Ethan's mind raced. He couldn't stall — the longer he waited, the worse any explanation would sound.
Time to gamble. He hadn't expected the golden finger's Poké Ball to hide a trap like this. He'd have to be more careful.
"Houndour was given to me a few hours ago," he said evenly. "My dad came up here to catch me a starter and didn't come back. I followed — ran into an Ekans outside and almost died. A middle-aged guy saved me and tossed me this Ball. He told me to use Houndour to beat the Ekans…but when I looked for him afterward, he was gone. I never returned the Ball.
"So I assumed he meant to give me Houndour. We clicked instantly, and I… I need a partner if I'm going to make Trainer High School."
Ethan held Lincoln Ward's gaze, eyes steady, no guilt showing.
He was betting Lincoln had tunneled here and missed whatever happened in the forest earlier. If he'd guessed wrong, there wasn't much else he could say; the timing of Houndour's appearance was terrible. Anyone checking his movements would see there'd been no chance to arrange this in advance. A breeder-bought Houndour? Out of the question for a farmer's kid — and admitting that would be begging for an investigation.
So the only plausible window was after he entered North Ridge.
Lincoln idly tossed the Ball, eyes narrowed. The cave felt smaller, the silence heavier. Ethan reminded himself: Don't fidget. Don't rush. Tell one clean story and stick to it.
I'm telling the truth. Houndour was a gift. The illegal Ball isn't mine.
Minute by minute, Lincoln found no crack in Ethan's face. At length he flipped the Ball back. Ethan caught it without a flinch.
"You've got spine," Lincoln said. "I believe you."
"I mean… I am telling the truth," Ethan replied with a helpless shrug.
"If this were any other day, I wouldn't sweat a small infraction," Lincoln added. "But today? I can't ignore it. Be glad your partner is Dark/Fire. If it were Psychic, I'd be hauling you in to cool your heels."
Ethan kept his questions to himself. Curiosity kills the Skitty.
"Thanks for not arresting me," he said lightly. "I'd like to actually sit my entrance exam."
"Don't thank me yet," Lincoln said, expression hardening. "Because of this unregistered Ball, I can't just hand you the egg and walk. That shell holds Heavenly-King-tier solar power. I'm not about to feed the enemy."
So that's why he agreed so fast, Ethan thought. They don't realize what the egg really is.
"Still," Lincoln went on, "I'm a Rock specialist. Keeping it's useless to me. Here's my offer: battle me. If you win, I'll return the egg to you in a few days when the mess is cleaned up. If you lose, it wasn't meant for you."
Ethan glanced at the Rhydon behind him and swallowed a curse. That thing had to be at least mid-40s. The bracelet scan came back: Level 56. Professional-tier. Houndour had no business with that.
Lincoln read his look and lifted a hand. "Relax. I'm not using Rhydon. We'll keep it balanced."
Outside the cave, Lincoln had checked on Mark Rivers — stable, recovering — then stepped onto clear ground to face Ethan.
"Houndour is Fire/Dark. I specialize in Rock — I've got advantage. So I'll send this."
A red beam flashed; a squat, puppy-sized Pokémon thudded down: dark gray body, head, feet, and back plated in steel.
Aron. Steel/Rock. People once forged armor from its cast-off helm.
Ethan's first instinct was to complain — even if Lincoln threw the Pacific Ocean, Houndour's current toolkit couldn't dent solid steel. But the bracelet pinged: Level 10. Awkward range — and winnable.
"I'm taking the first move!" Ethan called.
"Houndour — keep your distance. Ember control!"
A caster versus a tank with absurd physical defense. Fine — play the map and the fire.
Lincoln's mouth quirked. "Solid fundamentals. Fast reads. Not bad."
Sparks peppered the ground and flared to life. With Flash Fire, Houndour herded the blaze, circling Aron in heat. Steel conducts; the shell grew uncomfortably hot.
"Aron, Water Pulse!" Lincoln said calmly.
Ethan swore inwardly. So that's why the Rock kid taught a counter. The thin air here held little moisture thanks to the egg's heat, and Houndour had burned the hollow once already — but Aron still coaxed dew into trembling beads, then pulsed them outward in rippling rings.
"Dodge!" Ethan blurted — then grimaced. A radial wave hits everywhere unless you're out of range.
The blast bowled Houndour over; it tumbled, landed drenched, panting.
"Run wide! Seed the ground with Embers — stoke the heat and look for your opening!"
Houndour sprang up, darted through its own fire lines, and spat more embers into Aron's plates. The steel blushed red in spots; Aron winced.
Burn. The status finally stuck.
Aron tried to retaliate, but it was a tortoise; Houndour was a shadow. The little hellhound kept it penned in, the temperature climbing.
Lincoln's eyes narrowed. "If I don't show a trick, I lose. Stealth Rock!"
Aron growled — invisible stones glittered into the arena. Houndour, sprinting hard, clipped one and stumbled; the bone brow plate saved it from splitting skin.
"Now — Headbutt!"
Aron lowered its helm and charged. Even burned, a clean hit would floor Houndour.
Ethan didn't blink. He waited until the last second. "Fire Spin — now! Pull it tight!"
Houndour shook off the daze, locked on, and exhaled a spiraling column of flame, amplifying it with Flash Fire. The ring gulped every stray tongue of fire and swelled into a roaring vortex that swallowed Aron whole.
Lincoln's eyebrows flicked up. He hadn't expected a fresh Houndour to be sitting on Fire Spin as an egg move.
Aron strained but couldn't break free. For a heavier Lairon, the little cyclone might've failed — but here it held.
Lincoln raised his hand. "Alright. I yield."
Ethan snapped orders — Houndour dispersed the vortex and damped the surrounding flames before they cooked Aron further.
Lincoln recalled his battered partner. "Good match," he said simply. Without another word, he whistled to Rhydon. The drill horn spun; earth crumbled, and the two tunneled away.
He'd send the Volcarona egg back — along with the Solganium Z bounty — in a few days.
Ethan stared after them. "Is that guy part Rattata? Why does he only travel underground?"
He winced and spent 300 energy on a Potion for Houndour. Painful — but it was a multi-use atomizer and worked wonders.
Judging the villagers would be close, he had Houndour climb the slope and howl to guide them in.
About ten minutes later, a search party arrived — Mr. Carter leading, with the village Poochyena, Shadow, at his heel.
Mr. Carter checked Mark Rivers and exhaled when he saw the poison had broken. "Ethan, don't you ever do that again. I saw the Ekans corpse. Without this little guy, you'd be gone."
He fixed Ethan with a stern look, then flashed Houndour a grateful smile. The pup puffed up, tail high, rubbing against Ethan's leg for praise.
"I know, Mr. Carter. I rushed it," Ethan said, accepting the scolding.
More neighbors arrived; they rigged a burlap stretcher and carried Mark back.
At home, Mrs. Rivers nearly fainted at the sight. Only after Mr. Carter and Ethan explained, and she checked Mark's breathing and color, did she calm.
By the time the men laid Mark on the bed, night had fallen. Mr. Carter helped settle things, then clapped Ethan's shoulder. "You take it from here," he said, and left.
Ethan and his mom worked another hour — washing Mark, misting Antidote on punctures, trickling Pecha-tinged juice between his lips — before they finally had a moment to breathe.
Back in his room, Ethan fed Houndour two Oran Berries from their own trees. The pup curled up, content. Ethan sank onto the mattress and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Day one of being a trainer — three real battles — and he was utterly spent.