The volcanic steam of Lavaridge Town seemed to seep into our very bones, washing away the grit of the desert and the lingering tension of our encounter with the hooded stranger. The onsens here were more than just a tourist attraction; they were a sanctuary. After a long soak in the mineral-rich waters, the exhaustion that had been weighing down my limbs vanished, replaced by a strange, buzzing energy. Even the Pokémon seemed revitalized, their coats and feathers glowing with a health I hadn't seen since we left the lush forests behind.
"I feel like I could walk back across the desert and not break a sweat," I joked as we stepped out of the bathhouse, though I knew better than to test that theory.
Clara laughed, her hair still damps and her face flushed pink from the heat. "No more sand for a while, please. Let's focus on the Gym."
The Lavaridge Gym was an imposing structure, built partially into the base of the mountain itself. As we walked through the entrance, the air grew thick with the smell of smoke and heated clay. We went to the registration counter to sign up for a challenge, but before we could even finish the paperwork, a whirlwind of red hair emerged from the back.
She was exactly as the rumors described: Flannery, the newly appointed Gym Leader. Her style was "wild" to say the least—a bright red mane of hair tied up in a gravity-defying ponytail, wearing a simple white crop top and rugged denim jeans that spoke of a trainer who wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty. She looked like the very embodiment of the flames she commanded.
"Ah! Challengers?" she called out, though her voice lacked the typical bravado of a leader. She hurried forward, looking slightly flustered. "I am so incredibly sorry! You're here for a battle, right? I have to ask you to wait until tomorrow."
I blinked, surprised by the sudden apology. "Is everything alright?"
"The last challenger..." she sighed, rubbing the back of her head. "They were... intense. The battlefield took quite a beating, and the 'footage'—the pits and traps we use—hasn't been reset or repaired yet. It's a bit of a mess back there. I want to give you a proper match, not a fight in a construction zone."
We assured her we didn't mind. In truth, the delay was a blessing. We were still adjusting to our own changes, and our Pokémon needed to recalibrate after the trek through the desert. Flannery seemed relieved, promising us a "scorching" battle the following morning before she rushed off to oversee the repairs.
With the rest of the day free, we headed to the practice field behind the Pokémon Center. It was a standard dirt pitch, surrounded by a low fence, perfect for a sparring session.
"I want to try something," Clara said, her eyes determined. She stepped onto one side of the field and released her partner. With a flash of light, Grovyle appeared.
The change was still striking. No longer the small, rounded Treecko, Grovyle stood tall and lean, the long green leaves on its wrists shimmering like emerald blades. It looked powerful, but as it shifted its weight, I noticed a slight stumble. It was still getting used to its longer limbs and the higher center of gravity that came with evolution.
"I'll help you practice," I said, reaching for Wingull's Poké Ball. I wanted to test our aerial maneuvers against Grovyle's new speed.
But before I could click the button, my belt vibrated violently. Without my command, Torchic's Poké Ball burst open. The small fire-chick landed on the dirt, its feathers ruffled and its eyes locked onto Grovyle. It chirped loudly, a sharp, defiant sound, and began scratching the earth with its talons, refusing to move.
It was trying to replace Wingull. It wanted this fight.
I looked at Torchic, then back at Grovyle. Ever since Treecko had evolved in the desert, I had sensed a shift in Torchic's demeanor. It had become restless, pushing itself harder during our walks and acting out during meal times. My speculation was becoming a reality: Torchic was anxious. It saw its rival—the Pokémon it had grown up alongside—take a massive leap forward in power, and it felt left behind. It was desperate to prove it could still compete, even in its smaller form.
"Torchic, I know why you're doing this," I said softly, kneeling down. "You're worried about being outpaced. But this isn't the time. Grovyle needs to learn his new body, and I need you to watch. You can learn more from the sidelines right now than you can by rushing in with a hot head."
Torchic looked at me, its small chest heaving with frustration. For a moment, I thought it might ignore me and charge anyway, but finally, it let out a long, disappointed sigh and waddled over to the bench. It sat there, staring intently at the battlefield with a sharp, analytical gaze.
I released Wingull, and the battle began.
"Grovyle, use Quick Attack!" Clara commanded.
The Grass-type moved like a blur, but the movement was clumsy. It overshot its mark, its long legs carrying it further than it expected. Wingull took advantage, spiraling upward and catching a thermal current.
"Wing Attack!"
Wingull dived, its wings glowing with white energy. Clara was still learning how to direct a Pokémon of Grovyle's size. "Jump, Grovyle! Higher!"
Grovyle took a massive leap, but because Clara wasn't familiar with its new jumping power, the timing was off. Grovyle soared nearly ten feet into the air—far higher than it ever could as a Treecko—but it missed the intercept entirely, and Wingull's wing clipped its shoulder as it passed.
The battle was intense. Wingull had the advantage of the sky, raining down Water Pulses and using its mobility to stay out of reach. However, as the minutes ticked by, I saw Clara and Grovyle begin to sync up. They were learning on the fly.
"Use the fence!" Clara shouted.
As Wingull dived for another strike, Grovyle didn't just jump; it used its powerful hind legs to spring off the wooden fence post, changing its trajectory mid-air. It was a move a Treecko never could have pulled off. The sheer agility of the evolved form was staggering. Grovyle caught Wingull mid-flight, its wrist-leaves glowing with the green light of a Leaf Blade.
The impact sent Wingull tumbling toward the dirt. My bird Pokémon managed to right itself just before hitting the ground, but the strength behind Grovyle's strike was undeniable. Even with the type disadvantage and the unfamiliarity of the new form, the raw physical power of evolution had won the day.
"Enough!" I called out, holding up a hand. Both Pokémon stopped, panting heavily.
Clara ran to Grovyle, beaming with pride as she wiped sweat from her forehead. "We did it! Did you see that jump?"
I nodded, impressed, but my eyes drifted back to the bench. Torchic was still sitting there, as still as a statue. It hadn't missed a single move. I could see the wheels turning in its head—it wasn't just jealous anymore; it was motivated.
We headed back toward the Pokémon Center to rest for the night. The "white fog" of the town felt even thicker now, a quiet shroud over the streets. Tomorrow, we would face Flannery's flames but today had taught us that growth—whether it was evolution or the slow build-up of a trainer's bond—was a beautiful, complicated process.