Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The next few days blurred together. Training in the mornings, more training in the afternoons, and greasy lunches at the diner so Joey could keep working his way through Unovan cuisine.

I pushed the team hard, but the results were undeniable.

Ace worked until his paws trembled, hammering Reflect again and again while Arashi smashed against it with Headbutts that rattled the floor. He’d perfected holding it for minutes at a time, but every collapse left him panting, fur slick with sweat and eyes burning with stubborn pride.

Arashi hated being second best. Every failure to spark Thunderbolt left her snarling, fleece snapping with frustration, but in a surprise twist, she’d managed to learn Light Screen. A feat she gloated over for days, much to Ace’s annoyance.

Joey and Mr Wiggles weren’t spared either. The Mankey took to sparring against both my team and Joey himself, and while his blows were still wild, the force behind them was growing. Joey wore his bruises like trophies.

By the third day, we were all running ragged. My leg throbbed constantly, the ache creeping back despite potions and ointments. My patience frayed with every missed attack, every collapse, every time Joey cracked a joke when I needed him serious. Even he started to quiet down, his cheer dimming as exhaustion caught up.

At night, back in our suite, I’d scroll my Pokédex despite myself. News feeds played my speech outside the Gym on repeat, anchors dissecting every word. Some called me brave, defiant. Most called me reckless. Suzie’s smiling face filled half the headlines, framed by captions about the “upstart trainer” who had insulted Viridian’s pride.

Suzie hadn’t wasted the week. Every interview, every soundbite, she painted me as an outsider with no respect for the League, no respect for tradition. The comments beneath the clips were worse. Half the region wanted me to lose just to see me humiliated. The other half wanted me to lose harder.

I closed my feed every night with my stomach churning, then got up the next morning to train again.

When Tuesday rolled around, I could tell everyone needed a change of scenery. The arena walls were starting to feel like a prison, and the longer we stayed cooped up the shorter everyone’s fuse got.

It was time to work on our other problem.

Xavier had promised me his protection as long as I stayed in Viridian City, but he’d been clear about the limits of that promise. The further I got from the bird’s range, the more exposed I’d be to psychic probing—or worse.

Which was why, when Joey bounced into my bedroom that morning ready for another day of drills, I called it.

“Not today,” I told him.

“What? But it’s training day—”

“Not today,” I repeated, tugging my hoodie over my head. “We’re going to see someone.”

“Who?”

“A friend,” I said.

“Do I know them?”

“Nope”

I didn’t plan on sticking around in Viridian forever. Hell, if everything went to plan, I’d be out of here the day after my Gym battle. But before then, Ace would need to have a handle on his mind cloak.

—

We slipped out of the hotel at mid-morning, me hunched deep into my hoodie with the drawstrings pulled tight, Ace hidden in my shadow, his presence a comforting weight about my shoulders.

The air outside felt heavier than usual, thick with the city’s anticipation. Posters were everywhere—on shop windows, on street poles, plastered over notice boards. My face. Suzie’s face. Sometimes side by side, sometimes split apart with some flashy graphics, always shouting about Friday night’s “special exhibition match.”

I kept my head down, hood up, tattoos and piercings covered. Didn’t matter. People still stared. Their eyes snagged on me and didn’t let go.

Joey, oblivious—or maybe just choosing to ignore it—walked alongside me with his egg tucked in a colourful backpack he wore backwards. He pointed at a poster of Suzie mid-battle, her Scyther frozen in a blur of motion, blades raised high.

“Whoa, that’s cool. Do you think she’s really that strong, or is it, like, staged for the camera?”

“Keep walking,” I muttered, tugging my hood lower.

“I’m just saying—maybe they made her look more epic. Y’know, for advertising,” Joey said, jogging to keep pace, Mr Wiggles’ ball rattling at his belt.

“Kid, you’re really not helping right now,” I muttered, tugging my hood lower.

A kid in a Viridian school uniform lifted his Pokédex and snapped a picture as I passed. The flash caught me dead-on, bright enough to burn through the hood. His friends cackled, one of them muttering my name like it was already a punchline.

“Delete it,” I said. My voice came out low and sharper than I meant. The kid just grinned and bolted. My stomach twisted tighter than it already was.

“Maybe they thought you looked cool,” Joey said. He offered it like a peace treaty, voice too light.

“Yeah. Hilarious,” I muttered, yanking my hood lower.

We ducked through narrower streets, past vendors hawking fried skewers and knockoff Pokégear. The deeper we went, the fewer posters there were, until finally the noise of the city became distant. I spotted the alley I was looking for, the same one Gary had sent me visiting my first day in the city. Trash bins lined the walls, the air sour with rot.

At the end waited the plain, battered door. No sign, no name. Just wood scarred from years of weather and a little metal grate at eye level.

I pushed Joey ahead of me and knocked.

The door creaked open under my hand without the usual paranoid voice demanding passwords or Oak’s name as a reference.

That alone was enough to make me pause. Creepy old alleys with suspicious doors are supposed to be locked.

“Uh, did we just… break into someone’s house?” Joey whispered, clutching his egg-backpack like it was going to save him.

“Shut up,” I muttered, shoving him through ahead of me. “If anyone asks, you did it.”

Inside wasn’t the cardboard labyrinth I remembered. No teetering towers of boxes with scrawled Unown chicken scratch, no dangling lightbulb ready to burn out. Instead, warm light spilled from a brass chandelier overhead. A velvet rug swallowed my boots. The air smelled faintly of pipe smoke and old wood polish, not mildew and stale ramen.

It looked… lived in. Respectable, even. Victorian chic, the kind of place my grandmother used to gush over in magazines while I rolled my eyes.

“Whoa. Did we come to the right place?” Joey actually gawked, spinning in a circle to take it in.

I wasn’t sure. Everything in me said no—but then my eyes found the fireplace.

George sat in a wingback chair, legs crossed, tweed vest buttoned neat, his long white hair brushed back instead of the wild bird’s nest it had been before. A book lay open on his knee, gold-leaf pages catching the firelight. On his shoulder perched Xavier, feathers gleaming emerald and crimson, eyes fixed on me like twin needles.

“Well,” I said, tugging my hood back, “this is… different.”

George looked up. For a heartbeat I couldn’t tell if it was him or the bird speaking through him—but the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile.

“Welcome back, Miss Luxford,” he said in a voice that didn’t twitch between accents. Smooth. Practiced. Civilized. “Please, do come in. We’ve been expecting you.”

Xavier’s eyes flared, the faintest tingle brushing the back of my skull.

Joey, of course, had zero survival instincts. He bounded forward like he’d stumbled into Narnia.

“Whoa, this place is awesome! Did you, like, redecorate? Because last time Chloe said—”

“Kid.” My tone snapped him in half. “Mouth. Shut.”

George—or Xavier, whatever—just chuckled, the sound low and unsettling.

“Things are rarely as they seem,” he said, snapping the book shut. “And today, Chloe, you’ve come to learn that in more ways than one.”

The fire popped, shadows dancing across the walls. I crossed my arms, forcing myself to keep steady under Xavier’s gaze.

“Then stop being cryptic and teach us,” I said. “Ace needs to learn how to cloak my mind. I don’t care how many dramatic speeches you’ve rehearsed, I’m not leaving until he has it.”

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The Xatu Xavier tilted his head, wings shifting as though in amusement.

the voice rang inside my skull, cold and weightless.

—-

“Start by breathing,” George said. He snapped the book shut and set it on the table with a practiced click.

We’d moved deeper into the house, away from the hall into a drawing room dressed in heavy curtains and polished wood. Cushions had been laid out on the rug like they’d been waiting for us, and I knelt on one, knees already sore.

“What happened to all the boxes?” I said. My eyes cut over the chandelier, the velvet drapes, the polished clock ticking faintly. “Last time this place looked like a storage locker.”

Xavier said. His feathers shivered faintly, eyes burning like coals.

“Right. Creepy fortune-cookie answer,” I said. I tugged Ace closer into my shadow and planted my hand between his ears.

I dragged in air until my ribs ached, already annoyed.

Xavier said. His feathers barely stirred as his eyes bored into me.

I clenched my jaw and pushed my palm down on Ace’s head. He leaned into me, tense and uncertain.

“Good,” George said. He steepled his fingers and watched the fire crackle.

Xavier said. His voice slid into the back of my skull like an icepick.

Ace’s lids flickered shut. I followed, the darkness buzzing harder than I liked.

Xavier said. His wings folded close, his outline long in the firelight.

I swept my awareness across the room. Rug, chair, mantel.

Xavier said. He tapped his beak against his foot and the sound echoed sharp.

A picture came — a single alleylamp burning in the dark, just enough shadow to crawl into.

“Not bad,” George said. He nudged a glass on the mantel so it hummed but didn’t fall.

Xavier said. His crest bristled like a warning.

I shoved the picture toward Ace like I was forcing him under a blanket. For a heartbeat, the world’s edges blurred.

“Good,” George said. His smile was the kind people wear when they expect you to fail again.

Xavier said. His eyes sharpened until my head rang.

The cloak shattered. Static lashed my skull and Ace stumbled sideways with a cry.

“Shit,” I said. My temple throbbed as copper filled my mouth.

“Expected,” George said. He caught the clock on the mantel before it toppled.

I glared at him, vision still fuzzy. “You could’ve mentioned the part where it feels like being tasered.”

“This is a tuning,” George said. He adjusted the hearth poker like a conductor setting tempo.

Xavier said. His tone pressed hard, leaving no room for debate.

I dragged in another breath and shoved the image back, harder this time. The air warped, Ace’s rings flared, and the pressure slammed outward. Frames rattled on the wall, glass buzzing like angry teeth.

Xavier said. His wings snapped open, golden in the firelight.

“Then tell me how the hell it’s supposed to work,” I said. My head felt like it was about to split.

Xavier said. His tone went clinical, dissecting me.

Ace bristled, fur sparking, claws digging grooves into the rug.

“We’re not here to turn him into a weapon,” I said. I pressed harder on his skull, trying to soothe what I’d just provoked.

“You push fear into the weave and fear sharpens,” George said. His hands folded neatly, as though my shaking didn’t matter.

The words burned, because he wasn’t wrong.

Xavier said. His low hum rattled the teacups.

I forced my jaw to unclench, breath scraping out uneven.

Xavier said. His beak clicked, sharp and scolding.

My patience snapped. “Then stop being cryptic and just say what you mean.”

Xavier said. He stepped off George’s shoulder, pacing the rug like a judge.

Ace whined, shrinking under my touch. My hand skimmed behind his ear, trying to steady both of us.

“Anchor him,” George said. His calm grated more than shouting would have.

Joey finally blurted, “Can I help?” He dropped to his knees, eyes too bright.

“Kid—” I started, but he was already clutching Ace’s paw in his hand.

“You’re okay,” Joey said. His voice was small, steady, annoyingly sincere.

Ace’s tremble eased. The static in the room ebbed.

“Anchoring,” George said. His nod was measured, like scoring a test.

I shoved my knee into Joey’s shoulder.

“Don’t make this a habit,” I said.

“Do what works,” George said. He leaned back, serene in his smugness.

Xavier said. His head tilted, unimpressed.

Fine. I pictured not iron or stone, but wool. Not armor — just a hood pulled up against rain. A pocket of dark at the back of a coat.

Ace leaned into it, Joey still hanging on. The edges softened. The world dulled to a murmur.

“Better,” George said. His approval sat heavy as ash.

Xavier said. His eyes narrowed, talons flexing.

My breath came easier. The city outside pressed less sharp, almost distant.

“That’s still flimsy,” George said. He poured tea with the calm of a man filling graves.

“It’s a start,” I said. My voice cracked anyway.

Xavier said. His feathers rasped in irritation.

“So what’s it worth?” I scowled.

“It buys time,” George said. His tone was sharp and final.

“Then we’ll use it,” I said. I straightened. Ace pressed closer, steady at last.

Xavier said. He groaned low, the sound rolling across my bones.

“Yeah,” I said. The word tasted flat.

“Practice,” George said. He checked the shutters like a man who never trusted silence.

“Practice,” I said. My arms locked tight around Ace, as if that would keep us safe.

Xavier said. He hopped back onto George’s shoulder, preening feathers in perfect calm.

“Good,” George said. His smile was warm enough to make it worse.

Xavier said. His voice tolled through me like a bell.

I swallowed the word. It lodged deep, unwanted but solid.

“Thank you,” I said. The ash taste clung anyway.

“You’re welcome,” George said. He inclined his head like a man closing a book.

—

We stumbled back into the suite late that afternoon, our arms filled with snacks. Dropping my hoodie on the floor, I collapsed onto the couch. Ace jumped up beside me, already curling into a ball, while Arashi flopped down with a grunt near the coffee table.

Joey unloaded his egg-backpack into its pillow nest, then grabbed the remote like it was a weapon.

“Movie day,” he said, grinning. Mr Wiggles planted himself on the floor, eyes locked on the popcorn Joey was already tearing into.

“Pick something dumb,” I told him, pulling a blanket over my legs.

“Too serious. Too boring. Ah—explosions!” he said. He scrolled through the menu, muttering like he was reviewing fine wine, and hit play before I could argue.

The rest of the day disappeared into bad dialogue, loud action scenes, and a pile of empty snack bags. Ace twitched every time something blew up, ears flicking, then burrowed deeper into my side like if he ignored it hard enough it would go away.

Arashi sighed theatrically whenever the acting hit rock bottom, rolling her eyes in a way only a sheep could manage before curling back onto the carpet. Joey laughed at every stupid one-liner like it was the cleverest thing in the world, nearly choking on chips at one point and refusing to admit it.

By the third movie, the suite looked like a disaster zone. Popcorn kernels in the cushions, soda cans lined up like trophies on the table, Joey’s shoes kicked halfway across the room. For once, no one cared.

I jolted awake some time later to the rolling credits, triumphant theme blasting out of tinny speakers. Joey snored on the recliner, his head tipped back, mouth wide, one hand still buried in the popcorn bowl. Mr Wiggles was slumped against his leg, belly rising and falling with a rhythm that almost matched his trainer’s.

Blinking grit out of my eyes, I dragged my blanket up to my chin. Ace had migrated into the crook of my knees, rings dim and steady. Arashi had claimed the carpet in front of the TV, her chest rising slow as she dozed through the noise.

I fished my Pokédex from the couch cushion and thumbed it awake. The glow lit my face, harsh in the dark as I navigated to the League forums.

[THREAD] Gym Leader Suzie Harrison vs Chloe Luxford — Friday Night Exhibition

@LeagueNewsOfficial

Special match announced: Viridian Gym Leader Suzie Harrison has accepted a public challenge from rookie trainer Chloe Luxford. Exhibition battle set for Friday evening at Viridian Arena.

* @GymLover98

Lmao, Suzie’s gonna mop the floor with that kid. What’s her team again, an Eevee and a Mareep? Pathetic.

@PewterRockson

Suzie’s a Harrison. She’s been training since birth. Chloe’s from Pallet, which is basically a farm. This isn’t even fair.

* @ghostlover2680

Unpopular opinion: Suzie is overrated as hell. Girl coasts on her last name and her brother’s money.

* @princess_pikachu

Excuse you. Chloe bodied Heather in one hit and made her cry. Suzie better watch her mouth.

@jinxkisser94

That “punk look” just screams criminal record. Piercings, ink, attitude. She’s not trainer material.

* @SendMeSabrinasFeetPics

I’d let Chloe step on me tbh.

* @dragonrOP

What the hell is wrong with you.

@Mew4Lyfe

Suzie’s the real problem here. Gym Leaders are supposed to mentor. Instead she trash-talks kids in classrooms and sends them into Viridian Forest to die.

* @ClankTheTank

That was Heather’s job, not Suzie’s. Chloe shouldn’t even be mouthing off in class.

* @spicylizards4714

Bro, Heather challenged her. You can’t call someone out in front of a room and then cry when they swing back.

@ViridianBornAndRaised

Suzie represents our city. Chloe represents nothing. This upstart shouldn’t even be allowed to set foot in the Arena.

* @princess_pikachu

Nah, she represents every trainer sick of Gym Leaders acting like untouchable royalty.

* @Mew4Lyfe

This. Chloe’s got the guts most of us wish we had.

* @ghostlover2680

League needs more trainers like her and fewer “nepo babies” like Suzie.

@SendMeSabrinasFeetPics

Still waiting on those feet pics.