The crowd's cheers still echoed in Alex's head long after the final match was over. Not for him, but for Julian—the rich boy who had walked away with the prize Alex wanted more than anything. The pseudo-legendary. The proof of being number one.
Alex walked out of the stadium in silence, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His jaw ached from how hard he was grinding his teeth.
He had been so close.
If I had just read one more move. If Charcadet had landed that Overheat a second faster. if grovyle have resisted that leaf storm. The thoughts spiraled endlessly, each one stabbing him with a sharper sting than the last.
By the time he reached the outskirts of Duskmire, the orange glow of evening had settled. The streets were quiet, but inside Alex's chest was a roaring fire.
He didn't go to the inn. He didn't stop for food. He walked straight to a secluded patch of grass beyond the town's borders and dropped his bag.
"Alright," he said, his voice sharp. "We're training. Now."
His team appeared one by one—grovyle, Riolu, Charcadet, and Larvesta. They looked at him, each one sensing the tension radiating from their trainer. Alex didn't need to explain. They weren't dumb. They had seen the battle. They had felt the sting of defeat.
Riolu's eyes narrowed. Charcadet's fists clenched. grovyle tilted his head, then glanced toward the horizon, as if imagining the opponent that had beaten them. Even Larvesta, still young, flared her tiny flames with determination.
"You saw it," Alex continued. "We were good. But not good enough. And I'm not… I'm not okay with that. and I don't think any of you are okay with that"
He took a deep breath, but the air felt heavy. "I wanted that Pokémon. I wanted to win. I wanted to prove we could be number one—no matter where we started. And I failed."
He threw a small rock into the distance, the sharp crack of it hitting a tree snapping in the cold air. "We're not failing again."
The burn inside his chest wasn't just frustration—it was a promise.
The training began hard and fast.
Riolu sprinted back and forth between marked spots Alex scratched into the dirt, practicing dodges and quick counters. Every time Riolu stumbled, Alex would look at riolu making him go again and again till his footwork improved
Charcadet was set against makeshift targets—cheap planks Alex had scavenged from a broken fence. He had no money for fancy equipment, so he made do with what he had, scavenging debris from the side of the road. Fire after fire shot from Charcadet's fists, and every time a plank broke, Alex replaced it with another.
groyvle focused on accuracy and power, slashing through thick tree branches and timing Leaf Blade swings to perfection. Alex had him leap between tree trunks at odd angles, forcing him to strike while moving.
Larvesta, small but eager, practiced flame bursts at moving targets Alex tossed into the air—stones, tin scraps, even an old boot he found abandoned in the grass.
Hours passed. Sweat dripped down Alex's back, his shirt sticking to his skin. His Pokémon panted hard, but no one stopped. They didn't need words. The loss still lingered in all their minds, a silent push that kept them moving.
Finally, Alex called them in. They gathered in a loose circle, their eyes bright despite exhaustion.
"You guys… you're the best I could've asked for," he said quietly. "I've given you food, a place to stay… but you've given me more. You've given me strength. You've trusted me when nobody else would."
Riolu stepped closer, his eyes soft but determined. Charcadet stood with arms crossed, flames flickering at the edges of his helmet. Grovyle loomed over them, silent, but his gaze locked with Alex's in understanding. Larvesta chirped softly, nuzzling against Alex's leg.
"But that's not enough," Alex continued, his voice low. "We're not going to let anyone stand in our way again. We're not going to be second place. We're going to burn through every obstacle, rip apart every wall, until we're at the top."
His Pokémon didn't just hear his words—they felt them. The same burn Alex carried in his chest was reflected in their eyes.
They didn't just want to win for themselves. They wanted to win for him.
The rest of the night was a blur of motion. Training didn't stop when the sun set—Alex lit small fires to keep them working, forcing Riolu to dodge in low light, making Charcadet aim at targets half-hidden in shadows, timing Grovyle's leaps under the faint glow of the moon.
Even Larvesta, despite her small size, tried again and again to control her flames for precision.
Every grunt of effort, every strike, every burst of flame—it was all fueled by that single moment in the tournament, the moment they saw victory slip away.
By dawn, they were all lying in the grass, breathing hard. Alex looked up at the pale morning sky, his muscles aching but his mind clearer than it had been since the loss.
"Next time…" he muttered, clenching his fist. "Next time, we take it all."
Riolu lifted his head with a determined growl. Charcadet nodded once, flames flickering weakly but proudly. Grovyle simply smirked, and Larvesta let out a small, confident trill.
The burn inside them wasn't gone.
It was just getting started.