Today Alex turned eight. The project officially began, aligning with the start of the new trainer season. He had considered visiting the orphanage one last time, but when he ran into the matron at the library, withdrawn, tense, afraid, he abandoned the idea. Some things weren't worth testing.
The only change since the program's start was legal: Charmander now belonged to him. The Pokéball still irritated the little dragon, who preferred to be free, a living weapon at Alex's side rather than a stored toy.
Alex crouched beside Charmander, whose tail flickered idly. His expression was grave, almost unreadable, and Charmander mirrored it instinctively, a slight crease between his brow.
"The difference between advanced trainers and us is too great," Alex said softly, voice calm, precise. "All your potential only makes you a target. If anyone knew a Charmander could wield a dragon-type attack this early, they'd try to steal you—or worse. Blackmail me. Force trades. I won't compromise your future. We train the dragon moves now, or we'll never be ready. Staying in Pallet isn't an option."
Charmander nodded. Pride, not fear, sharpened his eyes. He had no intention of hiding behind Oak. Strength was the only currency he understood.
"Even if you could match one advanced Pokémon," Alex continued, "most of them carry a full team. I refuse to rely on numbers. Every Pokémon we raise will be like family. Or a weapon. Both."
He exhaled slowly, letting the weight of what he was about to propose settle. "There is a way… but it's dangerous. We won't take the routes designed for trainers. We'll go through the dense jungle."
Charmander's head tilted slightly. Most would have laughed, or frozen. Most didn't know what the wild could do to a human. Poisonous Pokémon, feral dragons, boulders big enough to crush a house, ambushes that could tear limbs from bone—Alex had cataloged every hazard mentally. Most trainers never left the safety of the routes. Alex had lived in the wild. He had walked kilometers through it, mapped every predator, every poisonous plant, every shortcut and trap. This wasn't reckless. It was preparation.
Charmander's tail flickered in agreement. "Tomorrow," Alex said.
And then the forest erupted.
A yellowish blur shot through the trees like a jagged streak of lightning. Alex didn't flinch. Charmander leapt, landing in front of him, jaw glowing as a miniature flamethrower erupted from his mouth. The blur faltered; a large Beedrill, its drill gleaming. It attempted to retreat, but Charmander's claws metallic and precise caught it midair, smashing it into the dirt. A single, clean strike ended the threat.
Alex scanned the undergrowth for more predators. Nothing moved. Then a voice split the air, shrill and shrieking:
"WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?!"
Alex froze. Charmander's tail flared higher, claws hardening again, fire licking his scales in warning.
From the edge of the clearing stepped a green-haired girl, no more than eleven, face red with outrage, fists clenched. Leaf. From school. The one who had squealed over Rattata in the wild.
Alex's first impulse, silence, permanent and absolute, coiled in his chest. But the rational part, the one that separated calculated action from instinctive violence, took over. This was a human. No matter how foolish, it could be reasoned with.
He straightened, calm as a predator watching prey who had just realized it was outmatched. "Leaf," he said evenly, "we need to talk."
Charmander shifted slightly, fire dimming but claws still metallic, a living warning.
The jungle held its breath. So did Alex.