A ring of children sat around an old man. Their legs crossed, their eyes bright, their attention glued to the small Pokémon resting in the man's palms. A Rattata. Purple fur, neatly brushed. Tail twitching. It breathed in small, nervous puffs.
"Now then," the old man said warmly, "this little fellow is a Rattata. You can tell he's well cared for from his coat. Anyone want to share something else about him?"
Three hands shot up.
"It's purple!" one boy blurted.
"It's small," added a girl with far too much confidence.
"It's a Pokémon?" guessed another kid, shrinking halfway behind his knees.
The old man smiled at every answer, patient as always. Then he looked past the circle toward a boy sitting alone under the shade of a tree. Alex. The boy watched the Rattata with the expression of someone studying a clock he'd already taken apart.
"Alex," the old man said, "would you try?"
Alex sighed. Not dramatically. Just tired, like he'd been offered the same puzzle too many times.
"The rat has grown in captivity," he said calmly. "Its claws are dulled, its fur cleaned, but that provides no protection. Instincts are degraded; if released, it wouldn't survive a week. It's small for its species and nearing the end of its natural lifespan at five years. Transition to advanced? Impossible; it hasn't even begun. Any survival beyond this point depends entirely on the trainer's intervention though most would fail. This is not luck; it is inevitable."
He closed his eyes. The kids blinked at him, some confused, some bothered. A few girls looked at the little Rattata as though it were already dead.
"An excellent answer, Alex," the old man said gently. "Though perhaps the delivery—"
"Professor aide number five," Alex cut in, not opening his eyes, "these kids want to be trainers. They'll see corpses. They'll see Pokémon eating other Pokémon. They'll make decisions that end lives. If you want them to do more than panic, don't teach them like they're greenhouse flowers."
Half the class recoiled. A boy muttered an insult. One girl looked oddly thrilled. Most just looked pale.
Before the aide could scold him, another presence walked into the clearing. Everything quieted. Even the Rattata twitched.
Professor Oak stepped into view.
The aide bowed slightly. Alex straightened without being told.
"Children won't be making life-or-death decisions," Oak said mildly.
"That's a polite way of saying they'll never reach Attuned," Alex replied. The disrespect was in the content, not the tone. The tone stayed maddeningly calm.
Oak raised an eyebrow. "Most people who first meet me try to impress me, you know. Sponsorships, rare Pokémon, connections… these things tend to motivate."
"Of course they do," Alex said. "You can get any Pokémon in the world if you want it. You have influence in every region. Your strength is officially unlisted, which means it's high enough that listing it would be inconvenient. But there's a problem."
"And what's that?"
"I learned long ago to rely only on myself. Power that can be given can be taken. A true master bows to no one unless he chooses to."
Oak's eyes narrowed slightly in interest. Most of the orphans around them looked like Alex had lost his mind.
"And tell me, Alex… what counts as power that cannot be taken from you?"
"Pokémon," Alex answered instantly. "Not the gift. The bond. The strength built from nothing but time and will. If a trainer becomes strong enough with their Pokémon, nobody can force them to yield. Not a sponsor. Not the League. Not even the champion."
Oak smiled. It wasn't patronizing. It was the smile of someone who had just discovered an unexpectedly sharp knife in a drawer labeled "safe."
"I'll be back in a few minutes," he said quietly.
And then he walked back toward the lab.
The Rattata watched him leave. Alex watched the Rattata the same way one watches the weather.