The weeks that followed felt strangely calm—like the world had finally paused to let me breathe.
After everything with the outbreak, my parents insisted I stay home so I could relax. "Rest and recalibrate," Mom had said, in that tone that sounded kind but really meant don't break anything in the lab. I took the advice to heart. Sort of.
Most mornings started the same: sunlight spilling through the half-shuttered windows, a faint hum of machinery from downstairs, and the quiet metallic clink of Meltan experimenting with whatever it could find.
It had taken exactly two days for me to learn that Meltan's curiosity had no off switch.The little metal blob loved screws, bolts, wire—basically anything that clanged, clicked, or sparked. Once, I caught it trying to melt one of Dad's coffee mugs to see if it was "metal enough." That earned us both a lecture and a round of nervous laughter from Mom.
Charcadet found Meltan endlessly fascinating. The two had a kind of sibling rivalry brewing—Charcadet liked to puff up and show off his bright flame, and Meltan would respond by glowing brighter, like a tiny steel sun refusing to be outshone. It was adorable for about ten seconds before Ditto decided to "help."
"Ditto, no!" I shouted the first time he tried to mimic Meltan.
Too late. Ditto transformed, body turning silver and round—but instead of a clean hex nut head, he had a lumpy ring wobbling around a crooked eye. Then he tried to magnetize himself to the fridge. The entire appliance toppled forward before Gengar caught it with one spectral hand.
That was week one.
By week two, we'd all found a rhythm—or maybe just a tolerable chaos.
Meltan preferred staying close when it was just us, but the second we left the lab, it froze. The first time we walked through the city, the noise of machinery and shouting vendors made it shake so hard the bolt on its head rattled. I'd barely noticed until it started melting the coins in my pocket out of stress.
So, Meltan went into its Poké Ball when things got too loud. I didn't mind. Charcadet liked the open air anyway, perched proudly on my shoulder like a tiny knight, his flame flickering against the wind. Ditto usually took the form of a blue track jacket—his favorite disguise, apparently—and would occasionally tighten around my shoulders like he was hugging me whenever someone looked at us too long.
Gengar, though… Gengar was a different story.
Some days, he followed me through the streets, half visible, his shadowy grin drifting between buildings. Other times, I'd call for him and get nothing but the faint smell of ozone and laughter echoing from the corners. When I asked why he didn't stay out more, he just grumbled, "Gengar."
I didn't know what that meant, but I didn't press. Gengar wasn't like the others. He'd seen things I hadn't, done things I probably didn't want to know about. But he stayed—and that was enough.
Still, I couldn't help but notice he lingered nearby whenever Meltan got nervous, or when Charcadet burned too bright. Like he didn't trust anyone else to keep the peace.
By the third week, the house felt alive again.Mom's research with Meltan had shifted from "study its biology" to "keep it from melting the furniture." Dad had turned part of the garage into a test chamber, complete with reinforced glass panels and a set of tools Meltan could safely manipulate. I helped when I could, logging data, sketching diagrams, even running test battles to measure Meltan's reaction times.
That's when I started noticing something.
When Meltan worked with me alone—no crowds, no noise—it was sharp. Focused. It could manipulate magnetic fields like a conductor guiding an orchestra. Bolts floated, metal shavings formed spirals, even Charcadet's armor flickered with static sparks. But if anyone else entered the room, the energy scattered. The magnetism faltered. The glow dimmed.
Dad called it "environmental sensitivity."I called it stage fright.
Whatever it was, I found myself understanding Meltan more than I expected. I'd never liked crowds either. Too many eyes, too much noise, too many chances to mess up. Funny how I'd ended up surrounded by Pokémon who felt the same way in their own ways.
We started training together in secret, away from the lab.Just the four of us—five, if you counted Ditto's constant commentary.
We'd hike out past the steelworks, where the grass met the rust-colored cliffs, and I'd let them all out. Meltan liked the open space, where the hum of machinery was distant and steady, not chaotic. Charcadet would run drills, tossing bursts of flame across the rocks, and Meltan would catch them midair with magnetized fragments, shaping glowing rings of molten steel.
It was beautiful. Controlled chaos.
Ditto, naturally, tried to copy it—resulting in a molten blob of half-metal, half-goo that Gengar had to scoop off the ground before it fused permanently.
"Gengar," Gengar chuckled one afternoon as the sun dipped low.
clearly saying something Sarcastic.
As Meltan buzzed indignantly, its eye narrowing.Charcadet puffed up in defense.Ditto transformed into Gengar, puffing his cheeks in mock annoyance. Then began shaking its fist at him.
For a second, I thought Gengar might get mad. Instead, he snorted—a deep, echoing laugh that rolled across the empty cliffs.
That was the first time I saw him smile without the shadow of menace.
We weren't perfect. Some days, Meltan refused to leave its Poké Ball at all. Other days, Gengar vanished for hours, only to return with an old candy wrapper or half-broken trinket. Ditto got bored easily and changed shape mid-conversation just to confuse me. Charcadet sometimes overtrained himself until his armor glowed white-hot.
But somehow, it all worked.
I think it was because none of us fit neatly anywhere else.
By the end of the fourth week, the lab felt smaller—like we'd outgrown it.Mom and Dad finalized the Alola travel schedule. "One week from now," Mom said at dinner, eyes glinting with excitement. "You'll finally see the Southern Trade Isles. It's not just beaches and tourism, you know. The research center's built right between the industrial docks and ancient ruins."
Dad nodded. "Perfect mix of science and mystery. You'll love it."
Meltan chirped softly beside my plate, tugging at a fork until it bent into a perfect circle. Charcadet hummed from the corner, flame glowing steady and content. Ditto was a placemat. Gengar, of course, floated upside down near the ceiling, pretending to ignore us.
It hit me then—how different everything felt. How this mismatched group had somehow become a family. Not by blood, not even by choice—but by circumstance.
After dinner, I stepped outside with Gengar trailing silently behind.
The air was cool, the night sky hazy with city glow. Meltan perched on my shoulder, humming quietly, while Charcadet practiced little bursts of fire at the edge of the yard. Ditto hung from a clothesline like a lazy scarf.
Gengar's voice broke the quiet. "Gengar."
"Yeah? I know I've changed" but, I didn't look back.
"I used to look like I was running from something." Cyrus paused but, "Now it looks like I'm walking toward it."
I smiled faintly. "Maybe I'm doing both."
We stayed there for a while, just watching the night breathe. The hum of far-off factories echoed like a heartbeat through the metal-laced air. I could almost see Alola in the distance—its warm shores, strange ruins, and the unknown waiting just beyond the edge of the horizon.
Meltan's eye glowed softly, casting a small halo against my cheek.Charcadet's flame flickered in rhythm with it.Even Gengar's outline softened, less shadow and more shape.
For the first time, I didn't feel like the world was something I had to face.It felt like something we were already part of.
A few days later, I found Meltan sitting beside my travel pack, coiling bits of wire into a small ring. When I crouched down, it held the ring out to me. Just a loop of metal—but perfectly shaped, its surface smooth and polished.
"For luck?" I asked.
Meltan nodded. Or maybe it just tilted from the weight of its head. Either way, I understood.
I slipped the ring around a string and tied it to my wrist. "Thanks."
Behind us, Gengar's low chuckle rumbled, repeating it catch phrase "Gengar."
"Well No matter what I have all of you, everything will be great" I said.
Gengar grinned—wide, toothy, and proud.
And just like that, the waiting didn't feel like waiting anymore. It felt like a countdown to something real.
The last night before departure, I couldn't sleep. I sat by the window, the moonlight catching on the small ring Meltan had made. My reflection stared back—white hair, tired eyes, but steadier than before.Ditto slept in his pillow form waiting be me to head to bed. Charcadet slept peacefully in its Poké Ball, while Meltan hummed sleeping on the wooden desk. Gengar watched from the shadow of the door, silent but there.
For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel alone.
Tomorrow, the world would grow bigger.
But tonight, we were enough.