The first thing their senses registered when they woke was not sight but smell — the rich, savoury aroma of cooked food drifting through the small clinic room, warm and comforting after the sterile tang of antiseptic that had lingered all day. Their stomachs growled in unison, loud enough to make them both blink in surprise.
Ash rubbed his eyes, sitting up slowly, his limbs stiff from sleeping in the awkward position slumped against the bed. Yellow stirred beside him, stretching her arms gingerly, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders in a messy curtain. For a moment, it was just the ordinary grogginess of waking after too long a nap.
Then they realised their hands were clasped together.
For a moment, neither breathed. Warmth, heartbeat, embarrassment — all tangled into one startled second before they pulled apart like touching live wire.
Both froze, their faces flushing crimson. Ash snatched his hand back as though burned, his gaze dropping instantly to a loose thread on the blanket, suddenly fascinated by its frayed end. Yellow pulled her hand away just as quickly, her movements sharp, her hair falling forward to hide her face. The quiet, innocent comfort of their shared exhaustion was gone, replaced by a thick, strange self-consciousness that seemed to fill the room like static.
"Pika-chu?"
The soft, sleepy sound broke the tension. Pikachu sat on the pillow between them, blinking his dark eyes, stretching his small body in a massive yawn that made his ears flop. He gave them both a curious look, as if wondering why they were acting so strangely. From the headboard, Spearow ruffled his feathers with a low, rumbling coo, glaring at them as though annoyed they had disturbed his vigil. Chansey woke up from her sleep and looked at them in curiosity, while Butterfree flew overhead as a silent sentinel.
Their stomachs growled again, louder this time, impossible to ignore. The smell of food was stronger now — a rich broth, vegetables simmered until tender, and the faint yeasty scent of baked bread.
"Uh… sounds like I'm hungry," Ash mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his blush deepening.
Yellow nodded quickly, still not meeting his eyes. Her own stomach betrayed her with a small, embarrassed gurgle, and she pressed her hand against it as though that might silence the sound.
Before either could think of what to say next, the door opened with a soft creak.
Nurse Joy entered, carrying a large tray balanced carefully in her hands. Steam rose from two bowls of soup, accompanied by a basket of bread and two mugs of tea. Behind her, her Chansey followed, holding another tray piled high with Pokémon food.
"Ah, you're both awake. Good," Nurse Joy said, her smile gentle. She took in their flushed faces and the awkward distance between them, but her expression didn't flicker. "I figured you'd be hungry. It's nearly night. You should eat up your dinner."
They glanced toward the window. Outside, the trees were illuminated by the moon, casting faint shadows in the dark. They realised with a start that they had only eaten breakfast all day.
The room brightened suddenly with a click. Nurse Joy had turned on the lights, though one flickered oddly before going out. She frowned, stepped back outside, and a moment later the bulb glowed steadily again.
"There's a switch outside the room as well?" Ash muttered, puzzled.
Nurse Joy reentered, apologising with a faintly grumpy tone. "Sorry about that. Some rooms have their interior switches outside for convenience, and I keep forgetting about them even after using them."
Her mood lightened as she continued. "You both slept through the afternoon — exhaustion, I imagine. The keys to your room are on the bed."
They turned to see the brass key resting beside the pillow, along with two Poké Balls, exactly where she said.
"…You should take a good bath in your room after eating your dinner. Do you need anything else?"
Ash raised his hand instinctively.
"Yes?"
"We need a few more bowls of Pokémon food. And… which direction are the rooms?"
Nurse Joy nodded. "Go to the lobby, use the corridor on the other side, and then the stairs to go up. I'll get a few more bowls and some more food. How many other Pokémon do you have? I want to prepare the food depending on their species."
Yellow reached into her waist bag and produced two Poké Balls. With a flash, Doduo and Weedle appeared. Doduo immediately nuzzled against her, its twin heads chirping softly, while Weedle wriggled closer to her lap.
Ash took the Poké Balls from the bed and called out his Eevee and Pidgeotto to have them join the dinner as well.
Nurse Joy raised her right eyebrow. A Doduo here, in this part of Kanto? That was unusual. But the way it pressed against Yellow, the familiarity in its movements, told her they had known each other for a long time. That ruled out trafficking. Perhaps it had been given to her when she was younger, a family Pokémon passed down. Nurse Joy caught herself before her thoughts spiralled further. I really need to cut back on those crime dramas, she thought wryly.
"Thanks a lot," Ash and Yellow said together, bowing slightly. Their Pokémon mimicked them, Pikachu dipping his head, Doduo lowering both necks, Weedle curling forward.
Nurse Joy smiled warmly, pushing aside her wild musings. "A Doduo and a Weedle… I'll get their specific blend. Please, eat before your soup gets cold. I'll be right back."
She and Chansey bustled out, the door clicking softly shut.
The room fell quiet again, save for the soft sounds of the avians pecking and the others nibbling at their food. The awkwardness from the hand-holding incident still lingered, faint but present, like static in the air. But the savoury aroma of the stew was stronger, more immediate, and hunger was a far more pressing concern.
Ash cleared his throat. "Well… she's right. We should eat." He pulled the rolling tray closer, positioning it between them.
Yellow nodded, finally brushing her hair back behind one ear. She picked up her spoon, her eyes fixed on the steaming bowl.
They ate in silence, but it was a comfortable silence. The hot, rich stew eased the knots in their muscles, the bread soft and warm against their fingers. The exhaustion of the day, combined with their long sleep, made the simple meal feel like a feast.
By the time they were halfway through, the door creaked open again. Nurse Joy returned with Chansey, who placed two more bowls on the floor. Doduo and Weedle immediately began eating, their sounds of contentment filling the room.
"All set," Nurse Joy said, her smile gentle. But her expression shifted as she held up the white bottle of pills and a new prescription slip.
"Ash," she began, her voice low and kind. "Now that you're both awake and have eaten, we need to talk about your ongoing care."
Ash's stomach tightened. "Is… is she okay?" Yellow turned to look at her too, her eyes wide.
"She will be," Nurse Joy said, reassuringly. "But what you told me earlier… about Viridian Forest…" Both children flinched at the mention. "… indicates significant psychological trauma. The panic attack she experienced was a clear symptom of that."
"You have the prescription and the bottle I gave you?"
Ash set down his spoon, fumbling through his pockets. He searched, muttering under his breath, until he finally pulled out the crumpled slip and the bottle. He held them up triumphantly, only to wilt under Nurse Joy's unimpressed stare. Yellow giggled softly, hiding her smile behind her hand. Ash flushed, looking abashed.
"Riiighhht…" Nurse Joy said dryly. "You can buy the meds from any pharmacy with that prescription, but you should see a doctor from time to time to update the condition, the prescription, and the dosage. I said she should take them in the morning to stabilise her throughout the day. But you must take them too."
"Me?" Ash asked, startled.
"Yes. Both of you were affected by what happened. You should take them too."
"Do I have to?"
"Mmmhmm. You do. If either of you feels sleepy or not at all, then you can adjust the timing — but only after checking with a doctor, okay?"
"Why can't we just change it based on preference?"
For some reason, even though Nurse Joy didn't move, Ash could almost hear the weary sigh echo in his head.
'Roshi?'
'I don't even need to tell you anything,' came the dry reply.
The reason became obvious when Nurse Joy sighed and said, "You just can't. There's a reason you must not do this without consulting a doctor. There are consequences if you act on a whim, and that will only make things worse. Do you want either of you to suffer because you thought it was appropriate?"
Both children shook their heads quickly.
"Good. You should rest now. Do what you want for a little while, but expect that it will take some time before you're able to sleep again, after resting so long."
Her words settled over them like a blanket — firm, but kind. The room was quiet again, filled only with the soft sounds of Pokémon eating and the faint hum of the lights.
Nurse Joy gave a small, understanding smile at their negative headshakes. "Good. Trust your medical professionals, please. We really do know what we're talking about most of the time."
She gathered the empty trays, her movements efficient and light. "Now then," she said, her tone becoming more cheerful, "you two have eaten, your Pokémon are healed, and you have a new prescription. The best thing for you now is to get settled in your room. As I said, you've slept all afternoon, so you'll probably be awake for a while. Relax. Watch some TV. Just...be kids for a few hours. You've earned it."
With a final, warm smile and a "Get some rest!" tossed over her shoulder, Nurse Joy and her Chansey bustled out of the room, leaving Ash and Yellow alone in the quiet.
-------------------------------------------
The silence that settled over them this time was different. It wasn't the awkward, blushing quiet of clasped hands, nor the heavy dread of trudging through hostile streets. It was a new kind of quiet — one weighted by the small, white pill bottle Ash now held in his hand.
He turned it slowly, the plastic clicking faintly against his fingers. Medicine. For his mind. The thought felt heavier than the bottle itself, as though he were holding something fragile and foreign, something that carried invisible consequences.
Yellow's gaze was on him. Her earlier amusement had vanished, replaced by a quiet, inquisitive look. She tilted her head slightly, her blonde hair falling forward, her eyes wide and innocent.
"A…" Ash's throat caught. His finger twitched against the bottle. "…Y-Yellow…"
She blinked at him, waiting.
"…Let's go to our room, okay?"
Her lips curved into a small smile, and she nodded cheerfully.
Ash rose from the stool, giving her space to climb down. He recalled the rest of his team, except Pikachu, slinging their bags over his shoulder. Yellow slid off the bed, but her legs wobbled the moment her feet touched the floor. Ash caught her instinctively, his arms steady around her. Doduo leaned in from the other side, bracing her gently with its twin heads.
"You okay?!" his voice was sharp with worry.
Her face flushed red as she steadied herself against him. Ash pressed his hand to her forehead, searching for heat. No fever. Was this the effect of the medicine Nurse Joy had warned about?
Yellow's strength returned slowly, bit by bit. For several minutes, Ash held her close, bracing her against his chest. Pikachu watched from his perch on Ash's shoulder, ears twitching with concern, while Weedle peeked curiously from the edge of Yellow's bag.
"Alright?" Ash asked softly.
She nodded, her blush still lingering.
"Then let's go."
Together, they left the clinic room. Their footsteps echoed faintly in the quiet lobby, then up the corridor, the stairs, and another hallway until they reached their assigned door. All the while, their hands remained linked, neither of them daring to let go.
The wooden door opened with a soft click. Ash flicked the switch beside the doorframe, and the lights came on, illuminating their room.
It was simple but clean. Two single beds with soft, blue comforters. A small wooden desk was between them. A large window overlooking a moonlit garden at the back of the Centre. Compared to the sterile, cold clinic room, this space felt like a sanctuary.
The door closed behind them with a quiet thud, breaking the spell. Ash realised he was still holding Yellow's hand and let go abruptly, as though burned. He stepped forward quickly, dropping his bag by the wall. "Uh… you can have the bed by the window, if you want."
Yellow nodded, her face still flushed. She moved past him, placed her small bag by the bed, and sat on the edge of the mattress, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Pikachu hopped off Ash's shoulder, leaping onto the other bed, curling up instantly for another nap.
The silence stretched again, thick with unspoken awkwardness. Ash cleared his throat.
"Nurse Joy said we should… you know. Take a bath," he mumbled, gesturing toward the small door that led to the bathroom. "You can go first."
Yellow's eyes widened, as if the thought hadn't occurred to her. She nodded quickly, grabbed her bag and the towel provided by the Centre, and slipped into the bathroom. The faint click of the lock followed.
Ash exhaled, realising he'd been holding his breath.
He was alone, but the room was still full of the day's events. He sat heavily on the edge of his own bed, his head in his hands. The image of Yellow's panicked, terror-filled eyes was seared into his mind. Ben's Rattata. The cashier's cold words. The near-expired medicine. The heavy, suffocating responsibility.
'She's safe now,' Roshi's voice said, cutting into his thoughts. 'You got her here. You did your job.'
'I failed,' Ash thought back, his voice raw even in his own mind. 'She was terrified. I should have stopped Ben before he even threw the ball. I should have known.'
'You're not a mind reader, kid. You're a trainer. You reacted the second it happened. Now, stop feeling sorry for yourself and start thinking. You've got two new problems. Big ones.'
Ash nodded, scrubbing his hands over his face. He stood up, pacing the small room. "I know. I know." He said the words aloud, needing to hear them. "Her... her reaction. And what that cashier said."
"Pi?" Pikachu looked at Ash, muttering to himself in confusion.
'Exactly. Her trauma is a loaded gun, and the cashier just told you the whole world is pointing it at her. Her Pokémon aren't legally hers - she can't fight, and she's terrified of the one thing that's everywhere. What's your plan?'
Ash stopped pacing. Looking at Yellow's bag that contained her only two Poké Balls, he thought of only one thing.
'I cannot cure her. It will not go that fast away, but... I will not let her go through it alone. We will do what we have been doing till now. Training, so she can protect herself if we get separated somehow.'
'Hmm. Nice call...though you both will need to be exposed to Rattata in a controlled environment...' Ash froze a bit, his stomach tightening a bit, '... so that you are not caught off guard when it is required the most and protect her as well.'
'We still need to figure out how to get her a trainer ID.'
'That might be easier than you think. You are sponsored by a certain somebody, who just happens to have given you one.'
'Ah! Professor Oak!'
'Yep. You can talk about it with him tomorrow morning, but I suspect it would not be that easy to just get one out of the blue from him.'
'It is going to be tough, huh?'
'Yep, you signed up for it yourself. No backing out now. She is getting out of the bath now.'
Ash's head snapped up as he heard the click of the bathroom lock, followed by the soft creak of the door.
Yellow stepped out, her damp hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She wore a clean set of travel clothes from her bag. Scrubbed clean, pale, and impossibly small in the warm light, she paused when she saw Ash's intense, focused expression. Her hands clutched the towel she'd used.
"Yellow…"
She looked at him with the innocence he had come to associate with her. Ash's throat tightened. Should he tell her about his plans? About training, about Oak, about the ID? He wanted to. But looking at her — fragile, determined, still recovering — he couldn't.
He changed the subject. "I'll shower now. Can you practice the letters I taught you, and the flute, while I'm in the bathroom?"
Yellow's eyes lit with determination. She nodded firmly, pulling out her notebook, pencil, eraser, and flute. She set to work with gusto, her concentration absolute. Her handwriting was steadier now, her bandages gone thanks to Chansey's care.
Ash watched her for a moment, reaffirming his resolve. He would help her through this. He would not let her face it alone.
Then he stepped into the bathroom, letting the sound of running water wash away the day's weight, if only for a brief moment of respite.
After he had come out of the bathroom, he was going to help teach her, but that was delayed due to the fact that they had to wash their clothes, which they had forgotten to do before going to bed. Ash washed his and her clothes except for a few things, which Yellow had to wash on her own with an embarrassed face.
Before they started learning for the night until they fell asleep on the bed together late into the night, they reached a silent agreement about their daily activities.
***************************************
As night settled over the Centre, farther west, under the same moon, another kitchen sat silent on the edge of Pewter City. A modest wooden house crouched among the trees, its walls weathered, its roof patched in places. It stood a little distance off the main Route 3 path, hidden from plain sight, as though it too wanted to disappear into the shadows.
Clitter‑clatter…
The sound of utensils echoed faintly in the small kitchen.
"Sis, when will Mom and Dad come back?"
The boy's voice was plaintive, carrying the kind of question asked too often, worn thin by repetition.
"Hm? I am busy, Ben. Why don't you help Coulton set up the table? I'll be done in the kitchen in a bit."
"But…"
"Ben, please!" Her voice cracked, louder than she meant, strained by exhaustion.
A beat of suffocating silence followed.
"…Okay."
creak… creak… creak…
The sound of footsteps retreating across the floorboards.
crrreeeaaak… click!
The wooden door to the kitchen closed, leaving the young girl alone. She stood over the counter, staring at the bare ingredients she had managed to gather for the night. Her hands trembled as she arranged them, and tears welled in her eyes. The moonlight poured through the open window, the cool night wind brushing against her hair and cheeks.
On the sill, a cluster of Pidgeys perched, their feathers ruffled by the breeze. Each held something in its beak — berries, vegetables, scraps of food they had foraged. Their dark eyes watched her, worried, patient.
"Pid‑gee…" One cooed softly, breaking the silence.
She wiped her tears quickly, forcing a smile that was more melancholy than bright. "Hey guys, did you get them?" She asked gently. The Pidgeys bobbed their heads in unison. "What about the rest of you?"
"Kans…"
The hiss came from outside. She leaned toward the window and saw Ben's Ekans slithering back, its coils glinting faintly in the moonlight. Behind it, more Pokémon appeared, each carrying something — roots, herbs, scraps of fruit.
Her throat tightened. "Thank you…"
The Pokémon answered with soft sounds of understanding, their loyalty filling the silence where words failed.
"I hope they come back," she whispered, voice breaking. "I…we can't go on like this anymore…" A sniff escaped her, raw and unguarded.
One of the Pidgeys fluttered down, landing lightly on her shoulder. It rubbed its head against her cheek, feathers warm against her skin. The gesture steadied her, calming her enough to breathe again.
Sniff. "You guys must be hungry. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, so you can come inside."
The Pokémon lingered for a moment, their eyes reflecting the dim light, before hopping down from the sill and padding into the house.
The kitchen filled with the quiet rustle of wings and claws, the soft presence of creatures who had become family in the absence of parents. The girl straightened her shoulders, wiped her face once more, and turned back to the counter. The food was meagre, but it was enough.
----------------------------------
ccrrreeeaaaak… click!
The sound of the kitchen door closing echoed faintly through the small house.
sigh…
"Ben…"
Ben snapped his head up, startled, to see Coulton standing by the table in the dimly lit dining room. The single bulb overhead flickered slightly, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor.
"What?" Ben asked, his voice sharper than he intended, defensive.
Coulton didn't answer right away. He walked slowly to the table, his shoulders slumped, and dropped into one of the chairs. His chin sank into his hands. The usual manic energy that defined him — the bouncing, restless spark — was gone. He just stared at the empty plate in front of him, unmoving.
Ben frowned, his irritation fading into curiosity. "What's wrong with you? Still mad you lost so bad?"
"Shut up, Ben," Coulton muttered. His tone wasn't angry, just tired, heavy.
Ben tilted his head, trying to provoke him. "Well, you're in a bad mood. Sis is gonna be mad. She's already upset."
Coulton finally looked up. His expression was serious, uncharacteristically so. "That guy, Ash… he was really strong. His Pokémon… way stronger than ours."
Ben's bravado faltered. He nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. That Spearow was scary." He shivered, remembering the sharp, unblinking glare it had given him.
"And that girl… Yellow," Coulton continued, his voice dropping lower. "She was really scared of your Rattata, Ben. Like… really scared."
Ben's gaze fell to the floor. His voice was small now. "Sis told us not to talk about it."
"I know, but…" Coulton traced the knot in the wood grain of the table with his fingernail, his movements slow and distracted. "They looked… I dunno. They looked as sad as Sis."
The words hung in the air, heavy. The comparison landed hard, and both boys fell silent. The clitter‑clatter of Janice moving pots in the kitchen suddenly seemed louder, filling the void.
"She's just worried about Mom and Dad," Ben said at last, his voice losing its edge, becoming uncertain.
"They've gone to Cerulean for their jobs, selling those stupid souvenirs made of weird stones from Mount Moon," Coulton said, as if trying to convince himself. "They'll be back soon. They always come back."
"They said they'd be back yesterday," Ben whispered.
Coulton had no answer. He stared at his empty plate, the faint smell of soup drifting from the kitchen making him feel emptier instead of hungry.
"I don't know…" he murmured.
"Can you open the door?"
Janice's voice jolted them back to the present. Scrambling up, they hurried to the kitchen door. The aroma of food hit them as Janice stepped out, carrying a steaming pot with mitts on her hands. Their Pokémon padded behind her, tails swishing, wings fluttering, eyes bright with anticipation.
"What's for dinner? What's for dinner?" Coulton asked eagerly, his stomach growling loud enough to make him grin sheepishly. Ben, despite being older, thought the same thing; his earlier gloom forgotten in the face of food.
Thunk!
Janice set the pot down on the table. The boys grabbed their bowls and utensils, waiting as she ladled out portions. For a moment, all of them sat still, heads bowed, praying silently for the food they had.
"Thanks for the food!" they chorused.
The room filled with the sounds of eating — spoons clinking, Pokémon chirping and hissing softly as they dug into their own bowls.
Janice watched her brothers for a moment, then her gaze drifted to the shelf. The framed pictures caught the light, reflecting faintly. She prayed silently, not for food, but for their parents' safe return.
"Not going to eat?" Ben whispered, noticing her stillness.
She turned, gave him a soft smile, and rubbed his head affectionately.
"Hey!" Ben protested, scowling, but Janice giggled, the sound lightening the air. She picked up her spoon and joined them.
For a little while, the heaviness lifted. Free from thoughts of battles, money, and absent parents, they laughed and ate together, clinging to the fragile warmth of family.
The light from the bulb reflected off the pictures again. One showed them as smaller children, their parents young and smiling beside them. But behind that frame, half‑hidden and thick with dust, another photo lay tucked away. It showed a couple, a bit older than the children, posed stiffly, their smiles forced, their eyes betraying something unspoken.
The laughter in the room carried on, but the hidden picture remained, silent and waiting.
*************************************
Rrrrrriiiinnnnggggg…
The doorbell's metallic echo rang out in the still night, cutting through the hush of Pewter's residential streets. A man stood beneath the lone porch bulb, its harsh light throwing deep shadows across his dust-covered clothes. Wrinkles and creases etched into the fabric told of long hours spent wandering, of burdens carried without rest. Around him, other houses had already gone dark, families saving electricity as the city settled into its nightly rhythm.
Step…creak…step…creak…
The sound of footsteps grew louder from behind the door, each creak of the floorboards betraying the weight of someone approaching.
"Who is it?" The voice was clipped, no‑nonsense, carrying the authority of someone used to responsibility.
"It's me," the man replied simply.
A beat of silence. Then the voice answered, "Garden." The footsteps retreated, fading into the house.
The porch light clicked off, plunging the man back into shadow. He turned without a word, moving along the side of the building until he reached the open garden. The air smelled faintly of damp soil and night blossoms. He lowered himself to the ground in front of the balcony, sitting cross-legged, waiting.
The sliding door opened behind him. Footsteps approached, accompanied by the warm, unmistakable scent of cooked food.
"Here."
The man rose, reaching out. His hand brushed against a plastic trash bag, and he sighed, retracting it. Instead, he accepted the steaming bowl of freshly prepared food.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. Also…it's thanks for the work."
He sat again, eating in silence. The only sounds were the soft clink of the spoon against the bowl and the quiet night around them. The silence was comfortable, familiar, broken only by the rhythm of his meal.
"They miss you again," the younger voice said at last.
"You know why I do it," the man replied, his tone steady but heavy.
"Dad."
Flint's eyes softened at the word. "I know they miss me. And I know you've wanted to become a Pokémon Breeder. This… this is selfish of me, asking you to remain at your duty as Gym Leader. But I don't have a choice. Not until I deal with Jenny without tipping her off. I don't have concrete evidence, only consequential scraps — nothing that will hold. And that's assuming the law is even applied properly. Besides…" He gave a weary shrug. "It's not like the others don't know I'm here."
A sudden noise from behind made Brock turn. The sliding door had shifted, and Forrest, along with a few of the older siblings, had tumbled onto the floor, caught in the act of listening.
"Thanks for the meal, Gym Leader," Flint said, setting down the empty bowl. He picked up the plastic bag of waste, his movements deliberate, and walked toward the front door.
"Take care!" Brock called after him.
Flint turned back, raising one hand in silent appreciation. Then he stepped into the night, resuming his solitary "stroll," the shadows swallowing him once more.
***************************************
Two silhouettes patrolled the cracked sidewalk outside the Pewter hospital.
"The night watch's boring…" The first policeman muttered, dragging out the word as his boots scuffed against the cracked pavement. The hospital loomed nearby, its windows glowing faintly in the dark. Even at night, the place was alive — nurses moving briskly, patients murmuring, machines humming. But one wing stood silent, cordoned off with scaffolding and tarps, the scars of reconstruction visible even in the moonlight.
His partner didn't answer right away. He knew how important the watch was, how fragile the city felt after what had happened. But he couldn't deny the truth — a few weeks ago, he might have agreed.
"You know what happened here," he said finally, his voice low.
"Yeah, yeah. We, heck, everyone in Pewter knows by now. It wasn't subtle." The first officer waved him off, his tone dismissive.
"So why are you so lax?"
"It only happened once," the man replied, shrugging. "And I might've missed catching the real criminal."
His partner's eyes narrowed. "Hoh? So, what are your thoughts about who did it?"
The first officer scoffed. "Don't act like you don't know anything." His voice dropped, serious now. "Even if there's a chance the kid did it, you know how far-fetched that is. There were no Pokémon there to cause an explosion. Just the burned body of a man. Maybe he was the victim of a bomb. But I checked the hospital records myself."
"What did you find?"
The silence stretched. The second officer's voice grew grave. "He wasn't there, was he?"
A shake of the head.
"Yeah."
The first officer squatted down, rubbing his chin. "Tch. Figures. So…"
"Mmm hmm. Officer Jenny's suspicious, blaming the kids like that."
"We can't go around talking smack about our superior."
"You think she was right?"
"…No." The second officer's voice was firm now. "She broke protocol. Biased judgment, trying to stage a victim as a suspect without evidence. Just because they were there. And it didn't help the kids when the gym interior got blown up in that match."
"Why do you think the crowd sided with Jenny?"
"They've never seen a high-stakes battle in person. Brock's Pokémon are Rock and Ground types. He mostly gets challenged by rookies with water or grass teams. League regulations keep him from cutting loose. That boy — Ash, was it? — probably gave him the only real battle he's had in months. The place looked wrecked, but I bet Brock was glad to fight for real."
"Is it always like this in other cities?"
"Nope. Their gyms are more isolated, better soundproofed, stronger structures."
"Huh. Must be nice."
"The gym getting a bit destroyed, might be good. Renovation overdue. Pewter's condition is worse than Cerulean's. And don't get me started on those leaders — a joke for gym leaders. I still don't know how they're in the top eight of Kanto."
"They're that bad?"
"Yeah."
"Damn. Must be rough. Fighting criminals must be better."
"That it is."
"Even if Team Rocket hasn't attacked in years, except for that one a few days ago? Think he was an agent? Please, please be true."
"What are you praying about?!"
"Any possible attack besides petty Pokémon theft and that one here?"
"I mean…no."
"Man, I want action. Peril. Thrill. Not this boredom."
"You know you can leave the force."
"What about my paychecks?! I've got a family to feed in this market!"
"Then stop whining and spinning conspiracy theories. Do your damn job."
"Hey! Officer Jenny being part of Team Rocket or a gang is one hell of a valid theory if you ask me!"
The second officer groaned, fed up. He turned away, continuing his patrol alone.
"Hey! Wait up for me!"
And so, under the pale glow of hospital lights and the quiet hum of the city, the night watch continued — one officer trudging with weary patience, the other chasing after him, still muttering about conspiracies and craving danger in a city that only wanted peace.
************************************
"Man, it's getting late. Better go to sleep… after I finish this up."
Professor Oak's voice was little more than a mutter, swallowed by the cluttered quiet of his study. Papers lay scattered across the desk, corners curling, margins filled with his neat but hurried handwriting. Scientific journals, field reports, and half-scribbled notes formed precarious stacks around him, the smell of ink and old parchment mixing with the faint tang of disinfectant from the lab.
He adjusted his glasses, squinting at the latest entry. "These look about right. Now, I can release them into the wild tomorrow." His pen tapped against the page. "Hmm…aren't there supposed to be a bunch of Rattata on Route 1 now?"
He rifled through the piles until he found the field report, flipping it open with practised hands. "Yep. They must have come out of their burrows and taken over the fields in the absence of the Spearow flock."
Oak reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a Poké Ball. With a toss, Alakazam appeared, the psychic Pokémon's eyes glowing faintly in the dim lamplight. He regarded his trainer with a look that was equal parts loyalty and exasperation.
"Can you help me transport the last Spearow back to his friends?" Oak asked.
Alakazam's gaze flicked to the clock on the wall, then back to Oak, one brow raised as if to say: Why are you awake at this hour?
"It's research," Oak said defensively, though his tone carried the sheepishness of someone caught in his own obsession.
Alakazam sighed silently but complied. His spoons glowed as he lifted the restless bird with Psychic, holding it gently despite its squirming. He followed Oak down the corridor to the cages, where the noisy flock rustled and screeched. The Spearow was placed inside, its cries joining the chorus.
Oak rubbed his temples. "Well, that was an experience. It was good that I could call on them when needed, no matter how uncommon the situation. How did we even miss them in the first place?"
Alakazam pointed one spoon toward the cages, his meaning clear.
"…Yeah. That explains a lot. Their normal behaviour isn't that different from their affected ones, except for the aggressiveness." Oak scribbled another note, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Tomorrow, we release them back to the wild. I wonder how they'll react to their home being taken over by the Rattata. Wait…I can actually document their territory war. It hasn't been recorded before!"
Alakazam gave him a look of disbelief, eyes narrowing.
"Hey, it's science," Oak protested, grinning despite himself. "Valuable data, maybe even a paper!"
Alakazam shook his head, resigned, before his eyes suddenly shifted, glowing faintly as he looked beyond the walls.
Oak's smile faded. "He's awake, isn't he?"
Alakazam nodded.
Oak sighed, setting his pen down. Together, they walked to another room. Oak opened the door just a crack, enough to see inside.
Scyther sat by the window, his body wrapped in bandages, IV drips attached to his arm. The moonlight poured over him, silvering the edges of his blades. His gaze was fixed on the night sky, unblinking, unreadable.
Oak's chest tightened. He didn't step inside. Neither did Alakazam. The silence was too fragile to break.
What was Scyther thinking? His captors? His injuries? His congregation? The battles of his past, or the uncertainty of his future? Oak didn't know. Alakazam didn't know.
They only knew that recovery would take time, and that the answers — whatever they were—would belong to Scyther alone.
Oak closed the door softly, the click echoing in the quiet hall.
Tomorrow would bring its own questions. Tonight, all they could do was wait.
This expanded version slows the pacing, adds sensory grounding (smells, sounds, textures), and emphasises Oak's obsessive curiosity against Alakazam's weary pragmatism. It also deepens the poignancy of Scyther's silent vigil, leaving the moment unresolved but heavy with possibility.
*****************************************
"The moon's lovely tonight."
The hiker's voice was soft, almost reverent, as he sat beside his crackling campfire. The flames danced against the slope of Mount Moon, throwing long shadows across the uneven ground. He cradled a tin mug of warm milk, savouring the simple comfort as he gazed upward. The stars glittered like shards of glass scattered across the velvet sky, and the pale moon hung heavy, illuminating the jagged ridges above him.
Weekends were perfect for this — no calls, no work, no obligations. Just silence, the wilderness, and the steady rhythm of his own breath.
skitter…
A faint sound, so subtle it could only be heard by someone listening with full concentration. He paused, tilting his head, but the noise faded into the night.
He knew the dangers of hiking here. Wild Pokémon prowled the slopes, and the labyrinthine tunnels claimed careless travellers. But he was prepared. His own team could defend him, as long as he avoided the territories of the two colonies whispered about among hikers. Most people took the faster tunnels to Cerulean, but he preferred the solitude of the slopes.
He had heard the stories, though. The ones about people who never returned. Official explanations spoke of falls, starvation, or getting lost. But among hikers, the rumours were darker.
skitter~
The sound came again, closer. His grip tightened on the mug.
The rumours of the existence of the—
Step.
The hiker froze. The single sound of a footfall behind him cut through the night like a blade. His mug slipped from his hand, spilling milk into the fire. The flames hissed and sputtered, dying instantly, plunging the camp into shadow.
He spun, reaching for a Poké Ball.
Too late.
A rope looped around his throat, tightening with brutal force. A rag pressed against his face, acrid powder filling his lungs. He gagged, clawing at the hands that held him.
He was being strangled.
Instinct took over.
Instead of reaching for his Pokémon, his hands tore at the attacker's grip. Muscles honed from years of hiking and training surged. With a roar, he ripped the rope free and hurled the figure over the edge.
The scream echoed down the slope. "AAAAAAHHHHHHH—"
THUD!
Silence.
The hiker staggered, chest heaving, but his victory was short-lived. His body went weak, jelly-like, with his vision swimming. A fist slammed into his stomach, doubling him over. Another cracked against his jaw.
"RRRAGH!"
Smack…smack…smack…
The blows rained down, relentless. His strength ebbed, the powder burning his lungs, his mind fogging.
As consciousness slipped away, his blurred vision caught one final image: a man in black clothes, standing under the moonlight, his face obscured, his presence cold and implacable.
Then darkness claimed him.
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(AN: I am sorry for the delay, but my exams will start in a few days, so do not expect any update before 2nd December. Bye!)