The training field behind Professor Oak's laboratory had a way of remembering moments. Even with the grass grown back and the tracks smoothed, the land held the memory of footfalls and skids, of cheers and breathless silences, of young voices calling out moves as if the future itself could be ordered by a single shout. It was not a grand stadium; it was a rectangle of earth and fence-posts, a place of patient learning and ordinary courage. But on mornings like this—when the sky was a polished blue bowl and the breeze smelled faintly of salt from the sea—Pallet Town made it feel like the center of the world.
The first villagers arrived in twos and threes, as if by accident. An old man with a cap pulled low, leaning on a cane polished by decades of the same hand; two elementary-schoolers in oversized shorts, running ahead of their mother and clinging to the fence slats like Mankey to a branch; a pair of teenagers with matching bracelets, whispering conspiratorially and pretending not to be thrilled. By the time the news had finished sprinting from doorstep to field—Gary Oak challenged the new guy; Professor Oak's refereeing; it's happening right now—the fence line had become a human garland. Chickens clucked faintly from a nearby yard. Someone's washing line creaked. The hum of curiosity brought a feeling like static to the morning.
Bob stood at the far end of the field, where the packed earth gave way to softer turf. He planted the soles of his shoes and told himself to breathe like a normal person. The hoodie he wore—a comfort habit more than a fashion choice—felt suddenly too warm under the sun. He was aware of every angle at which people watched him: the speculative glances measuring height and build, the amused looks that said Who is he?, the one or two narrowed eyes that were already drafting a story where he was either a prodigy or a problem. He'd felt it in other lives—classroom presentations, first shifts, the way a line forms behind you at a register and decides whether to pity or judge. But this was different. This was the attention you get when everyone suspects the next few minutes will be retold over tea for a week.
On the opposite touchline, Gary Oak looked like a poster for enthusiasm sold at the Pallet General Store. He paced with intentional swagger, hands flicking, head tipping so his hair would catch light just so. At his heel, a Squirtle bounced in place—fresh, quick, bright-eyed; the kind of spirited energy that made adults smile no matter what they thought of the trainer. Squirtle's shell flashed as he turned, a polished blue ovoid catching and answering the sky. Every third step he glanced up at Gary for affirmation, and every third step Gary grinned down and gave it, feeding the loop of nerves into something that felt, from a distance, like courage.
Professor Oak stepped into the center from the side gate with the unhurried authority of a man who did not need to demand respect to have it. Years hung on him like a coat he'd chosen rather than endured, and the lines at the corners of his eyes were a cartographer's map of long days and longer thoughts. Beside him, Daisy matched his stride, a clipboard hugged to her chest, her hair catching a beam of light in a way that made the two teenagers near the fence nudge each other and whisper That's Daisy Oak with a mixture of admiration and gossip's heat.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Oak said, and the field relaxed into listening. His voice was steady and deep, meant for rooms that needed calming. "This is an exhibition match. One-on-one. No substitutions. The purpose is to test skill, not pride. I expect fair play from trainers and spectators alike."
A murmur like wind through tall grass moved along the fence. The old man with the cane nodded as if Oak had said something far older than he had spoken. A kid in a red cap repeated test skill, not pride under his breath as if it were a cheat code.
Bob exhaled. The Poké Ball at his belt was cool to the touch; he rested two fingers on it without quite realizing he'd done so. He didn't feel embarrassment, exactly. It was more like a quiet awareness that the next ten minutes would put a stamp on his time in Pallet Town whether he wanted them to or not. Somewhere behind his sternum, a thread tugged. It hummed softly when his fingertips brushed the Ball's seam. The hum was familiar now—shy and steady, curious and calm. Diana's presence was a warmth in the cold places his former life used to leave. He didn't need to hear her to know she was waiting.
{Hellooooo Pallet Town!} Aqua sang into his skull with a trumpet fanfare only she could hear. {Welcome to today's main event: Rival Debut Day™! In the blue corner, we have a Squirtle with knees of justice! In the hoodie corner, a mysterious human with breathtaking humility and a psychic demigoddess in his pocket! Place your bets, folks! No refunds!}
Bob's mouth tightened. You're doing that thing where you talk like a parade float.
{I'm doing that thing where I keep you from overthinking by being gloriously annoying. It's called support. You're welcome.}
He almost smiled despite himself. He didn't hate his life—not even close. He just had the instinct to deflect with sarcasm when the moment got big enough to swallow him.
"Gary." Oak's tone shifted without hardening. "Confirm your readiness."
Gary pumped a fist like he'd been waiting his whole life to be asked a question in public. "Ready!" He angled a palm down. "Squirtle?"
"Squirt!" The turtle clenched tiny fists and bounced on his toes.
"Bob." Oak turned his head just enough to offer the same formality. "Ready?"
Bob rolled one shoulder, then the other, letting breath in and out. The villagers' murmurs converged on him, a small tide pushing at his ribs. He tapped his thumb once against the Ball. Then he raised his eyes and met Oak's. "Yeah," he said. "Ready."
"You're really going to do it," someone whispered behind Daisy. "He's going to send it out."
"Bet it's a Pidgey," a teenager in a yellow hoodie said with bravado he didn't feel. "Everyone starts with something boring."
"Not everyone," the old man with the cane said, not turning his head.
Daisy's gaze flicked to Bob's hand and stayed there. She knew the feel of a reveal—there was a posture people took when they were about to show what they loved. Her fingers found a pen without looking; she didn't write anything, but she held it like a talisman anyway.
Bob's fingers curled around the Ball and, for a beat, he hesitated—not out of doubt, but out of respect for the moment. He'd planned to keep a low profile. Maybe pick up a fishing rod. Go slow. The world had other plans. Sometimes you either step onstage or the stage swallows you.
He pressed the button.
The seam parted with a gentle hiss. Light uncorked from the Ball like champagne—a concentrated rush blooming into a long column that unfurled as if the morning itself were being poured into a shape. For an instant it seemed to hold every shade of dawn: the pearl-white of mist, the frost-blue of high air, the warmer notes where the sun caught dew. Then the light resolved, collapsed, and Diana stepped out of radiance and into the world.
Gasps rang the field like bells.
She was tall the way mountain trees are tall—less about height than about the suggestion of permanence. Her gown-like lower half fell in smooth, soft folds that did not seem to cling to the grass so much as persuade it to hold her above it. Her upper body bore the austere, quiet lines of a sculpture that expected to be looked at. Sapphire hair spilled in a perfect, impossible cascade, and somewhere within the stillness of her face, a pair of eyes—the clean blue of lakewater in deep shadow—found Bob first and softened by a fraction that made the entire morning feel suddenly, intimately seen.
"Whoa," breathed the teenager in yellow, and lost all interest in being cool.
"She's… beautiful," someone else said without meaning to say it out loud.
Daisy's breath hitched. "She's… shiny." The word left her like a secret falling into air. You could see it: the palette shift, the precise not-quite-like-the-books color that set collectors to hunting and trainers to bragging. The shine wasn't a glitter; it was a clarity, the way a winter morning is sharper than the same hill in June. Her pen, forgotten, made a tiny dot on the paper she wasn't writing.
The villagers' murmur changed shape. Shiny. The syllables moved up and down the fence like a relay, gathering gasp and grin. Someone said Lucky, someone else Blessed, and a small voice near the post nearest the gate declared with utter conviction, "She sparkles like Mrs. Ito's wedding dress."
Oak didn't speak immediately. He watched the way Diana's presence pressed on the edges of space, the way the air flowed around her posture. He measured her with the quiet instruments only a lifetime builds. Size first: above average by a span you could not discount as variance. Aura second: it did not roar; it sat. A calm, steady weight like a hand laid gently on a table that still made the wood remember it had a grain. Composure third: her breath did not lift her shoulders; her expression did not perform. This was a creature familiar with its own gravity.
He let the crowd have a beat for wonder, then cut the hum with a thread of authority that didn't need volume. "Not just shiny." He turned his head to Daisy without moving his feet, letting the words travel just far enough for the fence line to hear them and feel included in not quite being included. "Alpha."
A susurrus rolled outward. Shiny had been the sparkle of a rare coin. Alpha turned it into a caution sign. The old man with the cane set his jaw as if in memory. The mother with the two kids drew them subtly closer without making a scene. A teenager's whisper came out too fast: "Is that dangerous?" and his friend elbowed him the way people elbow each other when they want fear to be funny. Someone said, Alpha, here? in a tone that made here sound like our living room.
Bob met the shift without flinching. He knew the way humans perform precautions when they don't have information. Diana's head ticked his direction, an almost imperceptible motion. He didn't need telepathy to understand it: It's alright. You don't have to carry their story too. He let out a breath that wasn't quite a laugh.
{OHHHH, we got both!} Aqua whooped, gleeful and unembarrassed by the gravitas she stomped over. {Sparkly and scary! She's like prom queen by day, underground cage fighter by night! Five stars, would watch again!}
Please stop talking, Bob thought without heat.
{Never! I am the soundtrack to your destiny. Also: look at Gary's face. He's fine. Totally fine. Not sweating at all.}
Gary had, in fact, stopped pacing. The smirk hadn't fallen so much as he'd forgotten he'd decided to wear it. His mouth was a familiar teenage line—I will not be impressed; I will not—but the muscle at the hinge of his jaw had begun to work. Squirtle, who had been a ball of eager electricity a moment ago, took a single light step backward and then recovered, cheeks puffed with determined dignity. He looked up at Gary again and received in return a nod that tried to be easy and landed somewhere near brittle.
Daisy pulled in a quiet breath that she set about disguising as a cough. "Grandfather," she murmured, the corner of her mouth tugging upward despite herself, "she's even taller than the reference plates."
Oak's eyes glinted. "Plate drawings lack the one thing that matters most."
"What's that?" Daisy said, genuinely curious.
"Context," he replied. "Size means something different when it doesn't try to be large."
Daisy blinked, then smiled because she liked sentences that seemed like puzzles until you realized they weren't.
Oak spread his weight evenly over his feet and lifted his hand, palm outward. "Trainers. Approach your marks."
Bob moved forward two paces, the earth giving slightly under his heels. He could feel Diana move without looking: not a footstep so much as a decision to be a little closer, the grass whispering approval as her gown's hem brushed it. He let his fingers hover at his side, and she hovered nearer to that hand like a shadow that had decided it liked its human.
Gary clapped once, too loud. "Alright, Squirtle—this is what we trained for. I mean—" he corrected himself fast, aware of Oak's presence, "—this is exactly the kind of first match that forges champions." The line would've landed better if his voice had not gone high on champions.
"Squirt," Squirtle agreed, because that is what good partners do for you when your lines break a little under pressure.
"Bob," Oak said, including him with the same even courtesy. There was no doubt in the professor's tone, but there was invitation, a small door opened to a human dignity. "Anything to declare before we begin?"
Bob considered the question. He wasn't sure if Oak meant rules or intentions. He decided to answer the one that mattered either way. He turned his head toward Diana just enough to make it a public moment rather than a private one. "Diana," he said, and the name slid out of him like it had been waiting on the tongue of some future he hadn't admitted to yet, "let's show them what partnership looks like."
Her lips moved a fraction. If you didn't know her, you'd call it nothing. If you did, you'd say she smiled.
Along the fence, something softened. For all the caution in the word Alpha, there is nothing quite so disarming as a human who looks at power like a person and speaks to it like one. The mother with the two kids let them lean out again. The old man's mouth became less of a straight line.
"Name's Diana, huh," someone murmured. "Pretty."
The teenager in yellow, fighting the need to swoon over anything in public, muttered, "It's a good name," and his friend nodded like a man at a tasting pretending he could identify tannins.
{Cue the title card!} Aqua hollered in a register that could slice glass. {"Episode 4: The Alpha's Name!" Applause! Confetti! A tastefully restrained fireworks budget! I'm gonna cry.}
You won't, Bob thought.
{I won't. But I could.}
Oak's hand stayed lifted until the sound of the field settled into a collective inhale. He turned his head a degree toward Gary, then a degree toward Bob, measuring the distance not in steps but in readiness. His voice, when it came, had the clean certainty of a bell. "Begin."
The word didn't topple the world. It tilted it. Somewhere a Staraptor called from very far up; the sound fell like a ribbon into the blue. The breeze came back and turned a leaf over on the far fence post. Bob felt the moment pass under his feet the way a surfer feels the pull of the wave: less a push forward than a permission to move with what was already moving.
Gary reacted like a spring released. "Squirtle—"
But even as Gary's mouth opened, something subtler happened at Bob's end of the lane. He didn't shout. He didn't even speak at once. He let his breath go and kept his hands open. He let the bond carry intent before he carried sound—the sense of wait, read, do not strike first—and he felt Diana answer the thought like a musician picking up a note that has no beginning. She relaxed into readiness without losing a sliver of alertness. Her feet did not shift. The hem of her gown whispered once around her ankles and then held still like a second silence.
Daisy leaned forward and then stopped herself, because she realized in that instant what Oak had meant by context. It wasn't just that Diana was large; it was that she didn't use the size to explain herself. She used stillness to make the world explain itself to her.
Oak's mouth barely moved, the smallest of approvals living in the lines there. The professor had taught hundreds of rookies to stop mistaking motion for control. It was rare to watch someone who understood the difference before the first command had even landed.
Gary's voice rose, gaining speed that he intended as momentum. "—Tackle!" he finished, the command snapping into the air like a thrown pebble.
Squirtle kicked off, dust pluming behind his feet. The crowd leaned as if watching a thrown ball cross a plate. The moment that would become Round One bent itself into being.
Bob still hadn't spoken. He didn't need to. Diana's attention was a perfect circle centered on a moving point. She saw where the shell's weight led, where the tail set a half heartbeat before the hips committed. She saw the courage in the little legs, too. She read it all and decided that the first lesson in any conversation is listening.
And the field, which remembered things even when they were too small to tell, waited.
Squirtle hit the halfway mark and pushed harder, his little arms pumping, shell wobbling with the force of his sprint. Gary leaned forward on the opposite line, shouting encouragement like volume alone could add momentum.
Diana shifted. Not much. Just enough that the air seemed to fold differently around her. She took a single step aside, gown swaying like silk brushed by wind. Squirtle surged past the space she had been in, eyes wide as he stumbled, skidding onto the grass and rolling into a crouch.
The crowd gasped. A child cheered, clapping for Squirtle's effort. Someone else muttered, "She didn't even move…"
Aqua's voice popped into Bob's head like a party balloon.
{And she dodges it with all the effort of sidestepping a puddle! Folks, I've seen faster footwork at senior bingo night!}
Bob's brow twitched. "You're seriously going to narrate this?" he muttered under his breath.
{Obviously! What, you thought your new life in Pokémon Land wasn't going to come with live commentary? Please. You're welcome.}
Gary didn't falter. "Get up! Again, Squirtle!"
"Squirt!" The little turtle puffed out his chest, determination outweighing common sense. He spun, tail lashing in a feint before charging again, dust kicking under his stubby legs.
This time Diana's eyes glowed faintly. Not a full pulse of psychic power, just the suggestion of it, and the grass bent as if leaning away from her. Squirtle slowed without meaning to, the space between him and Diana stretching like a road uphill. Still, he pushed, tiny claws digging grooves into the dirt until he nearly reached her.
And then—another sidestep. A hand lifted, unseen force catching the charge just shy of contact, redirecting the momentum like water circling a stone. Squirtle tumbled past her again, landing with a grunt.
The crowd's noise shifted. What had started as excited cheers thinned into uneasy murmurs.
Daisy clutched the fence, her eyes shining. "She's… shiny," she whispered, almost breathless.
Oak's arms folded, his voice carrying low and certain. "Not just shiny." His gaze cut across the field, weight behind every word. "She's Alpha."
The word landed heavier than Squirtle's tackles. Shiny was rare, beautiful, dazzling. Alpha was something else—older, stronger, commanding. The villagers stirred with fresh whispers, parents pulling children back a step, teenagers nudging each other with wide eyes.
Gary's jaw tightened. "Don't stop! Tail Whip, then Tackle!"
"Squirt!" Squirtle barked, loyal to a fault. He lashed his tail, then lunged once more, determined to prove himself.
Diana's head tilted. She moved before he reached her, gown swaying in a way that made it look like she was more dancing than fighting. Squirtle hit something invisible, psychic force humming briefly as the barrier flared. He bounced back onto the grass, panting but refusing to quit.
Oak's eyes narrowed in thought, his voice pitched for Daisy's ears but carrying further. "She isn't wasting energy. Every movement is measured. Efficient. That's the hallmark of an Alpha—dominance expressed through restraint."
Daisy's lips parted in awe. "She's… beautiful."
Aqua's voice chimed gleefully.
{Ohhh, Bob, you should see your face right now. Mister Serious Trainer Mode! Don't worry, I'm keeping score: Diana's at three dodges, Squirtle's at zero hits, Gary's at maximum embarrassment. Someone cue the sad violin.}
Bob exhaled slowly, hand brushing the Poké Ball at his belt. He wasn't smiling, but there was pride in his eyes. Diana hadn't even flexed her power yet. She was listening. Teaching. Showing Squirtle—and everyone watching—the difference between desperation and control.
The field remembered this too, in the way trampled grass bowed back into place, already whispering the shape of the story being written there.
Squirtle shook himself, stubborn determination flashing in his eyes even as his chest heaved from the repeated failed tackles. Gary's voice snapped across the field like a whip.
"Again! Don't stop until you hit her!"
"Squirt!" The little turtle cried out, charging once more with a bravery that outpaced his small body.
The crowd leaned in, some cheering, others whispering anxiously. A young boy on his father's shoulders pumped a fist. "Come on, Squirtle!" But just behind him, an older woman muttered, "It's hopeless… look at her, she hasn't even blinked."
Diana didn't flinch. Her eyes followed the turtle with a patience that bordered on divine. She stepped aside at the last possible instant, letting Squirtle stumble past, then dipped her hand with the smallest flick of psychic pressure. The little Pokémon rolled onto the grass again, grass-stains already smudging his shell.
Gasps broke from the crowd, but Daisy clapped her hands once, unable to contain her delight. "She's shining even brighter in the sun! It's beautiful!"
Oak's expression was more grim. His eyes narrowed as he murmured, "No wasted motion… no excess energy. She's not just reacting—she's reading every intention before it finishes."
Aqua practically screamed in Bob's head.
{Look at her! Graceful dodges, perfect timing, an audience going wild—she's basically putting on a Broadway show and Squirtle's the understudy who didn't get the script!}
Bob pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are the worst play-by-play announcer."
{Correction! I'm the best play-by-play announcer. The only one, actually. Which makes me undefeated, unlike Squirtle over there.}
Gary grit his teeth, fists clenched. "Tail Whip, then Tackle—NOW!"
Squirtle obeyed instantly, his little tail whipping side to side before he charged with every ounce of strength left in his small body. His stubby claws dug furrows into the dirt, determination radiating like heat. The villagers at the fence shouted, half rooting for him, half warning him off.
This time Diana did not dodge. Her eyes glowed faintly, and Squirtle's forward momentum slowed as though the world itself had thickened around him. Step by step he pushed through, every muscle straining, until he was nearly in reach. The crowd leaned forward, believing for a moment that he might actually land the blow.
And then she released.
The turtle pitched forward, momentum carrying him into a roll across the grass. He popped up again, panting but unbowed, eyes narrowing with fresh determination.
The villagers groaned in sympathy. Some clapped for his courage. One child near the back whispered, "She's not even trying."
Oak's voice rumbled low. "No… she's demonstrating. This isn't battle, it's instruction."
Daisy's eyes shone like stars. "Instruction… through beauty," she said dreamily.
Aqua broke into cackling.
{Ohhh, this is priceless! She's not fighting him—she's basically giving him private lessons! Step one: 'Don't run into psychic walls, dummy.' Step two: 'Try not to trip over your own determination.' Honestly, Bob, I think she's a better teacher than you'll ever be.}
Bob groaned softly, rubbing his forehead. "Why do I even listen to you?"
{Because without me, this would just be a tragic massacre of Squirtle's self-esteem. With me, it's comedy gold. You're welcome.}
Squirtle stumbled back to Gary's side, legs trembling but spirit unbroken. Gary crouched low, hands braced on his knees, glaring across the field at Bob. "Don't think this means anything! Squirtle's just warming up! We'll land a hit next time—you'll see!"
The villagers exchanged doubtful glances. The weight of Oak's earlier word—Alpha—hung heavy in the air.
Diana hadn't spoken a word, but her silence was louder than Gary's shouting.
The first round had already written its conclusion into the grass: Squirtle's bravery against inevitability.
Oak finally raised his voice, breaking the tension. "Gary. Change your approach. Straight lines won't work here."
Gary's scowl deepened, but he nodded sharply. "Fine! Then we'll hit her from range! Squirtle! Water Gun!"
The field shifted with that command. The crowd straightened, whispers breaking into new noise. This was different. A new angle.
And Diana, ever patient, lifted her head slightly—waiting to listen again.
A spray of water built in Squirtle's cheeks, his stubby arms flaring for balance as the pressure swelled. The hiss grew sharp, and then—fwsshhh!—the jet shot forward, white and blue under the sun.
The villagers gasped. Some leaned back instinctively, as if the stream might leap the sidelines and drench them.
Diana did not flinch. Her eyes shimmered faintly, crimson pupils narrowing, and the stream curved—ever so slightly—around her, scattering into harmless mist. She hadn't even raised a hand; the air itself had bent to her will. Droplets sparkled around her tall frame, glittering across the pale sweep of her gown-like body.
Gary clenched his fists. "Don't stop! Keep it up!"
Squirtle dug in, firing again and again, each jet thinner than the last as his stamina waned. The field grew damp, little puddles forming in the grass. But every spray met the same fate—turned, weakened, or simply ignored.
From the sidelines, Daisy pressed a hand over her heart, awe plain in her voice. "She's not even countering. Just… listening. Like the water is telling her where it's going."
Professor Oak's eyes narrowed in focus. "No. She's teaching. She's allowing the attempt, letting Squirtle spend himself while conserving everything. That is Alpha discipline. It's not just strength—it's restraint."
{Ohhh, did you hear that?} Aqua's voice rang in Bob's head, loud enough to make him wince. {Restraint! Big word, Oak. But between you and me, I think Diana's just too fabulous to get her hair wet.}
Bob pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering low. "Not. Helping."
But the crowd? They were spellbound. For every hiss of water, every failed strike, their admiration grew. Gary's bravado began to look thin beside Squirtle's obvious fatigue, and Diana's calm presence only magnified the contrast.
At last, one last sputtering spray dribbled out, falling short into the mud. Squirtle panted, cheeks puffing uselessly, little arms trembling.
Gary stomped a foot. "Tch—Squirtle, Tackle! We'll break through!"
The poor turtle gathered himself, legs wobbling but determined. He charged again, shell gleaming with damp, sprinting head-on with everything he had left. The villagers leaned forward, willing something—anything—to land.
Diana's gaze softened. For the first time, she didn't sidestep. She allowed it.
Squirtle leapt, head lowered—
Boink.
The sound was absurd, echoing in the still field like the pluck of a rubber band. Squirtle's face had collided directly with Diana's chest, rebounding off the plush surface with comedic bounce.
A beat of silence.
Then the dam broke. Laughter rolled through the crowd. Children squealed, clutching their bellies. Even Daisy covered her mouth, shoulders shaking, while Oak coughed loudly into his hand, his mustache twitching.
Gary's face turned crimson. "Wh—what kind of trick was that?!"
Squirtle lay on his back, eyes spinning, tiny legs flailing helplessly.
{OH MY ME—!} Aqua howled in Bob's skull, replaying the sound effect like a DJ scratching a record. {Did you hear that? Boink! I'm saving that in your mental highlight reel forever!}
Bob dragged a palm down his face, fighting a smirk he didn't want to admit was there. "…You've got to be kidding me."
Diana, untouched and serene, lowered her gaze, her expression unreadable save for the faintest hint of a smile tugging her lips. She had chosen this. She had allowed it. And in that decision, she had ended the second round before it even began.
The laughter still rippled through the field, but beneath it Gary's ears burned red hot. He clenched his fists at his sides, jaw set. "Enough of this! Squirtle, back up!"
The poor turtle rolled over, staggering onto his little legs. His shell gleamed with droplets, his body heaving with effort. He was hurt, humiliated, and exhausted—but his eyes were still fierce. Brave. Willing.
That courage only twisted the knife in Bob's chest.
He sighed quietly, lifting his hand. "…Diana."
Her crimson gaze flicked toward him, calm as a still pond.
"Let's finish this. Gently."
Her lips curved—just slightly.
Squirtle charged one last time, stubby legs carrying him across the damp grass with all the determination of a warrior twice his size. The villagers cheered his name, willing him to succeed.
Diana did not move. Her eyes glowed faintly, and suddenly Squirtle froze mid-stride, lifted harmlessly into the air as if the ground had forgotten to hold him. His legs pumped uselessly, confusion flickering in his eyes.
Gary's face paled. "W-what the—?!"
The crowd gasped. Daisy pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes sparkling like starlight. Oak's gaze sharpened, his voice low. "Confusion."
Bob's voice carried across the field, firm but soft. "Diana. Draining Kiss."
She floated forward, elegant as a dream, and pressed a gentle kiss to Squirtle's forehead. Pink light pulsed, and the poor turtle went crimson before his eyes rolled back and he fainted—not from damage, but from sheer bashful shock.
The silence broke in a wave—cheers, laughter, disbelief. The villagers erupted, some clapping, some howling with laughter at the absurdity of it. Daisy squealed softly, overwhelmed, while Oak simply exhaled through his nose, shaking his head at the inevitable conclusion.
Gary stood frozen, his bravado shattered. "She… kissed him."
{OH. MY. ARCEUS.} Aqua was screaming in Bob's skull, practically rolling on the floor of his mind. {She smooched the poor turtle into fainting! Comedy knockout! Ten out of ten, new meta, don't @ me!}
Bob pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering. "…I told you this wasn't fair."
Diana released Squirtle gently onto the grass, her expression serene. The battle had ended the moment she chose it to.
Professor Oak finally raised his hand. "Battle concluded. Winner: Bob and Diana."
The villagers applauded, though most still whispered in awe about the "Alpha Shiny" towering on the field. Daisy's eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushed pink. Gary gathered Squirtle with trembling hands, cheeks burning with humiliation.
And Bob? He just sighed, looking at Diana with a small smile. "…Good work, Diana."
Her faint smile in return was all the answer he needed.
The field was still humming with the aftershock of Diana's victory when the system's chime rolled through Bob's skull like a church bell rung inside a tin can.
[QUEST COMPLETE!]
Survive your first official battle and demonstrate restraint.
Rewards:
EXP Gained: +20
Bonus: System "balancing modifier" applied.
Item: Capsule — Pocket-Space Field
[EXP: 200 / 300 → 220 / 300]
Bob blinked at the glowing text. The numbers didn't look right. Two hundred and twenty? Out of three hundred? Didn't he just…?
His brow furrowed. "That… doesn't make sense."
{Ohohoho!} Aqua's voice trilled into his thoughts, smug enough to curdle milk. {Look at you, wrinkling your forehead like a budget accountant. Trying to line up numbers, are we?}
Bob muttered under his breath. "I'm not an idiot. It should be clean—hundred, two hundred, three hundred. What's this balancing modifier crap?"
{Oh, you sweet summer dumbass,} Aqua cackled. {You caught an Alpha Shiny level fifty as your very first partner. Did you really think the EXP bar would behave like a polite little progress tracker? No, no, no. The system had to… tweak things. Add coefficients. Overflow margins. Anti-snowball dampeners—}
"You're just stringing words together."
{Exactly! And you'll never know which ones mattered!}
Bob pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyebrow twitched. The villagers who were still watching must've thought he was just exhausted from the battle, but in his head it was like being locked in a booth with a gremlin who found sarcasm funnier than oxygen.
The system window pulsed again, dropping a small white-and-green capsule into his hand. It was smooth, glossy, no bigger than his thumb, with a tiny Pokéball insignia etched into the top.
Capsule — Pocket-Space Field
Deploy to create a pocket dimension: a stable micro-field suitable for berry cultivation and temporary Pokémon storage.
Bob rolled it between his fingers, raising an eyebrow. "So… Dragon Ball capsule meets Minecraft farm."
{And you didn't even pay DLC!} Aqua cheered. {Go ahead, click it. Throw it. Swallow it. See what happens!}
He shoved it into his pocket. "Yeah, no. Last time I trusted your advice I woke up naked in a cave."
{Aw, you do remember our bonding moment!}
He ignored her, letting the item vanish into his inventory slot with a faint shimmer.
---
Meanwhile, the villagers were starting to drift away in little knots, whispering behind their hands.
"Shiny… and Alpha?" one farmer muttered.
"Never seen the like. Kid's not from around here, I'll tell you that."
"Think he's rich? No way someone just finds a partner like that."
"My boy says he wants to catch a shiny someday!"
Gary sulked in the corner of the field, Squirtle comforted by Daisy, who crouched low to encourage him with gentle words. Oak placed a steadying hand on his grandson's shoulder, speaking quietly enough that Bob couldn't hear, but his tone was calm, grounding.
Diana, serene as ever, floated to Bob's side. She looked like she hadn't even fought at all. Her gaze swept the crowd once, then softened when it landed on him.
Bob exhaled. For the first time all day, the adrenaline began to ebb. Maybe he could finally—
The lab door slammed open.
The sound was like a whipcrack. Every head in the field turned.
A girl stood framed in the doorway, still tugging at the waistband of pajama shorts that clung to her hips. Her hair — dark, long, tied back in a loose ponytail — caught the sunlight and gleamed with the exact same shade Bob had seen on a thousand anime stills of a certain boy. Her eyes, too, sharp and familiar. But the body… curved, powerful, unashamed.
Whispers rippled through the crowd like a pebble dropped in a pond.
"Ashley Ketchum…"
"Late again…"
"Of course it'd be her."
Bob's mind blanked. His mouth moved without permission. "…Ash…ley?"
{PFFF—!} Aqua's laugh exploded like fireworks in his skull. {Oh-ho-ho! Plot twist of the century! You thought you were in the vanilla timeline? Welcome to the deluxe, gender-bent special edition! This is so much better.}
Ashley yawned, stretching lazily in the doorway, utterly unaware of the storm she'd just walked into.
Bob, still frozen, felt Diana's quiet hand brush his sleeve. Her touch was calm, grounding — the only thing keeping him from falling over as the world he thought he knew flipped upside down.
And just like that, Pallet Town's sleepy morning became anything but.