The week stretched long and precise, every day measured in currents, flux readings, and creature counts. Cyrus moved through Hau'oli's coastal waters and surrounding wetlands alone, Ditto wobbling along beside him in its usual dramatic flair. Each splash, every ripple of the surf, became another line in the ledger of the world he tried to capture.
"Day three of not getting eaten by Mega Sharpedo," he muttered, adjusting the wrist device strapped to his forearm. "Statistically speaking, the probability of survival is slowly improving… marginally."
Ditto bobbed, forming briefly into a Sharpedo midair before collapsing back into its gelatinous self. Cyrus squinted at it. "Impressive. I appreciate the enthusiasm, even if it's technically useless for actual survival."
He crouched on a slick rock, scanning the waves for unusual activity. Each blip on his scanner told a story: Tirtouga pods clustering near kelp beds, Sharpedo circling the deeper currents, even small Wailmer moving in coordinated patterns. It was beautiful and terrifying at once.
Cyrus let out a dry laugh. "Nature doesn't care about ethics, only results. And I suppose neither do I… as long as I don't get eaten."
By day five, his logs had grown dense — far beyond what he'd anticipated. He reviewed the data while perched on the edge of a boardwalk, Ditto slumping lazily beside him. The ocean spread before him like a living, breathing spreadsheet.
"Carracosta," he muttered under his breath. "Still can't believe you're out here. Extinct my ass. And you, little Tirtouga… your defensive clusters are fascinating. But hey, let's see if anyone's cataloging this properly, huh?"
His wrist buzzed — a message from his mother. Cyrus tapped it open, reading quickly:
"Cyrus, another opportunity has arisen. Fieldwork, rare Pokémon, experimental equipment. This could define your career. Your father is briefing you separately. Respond ASAP."
He raised an eyebrow, smirking to himself. "Define my career. Or get me eaten. Classic Mom phrasing."
He leaned back, letting the sun warm his face. Alone, for the first time in the week, he allowed himself to breathe without scanning for every movement. He thought about what this week had taught him: the balance of instinct and observation, the subtle interplay of predator and prey, the moments where numbers failed but intuition succeeded.
"Perhaps," he muttered, scribbling in a waterproof notebook, "I'm learning more about the world than I am about myself. Or maybe it's the other way around. Hard to tell when Ditto won't stop trying to be a shark."
He chuckled dryly at the gelatinous mimic, then packed up his gear. The ocean stretched behind him, a living tapestry of life both measured and immeasurable. The week had sharpened his skills, but it had also shown him the limits of observation — the places where instinct, patience, and humility mattered more than any sensor or log.
By the time he reached the city, his wrist was full of new data, his mind spinning with calculations and possibilities. The message from his father followed shortly:
"Meet me at the lab. Urgent. Bring your data and your judgment. No distractions."
Cyrus stared at the holographic note. Judgment. Data. Alone, he realized, was exactly what he needed — a chance to focus, to measure, to think without interference, and to confront the opportunities his parents wanted him to face on his own.
He tapped Ditto, which morphed into a small Sharpedo for effect. "Alright, buddy. One last swim before we get serious."
The little Pokémon leaped into the surf, splashing through the shallow waves. Cyrus followed, laughing quietly to himself. "Extinct species, Mega evolutions, moral quandaries, parental mandates… not a bad week. And yet, I'm still standing. Data intact, soul marginally unscathed."
He made his way back to Hau'oli, wrist device humming with new observations. Somewhere beneath the waves, secrets waited to be uncovered. And Cyrus — dry, sarcastic, endlessly curious — was ready to chase them alone.