Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The hotel TV hissed with static before the picture sharpened, colors bleeding across the screen. Joey was cross-legged on his bed, Mr Wiggles curled in his lap, while Arashi sprawled on the carpet like a fuzzy throw rug, nose buried in a bowl of kibble. Ace had claimed the shadow between the beds, rings glowing faintly like a neon sign in the dim room.

Dinner was microwaved meat and veg in plastic trays from a nearby convenience store. I stabbed at mine without enthusiasm, forcing down bites of the rubbery slop because I knew I needed it rather than out of any hunger.

“Our top story tonight, controversy out of Viridian City.” The anchorwoman’s voice cut through the room. “Newly licensed trainer Chloe Luxford of Pallet Town is set to face Gym Leader Suzie Harrison in what the League is calling an ‘unorthodox but valid’ challenge match next Friday night. Public interest is already high. It’s been nearly thirty years since a trainer from Pallet generated this kind of attention.”

Images flashed on the screen—grainy stills of Red and Blue, trophies held high, badges glinting in the sunlight. Then me, caught mid-limp outside the Gym, the Jewel Orchid flower falling from my hand in slow motion.

“Fans are divided,” the anchor went on. “Some are eager to see how Luxford performs against Harrison, while others question whether she should even be allowed a license.”

“Hey, you’re famous,” Joey said around a mouthful of microwaved noodles, grinning like this was all good news. Mr Wiggles squeaked in agreement, flailing his little arms.

My Pokedex buzzed on the nightstand, a message blinking across the screen.

“I’m going out,” I stood, tossing the remote at Joey. “Don’t leave the room.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He barely looked up, already turning the volume higher. Mr Wiggles bounced with excitement as the channel cut to a replay of my speech.

Ace slid silently into my shadow as I strapped Arashi’s ball back to my belt, his warmth pressing close about my shoulders, and I knew he would always have my back.

The hallway smelled like damp carpet and cigarette smoke. I pushed through the creaky front doors and let the night air bite at my face, crossing the empty street toward a small park wedged between apartment blocks.

He was waiting on a bench under a flickering streetlamp, posture relaxed, Pokedex in one hand, the other idly tossing a Poké Ball up and down.

“About time,” Gary Oak said, grinning. “You walk slower every time I see you.”

I eased down onto the bench with a hiss, stretching my bad leg out in front of me.

“You try getting poisoned by a giant rabbit-bug thing and see how fast you walk,” I retorted, though I couldn’t help the grin from spreading across my face.

His own grin softened into something closer to concern.

“I read the report,” he said. “You were extremely lucky.”

“Yeah, well. Guess I’m hard to kill,” I said. “This is what? The third time now? Fourth?”

For a moment we sat in silence, the sounds of the city carrying over the park, distant shouting, a rattling cart, the bark of a Growlithe. Ace shifted in my shadow, and Oak’s eyes flicked down briefly, noting the glow of his rings.

“So it’s true,” he said. “Umbreon, huh?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “Everyone that’s seen him so far has acted like he’s some kind of terrible monster but Ace seems happy enough.”

Oak leaned back, folding his arms behind his head.

“Dark-types make people nervous,” he said. “Too much history. Doesn’t mean they aren’t powerful though. You’ll need that edge against Suzie.”

“Edge, huh,” I snorted.

Oak shot me a look, half amused, half serious. The silence stretched until he spoke again, quieter this time.

“You holding up?” he asked.

I snorted a laugh that sounded more like a cough.

“What do you want me to say? That I’m fine?” I said, staring at the ground between my feet. “Because you and I both know that’s not true. But so what? It’s not like I can pack it in and go home. That’s not an option.”

Oak leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t want you to say anything. I just want you to stop pretending it doesn’t hurt,” he said. “I’ve been where you are right now. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I made.”

I clenched my jaw and remained silent. Oak sighed.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he said. “Or anyone else, for that matter. Not Suzie. Not the League. And definitely not the vultures with the cameras.”

“Tell that to Suzie,” I muttered. “That psychopath sent me to die.”

His mouth quirked in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“And you came back,” he said.

“Barely.”

“Barely still counts.” He glanced at me then, sharp eyes softened just enough. “Chloe, you’ve already survived more in the last three and a half months than most trainers do in three and a half years. Stop pretending you’re just getting by. A lesser trainer wouldn’t have made it out of those situations alive.”

His words sat heavy between us. I didn’t answer right away, eyes fixed on the park’s lone streetlight sputtering against the dark. I stared down at my hands, flexing my fingers against the ache in my knuckles.

“Just, don’t lose yourself trying to be what they expect,” he said. “The Chloe I know doesn’t follow the script.”

I gave a bitter snort.

“Yeah, well, the Chloe you know keeps getting her ass kicked,” I said. “Maybe the script’s not so bad.”

“Nah. The script’s boring,” He shook his head, still smiling faintly. “You? You’re anything but boring.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The night air was cool, the city’s noise muffled this far off the main streets. For the first time since leaving the forest, I felt like I could breathe without choking.

Oak’s smile faded, the weight sliding back into his eyes. He leaned back, scanning the park as if checking for ears before lowering his voice.

“I didn’t drag you out here just to ask how you’re holding up. There are things I couldn’t put in a message,” he said.

That got my attention.

“Alright,” I said.

He tapped the Poké Ball in his hand once, thinking for a moment before answering.

“How much do you know about my research?” he asked.

“Nothing, really,” I said with a shrug. “I know you research Pokemon but that’s about it.”

“My grandfather researched Pokemon,” Oak said. “I research Pokemon Cells, or P-Cells.”

“Catchy,” I said.

“They’re the key to everything, Chloe” he continued, his eyes gleaming. “The reason Pokémon can do what they do. Every impossible thing you’ve seen a Pokemon do comes from their ability to process Infinite Energy through P-Cells. Without them, a Pokémon’s just an animal. With them, they’re… well, they’re Pokémon.”

I thought of Arashi sparking nervously in the streets, Ace melting into my shadow. Without those abilities, what would they be? A sheep and a large cat?

Oak kept going.

“P-Cells aren’t just the engine that lets Pokémon use Infinite Energy. They adapt. Mutate. They respond to stress and the environment in ways human biology can’t,” he explained. “That’s why Pokémon evolve, why they can learn new moves. Their entire bodies are built around channeling that energy into forms we can barely measure.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“So Ace turning into a living shadow is what? A P-Cell mutation?” I said. It sounded like sci-fi to me. “It’s really cool, sure, but it doesn’t seem that different than what other Pokemon can do.”

Oak gave me the professor look — equal parts proud and exasperated.

“Not a mutation. An adaptation. When Umbreon are pushed into the right conditions, let’s say, a strong bond with their trainer, the stress of a life or death battle, and the ambient energy of a nearby Well, their P-Cells can adapt in ways never seen before. That’s why Ace can hide himself in your shadow. It’s not magic, Chloe. It’s biology.”

I glanced down at my feet where Ace lingered, warmth coiled in the dark. “Biology, sure,” I said. “But it still looks like magic.”

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“And it’s not just about moves or evolution. Infinite Energy isn’t limitless, not really. It’s recycled, processed again and again through P-Cells,” Oak continued, more animated now. “Every time a Pokémon fights, heals, grows—it’s their cells working overtime to wring more power out of the fabric of reality. That’s why Pokémon Centers can heal so quickly, why even injuries that would cripple a human are shrugged off. P-Cells are designed to recover and adapt.”

“Sounds convenient,” I muttered. “Wish I had some of that right now.”

Oak sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s why I came to see you in person,” he said. “You’re an outlier, Chloe. You fell out of the sky and bonded with a Pokémon faster than most people manage in years. If I’m right about P-Cells, it might explain more than just how Pokémon work. It might explain why you’re even still alive.”

“Okay, that’s not ominous at all.”

Oak didn’t answer right away. He just studied me, eyes sharp in the half-light.

“Pokémon have P-Cells. Humans don’t,” he said finally. “That much is fact. But bonds change things. There are records—fragmentary, half-buried records deep in League archives—that suggest human trainers can resonate with their partner’s P-Cells. Not in the same way as a Pokemon, but enough to borrow some of their strength. To endure things they shouldn’t.”

My mouth went dry.

“Like a normal girl from Vancouver surviving a Nidorino’s Poison Sting that should’ve killed her?” I asked.

His silence was answer enough. I leaned back against the bench, staring up at the flickering streetlamp.

“So you’re saying Ace’s biology is bleeding into me?”

Oak’s jaw tightened.

“I don’t know. No one does. But it would explain why you’re still standing when by all rights you shouldn’t be,” he said. “Trainers talk about bonds of trust, and friendship with their Pokemon, helping them overcome insurmountable odds. What if it’s not just poetry?” What if it’s physiology? What if every time you fight alongside Ace, you’re sharing more than just a desire to win?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My fingers drifted to the Poke Balls at my belt, feeling the cool metal press against my skin. I felt Ace stir, like he was shifting into a more comfortable position around my shoulders.

Oak sighed, softer this time.

“I’m not telling you this to scare you. I just want you to understand what’s at stake. You might be living proof of something the League barely has words for,” he said. “But there are people out there who want to control that power. Weaponize it. Team Rocket tried to take over the entire Indigo Islands thirty years ago with their Mewtwo experiments.”

“The KLF,” I said, recalling the way they had stormed the Sanctuary.

“The Kanto Liberation Front is trying to do the same thing today,” he said, nodding. “They want to drag the Indigo Islands back under Kanto’s control, under their control, the way it was a century ago.”

“That’s why they attacked the Sanctuary,” I said, a piece of the puzzle falling into place. “To control the Well.”

“Exactly. And they’re not slowing down.” Oak’s voice hardened. “They’re stirring up discontent, fear, old grudges. It’s all fuel to them. Your confrontation with Suzie is exactly what they are after.”

“So this isn’t just about badges and Gym matches. It’s bigger,” I said. The bench suddenly felt colder beneath me.

“It’s always bigger.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Trainer numbers are declining every year. More and more kids are choosing not to become trainers. Too dangerous, too expensive. But each year there are less and the routes become more dangerous, leading to fewer new trainers the next.”

I frowned.

“An endless self-fulfilling loop,” I said. “So what then? A few decades from now no one’s left willing to fight? The wilds win?”

“That’s the fear,” Oak said quietly. “That’s why people like you matter more than you realize. Otherworlder or not, you’re here, you’re walking the path of a trainer and whether you like it or not, people are watching.”

I let out a bitter laugh.

“Yeah. Watching me screw up.”

His gaze was steady, sharp.

“Watching you survive,” he said. “A nobody, a novice trainer that survived Viridian Forest. That makes more of a difference than you can imagine.”

Ace stirred at my feet, shadow rippling across the pavement like ink materializing before Oak. I sat back, chewing on the words.

Oak leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping lower as he reached out to pat the Umbreon. The night pressed heavier around us. I wanted to laugh, to snap something sarcastic, but all I managed was a whisper.

“Great. No pressure.”

“None at all,” Oak smirked faintly, though his eyes stayed serious.

I let his words hang for a while, trying not to feel the weight of them pressing into my skull. Ace shifted in my shadow again, warm as a heartbeat against my ankles.

“Oak,” I said finally, “what about, y’know. My head.”

He glanced at me.

“Your memories?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I rubbed the heel of my hand against my temple. “The whole plan was for Ace to evolve into Espeon, right? So he could shield me from some psychic freak rifling through my brain and outing me as the girl who fell out of the sky. But now he’s an Umbreon. So what does that mean? Am I screwed?”

Oak shook his head. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees again.

“Umbreon can protect you. It’ll be harder but the principle’s the same. Where an Espeon would wall your mind off like a fortress, an Umbreon can cloak it in shadow. Make it invisible to other psychics,” he explained. “They can’t read what they can’t find.”

“So instead of a barrier, I’ve got a cloak of invisibility?” I asked, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

“More like a smokescreen,” he corrected. “But it’ll work. He’ll need training to manipulate Psychic-type energy, but that combination of Dark and Psychic will be enough to hide you. Maybe better than a straight wall, in some ways. Most psychics don’t even realize they’re being fooled.”

I glanced down at the stretch of black pooling around my boots, Ace’s eyes glowing faintly red from the dark.

“Think he’s up for it?”

“From what I’ve seen? He’ll do anything for you,” Oak’s voice softened. “That bond of yours is stronger than most. Teach him to bend psychic energy into his darkness, and you’ll be untouchable. No one’s taking what’s in your head, Chloe. Not unless you let them.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. For the first time since Ace evolved, the knot in my chest loosened just a little.

“Good,” I muttered. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting Suzie—or anyone else—get inside my skull.”

Ace curled around my boots in silent agreement and I scratched him behind the ears, his fur soft and warm.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say Umbreon can cloak my mind in shadow. How is he supposed to learn to use psychic energy if he’s not a psychic?”

Oak smirked, the kind of grin that meant he’d been waiting for me to ask.

“TMs,” he said. “We zap the skills right into his brain.”

“Figures,” I said. “Always comes back to money.”

“There’s one in particular,” he went on. “Reflect. It’s a Psychic-type construct that blunts physical attacks. Not as powerful as Protect, but useful nonetheless. And more importantly, it’s simple. The structure is straightforward enough for a Dark-type to mimic. It doesn’t require the finesse of something like Teleport or Psybeam.”

“So basically, you’re saying I need to buy my cat psychic training wheels.” I leaned back against the bench, half amused.

“Don’t underestimate him,” Oak said. “Umbreon are uniquely suited for this. Their P-Cells already interact with psychic energy—just differently. It’s why they can nullify psychic attacks. You’re not forcing him into something unnatural. You’re just teaching him to redirect what he already does.”

Ace pressed tighter in my shadow, his warmth humming up through the soles of my boots like agreement.

“Reflect, huh?” I muttered. “Guess I better start shopping.”

I blew out a breath, letting the sarcasm hang in the air—but he didn’t let the moment soften. His expression sharpened, mouth a thin line.

“What are you planning to do with Suzie?” he asked. “Your speech today was a good starting point. You’ve given people something to think about. But Suzie is going to spend the next week turning the narrative against you.”

“What the hell is her problem anyway?” I asked. “Seriously, I know I called out one of her trainers but she tried to get me killed!”

Oak nodded, his brow furrowed.

“And don’t think the League is going to let her get away with that,” he said. “I won’t let them. As for Suzie herself, she’s a traditionalist.”

“And that gives her the right to send people she doesn’t like to their deaths?”

“Of course not,” Oak said, shaking his head. “Why do you think this has caused so much attention? Average citizens don’t realise what she’s done, but trainers do. The League does.”

“I still don’t understand why she did it though,” I said. “Like, I get she didn’t know she was being recorded but she didn’t even hesitate to set that test.”

“Kantonian politics are complicated,” he said. “Far too complicated to get into on top of everything else tonight. Suffice it to say, Suzie has a very strict view of the world. She feels that people, especially trainers, should prioritize group harmony and social order.”

“She’s a conformist, you mean?” I said, an obvious sneer in her voice. “Everyone has to be a perfect little identical worker bee while she gets to play Queen?”

“It’s what kept Kanto strong for centuries,” Oak said with a shrug. “I don’t agree with it but I understand it. That said, Suzie took it a step too far.”

“You think? Bitch treated me like some kind of infection to be stamped out before it could spread,” I said.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Oak asked again. “All of Kanto will be watching.”

“Good. If Suzie thought I was a blemish on her perfect world before, she hasn’t seen anything yet,” I growled.

“And the Liberation Front?” he asked. “If you attack the League, you’re giving them exactly what they want.”

My jaw clenched and the wound on my leg throbbed in sympathy.

“Suzie treats me like a virus, terrorists want to fly my face on their banner,” I said, working through it aloud. “And you’re saying I need to inspire a whole new generation of trainers.”

“Welcome to Indigo,” Oak said grimly.

I stared past him at the darkened park, the hum of the streetlamp overhead, the weight of Ace’s warmth pressing against me from the shadows.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I muttered as I dug my fingers into the edge of the bench, nails biting wood. “I’m just trying to find a way home. That’s all I’ve wanted since the day I woke up here. The last thing I wanted is to get dragged into politics.”

“I know. None of this is fair,” Oak said. “But you don’t get to choose what the world does with you. Only what you do with it.”

I tipped my head back, staring at the flickering streetlamp, wishing I could see the stars. Wishing even harder I was back under familiar ones. Oak let me stew in silence for a few breaths, then leaned back, folding his arms.

“You want to find a way home?” His eyes stayed on me, steady, unflinching. “Then you’re going to need the League on your side. Like it or not, they control the resources, the labs, the archives—everything that might hold the answer. You can’t go it alone.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then shut it again. He wasn’t wrong, and we both knew it.

“You’ve already stirred the Beedrill’s nest with Suzie and Viridian Gym,” he went on. “The media’s watching, the League’s watching. That can bury you or they can work with you. Depends on how you play it.”

“You’re telling me to play nice with the woman who sent me to die?” I asked. “So the League can avoid some embarrassment?”

“I’m telling you to play it smart,” he said. “Use the attention. Make them see you as an asset, not a liability. Defeat Suzie, take her badge, play their game.”

His words sat heavy in my gut, like the microwaved slop I’d half-eaten upstairs. I hated the truth of them almost as much as I hated the situation.

Oak finally stood, dusting off his hands.

“The hotel was a good idea,” he said. “But now that you’re all over the TV, it’s only a matter of time before an employee sells you out to the media.”

He handed me a keycard and an address on a piece of paper.

“I’ve set you and your young friend up with a place run by a friend of mine,” he went on. “They’ll keep it quiet that you’re there, and they have an underground arena for you to train in.”

“Um, thanks, Oak,” I said. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Call me Gary,” he said, grinning down at me.