The road beyond Wellspring curled through tall grass and open sky, the river glinting like a ribbon of glass beside it. Grant walked a little faster than usual, badge cool against his chest, Oshawatt riding on his shoulder with its shell tucked under one arm. Sewaddle rested in his hood, silk threads peeking out like tassels.
Nyra followed with Pignite padding at her side, flames low and steady.
They'd been riding the glow of their first badge for days.
Grant caught himself touching it again. "Next town's close," he said. "If we keep this pace, we'll be there by sunset."
Nyra arched a brow. "You're in a hurry."
"I'm ready," he said, smiling.
That was when they heard the crowd.
A wooden bridge spanned a narrow cut in the river, and a ring of travelers had formed at its mouth. Excited shouts rippled as a battle ended. In the center stood a tall boy in a long coat and gloves, posture loose and confident. His Pokémon—Darmanitan—loomed like a living furnace.
Across from him, a younger trainer recalled a fainted Roggenrola, face pale.
"Third win today," someone whispered.
"Castelia challenger," said another. "No one's touched his Darmanitan."
Grant's pulse quickened. "Let's watch."
Nyra caught his sleeve. "Don't."
He grinned anyway. "Why not?"
"Because that thing looks like it eats Gym Leaders for breakfast."
Grant stepped forward. "Battle me."
The boy turned, eyes assessing. "You've got a badge?"
Grant nodded.
"One-on-one," the boy said. "Name's Rook."
They took positions. The crowd leaned in.
"Oshawatt!" Grant released his partner. Oshawatt landed in a ready stance.
Rook snapped his ball. "Darmanitan."
Heat rolled across the dirt.
"Begin."
"Focus Energy," Grant said.
Oshawatt centered itself.
"Fire Punch."
Darmanitan lunged.
"Shell—angle!" Grant shouted.
The punch rang against the shell and sent Oshawatt skidding. Oshawatt sprang up, teeth clenched.
"Water Gun!"
The stream hit Darmanitan square.
It didn't budge.
Rook's mouth twitched. "Again."
Grant's breath caught. "Dodge left!"
Oshawatt tried—but the punch clipped him and spun him into the grass. He pushed up immediately, eyes blazing.
"Osha!"
Grant ran a hand through his hair. "Easy. Breathe."
Oshawatt stamped, refusing to slow.
"Aqua Jet!" Grant called.
Oshawatt launched. Darmanitan caught him mid-air and drove him down. The impact thudded through the ground.
The crowd gasped.
"Oshawatt!" Grant sprinted forward. Oshawatt tried to rise on shaking legs.
Rook raised a hand. "That's enough."
Grant knelt, lifting Oshawatt carefully. His partner's breathing was shallow, eyes still burning with effort.
Nyra was already at his side. "Center. Now."
As they turned away, slow clapping cut through the murmurs.
"Pathetic."
Grant froze.
Angelica stood on the bridge railing, Munna floating at her shoulder. Her coat snapped in the breeze; her eyes were cold and amused.
"So this is the badge holder," she said. "Losing to roadside trainers."
Nyra stepped forward. "Back off."
Angelica hopped down. "Battle me."
Grant hesitated, glancing at Oshawatt.
Nyra shook her head. "He's hurt."
"I'll use Sewaddle," Grant said quietly.
Angelica smiled like a blade. "If you insist."
Munna drifted forward, eyes glowing.
"Sewaddle—String Shot!"
The silk streaked out.
"Psywave."
The invisible force swatted Sewaddle aside. Sewaddle scrambled up, trembling, then lunged again with Razor Leaf. Munna brushed the leaves away with a flick of power.
"Psychic."
Sewaddle lifted off the ground, caught in the field. It struggled, trying to push through with silk, refusing to quit.
"Put him down," Grant said, voice tight.
Angelica tilted her head. "Forfeit."
Sewaddle strained harder, body shaking with effort.
"Stop!" Grant shouted. "Sewaddle, down—now!"
Sewaddle hesitated, then dropped when the force released it, landing hard but conscious.
Grant ran to him, scooping him up. "You did enough. You did great."
Angelica recalled Munna with a bored sigh. "Train harder. Or quit."
She turned and walked away.
The crowd melted back into the road.
Nyra helped Grant steady Oshawatt. Together they hurried to the Pokémon Center.
The doors slid open and closed around the antiseptic quiet. Nurse Joy moved fast, taking Oshawatt and Sewaddle on separate carts.
Grant sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, hands clenched. The room hummed.
"I thought I was ready," he whispered.
Nyra sat beside him. "You fought someone stronger. That happens."
"I pushed them," he said. "They wouldn't stop. They'd run until they broke."
She put a hand on his wrist. "That's heart. We teach them when to pull back."
He swallowed. "Angelica was right. I'm playing at this."
Nyra turned to him. "Look at me."
He did.
"You protected them," she said. "You stopped it when it got dangerous. That's what real trainers do."
The doors opened. Oshawatt came out first, bandaged but alert. He tried to hop down.
"Easy," Grant said, lifting him. "You're benched."
Sewaddle followed, wrapped in soft gauze. It crawled into Grant's hood, peeking out.
"I'm sorry," Grant said. "I should've called it sooner."
Oshawatt pressed its head to Grant's chest.
Sewaddle chirped.
Nyra stood. "We train tonight. Smarter."
Grant nodded. "No shortcuts."
They walked out into the fading light. The river whispered.
Grant's shoulders sagged. Nyra slowed, then took his hand—just for a second.
"You don't have to carry it alone," she said.
He let out a breath he'd been holding. "When I'm with you, I don't feel like I'm about to fall."
She smiled softly. "Good. Then stand with me."
They headed back toward camp, steps in sync. Behind them, the bridge gleamed in the last sun—and ahead, the road waited, longer and harder than before.