The term "Pseudo-Legendary" wasn't official. No major regional Alliance used it in any formal capacity — the closest academic equivalent appeared in university research papers under the label Late-Blooming Pokémon, a category used to classify a specific group of exceptionally powerful species.
That name, however, was too long and too dry to catch on. Among trainers, "Pseudo-Legendary" had simply stuck.
They weren't Legendary Pokémon — not gods, not myths — but they were, without question, among the strongest Pokémon in the world. To fall into this category, a Pokémon had to meet several specific conditions.
The first was rarity.
Not rarity in the sense of near-extinction — Pokémon occupied such a dominant position in the natural world that even uncommon species had sizeable populations. But finding a Pseudo-Legendary as a wild encounter was a different matter entirely. A large portion of their habitats sat deep in uninhabited wilderness, or within Secret Realms that very few trainers had ever reached. Locations where a person could reliably expect to find one were scarce.
Because of this, most regional Alliances had designated these habitats as Protected Areas. Entering without authorisation to catch Pokémon there was an offence — the kind that ended with a League Security Officer showing up.
The practical result was that trainers using Pseudo-Legendaries were rare. Either you had the connections to compete for the limited capture quotas released from Protected Areas each year, or you were skilled and lucky enough to venture into uninhabited territory and find one yourself.
The difference in value was easy to see. Book an Air Taxi with a Pidgeot and a pleasant cross-city flight ran around 8,000 League Coins — roughly comparable to a full-price long-haul flight. Want a Dragonite instead? The minimum was 70,000 League Coins, and availability wasn't guaranteed. The Norlandia Alliance's civil aviation fleet had barely a dozen Dragonite in service across the entire region. Booking one meant entering a bidding process. The highest offer got the seat.
That was what it meant to have a packed schedule and the ability to fly the whole country.
The second condition was the cost of raising one.
"Late-blooming" was an accurate description. Every Pseudo-Legendary species required reaching at least level 50 before final evolution. The fully evolved forms were exceptional — base stats that approached those of true Legendary Pokémon — but the early stages were weak, demanding, and expensive to develop. They consumed resources at a rate that made most trainers think twice.
For someone from a wealthy family, it was manageable. For someone like Nova — who, despite having earned a 1.2 million League Coin bounty reward for apprehending a wanted criminal, still didn't have deep pockets — raising a Pseudo-Legendary purely for the prestige of it was a reliable path to financial ruin.
Some species had Pokédex entries that casually mentioned an appetite capable of consuming an entire mountain. Nova preferred not to think too hard about the feeding budget that implied.
And yet, when Mort asked his question, all of that careful reasoning dissolved almost immediately.
"What if I could get you a Pokémon slot for a Pseudo-Legendary?"
The words settled in Nova's mind like a Hypnosis attack — slow, circling, effective. Every principled objection he'd been holding onto — his independence, his freedom, his plans — popped quietly, one after another, like soap bubbles in sunlight.
"...Is that serious, Master?"
Mort's mouth curved upward. Master, was it? No more half a master.
"I'm an old man running out of time. Why would I lie to you? As long as you're willing—"
"Say no more. I'm willing."
Mort stared at him. That was fast.
"Is that serious, disciple?"
"If you do not abandon me," Nova said, "I will not abandon you."
He meant it. Inheriting a run-down Gym had seemed completely out of the question five minutes ago. If the run-down Gym also came with a Pseudo-Legendary capture slot, then everything was suddenly open to negotiation.
For where Nova currently stood in his career, this was the kind of opportunity that didn't come twice.
Neither of them was being sentimental about it, of course. This was a significant decision for both sides, and they both knew it. Mort needed Nova to build a real reputation in the Alliance — enough that the investment would eventually pay off at the level he was hoping for. Nova, on his end, had no interest in taking over a struggling property before he was ready; being buried in maintenance and management issues for three to five years would set his development back considerably.
Both of them wanted time. Both of them wanted room to grow into the arrangement.
But the core intention had been established, and the rest moved quickly.
Nova's existing plan would stay intact. He would travel, take on Gym challenges across the region, and aim for a strong result at the Norlandia Alliance Conference. In the meantime, Mort would spend the next year putting his affairs in order — sorting out the Withered Gym, settling outstanding issues, and getting his properties into a state that could actually be handed over.
Their real partnership would begin after Nova completed his Alliance Conference run.
From there, Nova would have two years to develop his strength and enter the quinquennial Norlandia Alliance Master Tournament as a disciple of Withered Earth — Mort's formal title as a former Ground-type Master. Winning through the preliminary round would earn him the title of Ground-type Master in his own right.
The Pseudo-Legendary quota was Mort's deposit on that agreement.
Put plainly, what Nova had committed to was nearly impossible on paper. Becoming a type Master in under four years was an achievement with a very low success rate — even for trainers who had already made a name for themselves at a young age. For a sixteen-year-old just starting his regional journey, it was the kind of goal that most experienced trainers would quietly call unrealistic.
Mort didn't think so.
He had been a Ground-type Master himself. He understood what it took, and he knew what he was looking at when he saw it. If he had simply announced that he was looking for a successor, young trainers would have lined up from the Withered Gym all the way to Harmony City. But what would any of them have actually offered him? At best, someone competent enough to run the Gym properly — and if that was all he wanted, he could do it himself.
What he needed was different. He needed someone with the talent and the drive to carry the ambitions he hadn't been able to finish — not a careful, obedient disciple who followed instructions, but a genuine partner who could extend what he had started and take it somewhere he never reached.
Trainers like that didn't come looking. They were already spoken for, mentored by people far more powerful and well-connected than a retired Ground-type Master whose Gym hadn't had a proper roof repair in years.
But luck, on occasion, was its own kind of skill.
By chance, Mort had found one — an unpolished talent that no one else had claimed yet. One Pseudo-Legendary quota, and the deal was made. The ambition he had carried for decades under the name of Withered Earth finally had somewhere to go.