Morning light filtered through the trees outside Nacrene, thin and pale, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Grant stood ankle-deep in the riverbank mud, sleeves rolled up, eyes locked on the shape darting across the water's surface.
"Again," he said calmly.
Dewott burst forward, Aqua Jet propelling him low and fast, water peeling away beneath his feet. Mid-dash, he twisted his body, shells flashing,
-CRACK.
Razor Shell sliced through the floating log, not clean enough. The wood split unevenly, one half spinning wildly before sinking.
Dewott skidded to a halt, breathing hard. His ears flattened.
Grant didn't raise his voice. "You felt it, didn't you?"
Dewott nodded slowly.
"It wasn't weak," Grant continued, stepping closer. "It was rushed."
Dewott looked at his shells. At the water. Then back at Grant.
Grant crouched. "Power doesn't mean swinging harder. It means choosing the exact moment the force matters."
He picked up a small stone and tossed it into the river. It skipped once, twice, then vanished.
"You don't fight the water," Grant said. "You move with it."
Dewott exhaled, eyes narrowing with renewed focus.
This time, he didn't rush.
He let Aqua Jet build, controlled, tight, compressed. The water didn't explode outward; it wrapped him like a coiled spring. When he moved, it was sudden, silent...
.....SHIINK.
The log split cleanly in two, both halves sliding apart before sinking.
Grant smiled, just a little. "That's it."
Dewott straightened, chest puffed, but there was something new there now. Not pride.
Understanding.
Behind them, Swadloon struggled.
Not with power, but intent.
"Bug Bite," Grant called, turning slightly.
Swadloon lunged, mandibles snapping, but the motion was too hesitant. The attack grazed the berry target instead of tearing through it.
Swadloon recoiled, string dangling loosely from its leaves.
Grant walked over and knelt. "You're thinking too much."
Swadloon tilted its head.
"You don't have Dewott's speed or Drillbur's raw force," Grant said gently. "So you control the space instead."
He repositioned the targets, berries suspended from String Shot threads, some high, some low.
"String Shot first," he instructed.
Swadloon's threads shot out, thicker this time, webbing the clearing. The space narrowed, paths overlapping.
"Now Razor Leaf."
The leaves flew, cleaner, sharper, but one clipped the string instead of the target, collapsing part of the web.
Swadloon froze, flustered.
Grant held up a hand. "Don't stop."
Swadloon hesitated, then surged forward with Bug Bite, tearing through the berry as it fell.
Grant nodded. "Good. Mistakes don't end fights. Freezing does."
Swadloon's posture changed after that. The next sequence flowed: String Shot to limit, Razor Leaf to pressure, Bug Bite to finish.
Not perfect.
But confident.
A low rumble shook the ground nearby.
Drilbur vanished beneath the soil without a sound.
Grant closed his eyes.
He waited.
Nothing.
No vibration. No surface disturbance.
Even knowing Drilbur was there, Grant couldn't feel him.
Then, THUD.
The training marker collapsed inward as Drilbur burst out from beneath it, claws glowing silver.
Metal Claw landed true.
Drilbur surfaced, breathing hard, dirt clinging to his fur.
Grant exhaled slowly. "That's dangerous."
Drilbur stiffened, worried, but Grant smiled. "For anyone facing you."
Drilbur grinned, sharp and eager.
"Again," Grant said. "Make a faster entry. If they can't sense you, they will lose control when you go underground."
Drilbur nodded, already burrowing back down.
Grant straightened, stretching his shoulders.
All three of them were changing, not just stronger, but sharper. More deliberate.
And that scared him a little.
At evening they went to the pokemon center to freshen up, Nyra psyching up for the gym challenge.
By the time Nyra returned to the gym, she wasn't nervous.
And this time Grant was with her for support.
She was quiet.
Lenora watched from across the room as Nyra stepped onto the challenge floor again. This time, Nyra didn't rush to the center. She took a breath. Let the space settle.
The gym trainers came to her, Normal type specialists, each with their own style.
Nyra bowed slightly. "I'm ready."
The first battle was fast. Controlled. Nyra didn't over commit, didn't chase knockouts. She adjusted mid-battle, withdrew when needed, pressed only when the opening was clear.
Lenora's eyes narrowed, not in judgment.
In interest.
The second trainer pushed harder, trying to overwhelm her with rhythm and pressure. Nyra adapted, pacing herself, letting Whirlipede dictate space instead of speed.
When it ended, Nyra was breathing hard, but smiling.
She hadn't won by force.
She'd won by choice.
Grant watched from the side, arms folded, Dewott's Poké Ball warm in his hand.
She's different, he thought.
Not reckless. Not hesitant.
Balanced.
A shadow crossed his expression.
Was he?
He looked down at the ball, thumb brushing the seal.
White's words echoed faintly in his mind, not accusations, not commands. Just questions.
What does strength cost?
Grant clenched his fist, then released it.
Nyra caught his eye from across the room.
She didn't smile.
She nodded.
And somehow, that meant more.
Lenora approached Nyra once the challenge ended.
"You've learned," she said simply.
Nyra straightened. "I'm still learning."
Lenora smiled. "Good. Then rest. The gym battle will wait."
Nyra bowed again, respectful, steady.
As she walked back to Grant, exhaustion finally caught up to her. He steadied her without thinking.
"You did great," he said quietly.
Nyra let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "I wasn't trying to be great."
Grant met her gaze. "You were trying to be right."
She smiled at that.
Outside, the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the street.
The gym loomed behind them.
Unfinished.
Waiting.
And this time, neither of them was afraid of what came next.