Gone was the chaotic wildness of the survival trial.
Gone was the easy, casual bravado of would-be trainers.
Inside these walls, there was only structure.
And pressure.
Ren moved quietly through the massive main atrium alongside the other survivors.
Above him, banners hung from the vaulted ceilings — the symbols of each region represented in deep reds, blues, and silvers.
"Move efficiently!" barked a sharp voice from the front.
Instructors in dark League coats — their rank badges gleaming at their collars — herded the cadets into rough regional groups.
Kanto-Johto to the east wings.
Hoenn to the south towers.
Sinnoh to the north courtyard.
It wasn’t hard to spot the difference even here.
The heirs of powerful families — the Stone heir, the Wateru scion, the Celestic bloodline — walked with quiet certainty, already gathering faint gravitational pulls around them.
Ren kept his pace steady and unbothered.
He bore the Oak name now — a legacy heavy with expectation.
Not a house of ancient warriors, nor a bloodline of champions.
But the name of a man whose shadow stretched across Kanto and beyond.
And with it came pressure sharp enough to crush the unworthy.
Only fire in his gut and a partner at his side would see him through.
Their first true day began not with a battle,
but with cold numbers.
An amphitheater-sized lecture hall — stark and imposing — swallowed them whole.
The headmaster stood waiting: the same scarred man who had addressed them on arrival.
At his side, a woman in deep blue armor with a fierce gaze — Instructor Vale — and a silver-haired man with a long coat and gloves — Instructor Kael.
"Listen carefully," the headmaster intoned. "This is not your children's school.
This is not a place for dreams."
He let the words settle.
"You are here to prove one thing:
That you have the right to be Trainers."
He lifted a tablet — a list flickering to life on the wall behind him.
Names.
Scores.
Ranks.
Ren scanned it quickly.
Already — even after just the survival trial —
they had been graded.
Performance, strategy, stamina, leadership, survival.
No official battles yet, and still the Academy had divided them into crude categories:
Top 10%: "Potential candidates for League endorsement."
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Middle 80%: "Standard track."
Bottom 10%: "Candidates for dismissal."
A ruthless culling system.
Efficient, Ren thought grimly.
Then it happened.
A ripple ran through the Kanto-Johto ranks as one line appeared in bright gold letters.
Ren Oak.
Whispers slithered through the crowd.
"That's Professor Oak’s boy, right?"
"Think he got here just on the name?"
"Tch, probably thinks he’s better than us."
Ren ignored them.
He was used to this already.
The Oak name carried weight — but it wasn't a shield.
It was a target.
Another thing to bear without complaint.
The headmaster continued.
"Your classes will be split accordingly.
Your instructors will evaluate you relentlessly.
Your Pokémon will be evaluated separately."
He nodded toward Instructor Vale.
The woman stepped forward, voice sharp as a blade.
"From this moment on, Pokémon are forbidden inside Academy buildings unless summoned in designated arenas, practice fields, or official testing zones.
You will treat your partners with the same discipline you are expected to show yourselves."
A low murmur ran through the room — mostly from those still clinging to childish habits.
Ren said nothing.
He already knew this.
Outside, Pokémon would roam with their trainers.
Inside, only structure.
Only discipline.
Necessary.
Fair.
Classes began immediately.
No orientation week. No hand-holding.
Ren's first schedule module blinked to life on the wrist device issued at the checkpoint:
- 6:00 AM Physical Conditioning
- 8:00 AM Battle Tactics Lecture
- 10:00 AM Survival Skills Practical
- 1:00 PM Pokémon Physiology
- 3:00 PM Open Training and Assessment
- 7:00 PM Strategy Labs (Optional — strongly recommended)
The rest of the time?
Recovery, meal planning, private study.
No free days. No holidays.
Failure to attend even one mandatory session would result in immediate probation.
Two failures meant expulsion.
Ren absorbed the information calmly.
Exactly the world he had been trained for under Oak.
Exactly the life he had chosen.
Physical Conditioning was first.
Instructor Vale led them into a brutal obstacle course built along the Academy cliffs.
High walls to climb.
Mud pits to slog through.
Timed sprints under weighted vests.
Ren gritted his teeth against the burning in his calves, the sharp jabs of stone under his palms.
At one checkpoint, Vale’s voice cut sharply:
"Move faster, Oak. You’re supposed to know better."
No favor. No mercy.
Ren said nothing — simply pushed harder, feeling the weight of expectations settle like an invisible chain across his shoulders.
Battle Tactics followed.
Instructor Kael, precise and cold, lectured not on movesets or types — but on control.
"Battle," he said, laser pointer tracing ancient maps of historic conflicts, "is not determined by strength alone.
It is determined by positioning.
Terrain.
Psychology."
He paused.
"Know your opponent.
Break their will."
Ren took furious mental notes.
This was real training.
Not League posters. Not cartoon visions of glory.
Real combat, where mistakes cost more than trophies.
Survival Skills came next — their old friend from the trial, the scarred headmaster himself leading them.
Techniques for starting fires without matches.
Identifying poisonous berries.
Splinting broken limbs.
Real survival, with no Pokétech crutches.
Ren excelled here quietly — the harsh months under Oak already giving him an edge.
The day blurred.
Lecture after lecture. Drill after drill.
By sunset, Ren’s body ached with exhaustion — but his mind blazed brighter than ever.
This wasn’t a game.
It was war.
And he loved it.
That night, outside the dormitories,
Ren sat beneath a tall oak tree, watching the stars emerge one by one across the Kanto sky.
Around him, small groups trained — Pokémon sparring under watchful eyes, cadets practicing techniques, some laughing quietly over fires.
Outside the buildings, Pokémon roamed free — partners walking alongside trainers, battling, playing under the open sky.
Inside the Academy walls, strict control reigned.
Ren respected the balance.
Freedom earned by discipline.
Strength bought with sacrifice.
Charmander sat beside him, tail flame casting a warm orange glow across the grass.
Ren pulled a berry from his pocket — a small, bitter one — and held it out.
Charmander accepted it with a grateful grunt, crunching noisily.
"Long road ahead, partner," Ren murmured.
Charmander chirped agreement, settling against his side.
Ren leaned back against the tree, feeling the slow steady rhythm of the world around him.
He wasn’t just a nameless boy anymore.
He was Ren Oak.
And if the world wanted to judge him by the weight of another man’s legacy?
Let them.
He would carve his own legend —
or be broken trying.
Above, the Academy bell tolled once — a deep, resonant sound marking the end of the first official day.
Tomorrow would be harder.
The week after harder still.
And the true battles?
They hadn’t even begun yet.