dealer, but in the right hands, it was a tempo weapon. Against an opponent who thought they'd finally landed a hit, realizing they'd only shredded a decoy was almost as good as scoring a knockdown.

Nasty Plot – Praxis again, but also others. A momentum shifter. The kind of move you didn't use unless you had the tempo advantage—and you could keep it afterward. It could turn a defensive game into an offensive sweep if the opening was wide enough. We'll see if we can train buffs to be used quicker and in tandem with others.

Calm Mind – Praxis's mental anchor. Kael imagined him in the middle of a chaotic double battle, his knife spinning, his breathing even, every psychic projection sharpened. The bonus to special defense was just insurance; the real weapon was the clarity it gave him.

Toxic – There was no team that didn't benefit from having it somewhere. Spectre was the natural choice—he could stall while the poison did its work—but Gastly or Vesper could run it in an unorthodox pattern, firing it off mid-approach or from odd angles. Surge's Pokémon would likely be conditioned to expect speed and force; something that forced a timer on them could make them overcommit.

Swords Dance – For Tarrasque in the late game, or Vespertil if Kael needed a sudden tempo spike. The boost was huge, but the cost was time. It was a gamble Kael wouldn't take often—but if the opponent was already locked into a defensive pattern, it could tip the board over in his favor.

Rest – Not glamorous, but critical. There were fights where all you needed was a burst of endurance to turn the tide. Rest into Chesto Berry could erase entire rounds of attrition.

---

His gaze slid down to the contingency list. These weren't just about the Surge fight—these were investments for later.

Hidden Power – Versatile, with typing determined by the user. Kael could tailor it to fill any gap in coverage once he knew what threats they'd be facing deeper into the circuit.

Dig – Not just an attack, but an evasive maneuver. He imagined Tarrasque using it to force Electric-types into awkward mid-charge positioning.

Double Team – Evasion wasn't foolproof, but if you combined it with other misdirection tools, it could tilt accuracy-dependent strategies into the dirt.

Shadow Ball – A ghost's bread-and-butter, but also something Praxis could use in special matchups. Its debuff potential made it even more valuable.

Phantom Force – Riskier than Shadow Ball, but with the right reads, it could punish overly defensive teams. Gastly could use it to completely disappear from a field for a turn, breaking locks and punishing bad switches.

Baton Pass – High-level utility. Passing speed or attack boosts to another team member mid-battle could win a match outright if timed perfectly.

Detect – Obvious defensive merit. Could buy a moment to breathe, read an opponent's move set, or wait out a weather effect.

Recover – Long-term sustain in drawn-out matches where Rest would cost too much tempo.

---

He keyed in his selections with deliberate movements, ignoring the flicker of the price counter climbing into the high range.

The vendor whistled low. "You're not building a team, kid. You're building a League playbook."

Kael didn't answer.

---

Leaf returned with her own haul, setting a smaller case on the counter. "Flame Charge, Dig, Sunny Day for Quilava. Toxic, Venoshock for Weepinbell. Thunder, Ice, Drain Punch for Mankey. Seed Bomb, Ice Beam for Lotad… and—" she grinned, "—Attract."

Kael arched a brow. "Battle flavor?"

"Entertainment value," she said, slotting her purchases into her pack. "And maybe a distraction if it lands. You'd be surprised how many matches swing because someone panics when they're not sure what's coming next."

He gave her a sidelong glance, but didn't argue.

--------

At a League outfitter, treated leather and heated metal scented the air. Kael moved through the racks like he was inventorying them, fingers lingering on a modular frame belt—light, rigid, with quick-swap mounts.

Across the aisle, Leaf crouched low, comparing cooking racks. "Too thin," she muttered at one, swapping it for a sturdier frame and an insulated meal box with temperature zones.

"You're not planning to cook every day, are you?" Kael asked.

"Not all of us like meals that taste like brine and regret."

"I use spices."

"You used powdered garlic and one crushed Oran berry," she said flatly. "That's not a recipe."

---

By midday, their packs were heavier and better balanced.

At a plaza-edge booth, Kael lingered on a Dusk Stone—oil-dark, starlight caught within. Gastly slowed nearby but stopped short, like something unseen held him back.

Leaf returned with a Leaf Stone, Sun Stone, and a Soothe Bell swinging from its chain.

"For?" Kael asked.

"Felt right. You never know when you'll want someone to stick around."

----

The shipping quarter narrowed into rust-and-salt streets, the kind that always felt one storm away from collapsing into the sea. The air clung damp to the skin, tinged with brine, rust, and the lingering tang of engine oil. Old warehouses hunched shoulder to shoulder, corrugated walls streaked with decades of salt spray and rain. The few workers on the street kept their heads down, steps quick, eyes fixed anywhere but on strangers.

Spectre slowed without a sound. Kael caught the shift instantly—a subtle tightening in the Umbreon's stance, the faint tilt of his head. Praxis's blade rotated in an idle spin, but the psychic's gaze was razor-sharp, scanning shadowed alleys and blind corners.

Leaf noticed too. She fell in beside him, her expression sharpening as she reached absently to scratch Quilava's head. The fire-type gave a low, rumbling chuff, blue flames guttering just enough to hint at his unease. Behind her, Weepinbell swayed slowly on its vine-legs, the movement deceptively casual, leaves angled toward the dark spaces between buildings.

Then Kael heard it—a faint hum beneath the usual dockside clatter. Too smooth for grid power, too steady for a street generator. Suppressed, deliberate… meant to vanish under ambient noise.

He drifted toward a warped section of pavement, crouching beside a half-buried service panel that didn't belong here. The plating was wrong—nonstandard, reinforced with thermal dampeners bolted in under a false lip. He traced the faint seam of a disguised door, noting the slight give in the corner where paint had flaked away. Whoever built it knew how to hide in plain sight.

Overhead, Vespertil wheeled between rooftops, then banked sharply. He dropped toward a narrow alley between two bonded warehouses, wings rustling as he let out a sharp, three-note chitter—attention, alert, watch.

Kael's eyes flicked to Leaf. "Mark it."

She didn't argue, just shifted her bag forward and unzipped a side pouch, pulling out a small notepad and jotting their position in quick, coded shorthand.

"Night recon only," Kael added quietly. "Surge gets the report."

Spectre's ears swiveled toward a distant clank deeper in the quarter. Praxis stilled, his blade now perfectly still, gaze following the sound. Quilava's flame-line brightened faintly before dimming again, the warning clear enough for anyone watching.

They kept moving without breaking stride, letting the street swallow their tracks.

Behind them, the faint hum was still there—steady, patient, waiting.

---

Back at the manor, the comms line lit with a crackle of static before resolving into Surge's frame. The background behind him was the dim interior of a command room, green status lights flickering across one wall.

"You two run into trouble?"

"South shipping quarter," Kael said. "Concealed access panel—shielded, thermal-dampened. Praxis confirmed it's active."

Leaf added, "And a tug at Dock 7B. Red hull, patched plating. It's sitting low in the water… and Kael spotted a blind spot in the harbor scans from the Relay Spire. That tug's parked right in it."

Surge's jaw flexed. "Blind spot?"

Kael nodded once. "Three perimeter tower pulses, cycling just below standard scan frequency. They overlap everywhere except for a strip under that berth. It's precise—fifteen meters wide at most. Enough to move something without detection."

"Two assets in one harbor…" Surge's eyes narrowed. "Could be Rocket." He leaned forward. "Stay clear. Send me your notes and Kadabra's read. And kids—if anything feels wrong, call it in. Don't freelance it."

----

That night, the upstairs common area glowed warm. Pokémon formed a semicircle—Spectre nearest Kael, Vespertil on the curtain rod, Tarrasque against the wall, Praxis hovering, Gastly drifting in loops. Across from them, Leaf's team settled in—Quilava stretched across her legs, Weepinbell swaying, Lotad nestled on a towel, Mankey crouched at the headboard, Houndour at her side.

Kael leaned forward. "Surge's style is heavy offense, battlefield control. We scout him out tomorrow—watch three or so matches before committing to a time slot. We can adjust our training after."

He moved through assignments, deliberate: Specter anchoring and baiting; Vespertil hitting fast and stalling if needed; Tarrasque controlling terrain; Praxis sweeping openings; Gastly disrupting and exhausting the opposition.

Praxis's link came as a soft flood—Spectre's steady guard, Vespertil's quicksilver readiness, Tarrasque's solid weight, Gastly's swirling hunger.

Leaf outlined her potential plans—Quilava for speed pressure, Weepinbell for poison punishment and stall, Lotad as pivot, Mankey as tempo thief. Her Pokémon responded in small but telling ways—Quilava's flames pulsing, Weepinbell's leaves shivering, Mankey grinning sharp.

The lantern clicked off. Moonlight poured through the curtains. Outside, the harbor's slow pulse carried through the walls.

"Rest," Kael said quietly. "We'll need it."

---

The sun was still low when Kael stepped onto the small strip of grass behind the Fan Club chairman's townhouse. Dew clung to his boots, the harbor air sharp with salt and faint diesel. Leaf was already stretching near the wall, hair tied back, Houndour watching from her shadow like a smoldering ember.

Praxis waited beside Kael, arms folded, eyes half-lidded — but his mind already linked with the team.

They'd run through standard warm-ups before breakfast, but this was different. The previous night's TM haul lay in neat stacks by the back step — discs catching the light in flashes of silver and gold.

Spectre padded forward first. Kael crouched, resting a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Shadow Ball. Snarl. Throat Chop. Keep them clean. The Ball is for range. The chop is to end a threat."

Spectre's tail flicked once — understood. He loped to the far end of the yard and began threading Shadow Balls through the gap between two rusted mooring poles, adjusting angle and force with every repetition.

Vespertil took to the air, energy leaking from his wings in faint streaks of violet. He looped high, then dove — a Sludge Bomb spiraling in his wake that made impact before exploding with a shadowy burst. Ghost Bomb, they'd called it when theorizing. Messy, unpredictable, but devastating if it hit.

Tarrasque slammed into his drills with the stubborn precision Kael expected — Stone Edge snapping pillars into place like teeth around invisible prey, followed by a surging Brick Break to shatter them. Sand clung to his scales from the last Dig, and Kael made no move to stop him from going again.

Praxis and Gastly worked in tandem, cycling between status setups and burst fire. Gastly flickered between planes, Hypnosis and Will-O-Wisp weaving together into a ghostly chokehold before Praxis' Shadow Ball cut clean through a target dummy.

When they'd cycled through once, Kael called them in. "These aren't just moves. They're tools. You find a way to make them connect — you win. You miss your window…" He let the pause hang in the salt-heavy air. "…someone else takes it."

No one argued.

By midmorning, they'd cleaned gear, stowed the discs, and set out toward the Gym. Vermilion's streets bustled more than the day before — vendors setting up seafood stalls, League officers guiding a small crowd toward the tramline.

Leaf fell in step beside him, pulling her jacket tighter. "Think Surge is going to spot us in the stands?"

"Doesn't matter," Kael said. "Doubt he'd care too much anyway."

"Right," she said, with a sideways glance. "We're just there to watch the man's strategies and Pokémon."

He didn't answer. The Gym's broad, steel-plated front came into view ahead, sunlight glaring off the upper windows. A low thrum of power bled into the street, faint but constant. The electric tang in the air made the hairs on his arms prickle.

Today was recon.

---

The Gym's main doors hissed shut behind them, sealing out the harbor noise. Inside, the air was cooler — filtered, dry, humming faintly with the constant throb of power running through the walls.

The reception area was a hybrid of League precision and military order: clean lines, reinforced glass, muted grays and steel blues. A wide viewing window dominated the far wall, offering a panoramic look at the main battle floor below. Beyond it, two trainers stood across from one another as a referee raised his flags.

Kael approached the reception desk, where a woman in a black-and-gold vest glanced up from a tablet. Her badge — a polished thunderbolt — caught the light as she smiled politely.

"Morning," she said. "Looking to challenge, observe, or schedule?"

"Observe," Kael said, resting his hands lightly on the counter. "And I'd like a rundown of your battle formats. Tiers, rulesets, all of it."

Her fingers danced across the tablet. "Standard League Electric Division protocols. We run three core formats here:

"Tier One: two versus two, no higher than three badges. Typically two-on-two with no switches.

"Tier Two: three-on-three league standard, four to six badges, allows three mid-battle substitutions.

"Tier Three: full six-on-six, seven badges or more, allows mid-battle substitutions.

"The fourth, unofficial tier is our Elite challenge. The Elite tier is Tier Three by default, but Surge is allowed to call up some of his personal team, rather than the Gym's registered Pokémon."

Kael nodded. "What's Surge's usual pick for new challengers at the third badge level?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if you see fully evolved Pokémon. Raichu, Magneton, even an Electabuzz, but usually he runs Voltorb, Magnemite, Mareep and Pikachu at that level as well. He likes to have a wide selection to push trainers just past their comfort zone." She lowered her voice slightly. "And he's not shy about testing reaction time."

Kael filed that away. Speed pressure meant he'd need contingency calls ready.

The woman tapped a key on her desk. "A four badge match is scheduled to start in two minutes. You'll find seating in the upper observation gallery — stairwell to your right."

They climbed the stairs to the gallery, which curved high above the main arena. The floor below was a broad rectangle of reinforced plating broken into modular panels, each marked with hazard symbols and subtle seams for shifting terrain. Thick copper conduits arched overhead, pulsing faintly with stored charge.

A low roar of anticipation rose from the crowd as a side door slid open. A tall figure stepped into the shadowed entryway — lean, sharp-eyed, and wearing the Gym's black-and-gold combat jacket over his fatigues. His stride carried the easy confidence of someone who had stood on that floor a hundred times before.

Kael's gaze narrowed. "There he is."



-------



Interlude – Lt. Surge


The desk comm crackled once, then Jenny's voice came through — tight, urgent.

"Lieutenant, we've got a confirmed Rocket facility west of Route 6. Multiple Pokémon in containment. Civilians inside — they're the ones who called it in. Sending coordinates now."

Surge's hand was already on the comm panel before she finished. "Status of the civs?"

"In the green. They've neutralized hostiles."

That sealed it.

Surge released his League Alakazam. "I'm going ahead. Have someone prepare a full team for jump on my mark. Priority Alpha, 2 minutes."

The air rippled — his squad already moving to their marks, Pokémon fanning out in ready positions. He keyed his badge. "Dispatch, this is Vermilion Gym. Seal the grid on my coordinates. I want every road, trail, and shoreline choke point locked down."

Jenny was still talking in his ear when the world folded in on itself in a pulse of light.


---


Cold air hit him first — chemical, sterile, with the faint stink of sedatives. The room snapped into focus: blinking consoles, an unconscious scientist slumped against a wall, a civilian kid standing in the middle of it like he just walked out of a storm.

The boy was tall, steady-eyed, holding a data core under one arm like it was just another tool.

Surge clocked the unconscious Rocket grunts on the hallway floor through the open door and the fact that nothing in the room was on fire — yet.

Efficient. Clean. Not luck.

He stepped forward, boots heavy, Raichu pacing at his heel, the low crackle of static bleeding into the air. "So. You the one who cracked the lid on this hole?"

The kid didn't flinch. "Didn't plan on it. We just saw the signs. Followed the trail."

"Mm. Good work, for a squirt."

-----

His clothes still carried the cold stink of the Rocket facility—sedatives, coolant, metal. Surge sat at the fold-down desk in his mobile outpost near Route 6, jacket half-zipped, gloves clipped to his belt. Raichu balanced on his shoulder, tail thudding a slow, static-laced rhythm against the cabinet.

On the center screen: the core that the kid–Kael–had handed over, bleeding data into three windows—shipping cycles, comm fragments, route flags. On the right: a sector map of Vermilion and its inland arteries, nodes pulsing green, a few blinking amber where his patrol grid was thin.

Half the files were bone-dry encryption. The other half said the quiet part out loud: holding bays turning twice a week, transit lanes he'd walked in a younger uniform, cargo tags that never touched League manifests.

He tagged two ports for quiet audits. Another for a midnight walk.

The comm panel chirped—three sharp tones reserved for Ranger priority. He tapped accept without looking away from the map.

"Vermilion Substation 6C," the duty officer said. "Per your standing note, Wren and Orelai are on-site. Requesting patch-through."

"Do it," Surge said.

The screen flipped. Kael and Leaf came into view in the outpost's gray light. Travel-worn, steady. Houndour's shape ghosted the frame edge near Leaf's leg, all coiled wire and wounded pride.

"You're alive," Surge said, and let himself grin a fraction. "Didn't doubt it. Much."

He slid a window up on his side—commendations queue already open.

"You did good work," he said. "More than most trained patrol units manage. Two things."

He keyed the first: LEAGUE FIELD COMMENDATION — Tier-1: Outstanding Action Under Duress. The transfer figure blinked once, then two deposits confirmed: ¥75,000 each. Their names lit green in the ledger.

"Payment's in your accounts," Surge said. "Records update by morning."

Leaf's face flickered—shock giving way to something smaller, steadier. Kael didn't blink, but Surge saw the breath he didn't take.

He keyed the second. "Orelai—Houndour's yours. I cleared it. Fast-tracked under trauma-rescue. You'll see it post tonight."

She froze, then forced out a thank-you like it might shatter if she moved too fast.

Surge leaned closer to the cam, voice low. "Listen up. You put yourselves on a radar today. Not the kind that beeps. You need backup, you call ahead. I'll listen."

Kael met it with a simple nod. Leaf matched it.

"Rest up," Surge said. "Vermilion breathes faster than you think."

He cut the line. The van hummed again—fans, servers, Raichu's quiet crackle.

He tagged their profiles for field asset—informal, added a note to Substation 6C's watchboard: Route 6 node burned. Expect lateral pressure on ports. On the map, the southern quarter pulsed faintly; he let his finger hover over Dock sector markers he didn't like.

Then he set the core to a deeper scrape, leaned back, and rolled the stiffness out of his shoulders. Two rookies had cracked a node and walked away with their heads on straight.

Good.

Now he had to make sure the city did the same.


---


Surge had just cleared the last of the Ranger outpost's follow-up reports when the comm panel pinged again, FIELD CHANNEL — WREN flashing in the corner.
Two calls from them in the same week. That wasn't chance.

He keyed it through, the feed stabilizing into Kael and Leaf. The Umbreon's ears were angled forward in sharp focus at the bottom of the screen; Kadabra stood behind, knife turning slowly as it orbited his hand.

Surge's jaw flexed as he listened to their report. "Blind spot?"

Kael nodded once. "Three perimeter tower pulses, cycling just below standard scan frequency. They overlap everywhere except for a strip under that berth. It's precise—fifteen meters wide at most. Enough to move something without detection."

Surge's gaze slid to the side screen, pulling up the harbor sector map. The Spire's perimeter pulses scrolled in the margin—perfect on paper, but when he overlaid the raw sweep data, he saw it: a stagger in three linked towers, scanning just a hair below standard frequency. It left a dead wedge between them that could easily cover Dock 7B.

A blind spot by accident was rare. By design, it was an open door.

You're telling me someone built a shielded access point inside my harbor and parked a boat where we can't see it?

Surge pulled up a silent drone assignment, routing two patrol units to the district perimeter—not into the blind spot itself. You didn't spook a burrow until you knew what was inside.

"Stay clear. Send me your notes and Kadabra's read. And kids—if anything feels wrong, call it in. Don't freelance it."

Leaf gave a sharp nod. Kael didn't move, but his eyes stayed on the feed a second longer than they had to.

Then the line cut.

Surge leaned back in his chair, eyes on the map's faint pulsing arc. Blind spots didn't make themselves. Someone was testing his grid—and sooner or later, they'd try to use it.

Surge exhaled once through his nose, then planted both hands on the console.

"Ops, patch me to Spire Control," he barked, already keying in the harbor overlay. "We've got a blind wedge over Dock 7B. Cycle the scan bands—two-point increments, thirty seconds apart. Keep it quiet. If they're watching frequencies, I don't want them spooked."

One of the Ranger techs swiveled toward him. "Drone coverage?"
"Two survey units on the seawall, high pass. Another pair on rooftops flanking the wedge. Stay out of the gap itself. No visible patrols inside the blind spot unless I say otherwise."

Another Ranger leaned in from the secondary console. "Do we move on the concealed panel in the quarter?"
"Negative. Mark and monitor. If it lights up, we kick it." Surge switched to a secured channel. "Bravo-Three to standby. Full breach kit, full loadout. If the panel activates, I want that door down in under two minutes."

A shimmer of golden light rippled beside the main display, and his Alakazam appeared without a sound. Its eyes locked instantly on the blind wedge displayed on the map.
"You see it?" Surge asked.
Clear, came the voice in his head—crisp, precise.
"I want a tether on it. Anything moves in or out, you feed it straight to me—no delay."
The psychic's spoons shifted in a subtle tilt of acknowledgment before it vanished again.

Surge straightened, scanning the room. "Alright, you've all got your assignments. Keep your chatter off open channels. I'll be in the arena for twenty—if something starts cooking, you break in."

He hit the console lockout, turned on his heel, and strode for the exit. The hum of orders being relayed followed him out into the corridor. By the time the gym doors came into sight, his head was already shifting from harbor security to battle strategy.


---


The gym's main floor buzzed with anticipation. Floodlights carved stark shadows across the hazard-marked battlefield, each zone carefully set for mid-tier difficulty—terrain plates shifting subtly, hazard lines pulsing faintly with embedded sensors.

Surge stepped from the prep corridor, boots hitting the polished steel with a solid, measured rhythm. He scanned the stands—locals, travelers, a couple of lower-tier trainers here to learn, and a League official with a tablet, already logging the match parameters.

Across the field, his challenger—a wiry man in his mid-twenties—stood loose but focused. His three badges gleamed on his jacket: Cerulean, Pewter, and Celadon. This one had been through some fights. Good.

"Four-badge format," the referee announced. "Six on six, rotation allowed, no substitutions once fainted. Begin on my mark."

Surge's first choice was instant. "Raichu, front and center." The mouse Pokémon landed light on its feet, tail arcing sparks.
The challenger answered with a roar that rattled the rafters—Gyarados, all coils and teeth.

Surge didn't waste a heartbeat. "Feint right, vault left—Thunderbolt!"
Raichu blurred forward, tail slamming against the ground as a blinding lance of current shot upward. The Gyarados twisted, water jetting from its maw in a Hydro Pump that split the beam. Steam exploded across the field.

"Close in!" Surge snapped. Raichu darted through the fog, landing under the Gyarados's chin with a point-blank Volt Tackle that sent the serpent crashing into the hazard wall. The crowd erupted—but the Gyarados surged up again, thrashing.

"Drag it!" the challenger shouted. The sea beast's tail whipped around, slamming Raichu into the floor with a resounding crack.
Surge's voice cut in like a blade. "Break free, tail anchor, Focus Blast!"
Raichu wedged its tail under the coils, shoving off with a sphere of fighting energy that detonated against Gyarados's flank. The hit staggered the water-type long enough for a final Thunderbolt to drop it for good.

Surge recalled Raichu to his side, and Electabuzz took the field with a growl, electricity dancing between its fists. Arcanine appeared opposite, mane flaring like fire under the lights.

"Close the gap—Fire Fang!" the challenger barked.
Electabuzz ducked under the lunge, countering with a Thunder Punch to the ribs. Arcanine responded instantly, twisting into a Flamethrower that scorched the hazard zone and forced Electabuzz to retreat two steps.

Surge adjusted. "Freeze the lead—Ice Punch, knee pivot!"
Electabuzz's next strike caught the front leg, frost spidering up the limb. The Arcanine stumbled—but blasted back with Extreme Speed, slamming into Electabuzz's chest.

They traded blows in a blur until Surge's voice snapped sharp: "Cross counter—Thunderbolt, full!" The resulting arc hit before Arcanine could disengage, dropping the fire-type in a bright crackle.

The next round was a mirror match—steel floating over steel, magnetic fields grinding against each other in the air.

"Flash Cannon!" both trainers called at once, the beams colliding midair in a burst of sparks.
Surge pressed. "Zone lock—Thunder Wave, then Gyro Ball."
His Magneton's field surged, slowing the opponent enough for a spinning slam that rang off the hazard plate. The challenger retaliated with a Zap Cannon, clipping one of Surge's Magneton's orbs and sending it wobbling.

"Anchor and discharge—full spread," Surge ordered. His Magneton unleashed a wave of electricity that flooded the field, shorting the opponent's flight pattern. A follow-up Flash Cannon sealed the win.

The challenger released his next Pokémon, and a Scyther darted onto the field, blades gleaming.
"Intercept," Surge said, tossing Voltorb's ball. The sphere zipped forward, weaving around the bug-type's slashes.

The challenger pressed for a quick KO, but Surge played the longer game. "Let's play Pinball—Spark, bounce, rebound, repeat." Voltorb ricocheted between floor, wall, and Scyther in rapid succession, each impact building static. When Scyther finally committed to a counterstrike—Surge's order was instant.

"Self-Destruct. Minimum radius."
The controlled blast floored the Scyther but left the hazard zones intact, drawing a cheer from the stands.

His second Voltorb came out hot, laying a Light Screen to blunt a rather aggressive Nidoqueen's Earth Power. The challenger drove forward, trying to crush the electric-type before it could maneuver.

"Bait and roll," Surge called. Voltorb lured Nidoqueen into a hazard zone before detonating a swift Explosion—taking itself out but leaving the ground-type barely standing.

The challenger's last Pokémon burst onto the field in a rush of wind, feathers gleaming.
"Clip its wings—Thunder Wave," Surge ordered. Flaaffy's static-filled cry slowed the bird's first dive.

The Pidgeot fought hard, landing an Aerial Ace that staggered Flaaffy. Surge didn't blink. "Featherbreak—Shock Wave chain, don't let it recover."
The repeated electric strikes wore the bird down until it finally crashed to the floor, unable to rise.

The referee's flag came down.
Surge recalled his team with methodical precision, then crossed the field to shake the challenger's hand. "You got good pressure, kid." he said. "But against me? You keep moving, or you get locked down."

As the crowd's applause echoed off the steel, Surge was already thinking of Dock 7B. The battle was over. The harbor problem wasn't.


AN: There's another chapter down! Hope you enjoy!