The hum of energy in Noctopolis Academy always reminded me of static — soft, restless, and faintly alive. You never really got used to it. Ghost energy clung to everything here like humidity, and even the holo-screens sometimes flickered with what teachers called "minor ethereal interference." I called it "proof that our school is definitely haunted."
"Morning, Crys," said Juno as I slid into my seat. "You hear we've got Professor Halden today? Battle Ethics."
"Sounds fun," I muttered. "Nothing gets me fired up like being told I might commit accidental Pokémon homicide."
She laughed, knowing I was joking.
The classroom lights dimmed automatically as Halden walked in — tall, gray-haired, with a posture that said he'd fought more battles than the rest of us combined. His Aegislash floated silently behind him, one golden eye gleaming in its shield.
"Good morning, students," Halden said, his voice rough but steady. "Today we'll discuss PokéCore stabilization and the ethical use of containment technology in modern battling."
Which, translated, meant: why your Pokémon doesn't actually die when it faints.
Halden tapped a rune-carved device on his desk, and a shimmering projection appeared in the air — a pulsing orb of light surrounded by concentric magical circles.
"This," he said, "is a Core Thread. It is the essence of a Pokémon's life — biological, spiritual, and elemental energy woven together. Every Pokémon has one."
The Core Thread shimmered like a heartbeat, steady and bright.
"When a trainer captures a Pokémon, the Poké Ball doesn't simply hold it," Halden continued. "It links with the Core Thread through a stabilization seal — a fusion of technology and arcane resonance. This creates what's known as the Link Seal. It's why Pokémon inside Poké Balls are effectively immortal."
The class murmured. A few kids scribbled notes; others leaned forward, fascinated.
Halden raised a hand, and the glowing thread pulsed red. "When a Pokémon takes critical damage, the Poké Ball senses the Core's collapse and activates the Link Seal's failsafe. It suspends the Core's disintegration about five percent before death. We call this being Knocked Out."
"So… KO is just a fancy way of saying 'barely not dead,'" I said before I could stop myself.
The class laughed. Halden did not.
"Correct, Mr. King," he said flatly. "Barely not dead."
Aegislash drifted past the front row, its blade humming low. I tried not to make eye contact.
Halden adjusted the projection. The orb of light began to dim, flicker, and then fade completely. "When a Pokémon is not bound to a Poké Ball," he went on, "there is no Link Seal. If the Core Thread collapses during battle, there is no safeguard, no stabilization. It dies."
The word hit the room like a Poké Ball dropped on tile. Nobody breathed for a moment.
"That," Halden said, "is why every League-certified trainer is required to scan wild Pokémon before combat. The scan records the Core Thread's frequency and allows your Poké Ball to establish a temporary resonance tether. Without it, you could easily destroy what you meant to capture."
He gave us a long, level look. "And yes, that means you would be responsible."
Juno leaned toward me. "So… we've all been playing with loaded weapons."
"Pretty much," I whispered back. "Makes the Elite Four look like a safety seminar."
"Something to say, Mr. King?" Halden asked, somehow hearing everything.
"No, sir. Just appreciating how fun this hobby really is."
A few students snickered. Aegislash's eye narrowed.
Halden tapped his desk again, and a new projection appeared — this one showing two Pokémon battling: a Luxio and a Machoke. Lines of energy connected them, red and blue threads twisting violently as they clashed.
"Observe," Halden said. "The color shift in the Core Thread indicates life-force depletion. Watch the Luxio's signal."
The Luxio's thread began to flicker, dimming toward black. A small Poké Ball hologram blinked in response, catching the thread just before it vanished. The orb's light returned to a faint yellow glow.
"That," Halden said, "is the stabilization process. The Link Seal intercepts total collapse. Revives and Potions restore energy directly into the Core Thread. But—" his gaze swept the room "—this is not limitless. A Poké Ball cannot prevent permanent death if a Core is already shattered."
I glanced at my wristband — the same device everyone used to track Pokémon health, level, and progress. I'd always thought it was a glorified smartwatch. Now it looked more like a life-support monitor.
Halden shut off the projection and clasped his hands behind his back. "Pokémon battles are not games," he said. "They are controlled duels of spirit. The League's structure, your Poké Balls, your training technology — all of it exists to prevent slaughter. Remember that."
The bell rang, shrill and merciful.
Students began to chatter again, collecting their things. A few seemed pale. Others just shrugged — it was another Tuesday to them.
I stayed in my seat a little longer, watching the now-dark holo field. Ditto shifted on my shoulder, its shiny blue surface rippling faintly like liquid sky.
"You ever get the feeling we're way too fragile for this world?" I muttered.
Ditto tilted its blob-like head and gave a tiny, sympathetic wiggle.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Same."
Outside, the halls were filled with the usual noise — footsteps, laughter, the faint hum of magic in the air. But somewhere deeper in the building, I could swear I heard something else.
A low, echoing tone. Almost like a heartbeat.
And for a moment, the lights flickered — ghost energy pulsing just under the surface of the walls, like the whole city was breathing.
I told myself it was just Noctopolis being Noctopolis. But a part of me knew better.