Announcement
I recently received a comment from a reader—the first one to specifically touch upon the battles so far. They mentioned they'd like to see the fights become longer and more strategic. Honestly, I've been waiting for someone to bring this up, probably ever since the encounter with the Beedrill trainer.
But... there's a reason why these battles go the way they do. The power of these Pokémon is very real, and the sheer force of a perfected, well-trained technique is paramount. In this world, strategy matters, but raw power and mastery often dictate the outcome before a fight even truly begins.
The main factor here is Haunter's sheer power level. The Pokémon world isn't fair. Our Haunter is likely at the level of a 3rd or 4th Gym Leader, while Houndour and Squirtle aren't even at a Level 1 Gym standard yet. On the flip side, that Kadabra we ran into? That was easily a 7th or 8th Gym-level threat.
Will we meet trainers of a similar caliber later on to make the battles longer? Of course. In due time. But the world simply isn't fair, and a Pokémon can take you down in a split second. A lightning-fast Kadabra with a perfected technique can end things before you can even react. This isn't the kind of story where the protagonist defeats Lance in a single day :).
***
Early the next morning, after a quick breakfast, we got straight to work. I immediately sent Haunter to continue his Shadow Ball training. For a split second, I wondered if starting with this technique had been the right move, but I dismissed the doubt instantly. Haunter was visibly improving. Even though Kadabra had crushed him, I was certain it was merely a matter of experience and the fact that she possessed a significantly higher auric value. I would have bet my life on it.
Both Squirtle and Houndour had to undergo specific physical drills to start. They stood waiting for my command. Even at a glance, Houndour's coat looked glossier, thicker, and stronger; he had grown larger and more robust overall. As I began to inspect him, I felt the increased strength in his leg muscles, and thanks to the resistance running, he had built up a solid back. Based on my memories, I knew that old-world bodybuilders would have given anything for his genetics and rate of progress.
He panted contentedly with his tongue out while I evaluated his muscle structure. After a moment, I spoke to him: "You're fully recovered now, Houndour. Tomorrow, we can begin auric training."
"Houndour?" he asked inquisitively.
"But today, I'd like to continue with the resistance training. We'll improve your muscle mass because I need to focus more on Squirtle today," I nodded toward the Water-type Pokémon, who was watching us curiously. "So, tomorrow—aura."
"Houndour!" he barked defiantly and walked determinedly toward the treadmill. I fitted his harness and increased the load by another two kilograms—twenty-two in total. I switched on the speed. I didn't overdo it at first; I wanted his muscles to warm up properly. Once I saw he had no trouble and was clearly enjoying the run, I returned to Squirtle.
"So?" I asked him directly.
"Squirtle?"
"Do you want to stay with us? You've been here a few days now; you've trained, you've eaten with us. You know how we do things," I said seriously. I didn't intend to train him further if he had no real interest in becoming part of the team.
He stared thoughtfully at the ground for a moment, then cried out with a small smile: "Squirtle! Squirt, squirtleee!"
I didn't understand every word, but I was sure he agreed and had likely added a remark about food. I nodded with a smile. "Yes, we'll always have plenty of food. And the more powerful we become, the better it'll be... but we have to train."
"Squirtle!" he confirmed with determination, waiting for the first command.
"Run to the bench and back," I pointed toward the bench press.
With a puzzled expression, he obeyed. He sprinted there and back immediately. Of course, as a Water-type, he was relatively slow and clumsy. One day, as a Blastoise, he would be a proper tank with a powerful Special Attack. Actually, thinking about it, all three members of my team were currently Special Attackers...
Hm.
I was snapped out of my thoughts by Squirtle's nudge. "Squirtle? Squirtle?" he asked curiously.
"I'm thinking," I replied. After a moment, I began to explain: "Right now, thanks to your shell, you're quite durable. However, your mobility is poor; you're slow and clumsy."
Squirtle frowned at me, so I continued quickly: "No, no, don't take it as an insult. I'm just stating facts. As a mighty Blastoise, you'll be an unstoppable sniper. You won't need mobility as much then... but if we improve it just a little now, it could be a huge advantage for you."
"Squirtle?" he prompted, his eyes shining. The mention of Blastoise had clearly gotten to him.
"Yes, but since you're a Water-type, it's going to be annoying for you," I warned him.
"Squirtle!" he cried out determinedly.
I nodded with feigned gravity. If that is your wish, my prince, I added amusedly to myself.
I stood opposite him in a fighting stance. "Stand like I am. Your legs need stability so you can dodge quickly in any direction without losing your balance."
He tried to mimic me, but his back leg was too close to the front one. I manually moved it back. "Like this, Squirtle. Now, let's work on evasive maneuvers. The front leg always sets the direction, and the back leg follows. You have to push off gently with your back leg and quickly regain a stable stance!" I commanded, demonstrating what I meant.
He tried to copy me. He pushed off with concentration, but used too much force. He tried to land straight into the stance, but his legs got tangled, and he fell instantly. He ended up on his back, spinning helplessly on his shell like a typical turtle until he struggled to flip back over. The whole thing was accompanied by my loud laughter.
He looked at me irritably, to which I simply shrugged: "You asked for it," I noted with amusement.
Haunter was still grinding away at Shadow Ball, Houndour was running effortlessly at a steady pace I wanted to let him maintain for a while longer, and Squirtle and I were honing his stance. If we could improve his agility and dodge speed, he wouldn't just have to absorb hits; he'd be able to avoid them and counterattack immediately.
An agile and powerful tank is going to be fucking dangerous, I thought with a smile.
And so, we continued training.
We broke for training at lunch. A drooling Houndour and a hungry Squirtle happily followed me to the dining hall. Today, I didn't even ask Squirtle what he felt like; his taste buds never changed, and he chose the same thing every time. I quickly dished out their food so they could dig in, and then went to pick something for myself.
The tables were full of fragrant, beautifully prepared food. Meat, fish, eggs, rice, and today even some less healthy fries. But somehow, I didn't have an appetite for any of it. I craved a proper pizza with several types of cheese and Pidgey meat. The mere thought made my mouth water, so I returned to the table impatiently. I had to wait for them to finish before heading into town.
I had to give Houndour a second helping; one portion was enough for Squirtle. When they finally finished, I spoke to them: "I'm going to eat in town today. I'm craving something specific."
"Squirtle?" "Houndour?" they asked inquisitively.
Even if I didn't understand them, I knew they were interested in that food. I shook my head in disapproval: "No, that's just for humans."
I saw their skeptical looks, so I continued: "Seriously... there's too much salt, spices, and other ingredients. But if they have a Pokémon version, I'll buy it for you too," I promised earnestly.
I returned them to their Pokéballs while Haunter hid in my shadow, and set off to find a pizzeria. There were bound to be a few in Pewter City.
It didn't take long before I found one. The construction of the pizzeria was clearly the work of a skilled Pokémon; it had solid stone walls with windows simply set into them. A perfect scent of baked pizza drifted from the austere building. Through the windows, I could see it was packed inside, which only convinced me of the quality of their kitchen. Above the door, I noticed the sign "Magcargo's Pizzeria" carved directly into the stone.
Right at the entrance was a counter where two waitresses stood. One was unloading a dishwasher while the other immediately greeted me: "Hello! For here or to go? We're a bit full." Everywhere I looked, tables were occupied, and the place hummed with lively chatter.
"I was hoping to eat here," I replied. "I'll wait if I have to."
"If you don't mind, we have one table you can join. One of our regulars is sitting there, and he doesn't mind the company," she offered.
"I don't mind," I nodded. "I'm just hungry."
With a smile, she invited me to follow her. She led me to the back of the restaurant to a smaller table where a guy was sitting with a magazine in his hand.
"Austin, you've got company," the waitress announced, nodding for me to sit. Austin looked young and laid-back. He gave me a small smile and a nod of greeting but immediately returned to his reading.
On the table lay a menu with a stylized Magcargo in the background. I scanned the few types of pizza they offered in a second. "Number seven, please," I told the waitress while she was still standing by me. She nodded and left to process the order.
I sat for a while, looking around the restaurant and the guests, but after a time, I found myself watching my tablemate. Austin seemed cool. I noticed he was reading a scientific journal analyzing Pokémon. He sensed my gaze but didn't react. He finished the article calmly and only then set the magazine aside. He took a sip from a mug of beer and set it down contentedly. "Trainer?" he tossed out the question.
I just nodded. It must have been obvious from my appearance.
"I was just reading an interesting article, though it didn't have a concrete conclusion," he paused for a moment. "It was discussing Pokémon intelligence... scientists can't agree. Or maybe they can?"
"What is it about specifically?" I asked curiously.
"Hmm," he sighed thoughtfully. "Intelligence: Ghosts versus Psychic-types and Porygon."
"And what did they find?"
Austin chuckled to himself. "They can't agree on a winner. They know who is the most intelligent on paper—without a doubt, it's the Psychic-types. But..." he paused dramatically, "that's where we hit a problem. If we evaluate purely pragmatically, just dry numbers, then yes. But if we evaluate life and utility intelligence, it's debatable. IQ without EQ is disastrous for life, and in that, Ghosts significantly beat Psychic-types. History has shown us what Psychic-types are capable of with cold, rational reasoning. It often ended tragically."
It made sense. "And Porygons?"
Austin shrugged. "In my opinion, they're the dumbest, but they can process massive amounts of data. Because of that, they can make the best decisions percentage-wise."
"Hm, I still think Ghosts are the best," I noted with a smile.
"Of course," he rolled his eyes theatrically with a small smirk, his gaze flickering toward my shadow for a split second.
Just then, the waitress arrived with my order. I felt like Houndour—my mouth full of saliva. She placed the plate of pizza in front of me. It looked divine. The crust was thin, topped with plenty of Miltank cheese, chopped chili peppers with pieces of Pidgey meat, and finely diced Bulba-stems. Pieces of black olives were scattered around the entire perimeter. It was perfectly baked. As I lifted the first slice, the cheese stretched beautifully. I immediately started blowing on it and bit in while it was still hot. it was really spicy, so I was careful not to burn myself.
"Enjoy your meal, and bye for now!" Austin said. I saw him finish the rest of his beer in one gulp, say his goodbyes, and leave. With my mouth full, I had no way to answer, so I just continued eating, savoring every single bite.
I finished the whole pizza with ease; for a moment, I was like a greedy, drooling Houndour. After paying, however, I stepped outside politely and headed back to the Pokécenter. I felt like having a second one, but discipline took over—I wouldn't be able to work on myself with an overstuffed stomach.
Back at the Pokécenter, we continued training. While Squirtle honed his movement, Houndour returned to the treadmill. This time, however, I doubled his weight to 44 kilograms. He had the stamina and muscles for it, and his health was perfectly fine. Now, though, we had to work on raw power, not just endurance, so I increased the speed as well. He didn't seem to have a problem with it, so I started training too.
As always, I warmed up and stretched first. I went through shadow boxing and "shadow sword," as I called it in my head. That reminded me that I really should buy that steel sharpener. During the shadow boxing, I noticed Squirtle watching me—he was trying to mimic my punches with his short limbs.
With a smile, I moved on to strength training. We worked until evening. Personally, I was happy, full of endorphins and a pleasant tension. My team, however, was happiest when they were all buried in their food bowls. For dinner, even Squirtle asked for a second helping, while Houndour ate three straight after the intense drill. I gave them more willingly. The more they work and eat, the more powerful they'll become.
After a shower, I lay on the bed surrounded by my team and felt a craving for a beer. Professor Oak used to give me a little taste occasionally when I worked for him. I was legally old enough for beer, though not for hard liquor... even if in some districts it wasn't a problem to get anything. I decided to explore Pewter City's nightlife.
Nurse Joy directed me to the south of the city, where there was a relatively fun district with the highest concentration of bars and clubs. In a few minutes, I was there. The closer I got, the more groups of young people I encountered—groups of guys and attractive women in various styles. Music echoed from the clubs. Eventually, I chose a place where rhythmic music with deep bass was thumping. Two gilded Persian statues stood at the entrance along with a bouncer, in front of whom a line of people swayed. It was funny to watch his logic: attractive women were let in for free, the less noticeable ones had to pay, and poorly dressed guys were turned away immediately. For some, he just hesitantly pointed to the side of the line.
I was a bit worried if he'd let me in, but when I stood before him, he just raised his head to look me over. I met his gaze without hesitation. I was taller and more shredded than him, but he had significantly larger biceps—he clearly worked hard on his physique. After a moment, he gave a curt nod: "No trouble inside."
I nodded and walked in without paying the cover charge.
As soon as I entered, I saw a wide dance floor with a DJ playing on a raised platform behind it. A bar stretched along the left side, while on the right were booths where people sat with drinks. Not far from there, stairs led to the second floor. I quickly bought an overpriced beer and set out to mingle. I didn't know how to dance and didn't plan on embarrassing myself. So, I headed toward the booths, which also had high bar tables for standing. An attractive blonde girl in a sexy silver dress immediately caught my eye. She was there with her friends, and they were all talking to some guy in a black tank top with longish blonde hair. It looked like he was only paying attention to her friends, while ignoring her. I walked toward her slowly to give her time to notice me.
"Hi," I smiled. "I had to come say hi when I saw your striking dress."
"Hi," she replied with a slight smile and a nod.
"I'm Patrik, and you?" I asked, offering my hand.
"Emma," she accepted my hand, and we shook.
I tried to develop the conversation for a while, but unfortunately, without success. Emma was seriously sexy, but the whole time she was stealing glances at the guy with her friends. Her answers were curt—just for the sake of it. One-word and simple. I realized I didn't have a chance here, so I slipped away after a moment.
Based on my memories, I knew that rejection or lack of interest was a common thing and not to be taken personally. I'd been told that even if I were the most handsome, successful, and richest, it wouldn't mean I'd succeed with everyone. Some were in love, others in relationships, some had their "friends with benefits," or they simply weren't interested. Maybe they liked blondes, whereas I was dark-haired. There could be a million reasons for rejection—it was a pure numbers game.
Even though I knew it wasn't personal, it stung a little. I finished the rest of my beer, got a second one, and preferred to go up to the second floor where I could watch the dance floor undisturbed. I leaned against a stone railing clad in elegant gold paneling and watched the action below. Behind me were leather booths; they were completely empty, except for a few forgotten bottles on the tables. The music sounded strange up here; the bass was noticeably stronger due to the speakers in the corners, but I didn't mind. In the prevailing gloom, light beams from spotlights only occasionally cut through the space.
I stood there for a while, sipping, when I noticed someone watching me from the stairs. I recognized her immediately—it was the girl with the tattoo choker who had already been watching me in the Pokécenter. I met her gaze for a moment, but then looked back at the dance floor. I knew she wanted to meet me, but I'd already experienced one rejection today. I was curious if she'd work up the courage to come and introduce herself.
After a moment of uncertain standing, she headed toward me. I turned and waited. She approached with a nervous smile. She was quite short, maybe 160 to 165 centimeters, so I towered over her. By the look of her, though, she was a year or two older than me, which didn't bother me at all.
When she reached me, she spoke: "Hi!" I heard half of it and lip-read the rest—through the thumping bass and the noise of the music, she could hardly be heard, but I smiled at her.
"Hi!" I replied.
She offered her hand and said something, but I couldn't make it out. I took her hand and stepped closer to her. Her palm was tiny, soft, and pleasantly warm. I leaned in so that my cheek almost brushed against her jaw and yelled in her ear: "I can't hear you very well. What did you say?"
I felt goosebumps ripple gently through her body. She pressed closer to me and spoke after a moment: "My name is Marcela. And you?"
"Nice to meet you, Patrik," I replied, but I still held her, so to speak, in my arms. I felt her athletic body, and her leggings only emphasized her firm physique. Her proximity and fruity scent were exciting to me. And I wasn't the only one affected by this moment. Her pupils were dilated, her mouth slightly parted. She looked at my lips and then back into my eyes. She nervously licked her lower lip as if it were dry. I didn't need anything more—I was sure what she wanted. With a provocative smile, I leaned toward her lips, curious if she would take what she came for.
It didn't take long. She began kissing me so aggressively and hungrily that it completely surprised me. It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was rough, nearly making my lips ache. She pressed against me dominantly, as if she wanted to take complete control. I didn't like that. With my left hand, I grabbed her ponytail and gently but firmly pulled her back from me. I bit her lip and pressed her against the stone railing with my full weight. I felt, rather than heard, her exhale in excitement. I liked her, but I had to tame her aggression.
I started kissing her again, and every time she became too fierce, I pulled her hair a little harder. She clearly liked it and very quickly understood the pace that suited me. We rubbed against each other excitedly in time with the thumping music, kissing in the gloom of the balcony.
This night was definitely not over yet.
***
Author's note:
Training is back in full swing! Houndour is finally healthy again, and Squirtle has officially joined the team.
The pizza scene is a shout-out to you guys—Pizaaaaaa and Austin! Seriously, every time I read your comments, I found myself craving a massive pizza :D.
The night club scene is actually based on a real experience from my younger days. The bouncer really was that shallow about who he let in; he was an acquaintance from my Thai boxing days, and I'd gotten the better of him in training more than once. Because of that, he respected me and was always cool with me.
Emma was incredibly sexy, exactly my type... but unfortunately, she only had eyes for the guy in the black tank top. I didn't stand a chance from the moment I said hello, so I kept the conversation short (mostly because I didn't remember the exact details) and moved on to the girl of the night. Marcela—are you guys interested in seeing where this goes? (her photo is on Discord, generated from my memories)
The club scene practically wrote itself, and I realized I was smiling the whole time I was typing it. Great memories, though I'd better not let my girlfriend read this part!
***
Step into the Restricted Section
The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.
Enter the Restricted Section here: you-know-what/PatrikWriter
Upcoming Chapters – Already Written:
19. Dogshit Nights and Silver Linings
20. The Moon's Crimson Glow
21. Blood and Embers
22. Lessons and Hard Knocks
23. Ten Thousand Kicks
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