Then he turned and kept running, disappearing into the snow alongside the female member.
"Wait!" I called out, but my voice was weak, and they were already gone.
I stood there in the snow, holding my unconscious partner, staring at the spot where Brock had vanished, trying to process what I'd just witnessed.
A sound made me look up.
The Garchomp was moving, and I tensed instinctively. But it wasn't approaching me. It was turning, looking back toward something behind it.
A woman sat atop the Garchomp's back, and as I watched, she dismounted with grace, landing in the snow without a sound despite dropping.
She was tall—easily five-ten—with an elegant build.
Long, creamy blonde hair fell past her shoulders. Her eyes were gray, sweeping across the scene and taking in every detail in seconds.
Her outfit was black and form-fitting, which made her unmistakably attractive. It was designed for movement—I could see that in how she carried herself—but it also accentuated her figure in ways that were definitely intentional.
High collar, sleeveless to show toned arms, pants that hugged her legs, and boots designed for both fashion and function.
She moved with the confidence of someone who knew she was the most powerful person in any room she entered. Every step was controlled.
And those gray eyes settled on me as she looked me up and down.
"That was brave," she said, her voice smooth and measured, carrying easily across the snow-covered clearing.
She approached, and I became acutely aware that I was still holding Gible in something resembling a combat stance despite having no way to fight.
"Reckless," she continued, stopping about ten feet away. "But brave."
She tilted her head slightly, studying me, and I saw her lips curve into a slight smile. "You ran at two Team Rocket members with a single Pokémon, knowing you were outmatched." A pause. "Either you're very courageous, or very stupid. I haven't decided which yet."
"I couldn't just let them take him," I said, nodding toward the boy who was still recovering behind us, struggling to remove the blindfold with bound hands.
"No," she agreed, taking another step closer. "I suppose you couldn't."
Her gaze shifted to the unconscious Gible in my arms, and her expression changed. Curiosity replaced amusement, fascination overtaking her assessment.
She moved closer still, until she was only a few feet away, and then she crouched slightly to get a better look at Gible.
"Is that," she said slowly, "a Gible?"
"Yes."
"And it's red."
"Crimson," I corrected automatically.
Her eyes snapped up to meet mine, and there was genuine interest there now. Not just curiosity. "I've studied Dragon-types my entire life," she said. "I've seen Gible from every documented population across four regions. I have never seen coloration like this."
She reached out slowly, asking permission with her eyes before actually touching. When I didn't object, her fingers traced one of Gible's scales, running along the metallic surface with careful precision.
I observed her expression transition—from surprise, to wonder, and subsequently to a state of realization.
"These aren't just colored differently," she said quietly. "The composition is different. This is steell."
"Dragon and Steel type," I confirmed.
She looked up at me sharply. "That's impossible. Gible is Dragon and Ground type. Always. Without exception."
"Not this one."
She stood, and now she was looking at me with an entirely different kind of interest. Not just curiosity about a rare Pokémon.
"You've been carrying that Gible for—what, five minutes now? Since it fainted?" She glanced back at the hill in the distance, then at me. "You ran down that hill. Confronted two criminals. Stood your ground against a Level 20 Steelix. And you're standing there holding your partner without even breathing hard."
I suddenly became aware of what she was observing. The weight in my arms that should be exhausting me. The lack of trembling in my muscles. The fact that I'd carried Gible at a full sprint down a snow-covered hill and wasn't gasping for breath.
"I..." I started, then didn't know how to finish.
She advanced, allowing me to discern the intricate details of her gray eyes and perceive a delicate, floral fragrance.
"Most new trainers," she said, her voice dropping slightly, becoming more intimate, "can barely lift their Pokémon when they faint. The adrenaline helps, of course. But you're not shaking or struggling." Her hand reached out, and I felt her fingers touch my shoulder, a light contact that somehow felt weighted with significance. "Like it weighs nothing at all."
'She's noticing too much,' I thought. 'I need to redirect this conversation.'
"Who are you?" I asked, though I had a strong suspicion I already knew.
The slight smile returned, and she let her hand trail down from my shoulder to my arm, the touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary before she pulled away. "Cynthia," she said. "Champion of the Sinnoh region."
She extended her hand formally, and when I shifted Gible's weight to shake it, I noticed her eyes tracking the movement, noting how easily I adjusted to the burden with just one arm.
"Samael Oak."
Her eyebrow rose. "Oak? As in Professor Oak?"
"My grandfather."
"That's quite interesting," she remarked. Her hand lingered in mine for a moment longer than might be typical before she withdrew it, and I noticed a fleeting expression in her eyes that seemed to combine thoughtfulness, curiosity, and perhaps a hint of appeal.
"So you're not just some random brave idiot. You're Professor Oak's grandson, carrying an impossibly rare Dragon-Steel Gible variant, with physical capabilities that don't match your build."
She took yet another step closer.
Her hand returned to my arm, this time more gentle, her fingers pressing against the muscle there as if testing something.
"Strong," she said softly, and I caught her biting her lower lip briefly, a gesture that seemed unconscious but spoke volumes.
"Brave. And apparently willing to throw yourself at impossible odds to save someone you don't even know."
Her gray eyes locked with mine, and I felt pinned by the intensity of her gaze.