It had been a month since Alex had received Charmander. In that time, the world outside Oak's lab had barely existed for him. Daisy and Oak were the only humans he'd interacted with. School had long been abandoned; a Pokémon school was useless for someone who was already a trainer.
Charmander had grown. Physically, it now reached Alex's shoulders, adolescent and lean, muscles defined even under its scales. Mentally, it was sharper, faster, more deliberate.
Alex had refused to teach it ten moves at once, insisting on mastery over a handful. Metal Claw, Ember, and most importantly, Dragon Breath. Dragon Breath was something no first-stage Pokémon had ever been recorded to wield. Alex didn't brag; he knew that League records were woefully incomplete and far more powerful Pokémon than his existed.
The dragon-type attack had emerged under extreme circumstances, when twenty-three vengeful Caterpie swarmed. Charmander had slaughtered them, instinct and training merging into lethal precision, and when the strongest Caterpie begged for mercy, Charmander hesitated. The lesson had been simple: strength, once attained, grants the right to act, and only the strong survive judgment. That hesitation was enough to awaken something primal, and Dragon Breath was born, not from training, but from understanding what it meant to be dominant.
Dragon Breath was one of the weakest dragon moves but Charmander still couldn't use the move. Draconic energy was not something Charmander's circuits could bear, neither could his insides contain the temperature generated so it was shelved until Charmander could use it properly
Alex focused on extreme mastery of every move. Ember was compressed, sharpened, launched at random angles, held at maximum heat for minutes at a time. Metal Claw was honed against hard surfaces and the metal energy was precisely regulated, Charmander's Scratch training helped massively with Metal Claw. Charmander had reached decent proficiency but Alex kept on pushing further and further
Now, Alex walked back toward Oak's lab, Charmander at his side. Daisy greeted him with her usual commentary, oblivious to the storm of discipline and obsession that had shaped both boy and Pokémon. "You're like a young grandpa," she said. "Always grumpy and weirdly wise." Alex didn't answer. There was no rush; the program wouldn't begin for three days, the journey for seven, but the first gyms would be trivial when your strength left the world behind.
Oak approached, smiling, taking in both Alex and Charmander. "He's grown. A nickname yet?"
"None," Alex said. Charmander had no desire. Names were frivolous; function mattered more than sentiment. Oak noted the scales, the hardened claws, the muscle definition; not gym-trained, not dojo-trained, but wild-trained. He saw the faint scratches on Alex's arms and knew instantly what had made them.
"Inferno wants to see his son," Oak said, moving toward the back enclosure. Charmander's eyes sharpened; Alex's gaze mirrored the same calm intensity. Nothing extraneous, nothing indulgent. Charmander walked forward, stepping into the arena where its father awaited.
The ground trembled as Charizard landed. Grass flattened. Yet Charmander's stance remained measured, collected, eyes reflecting Alex's temperate focus rather than fear. Charizard made a casual challenge, testing its offspring. Charmander nodded, exhaled, and began its assault.
It struck fast. Soil flew to slow the massive dragon, a small disruption; but the real intent was preparation. Every step, every movement, every motion of the tail was extracting the maximum possible. Flames coalesced into a singular point of energy, claws turned harder than iron, and a faint blue spark at the tips marked the Dragon-type fire. The body glowed with condensed power, an overcharged quick attack. This was the precision Alex demanded: one strike, all-in, nothing wasted.
It hit. Charizard didn't flinch, didn't even budge. The force, enough to fell most Pokémon instantly, barely scratched the older dragon. Charmander collapsed, utterly spent, breathing shallow and exhausted, muscles trembling from exertion.
Charizard's grin was slow, approving. He understood without words, the offspring, and its trainer, had vision, precision, and raw intensity. Alex's calm, measured presence had sculpted a weapon, and even from the outside, the methodical extremity of it was obvious.
Alex knelt beside his Pokémon, quietly observing its rise and fall. There was no celebration, no relief, only preparation. This was what they were: a boy and his weapon, refined in solitude, calibrated to the edges of possibility.