Oak Day wasn’t over yet.

  The school had declared it Pokémon Egg Day—a tradition for students aged 14 and up who hadn’t yet received their first partner. For most, it was a quiet milestone. But for one boy in particular, it was everything.

  “Ben! Nathan! Over here!”

  Mike waved furiously from across the auditorium, practically vibrating in place. He looked like he might burst if someone didn’t hand him an egg soon.

  This time, it wasn’t held in a classroom. The school had brought the dozen eligible students into the main auditorium—six from the orphanage, six from the regular classes. A simple ceremony. Quiet. Efficient.

  And final.

  Because once Mike’s class left for their journeys… the orphanage would shut down for good.

  After years of serving as a home for the parentless and forgotten, it was being officially decommissioned. The League had plans for the space. “Revamping it to suit Pallet Town’s evolving needs,” the memo had said—cold, distant, and utterly uninterested in the kids it affected.

  Ben looked around. The decorations were minimal, the lighting sterile. Even here—even at a moment that should’ve felt personal—there was a sense that this wasn’t theirs.

  It belonged to the system.

  And the system was already moving on.

  At the front of the stage stood Ms. Karen—head teacher and, according to general student consensus, one of the most irritating people in the entire school.

  She wore her usual stiff expression, the kind that made every sentence sound like a punishment. Today, that expression was paired with a League-approved smile. It didn’t help.

  The orphanage students usually lived in a bubble. They had their own schedule, their own classes, their own little world tucked into the far end of the school. Most of the time, they barely saw the rest of the student body.

  Mr. Boon handled everything related to them. He was even Mike’s teacher.

  Ben leaned toward Mike. “So... any changes? Mr. Boon still acting the same?”

  Mike looked confused. “Yeah? He’s great. Same as always. Why?”

  Ben didn’t answer at first.

  He didn’t know how to explain it—the shift in Boon’s tone, the coldness that crept into his lectures, the way he just watched things happen now. He’d chalked it up to pressure, guilt maybe. But if Mike’s class hadn’t seen that side of him...

  Then which version was real?

  Had something changed in Boon?

  Or had the mask finally slipped?

  “Nothing,” Ben said quickly. “Don’t worry about it. You need to focus on your egg. I told you this before, but... when I picked Gabe’s egg, I felt something. A connection. Maybe you should look for that too.”

  Nathan rolled his eyes. “So, you want him to end up with a hyperactive digging machine? Please. He should just go with the flow and pick whatever he wants.”

  Ben smirked. “Right. And then he’ll end up with a melodramatic Mareep who throws tantrums because the lighting is two degrees off-center.”

  Mike chimed in, “Honestly, both your Pokémon have issues. I think I’d prefer something like Reed’s. Star’s the only one who acts normal.”

  They both turned to him—and burst out laughing.

  “Okay, fair,” Ben said between chuckles. “Star is the only emotionally stable member of our entire group.”

  Before they could keep going—

  “You three. Quiet!” Ms. Karen snapped from the stage.

  Mike flinched as she fixed him with a sharp glare. “Focus on the eggs. Not your loudmouthed friends.”

  Then her gaze shifted to Ben and Nathan. It was colder.

  “And you two—this isn’t a comedy club. You’re here to witness an important acquisition, not act like you’re in your living room. Though, I suppose in your case, it practically is.”

  The entire auditorium turned to stare.

  The three of them froze in place, shifting uncomfortably as the shame rolled in like a slow, heavy fog.

  Ms. Karen began reading names off the list.

  Every time she called someone from the orphanage, her tone changed—subtly, but unmistakably laced with disdain. Ben had always known the rest of the school looked down on them, but until now, they’d at least tried to hide it. Not her. She acted like it was second nature.

  And for all of Mr. Boon’s recent changes, Ben still preferred him over her. At least for now.

  “Peter, to the stage.”

  Unlike the others who stumbled awkwardly under the pressure, Peter walked with calm confidence. He stepped up, glanced at the eggs, and picked one without hesitation—like he already knew exactly what he was looking for.

  Ms. Karen didn’t question it. In fact, Ben caught something strange. A smirk. Just for a second. Faint. Private. One she thought no one saw.

  More names were called. Eggs disappeared one by one.

  Now, only four eggs remained, and just two people left to choose.

  “Eric,” she called.

  He stepped forward, studied the eggs for a bit, then made his pick and left the stage with quiet satisfaction.

  Then, finally, came the last name.

  “Mike,” she said. But this time, her voice rang louder, biting.

  “You were supposed to be second to choose,” she added, loud enough for the whole auditorium to hear. “But those who make a mess of this day... get to go last.”

  Ben’s stomach clenched.

  Mike stood frozen for a second—then forced himself to walk up the steps. He didn’t look at anyone. He didn’t speak. He just moved, stiff and quiet.

  All he wanted to do was grab the egg and run. But he couldn’t. Not today. Not when the choice mattered so much more than the humiliation.

  Three eggs sat before him.

  At least, he thought, fewer choices meant less second-guessing.

  He reached out and picked the one on the far right.

  As soon as his fingers brushed the shell, something clicked. A faint warmth. A strange calm. It felt... right.

  Cradling the egg gently, he turned and walked back down the steps. No looking back.

  Mike could barely contain himself—he gently sprinted to the PokéCenter to get his incubator. All the embarrassment from earlier? Gone. He had his egg now. His partner. That was all that mattered.

  Meanwhile, Ben and Nathan headed back to Ben’s room to decompress from the chaos of the day.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Ben suggested they gather the rest of the group—maybe talk, laugh, get back to normal—but Nathan shot it down immediately.

  “Not with John,” he muttered, voice clipped.

  Ben didn’t push. He could see it plain as day—Nathan was pissed. Not just annoyed. Not just frustrated.

  Hurt.

  What John had done in class wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t some offhand comment or dumb rivalry. It felt deliberate. Like humiliation for humiliation’s sake.

  And for Nathan? That cut deep.

  They didn’t talk about anything important.

  Nathan clearly wasn’t in the mood. Amy had sent a message to the group chat, saying she and Reed were still hanging out at the festival, asking if anyone wanted to join.

  Ben didn’t reply.

  Nathan didn’t even look at his phone.

  He just sat in Ben’s room—silent, eyes down, shoulders heavy. The kind of silence that said don’t ask.

  So Ben didn’t.

  Eventually, Nathan got up. Said something about his meeting with Dora tomorrow. And left.

  Ben didn’t stop him. He just hoped it would help.

  A few minutes later, Mike burst into the room, looking like he’d been dragged by excitement the whole way.

  He had the world’s biggest smile on his face and zero volume control.

  “Man, I can’t believe it—I finally have my own Pokémon!” he said, half-gasping. “That’s it. That’s my life now. I’m a trainer!”

  Ben couldn’t help but smile. Just a little.

  “Congrats,” he said.

  Mike flopped onto the floor like he’d just finished a ten-hour League challenge. “But seriously… why were the rich kids in the egg lineup? You’d think with their connections; they’d be getting their starters from their family.

  Ben gave him a look. Not angry—just tired.

  “Because the League doesn’t just hand out Pokémon to whoever has the biggest bank account,” he said. “There are laws.”

  Mike blinked. “Yeah, but... don’t their families just get around those?”

  Ben sighed. “Only two families in Kanto are legally allowed to pass down Pokémon outside of League channels: the Oaks and the Rockets, and the rest get their starts either from Scholl or local gym.”

  That got Mike to sit up.

  “The Rockets? Those Rockets?”

  Ben nodded. “yep, Viridian gyn, sliph co, rochet mercanry grop the list can go on.”

  “Oh,” Mike said, trying to look like he understood any of that. “I thought… you know. Everyone with money just gave their kids some overpowered stuff at ten or whatever.”

  Ben just stared at him.

  “I’ve told you these few times already.”

  Mike gave a sheepish grin. “Yeah but seeing it in person kind of made it real.”

  Ben shook his head and leaned back. The room felt too heavy, like it had absorbed the weight of the day and decided to keep it.

  Too much change. Too much pressure. Too much of everything.

  He closed his eyes.

  “Get some rest, Mike. You’ve got an egg to hatch.”

  Ben was exhausted.

  The day had drained him—mentally, emotionally. He didn’t even let Gabe out of his Pokéball, worried his little gremlin would add chaos to the storm already in his head. He loved the guy, but right now. He needed quiet.

  Which he didn’t get.

  Because Mike couldn’t stop talking.

  Ben had no idea what kind of Pokémon Mike had gotten—but if it matched his energy, they were both going to be insufferable.

  Not his problem, though.

  That was Mike’s future headache.

  The next day, class passed in a haze. No announcements. No outbursts. Just the soft shuffle of pencils and the dull hum of lights.

  Nathan wasn’t there—off at his meeting with Dora.

  Amy, through sheer force of will and twenty increasingly passive-aggressive messages in the group chat, managed to get everyone together after school. No excuses. No delays.

  They ended up in John’s room, as usual. But something was different this time.

  Not tense. Not outright hostile. Just... cold. Distant. Like the air itself was holding its breath.

  No one said anything.

  The silence stretched. Unbearable.

  Until Amy finally had enough.

  “There’s no way we all have nothing to say,” she snapped, arms crossed. “Yesterday was a disaster, and you're seriously telling me not one of you has anything to say about it?”

  Her gaze slid to Reed.

  “Reed. How are you holding up?”

  Reed didn’t look up. His voice came low. Flat.

  “Tired,” he muttered. “Tired of this place. I just want to be done with it.”

  John leaned back in his chair, arms folded like a judge watching a trial. “Of course you are. Go join your cult already. Can’t wait to stop hearing about Aru every five minutes.”

  The word hit like a slap.

  Cult.

  Everyone flinched.

  Ben straightened in his seat. His voice was sharp. Immediate.

  “John, shut up. You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t understand the Church. Or the Cult. Not the way Reed and I do.”

  But John didn’t back down. His voice went cold.

  “I know enough. The Head Enforcer told me everything. A bunch of metal-painted zealots who pretend they're holy while playing God.”

  That was it.

  Reed’s eyes sparked. He stood like something inside him had snapped.

  “Oh, here we go. The League’s favorite pet.” His voice rose with each word. “You know what? I don’t give a shit anymore.”

  He stepped forward, fists clenched, jaw tight.

  “The Church is the oldest structured force in the world. Older than the Cult. Older than the League. The first real trainers? They came from us. The League didn’t invent anything—they stole it. Repackaged it. The entire system is Church-born. We're not the problem. The League’s just a hollow imitation that never understood what it took.”

  John stood up to meet him, chin high.

  “You mean that dusty old power that stood around doing nothing while trainers got mocked and dismissed?”

  Reed shot back without missing a beat. “No. I mean the force that offered guidance, not control. While your League was putting up statues and flexing badges, the Church was out there fighting the Cult. Giving people hope when no one else would.”

  Amy stepped between them, hands up.

  “Guys. Please.” Her voice was calm, but strained. “I know you don’t agree, but screaming at each other isn’t going to help. And Reed—don’t forget, the school didn’t approve you sharing anything from your meeting.”

  Reed took a shaky breath. His eyes didn’t soften.

  “Thanks, Amy. I know you mean it. But I’m done playing nice. The school doesn’t want me to talk because they know the truth. The Church isn't some back-alley belief system. Its roots run deeper than the League’s foundation.”

  He turned to John, voice razor-sharp.

  “They just want to finish their little brainwashing program before anyone starts asking questions. And hey, they did a damn good job on you, didn’t they?”

  John’s eyes narrowed, jaw clenched.

  “Oh, look at you—‘we are the true faith,’ ‘we were here first.’ Spare me the speech. You manipulate people through fear and devotion. Me? I give back to what saved me. You’re just a bitter, sanctimonious asshole who couldn’t handle being told no.”

  From the corner, Nathan’s voice cut through the noise.

  Quiet. Cold.

  “You were supposed to be my friend.”

  John froze.

  Nathan stood. His hands were shaking, but his stare didn’t waver. There was no softness in it. Just betrayal.

  “You laughed at me,” he said. “You made me a joke. Because I asked questions. Because I didn’t blindly cheer for the League.”

  He stepped forward.

  “You think that makes me weak? You think caring makes me soft? No. What it makes me... is not like you.”

  John scoffed. “Oh, the weasel finds his spine. That’s rich. ‘Humane,’ you call it? You mean those leeches from the old government who tried to grab power they didn’t earn? Washed-up trainers who couldn’t cut it and tried to run things anyway?”

  As they fought, Ben stood up quietly.

  Amy turned fast, eyes wide. “Ben? Where are you going? Help me stop this—they’re off the rails!”

  Ben didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even sound angry.

  Just... tired.

  “Amy... I know you want to help. You always do. But this? This group? It’s done.”

  Silence.

  “It’s been coming for a while now. We can’t even sit in the same room without turning it into a warzone.”

  He exhaled. Slow. Measured.

  “I just want to take down the Cult. That’s it. I don’t care about politics. I don’t care about who’s right. I just want the Cult gone. And if we can’t even agree on that anymore... then I’m out.”

  And with that, he walked away.

  The silence that followed was a void.

  No yelling. No protest.

  Just the quiet realization that something had broken—and this time, it might not come back.

  One by one, they left the room.

  Quiet steps. Closed doors.

  Until only John remained, jaw clenched, alone with the echo of everything he couldn’t say out loud.

  After a long minute, he stood.

  And walked to the principal’s office.