By the time I got home, the night had finally stopped shaking. The streets were quiet again — the kind of quiet that doesn't feel like peace, but like the world holding its breath after surviving something big.
I didn't take the tram this time. My legs needed to move, and my brain needed time to catch up. The city was still flickering from brownouts; the neon signs that normally painted the skyline in color were dim, sputtering in and out. The city of Noctopolis looked exhausted.
A League Response Unit stood on the corner, their uniforms scorched from spectral residue. They were scanning fragments of ectoplasm off the pavement, muttering about "dimensional interference" and "stabilization pulses." I overheard one mention that the Ghost Core beneath the city had pulsed during the outbreak — the kind of phenomenon that could wake a Titan.
I didn't want to think about that.
Charcadet walked beside me, small but steady, the soft blue flame on its head barely flickering in the breeze. Ditto had transformed into a scarf, cool and pliable against my neck, humming with comfort. Together, we cut through the mist like a tiny, strange family.
A few students from school were huddled near the tram stop. They spotted me but didn't wave. Maybe they didn't know what to say. I didn't either. You don't really prepare for "Hey, congrats on surviving an interdimensional ghost event!"
I passed a shattered billboard — one of the holographic ones the city loved so much. The flickering ad showed The King Company Shipping & Manufacturing logo, my parents' company. The tagline shimmered beneath it:
"We bring you what you need — wherever you are."
I chuckled under my breath. Still cringe worthy, but also comforting. Home wasn't far now.
When I finally reached the hill leading to our estate, the fog had thinned, replaced by the soft hum of security drones circling above. The air smelled of ozone and metal — familiar scents of power lines and teleport tech.
The front gates recognized my ID chip and slid open with a whisper. The house loomed beyond, modern and timeless all at once — tall glass panels, pale stone, soft lights glowing like lanterns. It looked peaceful, but I knew my parents were pacing somewhere inside.
The doors opened before I could touch them. Mom stood there, framed by the warm light of the entryway.
Even when she was worried, she looked like she'd just stepped off a stage — back straight, black hair cascading down in controlled waves, every motion deliberate. Her eyes, though — those gave her away. Blue, sharp, and full of emotion.
"Cyrus Rei King," she said, voice steady but tight. "You were in the city."
I swallowed. "Yeah."
"You were in that part of the city."
"Also yes."
Her jaw clenched for a second before she exhaled slowly. Then, to my surprise, she stepped forward and pulled me into a hug.
For a moment, I let myself relax. Her heartbeat was quick — faster than mine — and for the first time since the outbreak began, the tension in my chest eased.
Dad's voice boomed from deeper in the house. "He's home?"
He appeared a moment later, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing one of his work shirts half-unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. Joseph Von King looked every bit the ex-athlete turned industrial magnate — blond hair slightly tousled, the kind of man whose handshake could probably dent steel.
When he saw me, he didn't say anything at first. Just studied me — the soot on my jacket, the slight dents on Charcadet's armor, and the tired look I couldn't hide.
Then he nodded. "You did good."
I blinked. "You… saw?"
"The League sent a report to registered corporate partners," he said. "Your name came up. Shiny Gengar, huh?"
I rubbed my neck. "Yeah. That happened."
Mom raised an eyebrow. "You captured a Gengar."
I hesitated. "It… sort of captured me first. Then we worked things out."
That earned a small, knowing smile from her. "Always finding new friends in chaos."
I shrugged, pretending not to blush. "It's kind of my thing."
They led me into the living room — wide and open, full of softly humming holo-screens, framed photos, and glowing crystals that pulsed with soft light. Charcadet climbed onto a rug beside the fireplace, while Ditto melted back into a small blob and claimed the couch armrest.
For a while, we didn't speak. Just listened to the city through the glass walls — the distant hum of recovery drones, the occasional echo of a Wingull cry overhead.
Then Dad finally broke the silence.
"You're graduating in a few weeks."
I nodded. "Yeah."
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Have you thought about what comes next?"
I had. A lot. Too much. But every time I tried to pin down an answer, it slipped away — like fog through my fingers.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "After today… I don't even know what I'm capable of yet."
Mom folded her hands in her lap. "You've always been capable, Cyrus. You just haven't had a reason to test it until now."
Dad nodded. "That's actually what we wanted to talk to you about."
I looked up. "Oh no."
"Oh yes," he said, smirking. "You've seen our company name enough times to know what we do — shipping, manufacturing, regional distribution, League logistics. But what you don't know is how much of our new tech relies on understanding Pokémon compatibility — with environments, transport gear, even energy channels."
Mom chimed in, her voice smoother. "Your father and I have been expanding into new regions. Beyond the main continents. The League is working to stabilize inter-regional trade routes again, and we're looking for someone to help represent the company in the field."
I frowned. "Represent… how?"
Dad grinned. "We call it a 'Product Field Tester.' Basically, you'd test prototypes of PokéTech — everything from travel capsules to containment gear to region-mapping tools. You'd report on their performance, build relationships with other regional partners, and collect firsthand data."
"Wait," I said slowly. "You want me to travel? Like, officially?"
He nodded. "You've got instincts, Cyrus. You read Pokémon better than anyone I know. You'd be our best eyes and ears out there."
Mom smiled, gentler this time. "It's not just work, sweetheart. It's a chance to decide what you really want. Trainer, researcher, traveler — maybe all three. You don't have to choose right away."
Something loosened in my chest. The idea of traveling — of seeing more of this massive, still-unexplored world — it pulled at something deep in me. Something that had been growing since that first spark of lightning years ago.
Still, I hesitated. "Wouldn't that be… risky? After what happened today?"
Dad leaned back, chuckling. "You already survived a Gigantamax Gengar. What's left to scare you?"
Mom gave him a light smack on the arm. "That's not funny."
"It's kind of funny," I muttered.
She shot me a look. "Don't encourage him."
For a moment, the room filled with laughter — quiet, human, warm. The kind that makes the world feel a little less heavy.
Then Mom stood and walked over to the display shelf along the wall. She touched a glass panel, and a holographic map appeared — glowing lines tracing through the regions, connecting islands like constellations.
I leaned forward, eyes widening. The sheer scale of it was staggering.
"These are all League-recognized regions?" I asked.
Dad nodded. "And these," he zoomed out, showing vast oceanic territories and distant continents, "are the ones that aren't on the maps yet. Uncharted, but active. Trade routes, energy readings, even wild outbreaks — all beyond what you'd see in any Pokédex database."
It hit me then. The world wasn't just big — it was endless.
"The games," I murmured, "barely scratched the surface."
Dad smirked. "Exactly. You've been playing in the sandbox. We build the roads that lead out of it."
Mom turned to me. "That's why we think this role fits you. You'll learn how to manage yourself, work with teams, and see the real structure of this world. You'll have protection, but also independence."
I was quiet for a while, thinking. Charcadet looked up from the rug, eyes glowing faintly. Ditto gave a tiny bubble-like pop.
Finally, I nodded. "Alright. I'll do it."
Dad's grin could've powered a generator. "That's my boy. I'll start the paperwork in the morning. First assignment's after graduation. Low-level stuff — southern trade isles."
"So , the Alola Region?"
He nodded. "Exactly, they are south of us so we call them the southern trade isles. Perfect test grounds, better then sending you straight to Sinnoh Region."
Mom smiled again, softer this time. "We'll talk more tomorrow. There's a project we've been working on — a research Pokémon. Something unusual."
"Unusual how?"
"You'll see," she said with a knowing smirk. "For now, you should rest. You've earned it."
Ditto wiggled happily, and Charcadet's flame flared brighter for a moment, casting flickers of orange light across the walls.
As I climbed the stairs to my room, I caught my reflection in the glass panels — white hair, faint burns on my jacket, a look that wasn't just tired anymore. It was determined.
For the first time, I didn't just see a student or a survivor. I saw someone standing at the edge of something vast and uncertain — a future stretching beyond the horizon.
And I knew, deep down, that whatever came next, I wouldn't be facing it alone.