Nestled in the plush embrace of my bedding, I turn my head toward the television.
It's not quite noon, so the airwaves are still dominated by news rather than midday variety shows. Every channel broadcasts similar content, whether the day is ordinary or extraordinary. Today, despite something remarkable happening—or perhaps because of it—every station is fixated on the same story.
"Sinnoh Champion Dethroned!? A New Champion Rises: Koki!!"
The bold, flashy font announces the outcome of the Sinnoh League from a few days ago, where the victor challenged and defeated the Elite Four and the Champion.
At just twelve years old, Koki now reigns as Sinnoh's top trainer—an astonishing feat.
Though Koki didn't break the record for the youngest champion set in other regions, it's close enough to make this the top news in Sinnoh.
The buzz around the new champion is relentless.
They call him a rare genius.
They say he can see the future.
They claim he's undefeated in official battles.
Some even whisper he rivals the pinnacle of Pokémon training.
These are the highest praises a Pokémon trainer could hope to hear.
But what about the champion himself?
On the television, Koki responds to the interviewer with a smile, but his eyes lack any spark of emotion.
(…Koki.)
Watching my best friend on the screen, a pang of guilt washes over me.
That day, we set out together, chasing the same dream. His wish came true, yet…
(If only I had been stronger…)
My gaze shifts to the six Poké Balls on the desk beside me, my fist clenching tightly.
Ding-dong!
Lost in memories of past battles, my frustration is interrupted by the cheerful chime of the doorbell, pulling me back to reality.
A touch of annoyance creeps in as I recall, Oh, right, Mom's out shopping. I gather the Poké Balls, clip them to my belt, and head to the door.
Two more insistent rings sound as I approach, and I already know who it is. With a sigh, I mutter, "What a hassle," but ignoring it would only make things worse. My steps are heavy as I make my way to the door.
By the time the doorbell has rung a dozen times, I fling the door open.
"You're too slow! Any later, and I'd fine you—"
"Shut up!"
Thwack! A satisfying karate chop lands on the incessant bell-ringer's head. A critical hit, if I do say so myself.
"Ow, ow, ow! A chop right off the bat? That's harsh!"
"You've been told a million times—one ring is enough!"
"It's your fault for being slow!"
"Slow? That was, like, thirty seconds!"
Sure, my steps were heavy, but thirty seconds isn't slow. Still, knowing this guy's impatience, I let it slide. His spiky blonde hair, orange eyes, and signature green scarf mark him as Jun, the self-proclaimed "Fine Boy," rubbing his head and fuming.
"Whatever! We're going to Masago Town, now!"
He grabs my arm, trying to drag me into a sprint.
"Wait, Masago Town? Why—"
"Just come on!"
"Ugh, fine, stop pulling!"
Jun's forcefulness is no surprise, and I'm not clumsy enough to trip, but it still stings. I match his pace, knowing he won't listen to reason.
(Masago Town, huh? It's been a while.)
As we run from Futaba Town to Masago Town, memories of our journey's start flood back.
Amid the swirl of nostalgia, one emotion lingers—guilt.
"Yo, Professor! I brought him! Tell us what's up!"
"Uh, hello…"
Jun bursts into Professor Rowan's lab in Masago Town, shaking off my lingering remorse. This is where we received our Pokédexes and took our first steps as trainers—memories as vivid as yesterday.
As I step inside, a distinguished man with a white mustache notices us. Professor Rowan, the one who gave us our first Pokémon, greets us warmly.
Beside him stands a woman in a black coat, her long blonde hair flowing—Shirona, the former Sinnoh Champion.
"You're here. Welcome, both of you," she says.
"You both look well. Been a while since the League, hasn't it?" Shirona adds.
"Yes, Professor Rowan… and, uh, Shirona!? H-Hello, it's been a while," I stammer, bowing.
"Yo, what's up!" Jun replies casually.
Apparently, Jun knew Shirona would be here. Would've been nice if he'd mentioned it, but "planning ahead" isn't in his vocabulary.
Resigning myself to Jun's impulsiveness, I turn to Professor Rowan. "Jun dragged me here without explaining. Could you tell me what's going on? With the Champion here, it sounds serious…"
"Serious? It's awesome! I'm pumped!" Jun exclaims.
"No need to be so formal. I'm not the Champion anymore," Shirona says with a smile. "You could be more like Jun."
Easier said than done. Even as the former Champion, Shirona's fame and strength are undeniable. Her fans still adore her, and I respect her as a trainer—well, except for her messy room habits.
"Anyway," Shirona continues, "we called you here because the Professor and I each have a request for you."
"A request from both of them?" I ask, tensing slightly.
Shirona, a former Champion and archaeologist, often deals with intense tasks like historical research or battling threats. Professor Rowan, a leading authority on Pokémon evolution and mentor to many, including Shirona, is just as formidable. A request from both is no small matter.
(These two are kind of a big deal, aren't they?)
"You're visibly nervous," Shirona teases. "It's not that serious."
Easier said than done. I wish she'd understand her own stature.