Alex slouched in the back of the classroom, half-asleep, head leaning against the desk. Around him, twelve-year olds scribbled diligently in their notebooks, eyes fixed on the teacher, the hum of concentration filling the room. To any observer, it was a lazy slacker sitting among scholars; a misfit in every visible sense.
The door creaked open. A scrawny student stepped in, voice trembling slightly.
"Alexander Creed's presence has been requested in the principal's office."
The teacher blinked, then gestured for Alex to leave.
Alex opened one eye, stretched deliberately, and slung his backpack over a shoulder. Following the kid through the halls, his gaze swept the familiar corridors; every corner memorized during his early rank-jumping years, every shadow cataloged, every exit noted. He entered the principal's room to find not the principal but Professor Oak standing calmly, his presence commanding attention.
"Come in Alex. I have a proposal for you."
Alex's eyes quickly zoomed around the room and found that the principal conspicuously absent "May I ask what you want from me?"
Oak smiled faintly. "The legal age for starting a Pokémon journey has been controversial. Some say ten is too early, others argue for early training. Blaine's faction is proposing a test: three children from the region, age eight or older, will embark on a trial run. If even one reaches the top sixteen within two years, the debate ends."
Alex's gaze sharpened. "I understand. As you likely know, I can train a Caterpie to transition into Butterfree in a single year. I fall perfectly into your 'prime' age group, turning eight soon."
"Yes." Oak's calm tone betrayed no emotion.
"What are my benefits?" Alex asked, straight-faced. "I'm going on my journey soon anyway. I could wait another two years. With my scores, sponsorship is trivial. So I ask you; what do I gain, Professor Oak?"
Oak laughed outright, a sound that would have sent shivers down anyone else's spine. Only Alex's quiet audacity warranted such amusement. He had the patience to wait, the risk-calculation to leverage timing, and now he was pushing for more.
"Hmmm," Oak said, a spark of something almost predatory in his eye, "how about a test? Pass, and a reward even Lance would envy. Fail, and no early sponsorship—though you can find another sponsor if you choose."
Alex sighed softly. A test worth a Lance-level reward would naturally be near-impossible, yet he thrived on the impossible. "I accept."
"Very well. The test is simple: remain conscious for ten seconds. Start."
Alex froze. At first, confusion flickered across his features. Then came the crushing weight, primal and overwhelming, like a monster descending from beyond sight. Every fiber of his being screamed to collapse; his knees buckled, his mind threatened to fracture.
"1" Oak's calm voice.
The first second stretched impossibly long. Memories clawed at him: the first Butterfree, the Pinsir, the Beedrills. Every ounce of helplessness, every scream of loss, played on loop in his mind.
"2"
His body refused to obey.
"3" Memories blurred, pain sharpened, the echo of commands from a younger self rattling his thoughts.
By the fourth second, something deep within him stirred. His fists clenched. He forced his head upright, eyes narrowing, muscles coiling.
"5" He remembered the lesson: survival demanded absolute control, focus beyond emotion. No one could define him. No circumstance could command him. Not even fear itself.
"6" He traced the path of his past, calculated angles, weight, leverage. His younger self's actions, once chaotic, became patterns to anticipate, to master.
"7" The swarm of beedrills formed a mental template. He would survive, adapt, and dominate.
"8" He leaped, carrying the weight of failure and rage, transforming instinct into precise action.
"9" He leaped, carrying the weight of failure and rage, transforming instinct into precise action.
"10" the pressure released. Alex nearly collapsed, body screaming to go limp, but eyes blood-red, burned with feral determination and lethal clarity. His hand had struck the air near Oak's neck; a reflex sharpened by trauma, focus, and will alone. The lethal intent was unmistakable.
Oak, observing, noted a rare combination of calculated intelligence and raw intensity. Only a child with such internal extremeness could survive this mental crucible. He picked up the phone, dialing Blaine.
"Blaine, I've found someone you might like."
Alex lay on the floor, unaware yet entirely aware of his own edge. Oak's next task: convince his Charizard to allow this boy access to an egg, starting a chain that would define the region for years to come.