It had been a week since Alex had gotten his starter Pokémon. The first few days were playful, almost deceptively light. Alex treated Charmander like a tiny general, teaching him human basics: when to strike, where to strike, and how to think ahead, because even the strongest Pokémon is nothing without control. Charmander learned quickly, and Alex's patience hid a methodical cruelty; nothing was left to chance. Every move, every reflex, every instinct had to be understood, catalogued, and sharpened.
The Charmander itself was healthy, large for its age, and biological male. Its body was a raw vessel, naive but eager, and Alex treated it like a grandson who dared to challenge a grandfather's authority. Alex noticed the little nuances: the way Charmander rubbed under his chin when it wanted approval, the way it climbed into bed to sleep beside him. Alex let it, smiling faintly, because he understood instinct and psychology better than most adults. Charmander's strength was now as much mental as physical, and Alex understood that forging it required both.
Training was disguised as games, but it was far from fun. Quick Attack became bursts of controlled speed, Scratch became precision, Leer became a test of timing and pressure Alex corrected mistakes immediately, coldly, but without anger. The little Charmander learned to focus, to think, and to listen. Every misstep was noted, catalogued, and remembered..
Food was a part of this education. Alex hunted wild Pokémon for their nutrients, selecting each corpse with an almost surgical precision. No impurities, no toxins, nothing to slow the growth of muscle, reflex, or spirit. Industrial Pokémon food was an insult to his philosophy: it dulled potential and made Pokémon more weak willed. He would not allow that for a creature he intended to mold into a predator. Even the small Charmander's jaw and digestive system would be strengthened, tempered by the raw truth of the wild. It was barbaric in the eyes of most, but to Alex it was survival.
Higher quality food can also improve Pokémon's strength but the thing is that the food is not creating power out of thin air, that food simply brings out the potential without the need to train at all but to Alex, who was going to train his Pokémon to their absolute limits, this food was unnecessary.
Five days in, and results were already visible. Charmander hadn't grown much in size, but its strikes were faster, more tactical. It had started to manipulate terrain: scratching the ground to unbalance Alex, aiming for weak points he had left exposed. Its energy, however, was raw and scattered
"Charmander," Alex said, voice calm, measured. Not loud, not commanding. just unavoidable.
"Char… Char." The Pokémon's tone shifted; it mirrored Alex's intensity.
"What's your goal?" Alex asked. "What do you want to be?"
Charmander roared, short but fierce. Alex understood immediately: I want to be the strongest.
"Good." Alex's lips barely moved, but every movement had weight. "Then follow me."
He led Charmander to a small pond near Pallet Town. He filled a mug with water and tossed it, the droplets scattering. "This is your strike. All your effort, all your energy, must reach its mark. Anything wasted is failure. Understand?"
"Char char?" Charmander titles its head with a questioning look on its face
Alex sighed, moving to a thin tree nearby. He punched it casually. Leaves fluttered; the trunk barely moved.
"See? That is weak. Wasted energy. You will not be like this."
He stepped back, coiled his muscles, twisted his hips, planted his feet, and punched again. Splinters flew. Every ounce of strength funneled into a single strike. Nothing wasted. "This is how I will make you hit. Precise. Total. One strike, all-in. Power and control together."
Charmander's gaze sharpened, not in fear, but recognition. Power. Focus. Hunger. Alex's quiet intensity mirrored the fire in its eyes, and it clenched its little fists, a small spark of feral readiness igniting.
"Can you make a fist?" Alex asked. Nods. "Can you make a claw?" Nods. "Move each finger?" Nods. "Your toes?" The little lizard hesitated. Alex didn't scold. "Good. You know now where to grow. Every part of your body is a tool. A weapon. You will learn control before power. Control first, always."
Charmander understood, not just intellectually, but instinctively. Every strike, every jump, every movement-it was now a part of Alex's vision. And Alex, calm and unshakable, watched it like a craftsman observing the weapon he had forged by hand.
He smiled faintly, the only outward sign of his satisfaction. From the outside, it looked like a quiet boy training a Pokémon. But every motion, every word, every glance was a measured step toward absolute extremity. Charmander wasn't just growing, it was becoming a part of Alex, a weapon perfectly in tune with the mind that would wield it.