They turned in as the green faded, each to their own tent.
I think I understand something now, Kadabra thought.
He'd stationed himself outside instead of going back into his ball, watching the last of the aurora shimmer at the edge of the world. Behind him, the wreckage of a dozen grass hoops made the case that the evening had been a success.
His mood felt like that light out there—moving, and hard to name.
Inside her tent, Reika couldn't sleep either. She kept turning pages, absorbing everything she could hold.
She wanted to be strong so badly it hurt. There was history behind that.
She wanted to be better.
Pikachu, meanwhile, could not hang. His ears drooped. He yawned once, tipped sideways with a soft flop, and was out cold.
Reika tucked him into the sleeping bag and kept studying.
In the tent next door, Akiyama had been asleep for hours. Gardevoir watched him with an expression that was very soft, and gathered him gently against her.
He woke inside her arms the next morning, and the small movement of him waking woke her too.
"Morning, Gardevoir."
"Garde."
He wriggled out, got up, got dressed, and stepped outside.
The next tent stirred like it had been listening for him. Reika emerged with impressive dark circles under both eyes.
"Morning."
"Please tell me you slept."
"I slept. Two hours."
"Pika-pika."
Pikachu shuffled out behind her, ears flat, definitely not awake.
Good morning, everyone.
Kadabra's voice reached all of them at once.
"You didn't sleep either? Doesn't that bother you?"
No.
"Okay then."
Akiyama couldn't relate. Probably nobody could except a certain superhuman kid from Pallet Town.
Nothing lasts forever. They ate breakfast, and then it was time to split up.
"See you around!" Reika waved from a distance, and Pikachu waved both arms hard enough to lose his balance.
"Next time!"
"Garde—garde!"
Akiyama waited until they'd turned and started walking before he looked down at the two Pokémon beside him.
"They're gone. Guess we're going too."
"Garde."
Gardevoir kept looking at the place where their backs had disappeared a little longer than necessary. She was, unmistakably, a little sad.
"You want to go back in the ball?" Akiyama asked Kadabra.
Kadabra nodded, reached out with Confusion, tapped the button himself, and was gone.
"Come on," Akiyama said, taking Gardevoir's hand. "As long as we don't stop walking, we'll see them again someday."
What a good world this is, he thought.
One battle. A few Pokémon playing in the grass for a couple of hours. And out of that, a friendship with real weight to it.
Simple, and warm, and absolutely genuine.
That was the thing about the world of Pokémon that nothing else could replace.
......
"All aboard, all aboard—Butterfree Line, car ninety-five-twenty-seven, now arriving! Passengers with large Pokémon, please recall them to their Poké Balls!"
The boy shouted it around the whistle in his mouth as he strode down a weathered wooden platform.
Before long a bus came rattling and clanking up the road at a leisurely crawl.
It had a Butterfree carved into its side. In fact the entire vehicle appeared to be made of wood, and it bounced along in a way that suggested it might shed a couple of components on any given block.
It pulled up and stopped without a sound. There was a sign hanging on the flank.
NO LARGE POKÉMON. THIS INCLUDES BUT IS NOT LIMITED TO: NIDOKING, AGGRON, STEELIX.
Yeah, a large Pokémon would reduce this thing to kindling.
"Come on, Gardevoir. That's us."
He joined the line with her hand in his. The driver gave them a single glance and waved them aboard.
"Guess you don't count as large."
"Garde."
Obviously not. Gardevoir turned her head with a small, dignified sniff.
They took seats in the back, and the deathtrap lurched into motion.
As advertised, the ride into Greenlight City was free.
It also didn't ride anything like it looked. From outside it seemed ready to shake itself apart; inside there was only a strange, steady pressure against his back, like being worked over by a very patient massage therapist.
Akiyama found himself watching out the window. The entire road was laid with wooden planks.
The bus sped up, slowed, sped up. The carved patterns along the plank edges slid past his eyes.
And slowly he began to unwind. Somewhere in the grain he thought he saw a butterfly, drifting and turning.
He didn't come out of it until a vendor working the aisle stopped beside him.
That startled him, and then it made him think. Every one of those grooves had been cut by hand, one at a time. The whole road was a piece of psychological engineering, built to make a person relax without noticing they'd been asked to.
"Hi there. Would you like a mystery box?"
The man smiling down at him was middle-aged and thin enough that the wooden case he was hugging made him look smaller still.
"Mystery box?" Akiyama tilted his head.
"Bug-type mystery boxes. You might even pull a pink Butterfree—those are good luck." He unlatched the case as he spoke.
Inside sat rows of identical little wooden boxes. No telling what was in any of them.
"They're free," he added.
"Gardevoir, you pick one."
"Garde."
I'm definitely getting the lucky pink Butterfree, she decided, and set about the task with total gravity.
Unfortunately the boxes were identical in every way, so in the end she just took the one in the middle.
She opened it. A Beedrill.
"Garde." She was not gracious about this.
"Hey, Beedrill's great." Akiyama reached up and patted her head.
Gardevoir quietly balled a fist. I will find Akiyama a pink Butterfree.
"Ooh, a strong one! Beedrill's a fine pull. Beedrill happens to be my personal favorite," the man said.
"Mr. Hikaze, that's a lie. You don't even have a Beedrill. If you liked them you'd have one."
A kid in the row ahead had swung around to deliver this verdict.
"Ha! We always love what we can't have." Hikaze scratched the back of his head, entirely unbothered.
There was something loose and pliant about him, like a branch swaying past the window.
"Hikaze?" Something clicked. "You're the Bug-type Gym Leader."
"That's right. Though I really do prefer Beedrill." Hikaze laughed lightly, apparently still committed to the bit.
"You're a rookie Trainer, aren't you? Here to challenge me?"
"Miki Akiyama, from Greenleaf Town. Trainers like me are a dime a dozen. Gym Leaders handing out free mystery boxes on a bus, not so much."
"You're not as common as you think. Most people who come to Greenlight City are artists, or travelers who want to sit inside something harmonious for a while."
Hikaze answered the first part and let the second part go.
Looking at Akiyama, he found another silhouette laying itself over the boy's, years out of place.
He changed the subject, turning to the window. "Those planks out there—every rise and dip in them was designed. Every line in the grain was cut by hand, a little at a time. If somebody ever tore them up, I think even the Mother Tree might cry."
So Akiyama had guessed right.