James POV

  I pushed open the glass doors of the Pokécenter, the cool blast of air conditioning washing over me like a welcome relief from the sweltering heat outside. Dune, my Trapinch, sat perched on my shoulder, his round head bobbing slightly as he adjusted his weight. His stubby legs dangled lazily, and I could feel his jaws tightening occasionally on the strap of my backpack to keep his balance. At my feet, Scorch, my Torchic, darted around with quick, hopping steps, chirping happily, as if he hadn’t already burned through half his energy on today’s long trek.

  Alex, as usual, had taken the easy route, already stowing his Grovyle and Lotad in their Pokéballs. That left me to handle check-in.

  The Pokécenter wasn’t just a hospital for Pokémon—it was a sanctuary for trainers. A place where you could heal, recharge, plan, and even socialize. The best part? It was all free for anyone with a trainer’s license.

  The lobby was brightly lit, with clean white walls accented by cheerful pops of color—blue signs, red sofas, and vibrant posters advertising local tournaments and contests. A faint hum from the healing machines mixed with the soft chatter of trainers swapping stories. In one corner, a café bustled quietly, the aroma of fresh coffee and pastries drifting over the faintly sterile scent of disinfectant.

  Dune remained calm as ever on my shoulder, his big, round eyes scanning the room with curiosity. Meanwhile, Scorch was his usual energetic self, chirping excitedly at the sight of other trainers and Pokémon. He flapped his tiny wings and darted ahead a few steps, hopping around like a child in a candy store.

  “Hey, stay close,” I said, scooping Scorch up before he got under someone’s feet. He let out a squawk of protest but quickly settled into my arms, fluffing his warm feathers and peering around, his curiosity undiminished.

  Behind the counter stood Nurse Joy, her kind smile as familiar and reassuring as ever. Rows of healing machines flickered softly behind her, their lights pulsing in a soothing rhythm as they worked to restore Pokémon to full health. A line of trainers stretched out in front of her desk, though it moved quickly as each trainer handed off their Pokéballs.

  I joined the line, glancing around the room as I waited. Trainers were scattered throughout the lobby—some slouched in chairs, their heads tilted back in exhaustion, while others huddled over tables with maps spread out before them, planning their next destinations. A few Pokémon lounged on the floor, napping contentedly beside their trainers, while others played or shared snacks.

  Dune let out a soft clicking sound, his way of expressing contentment. Scorch, now calm in my arms, chirped quietly and nuzzled into my chest, his feathers warm and comforting against me. Moments like this—quiet, filled with promise—reminded me why I’d chosen this journey.

  Finally, it was my turn. I reluctantly returned Dune and Scorch to their Pokéballs, the glossy spheres gleaming under the bright lobby lights. There was always something unsettling about handing them over, even though I knew they were in good hands. To me, they weren’t just my Pokémon—they were family.

  Nurse Joy’s smile didn’t waver as she took the Pokéballs, giving me a practiced nod. “We’ll have them fully healed and ready for you in about two hours,” she said, her voice calm and soothing.

  She handed the Pokéballs off to a Chansey behind her, who cradled them with its stubby arms and waddled over to the healing machines. The quiet whirring of the machines began as the process started, but I couldn’t help the faint twinge of unease in my chest. No matter how many times I visited a Pokécenter, letting Dune and Scorch out of my sight always left me feeling exposed.

  I stepped away from the counter, my hand instinctively brushing over the now-empty slots on my belt. Alex joined the line next, handing over his Pokémon with his usual casual air. I leaned against the wall nearby, my eyes wandering across the room again. Other trainers went through the same routine, their faces a mix of relief and exhaustion as they entrusted their Pokémon to the staff.

  Alex finished quickly and rejoined me, his grin as wide as ever. His dark blue sweatshirt seemed way too warm for the day, but he didn’t appear to care. With his hands stuffed into its front pocket, he bounced over to me with his usual energy.

  “So,” he began, dragging the word out like he always did when he was being playful. “What do you want to do now that we’ve handed over our Pokémon?” His grin widened as he tilted his head, clearly expecting me to have some elaborate plan.

  I crossed my arms and tapped my chin, pretending to think it over. Truthfully, I hadn’t given it much thought. Without Dune and Scorch at my side, I felt oddly aimless, like a piece of me was missing. Normally, they were my first consideration in any decision. My eyes drifted to the café in the corner, where trainers were sipping coffee and munching on pastries. My stomach gave a faint growl, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since early that morning.

  “I don’t know,” I said, drawing out the words as much as Alex had, just to tease him. “Maybe grab something to eat?”

  Alex nodded thoughtfully, mimicking my pose in an exaggerated way, his fingers rubbing his chin. “Hmm, food’s not a bad idea. But…” He trailed off, his grin turning mischievous. “You sure you don’t want to hit the arcade? You’ve got a lot to make up for after that embarrassing loss in the tournament.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Embarrassing? If I remember correctly, it was a close battle. And you had both a type advantage and a more experienced Pokémon.”

  “Excuses, excuses,” Alex laughed, lightly punching my arm. “C’mon, admit it—I’m just better than you at battling.”

  I smirked, shaking my head. “Off one battle? Please.”

  His grin turned predatory. “Oh yeah? Then how about a rematch? Let’s settle this once and for all.”

  I mirrored his grin. “Fine. Once we get our Pokémon back, you’re on.”

  “Deal.”

  The lighthearted banter eased the awkwardness I’d felt since handing over my Pokémon. It reminded me that even without Dune and Scorch by my side for the moment, I wasn’t alone. Alex could be insufferable, but he was also my best friend, and moments like this made traveling with him worth it.

  “Alright,” I said after a pause, pushing off the wall. “Let’s grab some food first. Then I’ll wipe that smug look off your face at the arcade.”

  “Oh, you’re so on,” Alex shot back, his grin somehow widening.

  We headed toward the café, the smell of coffee and pastries growing stronger with each step. The warmth of the atmosphere, mixed with the promise of food and the familiar comfort of Alex’s teasing, was enough to lift my mood. Maybe two hours without Dune and Scorch wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  The café was cozy, tucked into the corner of the Pokécenter like a hidden retreat for weary trainers. A round wooden sign above the counter read The Sleepy Snorlax Café in swirling green letters, and the menu was decorated with doodles of Pokémon sipping steaming mugs. The air smelled of roasted berries and something sweet, maybe honey. Behind the counter, a jittery Ambipom used its tails to wipe down the surface while its trainer, a young barista with a neat apron and a name tag that read “Kara,” worked the register.

  Alex was already scanning the menu overhead, his hands shoved deep into his sweatshirt pocket, as I lagged a step behind. Each item was named after a Pokémon-related thing —Moomoo Milk Latte, Shiny Swirlix Shake, Pinap Berry Cold Brew. I glanced at the colorful chalkboard and immediately felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of options.

  “What are you getting?” Alex asked, tilting his head toward me but not taking his eyes off the menu.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, squinting at the board. “What’s a Gogoat Grass Tea even supposed to taste like?”

  “Grass, probably,” Alex said with a snort. He leaned back slightly, giving me a sidelong grin. “C’mon, James, live a little. Bet you’d like it. You’ve got that ‘I drink green tea and meditate by waterfalls’ vibe.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Says the guy who still drinks plain black coffee. And not even from a café! I still don’t understand why you bought those instant packets back in Oldale just to make your own.”

  “Classic is timeless,” Alex shot back smoothly, smirking as he took a step forward. “Besides, those packets aren’t that bad. They’re actually pretty good. You should try it sometime. Watch and learn how to order coffee.”

  “What!? I know how to order things!”

  “Sure you do.”

  Alex walked up to the counter with the kind of confident stride that always made me wonder if he ever second-guessed himself about anything. Kara, the barista, greeted him with a polite smile, but before she could even get a word out, Alex leaned an elbow on the counter and pointed at the menu with his other hand.

  “I’ll take a Moomoo Milk Latte,” he said, not even glancing at the board anymore. “Extra foam. Oh, and toss in a Torchic Tartelette too.” He turned to me with a cheeky grin and added, “Gotta match someone’s team, right?” He winked as if I didn’t already know who he was talking about.

  Kara blinked, looking mildly amused, then nodded as she keyed in his order. “Good choice. Anything else?”

  Alex glanced over his shoulder at me. “Nah, I’m covering his too. It’s not like he’s gonna order anything expensive.”

  “Hey,” I said, stepping up beside him, “I can pay for my own—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Alex interrupted with a casual wave of his hand. “Consider it a preemptive apology for beating you at the arcade later.”

  I shot him a look but didn’t argue. Instead, I turned my attention to the menu again. Kara’s patient gaze was on me, and I could feel the pressure to make a quick decision. The sheer number of options didn’t help.

  “Uh, I’ll have…” My eyes flicked over the menu, scanning for something that wouldn’t make me regret my choice. Poké Puffs à la Mode? Too much. Combee Honey Espresso? Too sweet. I finally landed on something simple. “A Chesto Berry Brew, hot.”

  Kara gave me a nod and rang up the order, her expression neutral but professional. She handed Alex his receipt and gestured toward the counter where orders were picked up. An Ambipom behind the counter was already at work, its twin tails moving with the practiced precision of a master barista.

  Alex leaned against the wall near the pickup station, unwrapping his Torchic Tartelette with the same enthusiasm he had for everything. The pastry was shaped like a Torchic’s head, complete with vibrant orange frosting and two tiny chocolate eyes.

  “Man, they nailed the design on this,” Alex said, holding it up for me to see before taking a big bite. “Tastes as good as it looks too.”

  I crossed my arms, watching as he devoured it like he hadn’t eaten all day. “Do you ever slow down? At this rate, you’re gonna burn your mouth on that latte as soon as it’s ready.”

  “Nah,” Alex said through a mouthful of frosting, waving me off. “I’m a professional. And unlike you, I actually know how to enjoy life.”

  Before I could fire back, the Ambipom slid our drinks onto the counter with a dramatic flourish, spinning one of its tails like it was performing a trick. Alex grabbed his latte without hesitation, blowing on the foam before taking a cautious sip.

  “Perfect,” he said, licking a bit of foam off his upper lip. “Bet you’re wishing you ordered this instead of whatever boring thing you got.”

  I picked up my Chesto Berry Brew, the heat seeping through the cardboard sleeve. The deep, earthy aroma hit me immediately, rich and slightly bitter, but surprisingly inviting. I took a small sip, the robust flavor warming me from the inside out.

  “I think I’m good,” I said, savoring the drink.

  Alex shrugged, already halfway through his latte. “Suit yourself. Don’t blame me when you fall asleep during our rematch and the arcade game.”

  “Bold of you to assume you’re winning either,” I shot back, a small grin tugging at my lips.

  We found a table by the window, the glass slightly fogged from the contrast between the chilled interior and the blazing heat outside. Outside, trainers passed by on the sidewalk with their Pokémon trotting alongside them, while others lingered near the café with drinks and snacks in hand.

  Alex leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out lazily as he crumpled the empty pastry wrapper in his hand. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it into the nearby trash bin, hitting the mark effortlessly. “Alright,” he said, settling back into his seat, “what’s the plan after the arcade? You wanna head to the next Route tomorrow, or should we stick around town a bit longer? You know maybe vist faimly and other such things. And of course, we will have that rematch at some point.”

  I took another sip of my drink, the warmth spreading through me, and thought for a moment. Tomorrow’s destination could wait—for now, the day ahead was still wide open.

  I glanced down at my cup, watching the steam curl lazily into the air. “Let’s see how we feel after tonight,” I said casually. “We should probably visit family or take care of other things, like stopping by the gym or resupply—either today or tomorrow. I want to get moving toward the first gym soon, but who knows? Maybe you’ll need an extra week to recover from your crushing defeat.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Alex laughed, loud and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that turned heads and drowned out the hum of conversation around us.

  As we stepped out of The Sleepy Snorlax Café, the warm glow of the setting sun bathed the street in hues of amber and gold. The city was alive with its usual sounds: trainers chatting, the occasional bark of a Lillipup, and the faint hum of bicycles rattling along the cobblestone road. Behind us, the Pokécenter’s iconic red roof gleamed in the fading light, a constant and comforting landmark no matter where our journey took us.

  Alex stretched his arms over his head, letting out a satisfied sigh. “Alright,” he said, adjusting his sweatshirt and glancing at me. “What’s next? We’ve got two hours to kill before we pick up the team. What’s the plan, fearless leader?”

  I snorted, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets. “You’re the guy who always has a plan. I figured you’d already mapped out the next five hours of our lives.”

  “Usually, yeah,” Alex said with a confident smirk, falling into step beside me as we started walking down the street. “But I thought I’d let you call the shots for once. Y’know, so you can feel like you contribute something every now and then.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Generous of you.”

  He shrugged, his hands stuffed into the front pocket of his sweatshirt as he strolled with the kind of relaxed confidence that made it seem like he was always one step ahead. “I aim to please.”

  We walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the city shifting around us as the day wound down. The streetlights began to flicker on, their soft glow cutting through the deepening dusk. A vendor on the corner was selling Tamato Berry skewers, the spicy aroma drifting toward us on the breeze. Above, a flock of Wingull soared through the sky, their sharp cries piercing the fading orange and purple hues.

  Alex kicked a stray pebble down the road, glancing sideways at me. “So? Got any big ideas, or should we just head straight to the arcade so I can wipe the floor with you?”

  I shot him a sidelong look, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “You’re awfully confident for someone who hasn’t even seen me play video games.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Alex said with a dramatic flourish, holding his hand up as if to swear an oath. “I’m simply the greatest when it comes to arcade games. In fact, I might as well be the greatest at everything.”

  “Uh-huh.” I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face. “What about warmups? You’re gonna need those so you don’t start complaining about being ‘out of touch’ or ‘washed up.’”

  “Obviously,” Alex replied with mock seriousness, nodding as if I’d made a valid point. “You can’t rush greatness.”

  “You mean mediocrity?”

  He laughed, the sound ringing out into the cool evening air. “Alright, big talker. Just don’t forget who won the tournament. Let’s settle this—arcade it is.”

  I shook my head, smirking as we walked on. The quiet streets buzzed with energy, the city alive and electric, and for now, the promise of competition was all we needed.

  I nodded, feeling a spark of excitement at the idea. It was a rare chance to kick back and do something fun, something that didn’t involve wild Pokémon or battling. And, okay, maybe I wasn’t the best at arcade games, but there was no way I was going to let Alex win without a fight.

  The street curved ahead, and the neon glow of the arcade sign came into view. Zapdos’ Arcade flashed in bright yellow letters, outlined by a jagged, electric-blue border. The entrance was buzzing with activity—trainers clustered outside, laughing and talking, while a Voltorb-themed claw machine by the door caught the attention of a group of kids. Inside, I could see the glow of screens and hear the familiar beeps and sound effects of battling games.

  Alex quickened his pace, his usual swagger kicking in as we approached the entrance. “This,” he said, gesturing toward the arcade with a dramatic wave of his hand, “is where legends are made. You ready to lose, or do you need a minute to prepare yourself?”

  I smirked, brushing past him toward the door. “Oh, I’m ready. The real question is, are you?”

  He scoffed, falling into step behind me. “You’re lucky we’re in public. I’d say something really clever right now, but I don’t want to embarrass you in front of everyone.”

  “Sure, sure,” I said, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

  The warm, noisy atmosphere of the arcade hit me immediately. Rows of game cabinets stretched out before us, their screens casting a rainbow of colors across the dimly lit room. Trainers of all ages filled the space, some hunched over racing games, others cheering loudly as their Pokémon battled in holographic arenas. A Pachirisu scurried past, carrying a stray Poké Puff wrapper in its tiny paws, while its trainer chased after it, laughing.

  Alex stepped up beside me, taking it all in with a grin. “Alright,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “Time to defend my title.”

  “Title of what?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Biggest trash-talker in the region?”

  “That too,” he said with a wink. “But I was thinking of my title as Zapdos’ Arcade Champion.”

  “You literally just made that up,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Doesn’t make it any less true,” he shot back, already heading toward the racing games. “Now hurry up. The winner gets bragging rights, and I plan on collecting mine.”

  I followed him, my competitive streak sparking to life. If Alex wanted a rematch, I was more than happy to give him one. After all, someone had to knock him off his self-made throne—and if it wasn’t me, who else would it be?

  The moment we stepped inside Zapdos’ Arcade, the energy of the place hit me all at once. The air buzzed with the overlapping soundtracks of different games—electronic beeps, the hum of machinery, and bursts of cheering from trainers huddled around glowing screens. Neon lights danced across the dimly lit room, their colors reflecting off polished floors. A faint smell of buttered popcorn and spicy Tamato Berry chips wafted through the air.

  Alex slowed his pace, taking it all in with a grin. “Wow,” he said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. “Can’t believe this place is still around. I haven’t been here since I was, what… ten?”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re telling me you grew up in Petalburg and didn’t practically live here?”

  He shook his head, laughing softly. “Nah. My dad wasn’t big on letting me hang around arcades. Said it was a waste of time. Guess he wasn’t entirely wrong, but…” He gestured vaguely at the rows of games. “You’ve gotta admit, this place has a certain charm.”

  I nodded, my gaze sweeping over the rows of glowing cabinets and the trainers crowding around them. A holographic battle simulator in the corner projected an intense fight between a Charizard and a Steelix, the crowd cheering as the Steelix unleashed a flash of Iron Tail. Nearby, a kid laughed as his Sentret excitedly batted at the claw machine’s joystick with its tiny paws, trying to win a plush Togepi.

  “Yeah,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I used to come here on weekends. Mostly stuck to the claw machines, though. My Torchic obsession started early.”

  Alex chuckled, giving me a sideways look. “Why am I not surprised? You seem like the type to beeline for the fluffy toys.”

  I shrugged, grinning. “What can I say? They were easier to win than the racing games.”

  “Well, guess what? You’re not getting off that easy this time.” Alex nudged my shoulder lightly before nodding toward the back of the arcade. “Let’s start with Pidgeot Drift. Best way to settle this ‘who’s the better trainer’ debate. And by ‘settle,’ I mean ‘prove I’m better.’”

  I snorted, falling into step beside him as we made our way toward the racing section. “You talk a big game for someone who probably can’t tell the gas pedal from the brake.”

  “Bold words,” Alex shot back, his tone teasing but not harsh. “You’d better back them up when we’re behind the wheel.”

  The racing machines were lined up in a row, each one styled to look like the cockpit of a flying car. The seats were curved, with wings etched into their sides, and the screens were alive with looping tracks filled with wild obstacles—twisting branches, falling boulders, even roaming Pokémon like Doduo and Zigzagoon. Above the machines, a sign lit up with bold lettering: Pidgeot Drift: The Sky’s the Limit!

  Alex slid into one of the seats, his movements easy and confident. He grabbed the steering wheel and leaned back like he already owned the course. “Alright, James,” he said, nodding toward the seat next to him. “Let’s see what you’ve got. You manage to beat me, and I might even buy you another coffee later. That is, if you can handle the pressure.”

  I raised an eyebrow but couldn’t help smirking as I dropped into the seat beside him. “You’re on. Hope you don’t choke when I leave you in the dust.”

  The game roared to life as the countdown began on our screens: 3… 2… 1… GO!

  We both slammed on the gas, and the virtual sky track unfolded in front of us, filled with sharp turns, floating platforms, and obstacles that came out of nowhere. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, weaving past a low-hanging branch as a group of Starly fluttered across the screen. Alex was just ahead of me, narrowly dodging a rolling boulder that thundered across the track.

  “Careful back there!” he called over his shoulder, glancing at me with a grin. “Don’t get hit by that—oh!”

  His car spun slightly as his vehicle clipped the edge of a platform, losing speed. I took the chance to zip past him, laughing as I shouted, “What was that, Alex? I couldn’t hear you from first place!”

  He groaned but quickly recovered, slamming the boost button to catch up. “Alright, alright, don’t get too comfortable up there!”

  The race was chaotic, filled with close calls and near misses. At one point, a rogue Doduo darted onto the track, and we both had to swerve wildly to avoid it. Alex pulled ahead on a straightaway, but I managed to take a shortcut through a crumbling tunnel, emerging back in the lead. The final stretch of the course was a winding descent, with a massive Fearow swooping overhead, dropping feathers onto the track as obstacles.

  “Last chance, James!” Alex called, his voice filled with good-natured determination.

  I didn’t respond, too focused on hitting the boost at just the right moment. My car surged forward, narrowly missing one of the falling feathers. Alex was right on my tail, but as we crossed the finish line, the screen lit up with my name in bold letters: Player 2 Wins!

  “Yes!” I shouted, throwing my hands in the air.

  Alex let out a laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat. “Alright, alright. You got me. But only because I slipped on that stupid Fearow feather.”

  “Excuses, excuses,” I said, grinning as I climbed out of the seat.

  He stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his sweatshirt with an exaggerated air of defeat. “Fine. Enjoy your victory. But don’t get used to it. Next game’s mine.”

  I laughed, feeling a warm sense of camaraderie as we moved on to the next section of the arcade. Even though we’d only known each other a few days, traveling together had made it easy to fall into this rhythm—playful competition, teasing, and the kind of shared excitement that only came from a good match.

  Before we knew it, a couple of hours had passed. And by a couple, I meant three. Alex and I had gotten so caught up in the arcade—between racing games, battle simulators, and one ill-fated attempt at a Pachirisu claw machine—that we completely lost track of time. It wasn’t until I glanced at the clock near the entrance, with its bright red numbers flashing “9:15 PM,” that I realized we’d stayed an hour longer than we were supposed to.

  “Uh, Alex?” I said, frozen in place as he was preparing to line up another shot in a game of Poké Hoops.

  “Yeah?” he replied, not looking away from the screen.

  I pointed at the clock, and it took him a second to process what he was seeing. His eyes widened. “Oh, come on. You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope,” I said, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him away from the machine. “We were supposed to pick up our Pokemon an hour ago!”

  “This is all your fault,” I added as we dashed out of the arcade and onto the cobblestone street, the evening air cool against my face.

  “My fault?” Alex huffed, keeping pace beside me. “You were the one who wanted a rematch in the battle sim! I told you to let it go after I wiped the floor with you the first time.”

  “You didn’t ‘wipe the floor.’ You barely won!”

  “Details.”

  I shot him a glare but didn’t waste any more breath arguing. My legs burned as we sprinted back toward the Pokécenter, the neon arcade lights fading behind us. The streets were quieter now, with only a few trainers heading toward their lodgings for the night or chatting in small groups. A Skitty darted across the road, its tail flicking as it disappeared into an alley, and the faint hoots of a Hoothoot echoed from somewhere in the distance.

  By the time we reached the Pokécenter, my lungs were burning, and I had to lean forward with my hands on my knees to catch my breath. Alex wasn’t much better off, slouching against the doorframe with his sweatshirt sticking to his back.

  “Man,” he gasped, running a hand through his messy hair. “That arcade was not worth this cardio.”

  “Speak for yourself,” I muttered, still trying to steady my breathing.

  Once we’d recovered enough to stand without looking like we’d just run a marathon, I pushed open the glass doors, and we stepped inside. The calm, brightly lit lobby was a sharp contrast to the chaos we’d just left behind. Trainers milled about, some sitting on the sofas with their Pokémon, others chatting quietly while Nurse Joy handled the steady stream of arrivals.

  The line was shorter than before, which was a relief. Alex and I shuffled into place, the tension in my chest easing slightly now that we were here.

  “You think they’ll be mad we’re late?” I asked under my breath.

  Alex shrugged. “It’s not like they’re gonna lock our Pokéballs in a vault or something. They’re probably used to trainers losing track of time.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said, glancing at the counter as the line moved forward.

  When it was finally our turn, Nurse Joy greeted us with her usual warm smile, though there was a hint of polite curiosity in her eyes—probably wondering why we were showing up so late.

  “Hi, we’re here to pick up our Pokémon,” I said, stepping forward and rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly. “Four Pokémon under James and Alex?”

  “Ah, yes,” she said, her tone as professional as ever. “Your Pokémon were finished about an hour ago, but no problem. Please wait here for a moment while I retrieve them.”

  She turned and whispered something to the Chansey at her side, who gave a cheerful nod before waddling through a door behind the counter. Alex and I stepped aside to wait, leaning against the wall as the next trainer in line approached the desk.

  “Well,” Alex said, breaking the silence. “Crisis averted. See? I told you they wouldn’t mind.”

  “Don’t start,” I muttered, though I couldn’t help but smile a little at his smug expression.

  A few minutes later, the door swung open, and Chansey emerged, holding our Pokéballs in in tray held by her small chubby arms. She made her way over to us with a cheerful “Chansey!” before passing them to Nurse Joy, who handed them to us with a smile.

  “Here you go,” she said. “Your Pokémon are in great shape. Thank you for your patience, and we hope to see you again soon.”

  I clipped Dune’s and Scorch's Pokéball back onto my belt, feeling a wave of relief wash over me now that he was back where he belonged. Alex tossed Lotads ball lightly in his hand before tucking it away.

  “Thanks,” I said, giving Nurse Joy a small nod. Alex waved casually as we turned to leave.

  Outside, the night air was cooler now, a light breeze rustling the leaves of the trees lining the street. The lamps cast soft circles of light on the ground, and the stars were just starting to peek through the darkening sky.

  “Alright,” Alex said, stretching his arms above his head. “So what now? We calling it a night?”

  “Not yet,” I said, glancing toward a building a little farther down the road. Its large windows glowed faintly, and the faint sounds of a Pokémon battle echoed from inside. “Let’s check out the gym.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow. “The gym? You feeling brave, or just curious?”

  “Curious,” I admitted. “Norman’s gym is supposed to be one of the toughest around, right? Might be worth seeing what we’re up against, even if we’re not ready to challenge him yet.”

  “Fair enough,” Alex said, falling into step beside me as we headed toward the gym. “Besides, watching some battles could give us some ideas. You know, for when we eventually wipe the floor with him.”

  I snorted. “You’re a little too confident for someone with a team of two.”

  “Hey, two’s all I need.” He grinned, tapping the Pokéball at his hip. “Grovlye and I could take down half the league if we wanted. Besides you only have two yourself.”

  “Sure you could,” I said, shaking my head.

  With a quick flick of my wrist, I let Scorch and Dune out of their Pokéballs. In an instant, they returned to their usual selves—Scorch, my Torchic, hopping excitedly around my feet with a happy chirp, while Dune, my Trapinch, climbed up onto my shoulder like he always did. He let out a quick “Trap!” before settling comfortably into his usual perch.

  I chuckled, reaching up to pat Dune gently on his broad, rounded head. “Yeah, buddy. Sorry for leaving you for so long,” I said. “We kinda… lost track of time.”

  Dune tilted his head slightly, blinking his big eyes at me, then gave a slow nod, seemingly forgiving me. Scorch, meanwhile, was already sniffing curiously at the ground near Alex’s shoes, his energy as boundless as ever.

  “Sorry, not letting you out right now,” Alex said to his Pokéballs, tapping the two on his belt as if speaking to his Grovyle and Lotad. “It’s late, and you guys can relax until tomorrow.” He shrugged at me, his tone casual. “They’re probably enjoying the break anyway.”

  I nodded, turning back toward the street. The gym wasn’t far, its modern fa?ade lit up against the night sky, almost as if it were calling to us. “Alright,” I said, adjusting Dune on my shoulder and glancing at Alex. “Off to the gym?”

  “Off to the gym,” he echoed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he fell into step beside me.

  Scorch chirped happily, hopping along at my side while Dune perched quietly, watching everything with his usual calm demeanor. The four of us—two humans, two Pokémon—walked through the quiet streets of Petalburg, the stars glinting above us, ready to learn, grow, and take another step forward on the long journey ahead.