Mauville City, Hoenn Region
Kirk, Music enthusiast.
There were a few sacred things in this electric city.
The first was the stage.
The second was the spotlight.
The third? A perfectly tuned guitar string humming under the weight of a power chord.
Kirk was deep into the third when the knock came.
Klang.
Not the knock of some suit from the front office. Not the frantic pounding of rookie trainers asking about Wattson's signature hair wax (he didn't use any, it was static and sorcery).
No, this knock was light. Polite. Which meant it wasn't a Gym trainer.
He slung his guitar across his back like a sword, cracked his knuckles, and opened the door to the backroom studio, just behind the gym's side annex. His private corner of the auxiliary lounge, converted into a recording den by sheer persistence and one favor too many from Claire.
The door eased open.
There stood the new kid. Green hair. Pale skin. Ralts floating quietly by his shoulder.
"Wally," Kirk said, sitting back on his stool. "You're earlier than I thought."
"I didn't want to forget," Wally replied, stepping in.
Kirk raised a brow. "Forget what?"
"…The tune."
Wally wasn't dressed to impress, sweater too big, eyes a little tired, one hand holding a worn notebook with a folded corner. He moved like someone used to slipping through unnoticed. But his gaze?
Clear. Intent.
Kirk nodded toward the crate across from him. "Sit. You brought music?"
Wally sat carefully. "I brought… ideas. But I want to make something with you. Not just a single track. A background piece. A theme."
"A battle theme?" Kirk asked.
"Yes," Wally nodded. Then, more softly: "And something to walk to. To think to. Something for when I lose a fight I didn't want to have. Maybe one for when I keep going, anyway."
Kirk blinked. "Kid… are you trying to give your life a soundtrack?"
Wally blinked back. "Is that weird? I just think it just fits this world."
Kirk's grin unfurled like a curtain call. "That's awesome."
He practically kicked his stool aside. "Alright. You want flair? Drama? Mystery? Sparkle and burn?"
"I was thinking something more modest," Wally said, stepping toward the center of the room. "But not boring."
"Ohhh, I like you."
...
They spent the first hour riffing through vibes.
Wally would hum something under his breath, low, ethereal, almost haunting, and then try to shape it into chords. Kirk followed, adjusting harmonies. Minor sevenths. Suspended fourths. Not beginner stuff.
It wasn't just that Wally could play.
It was that he understood the shape of a theme. The rise. The fall. The point where tension broke and reset. The flicker of hope after the dissonance.
At one point, Wally tapped in a triplet rhythm, soft, like a heartbeat.
Then he frowned. "No. Too clean."
He adjusted the timing. Dragged one note just behind the beat, like it was catching its breath.
Absurd.
And somehow, perfect.
Every time Kirk thought he'd nailed it, Wally tilted his head and murmured, "Slower. With more flicker, not glide."
And dammit, that made sense.
"Hold up," Kirk said, waving a hand like he'd just seen a magic trick. "Where's all this coming from? You write this stuff?"
Wally didn't answer right away. Just let the final note fade into a silence that somehow felt… deliberate.
Then he smiled. "They came from a distant dream."
Kirk let out a long breath. "I don't know if I should be impressed or worried."
"You can do both," Wally said, perfectly deadpan.
Kirk snorted. "You sure you don't want to be a sound designer instead of a trainer?"
"I want to do both," Wally said. "Sometimes battles are just performances. With higher stakes."
That shut Kirk up for a moment.
He thought of his first battle theme, the one he'd written back when he believed every trainer was a rockstar. Before he realized hype wasn't enough.
He nodded toward the recorder. "Let's save what we've got before it floats away."
...
By the end of the session, they had the skeleton of something strange and striking.
No title. Just a feeling.
It didn't sound like a theme for a champion or a villain.
It sounded like someone still walking forward. Tired. But not stopping.
Kirk leaned back against the soundproof wall, arms behind his head. "If you ever release an album, you better put my name in the liner notes."
"You'll get a bonus track," Wally said.
"Make it one of the good ones."
Wally nodded solemnly. "The one with the cool key change."
They both laughed, soft, surprised.
For a while, the only sound was the lingering ring of strings and the distant hum of the gym. Ralts floated nearby, swaying faintly to the fading chords.
"You ever want help performing it live," Kirk said, "I've got a distortion pedal and zero shame."
"I'll let you know," Wally replied. Then he stood, still holding the old guitar. "Thank you."
Kirk raised two fingers in a lazy salute. "Anytime, Dream Boy."
Wally paused at the door. Turned back with a wry smile.
"Don't forget to tune the fourth string."
Kirk blinked. Looked down. The fourth string was flat by a hair.
"Are you?" he sputtered.
But Wally was already gone. The door closed softly behind him.
Kirk stared at the guitar.
Then let out a long breath and laughed under it.
"Claire was right," he muttered. "This kid's not normal."
He reached for his tuner, grinning.
"But he's got good ears."
...
Mauville Gym, Rooftop Garden
Wally, Gym Assistant.
There were many ways to train a Pokémon. Most of them involved shouting things like "Hit harder!" or "Use Quick Attack again!" Or, if you were feeling bold, "Dodge!"
Wally wasn't most trainers.
His style had been called "unconventional," "soft," and once, by Sparky, "Electrifying."
Wally didn't disagree. As long as it worked, he would run with it.
Today's training started with tea.
He sat cross-legged on the rooftop garden, surrounded by mint pots and old brick. Briar sat poised beside him, balancing a dewdrop on her rose.
Ralts leaned against his side, eyes half-closed, quietly syncing her breath with his. Occasionally, her gaze sparked with light; confusion flickered through the leaves.
Pearl splashed once in the dented metal bucket beside him. It wasn't fancy, just half-full of filtered water, but she didn't complain. She was watching the Poké Puff in Wally's hand with suspicion.
"It's Oran and Chesto," he coaxed. "No Pecha. Promise."
She opened her mouth, then shut it with a grunt. Ralts gave the faintest hint of a nod. Pearl promptly sank to the bottom of the bucket.
Progress.
...
Ralts went first. Today's goal: refine Confusion, not to knock out, but to disorient.
Wally had arranged branches and stacked tin cans across the garden. Makeshift targets.
"Okay, buddy. Imagine these are opponents. Don't just smash them, make them dizzy. Keep them spinning."
Ralts focused. A ripple of psychic force pushed out. The cans wobbled... then toppled.
"Closer," Wally said. "Try again, maximize the control."
The second wave of Confusion had the cans spinning in place like tops. Wally gave him a thumbs-up.
"Nice. You're not just hitting things, you're shaping the field."
Next was Briar. Her Vine Whip needed speed and precision, not brute force.
Wally brought out a training dummy, a rough sack stuffed with old cloth. He set the rhythm with a metronome on his PokéNav.
"One… two… three!"
The vines lashed in clean bursts, sharp and controlled. Wally nodded along.
"Good tempo. Now let's mix in some status control."
Briar responded with a leech seed. The dummy swayed as if startled.
"Perfect. Keep that rhythm. Keep them guessing."
Pearl's turn was trickier.
Earlier, Wally had bought the TM from a specialty shop in Mauville, tucked between a diner and a lottery counter. He'd waited three days for a discount code from one of Vivian's contacts. The clerk was surprised anyone wanted it. "Hard move for a Feebas," they'd said.
"Yeah," Wally had replied, "but she's stubborn."
Now, under the sun, Wally filled a shallow basin and dropped a ring into the center. If Pearl had hands, maybe good old water balloon practice would help, tossing, aiming, feeling the flow. But she didn't.
Instead, Wally had to find other ways. Gentle taps on the tank, subtle currents stirred with precise movements, and lots of patience. It was slow work, but every small ripple meant progress.
"Okay, Pearl, focus on the water. Not just splash it everywhere." He gestured to a small floating ring.
"Your goal? Make a pulse hit the ring cleanly."
Pearl blinked, then gathered water into a shimmering orb between her fins.
With a flick, the orb shot forward, missing the ring by a wide margin and knocking over a potted plant instead.
"Uh… close?" Wally offered, ducking a falling leaf.
Pearl huffed and tried again, this time the orb pulsated with a clearer rhythm, hitting the ring and causing it to ripple.
"That's it! Focus on the pulse, control the rhythm. Water Pulse isn't just power, it's… finesse."
She gave a modest flick of her tail, and Wally smiled.
As the day wound down, Wally knelt beside her bucket. The water was still now, calm.
"I got you something."
He pulled out a cloth, a Focus Sash, faded but carefully folded.
"This'll help you hang on when it counts. I know how hard you've been working."
Pearl stared for a long moment, then allowed him to tie it gently around her. Ralts was expressionless. Briar bowed, ever the theatrical one.
Wally leaned back, arms stretched behind his head.
"Assistant days are soon coming to an end," he murmured.
His voice was quiet. Not sad. Just... aware.
"I think it's almost time to go."
He looked out over the rooftops, the fading sun catching his eyes.
New adventures would come soon enough.
But for now, this was enough.
...
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