For the outside world, the examination had already begun.
The livestream had gone live several minutes earlier, cameras switching seamlessly between aerial shots of the five islands, control rooms filled with analysts, and the broadcast desk where Ritu stood at the center of it all. She wore the calm expression of someone who knew exactly how many eyes were on her—and how much responsibility that carried.
"Good morning," she said, voice steady and composed, as the viewer count climbed at a staggering pace. "What you're about to witness is the practical entrance examination for the Pokémon Academy. This is not a simulation. It is not staged. And it is not a game."
Behind her, a massive display showed the five islands from above, each one ringed by surveillance drones and perimeter markers. Smaller windows displayed the helicopters still in transit, each carrying groups of entrants toward their assigned drop zones.
Ritu continued smoothly, reiterating the rules Aakash had already explained to the students, but this time framed for a global audience that included parents, aspiring trainers, analysts, and governments alike. She detailed the battle point system, the colored scarves, and the three-day survival period, making sure the viewers understood that victory alone was not the sole metric being judged.
"However," she added, shifting tone slightly, "there are additional evaluation criteria that the entrants themselves are not aware of."
That single sentence caused an immediate spike in engagement.
"These examinations are not being judged only on battles," Ritu explained. "Examiners will also be monitoring how each entrant treats their own Pokémon, how they engage with wild Pokémon, and how they respond to victory, defeat, fear, and exhaustion."
Behind the scenes, data feeds scrolled rapidly as behavioral analysts and senior trainers prepared to evaluate every meaningful interaction. Displays tracked stress indicators, Pokémon responsiveness, decision-making under pressure, and patterns of aggression or restraint.
"This is an academy," Ritu continued, "not a recruitment drive for mercenaries. Power without responsibility is failure."
She allowed that to sink in before moving on.
"There is one more element to today's examination that has not yet been revealed to the public," she said, glancing briefly toward a secondary screen. "As part of recent international negotiations, a limited number of foreign candidates have been granted entry into this practical examination."
The chat exploded.
Ritu raised a hand slightly, signaling patience.
"Twenty foreign students, selected by their respective Pokémon authorities, are participating alongside Indian entrants today," she clarified. "Their performance here will determine whether they are eligible to join the Academy under an international exchange framework."
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
"This decision was not made lightly. It reflects a belief that Pokémon-related challenges will not respect national borders—and that cooperation must begin with shared standards."
As the countdown clock appeared on screen, ticking steadily toward zero, Ritu shifted to answering a few of the rapidly rising viewer questions. She addressed concerns about student safety, explaining the layered rescue systems and emergency protocols in place, including rapid-response teams stationed offshore and in the air.
When asked whether this exam favored brute strength, she answered without hesitation.
"No," she said firmly. "Entrants who rely solely on aggression will not last long here. Adaptability, restraint, and judgment will matter far more."
The final minutes passed quickly.
Behind her, the helicopter feeds showed doors sliding open as soldiers prepared the rappelling lines. The islands below looked deceptively calm, sunlight reflecting off the ocean as if nothing extraordinary was about to happen.
"Five minutes remaining," Ritu announced. "In just a moment, one thousand entrants will step into zones where preparation meets reality."
She looked directly into the camera.
"This examination will not show you who is strongest," she said. "It will show you who is ready."
The countdown hit its final seconds.
And all across the world, millions leaned forward—waiting to see who would descend first.
At that very moment, Aakash sat inside a secured viewing room, far removed from the roar of helicopters and the nervous energy of the islands below. Floor-to-ceiling screens displayed live feeds from all five exam zones, tactical overlays, and real-time data streams tracking entrants and Pokémon alike. Around him sat the representatives of the allied nations—some relaxed, some stiff, all paying close attention.
They had already met the previous night.
Most of the negotiations had been concluded then, after hours of discussion that stretched late into the night. Cooperation frameworks had been outlined, information-sharing protocols agreed upon, and mutual commitments against organizations like Earth Liberation formally documented. Only one issue remained unresolved by the time the meeting adjourned.
Pricing.
The cost of Pokéball technology, medical supplies, training systems, and academy access had become the final point of contention, with each nation pushing subtly—but firmly—for better terms.
Aakash had resolved it in a way none of them expected.
Instead of continuing to debate percentages and trade quotas, he had proposed a wager.
Earlier that morning, he had placed a sealed digital document on the table and activated it in full view of everyone present. The screen displayed ten names—ten Indian students selected from among the strongest candidates entering the practical examination.
"These are ours," Aakash had said calmly. "Not champions. Not symbols. Just students."
He had then outlined the terms.
For every Indian student defeated by a foreign candidate during the practical examination, that nation would receive a five percent discount on Indian Pokémon-related products and technologies. The reduction would stack, applied uniformly across approved exports.
And in return—
"For every Indian student who defeats one of yours," Aakash had continued evenly, "India receives the same five percent reduction on imports from your country."
The room had gone quiet.
It was not a symbolic gesture. It was measurable, enforceable, and tied directly to the outcomes of real combat under standardized observation.
After a long pause, the representatives had agreed.
Some with confidence.
Some with caution.
Some with thinly veiled competitiveness.
What surprised Aakash least was how quickly the wager escalated. Once the framework was accepted, additional side agreements were placed between nations themselves, each quietly betting on the strength of their future trainers and the systems that shaped them.
Now, as the countdown to deployment ticked closer to zero, the atmosphere in the viewing room had shifted.
This was no longer just an entrance examination.
It was a proving ground.
Every battle unfolding on those islands would now echo far beyond academy admissions, influencing trade routes, diplomatic leverage, and the balance of power in a world still learning how to live with Pokémon.
Aakash leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes moving across the screens as the first rappelling lines dropped.
He had not gambled recklessly.
He had gambled on preparation.
On culture.
On restraint.
And on the belief that how a nation trained its students said far more about its future than any treaty ever could.
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