“So, you’re the wildling my granddaughter’s been traveling with, huh?” her grandmother asked, aiming a fry at Myst like it was a spear.

  Myst stiffened, blinking at the accusation disguised as a question.

  “I… guess?” he replied hesitantly, his gaze flicking to Cynthia with a silent, panicked plea for answers.

  Her grandmother raised an eyebrow at the answer, then stuck out her other hand.

  “Almost forgot. Carolina Shirona, Cynthia’s maternal grandmother.”

  Myst shook it gingerly.

  “Myst. Though… I think you already knew that.”

  She nodded dramatically, then pulled her hand back.

  Cynthia hid a smile. Myst looked like a Skitty caught in the rain, confused and mildly betrayed. Like he wasn’t quite sure how him being gone for an hour led to him being interrogated by her grandmother.

  He shot her a desperate look, but she didn’t meet his eyes, pretending to be focused on something very interesting on the opposite wall.

  It wasn’t that she wanted to leave him hanging, but explaining would only make things worse.

  Really, she was doing him a favour… Well, that, and watching him squirm for once scratched some previously undiscovered itch in her.

  A deeply satisfying one.

  Her grandmother narrowed her eyes and swept the fry between them like a pendulum, as though unsure which of them to interrogate first. Eventually, she re-aimed it at Myst.

  “I was surprised, you know,” she said, “when little Cyn called me out of the blue, demanding I help her get citizenship papers for some ‘friend from the forest.’” She raised a brow. “Naturally, I agreed, she sounded so determined. I didn’t ask too many questions at the time…”

  She paused to chomp down on the fry, then picked up a new one and resumed her casual but deadly questioning.

  “…but I sort of expected details. All she told me was that she met a girl in the woods. One who needed help.”

  Her gaze swept up and down Myst, pointed and assessing.

  Myst shifted in his seat and shot Cynthia another look. She didn’t meet it.

  They’d talked about the whole “girl” thing already. There was no need to revisit it.

  Her grandmother either didn’t notice the exchanged glance or didn’t care.

  “And for what it’s worth,” she went on, “you might pass for a girl at first glance, but that voice of yours certainly doesn’t. I’ve been patient, but since I’m here in person, I’d like some real answers, young man. So tell me, Orre or Unova?”

  Myst’s smile twitched uncomfortably. He glanced at Cynthia again, this time with something closer to desperation. Because, for all the things her grandmother had talked about, there was one rather glaring omission.

  Possibly the most important part, honestly.

  Cynthia tapped the table lightly, staring ahead with a blank expression.

  She’d told her grandmother, right?

  She had to have told her.

  …Hadn’t she?

  “Uhm,” Myst said slowly, raising a hand like he was trying to signal a teacher, “I kind of have to ask… You know about my condition, right?”

  Her grandmother blinked, thrown off just enough to frown.

  Cynthia winced at the blink, then grimaced as the silence stretched, at the look of her grandmother was wracking her brain for answers.

  Shit.

  “What condition?” her grandmother finally asked.

  Okay. Maybe Cynthia hadn’t been as clear as she thought.

  “You know…” Myst tapped his head meaningfully. “That condition.”

  Her grandmother’s frown deepened. “What? Are you saying you got knocked in the head?”

  Myst turned to Cynthia with flat disbelief.

  She looked away.

  She had definitely mentioned she’d met someone in Eterna Forest.

  She was pretty sure she told her grandmother he didn’t have a region to return to.

  And she had probably said that he’d been living there for a few months…

  But maybe she’d just forgot to mention the whole amnesia part.

  Her grandmother tapped a finger against the table, sharp, deliberate, making a sound that cut through the quiet like a judge’s gavel. She didn’t need to say another word, even Myst, who barely knew her, seemed to understand what she meant.

  She was waiting for an explanation.

  Myst slowly, almost mechanically, turned back to face her grandmother.

  Then he smiled. A small, tired thing. The kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Yeah,” he said. “So I guess Cynthia never told you, then.”

  …

  Her grandmother looked between the two of them, her eyes flicking back and forth with increasing speed, like she was trying to catch one of them in a lie. But their expressions didn’t change. Not even a twitch.

  “You’re kidding,” she said at last. Dead serious.

  Cynthia pressed her lips into a tight line, her cheeks warming. Still, she forced herself to speak.

  “No, Grandma. He seriously has amnesia.”

  Her grandmother slowly stopped tapping her finger, eyes flickering downward. Then for a moment they just sat like that, nobody saying anything.

  Even so, Cynthia felt it. It wasn’t dramatic, barely even noticeable, but she still stilled.

  Something about the way her grandmother thought, like she was searching for something, made her feel uneasy.

  Still, before she could begin to figure out why, her grandmother looked up again, fixing Myst with a sharp gaze. Her eyes glinting with an old thoughtfulness, the sort of way only old people could do.

  “So… you don’t actually know where you’re from,” she said slowly. “But you said you still remember things, right? Not your personal memories, but… like, ideas? Connections?” She waved a hand, visibly frustrated by her own phrasing. “Ugh. You know what I mean.”

  When Myst just stared blankly at her like she’d just started speaking another language, she sighed and gestured vaguely in his direction.

  “Explain it again.”

  Myst’s smile faltered, just for a heartbeat. His expression dimmed, and for a second he just looked at her, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer at all.

  Under the table, Cynthia clenched her fist. But she didn’t speak.

  Myst had a tendency to make light of his amnesia, but she’d been around him long enough to know he didn’t actually like talking about it. Maybe that was why she hadn’t told her grandmother earlier—because it felt too personal. Not hers to give away.

  Then again, it hadn’t exactly been deliberate. Even now she felt certain she’d mentioned it. It was just… when she’d talked to her, she’d been distracted. Focused on other things. Exhausted, really. They’d just gotten out of the forest, and everything had still felt like too much. So, somewhere between trying not to mention Myst’s gender and trying not to fall asleep, it must’ve slipped through the cracks.

  Her grandmother hadn’t pressed.

  She’d never followed up.

  Now Cynthia wanted to kick herself for the oversight. She didn’t know how many strings her grandmother had pulled to get Myst citizenship, but knowing he had amnesia probably would’ve made it easier—

  She froze.

  Was that why?

  Was that why the official had been so aggressive with him, asking all those general knowledge questions even though he should have known Myst couldn’t possibly answer?

  Because he just… hadn’t known?

  What if he hadn’t gotten annoyed at Myst because he was a jerk, but because he’d expected someone applying for citizenship to at least have some knowledge of the region, and Myst… just didn’t?

  She had assumed he knew Myst was an amnesiac. Myst had assumed that he knew. But… had either of them actually told him?

  No.

  No, they hadn’t.

  Her stomach twisted.

  What had happened to that guy after? She remembered ranting to her grandmother about him, about how rude and dismissive he’d been, but what had grandmother done?

  Her grandmother had influence, more than Cynthia understood most of the time.

  But…

  She couldn’t have gotten the guy fired, right?

  Right?

  Cynthia stared blankly at the wall for a few seconds, her thoughts spiralling faster and faster—

  Until Myst let out a sigh.

  She blinked, startled as he reached forward, grabbed a fry, and bit into it. Then he glanced her way.

  She stared back.

  As he turned away again, she forced herself to breathe. She exhaled once, smashed those thoughts away, she could ask her grandmother about that later, and focused back on the conversation.

  Or, well, the lack of one.

  Myst popped another fry into his mouth and chewed slowly, like he was stalling. Then, just as her grandmother opened her mouth again, he beat her to it.

  Reluctantly.

  “I don’t really get it myself, okay?” he said, voice low and tight. “My personal info—my parents, where I lived, whether I had Pokémon, even my name—it’s all gone. Just… nothing. I can’t picture them. Can’t even imagine trying to. Hell, when I try to think about finding them, it’s like trying to imagine…”

  He hesitated.

  “…I don’t know, Cynthia not laughing at my jokes.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance.

  Cynthia smiled weakly. She tried to make it teasing, something light, but his eyes flicked downward, catching the way her hand was clenched around her sleeve.

  Myst paused at the sight, smile faltering slightly.

  “But everything else?” he went on, voice growing thinner. “It’s there. I think. I just don’t remember learning any of it. Most of the time, I don’t even realize I know something until someone says something, until I try something, and I just—”

  He let out a breath, bitter and low. His hands curled into fists, knuckles white, before he forced them open again.

  “It’s like… if someone mentions something, and I should know it, then it’s just—there. Instant. Like flipping on a light. But I don’t remember remembering. On my own, if my thoughts don’t land on just the right track, I can’t even figure out what I know and what I don’t.” he tensed up slightly, “I—”

  Her grandmother’s hand snapped up.

  A single sharp motion. Palm out.

  Myst’s mouth clamped shut mid-sentence.

  Silence fell, brittle and cold.

  Her grandmother didn’t speak right away. She just stared at him, really stared, like she was shifting puzzle pieces in her mind. Slowly, she dropped her hand.

  “I’m sorry, my boy,” she said quietly. Her voice had changed, softer, more thoughtful. “I didn’t know. If I had, I would’ve arranged proper help… gotten you…” She trailed off, frowning, then shook her head. “Never mind. Point is, I should’ve looked into it more closely.”

  She drew in a breath, slow and steady. For a moment, something that looked suspiciously like guilt flickered across her features.

  “I was in the middle of a project,” she admitted. “So I just called in a favour. An old friend of mine. I didn’t ask enough questions. I thought you were from Orre, maybe some runaway who smuggled himself onto a boat and ended up in the forest somehow…”

  Her eyes shifted to Cynthia.

  And Cynthia felt her stomach bottom out.

  “You should have told me, Cynthia,” her grandmother said calmly.

  That was the worst part. The calm.

  Her grandmother could be silly, childish even. But when she was serious, really serious, she didn’t yell. She didn’t snap. She just looked at you like this, as if you’d disappointed her, and she couldn’t understand why.

  Cynthia opened her mouth. Slowly.

  “I didn’t want her to,” Myst said firmly, cutting in before she could even find the words. “And even if she had told you, it wouldn’t have changed anything. I’m doing fine. I don’t need help. I just need time.”

  Her grandmother’s gaze flicked sharply back to him.

  "You say you know things," she said, voice tightening, "but memory loss cases like yours—they’re rare, yes, but not unheard of. Especially in forests where Psychic and Ghost-types gather. Forests like Eterna."

  Her voice hardened.

  “I’ve trained with Psychic-types longer than you’ve been alive, boy. If I wanted to, I could make this entire restaurant forget how to walk. You could have a seal in your mind. Someone could have used Imprison on you, sealing away all your personal memories. If that is the case, you might have gotten them back. Just like—”

  She snapped her fingers.

  “—that, if Cynthia had just told me.”

  Her voice dropped.

  “But those kinds of seals, if they’re left too long, if they don’t weaken on their own? They root. They sink into you like a second spine. Eventually, they become part of who you are. And then?” Her lips thinned. “They’re nearly impossible to remove. Maybe I could’ve helped a month ago. But now?”

  She didn’t finish the sentence, shrugging.

  Cynthia’s blood turned to ice.

  Her grandmother, even after hearing them just try to explain it, probably didn’t really understand how Myst’s knowledge worked. Didn’t know the strange, patchwork pattern of what he remembered and what he didn’t. Honestly, even Cynthia didn’t fully understand it. But she’d been with him long enough to notice the shape of it. To start piecing a few things together.

  And this kind of niche, esoteric use of a move?

  This was exactly the sort of thing he wouldn’t know.

  Sure, he’d probably know the move Imprison. Might even know which Pokémon learned it fastest. The insane prep needed to use it in actual combat, having the Pokémon learn the same moves it wanted to seal away, then forming a sympathetic link between itself and its enemy, erasing both understandings in one deliberate lock.

  But memory roots? Psychic seals gone too long? That kind of nuance?

  Her eyes flicked toward him, half-expecting him to look like his world had just collapsed.

  But Myst didn’t flinch.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  He didn’t even blink.

  He just smiled, thin and humorless.

  “When I was found,” he said, “after I learned how to talk with the Buneary family who’d taken me in, I explained everything to them. The mother, Lopunny, she used to belong to a trainer. More than that, she’d heard about cases like mine before.”

  His voice was flat now. Stripped of its usual rhythm.

  “She brought me to see one of her old teammates. A Bronzong. At the time, she was convinced he could help. I kind of was too. Thought maybe he’d unlock something, I don’t know. I just needed something to believe in then.”

  He shrugged.

  Casually. Like it didn’t matter.

  “But when he checked me for psychic influence, looked for any sign of Ghost-type energy?” Myst spread his hands a little. “Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada. He said the only memories he could sense were the ones I’d made since waking up in that forest. Three months’ worth.”

  He paused.

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong. Maybe you could find something he couldn’t. But Bronzong was pretty sure. Said if he couldn’t detect anything, then there probably wasn’t anything there to fix. Whatever happened to my memories… it wasn’t from Psychic-type or Ghost-type influence. Not unless we’re talking Legendaries.”

  Her grandmother pursed her lips at that, leaning back slightly, the movement slow and thoughtful.

  Cynthis just stared at him.

  Myst’s smile didn’t twitch this time. Didn’t falter. It looked almost easy.

  And yet, behind her makeup, Cynthia felt her eyes sting. Her breath hitched, just slightly.

  He shouldn't have had to say that so easily.

  For a second, no one spoke.

  Then, just before the silence could settle too thick around them, her grandmother let out a sigh.

  “Yeah,” she said quietly. “That Bronzong of yours is probably right. This kind of type energy lingers. If you know what to look for, there should be something. A trace. A fingerprint. If he couldn’t find even that…”

  She shook her head.

  “Then I probably can’t either.”

  Myst only shrugged again. “I figured.”

  And at that, her grandmother sagged slightly. The change was subtle, but unmistakable, like the air had gone out of her. She looked ten years older than she had a moment ago.

  Cynthia glanced down at her pizza.

  Only a single slice was gone.

  She grabbed another one and took a bite.

  It tasted like nothing.

  …

  Cynthia should have been able to say that dinner had turned awkward after that. That all the talk about amnesia, about Myst’s strange circumstances, had cast a weird, heavy silence over the room. That the mood had soured. That no one knew what to say.

  Honestly, in this moment, she wished that’s how it had gone.

  But no. Of course not.

  Instead, her grandmother and Myst turned out to share the nearly mythical ability to skip right over uncomfortable truths and move into bonding. Somehow, somehow, they were already getting along like old friends.

  Over what?

  “So, after I almost lost an arm to protect her, she ended up trying to make me feel bad for eating some of her candy.” Myst said, grinning from ear to ear.

  What else other than her embarrassing moments?

  Her grandmother laughed, a bright, ringing sound that seemed far too alive for someone who was, by all definitions, just a few years off from retirement.

  “That does sound like my Cyn,” she said, grinning. “When she was little, she used to battle the other kids in Celestic for their candy. And when they stopped playing along, she pouted for weeks. Honestly, if she’d just lost a few times, she probably could’ve kept that little racket going forever. But when I told her that, she just stared at me—then burst into tears. Apparently, it had never once occurred to her that losing was even possible.”

  Myst barked out a laugh, practically doubling over in his seat.

  Cynthia sank lower in hers, praying for the table to swallow her whole.

  Still, as Myst caught his breath and opened his mouth, undoubtedly, to share another humiliating anecdote, she rallied just enough energy to cut him off.

  “How about we pay the bill?” she said, voice a little too high, a little too sharp.

  Her grandmother raised a finger as if to object, but Cynthia barrelled on, hooking over a server.

  “Also, didn’t you say you were busy, Grandma? Are you sure you have time to just sit around? Don’t you have, I don’t know—” she waved a hand vaguely, “professor stuff to do?”

  Her grandmother paused at that, then sighed with a touch too much dramatic flair.

  “You’re right. I do have places to be. How about I go pay the bill, and—”

  She didn’t get to finish. Myst had already leapt into action, snatching the bill the moment the server placed it down and practically jogging to the counter like the act of paying was a race he couldn’t afford to lose.

  Cynthia blinked after him, then turned slowly to her grandmother, who was watching with a far too pleased for comfort grin.

  “Well, would you look at that,” her grandmother said. “your traveling partner’s a real gentleman.”

  Then, as Myst ducked out of view, her expression softened, less playful, more thoughtful.

  “I hope you don’t mind him spilling your little secrets, Cynthia. Or, well, you noticed, didn’t you? I did raise you to pay attention.”

  Cynthia’s gaze lingered on the spot Myst had just vacated.

  “He didn’t want you to feel awkward,” she said quietly. “So, he changed the topic.”

  She sighed slightly.

  Honestly.

  It was such a Myst thing to do.

  When things got uncomfortable, he didn’t just redirect, he hijacked the conversation, turning it into something absurd or idiotic or funny. Honestly, she might’ve given him credit for that... if after telling his story about misunderstanding Rei, he hadn’t continued with the one about Ralts, Navi, and her less than enthusiastic first impression of her.

  Her grandmother shook her head fondly. “He’s a good boy. Take care of him, Cynthia.”

  Cynthia looked toward where Myst had gone, a small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

  “He is,” she agreed softly.

  …

  Her grandmother pressed a dark red vial into her hands with a look that brooked no argument.

  “It’s a new Aura Booster,” she said simply.

  Cynthia opened her mouth to protest, but her grandmother shut it down with a single sharp look.

  “I know you didn’t buy a new one. You wouldn’t have the heart to, so I grabbed one from the lab before I left.” Her grandmother forcefully closed her hand around it, then continued, “You need to have one on hand Cynthia. If you want to continue being out here, if you want to continue tangling with people like them, then this is an indispensable tool.”

  Cynthia stared down at the vial, hands clenching around it.

  “I would have, but—” she began, voice low.

  A snort cut her off.

  Rei, just released from her Poké Ball, raised a single furry paw in an accusatory gesture, and pointed at Cynthia’s backpack. Specifically, at the brand-new tent dangling from it.

  “Buneary Bun Buneary.” she huffed.

  She used all her money on dumb stuff.

  Her grandmother followed Rei’s paw to the pack, then blinked.

  “You... bought a new tent?” she asked, her tone oddly flat.

  Cynthia froze.

  Her grandmother narrowed her eyes, then glanced her up and down.

  “And new clothing?”

  Then she paused.

  “And you mentioned buying a new sleeping bag didn’t you, because your old one got ruined…”

  Cynthia could almost see her grandmother do the mental maths, comparing it to how much she had saved for her journey.

  “Cynthia,” her grandmother said slowly, “If you replaced, your tent, your sleeping bag, and your clothing, how much money do you have left? I know you saved a lot, but good tents aren’t cheap, and I know you Cynthia, you wouldn’t buy something that wasn’t quality—"

  Her grandmother cut herself off with a sigh.

  “You know what, let’s just say I gave that to you, okay? And before you start arguing, just listen.”

  Her voice softened.

  “Families helping trainers on their journeys is normal, Cynthia. I told you this would happen eventually. You’re going to run out of money, and that’s okay. You’ll be independent someday, but right now… do you even have enough for another Poké Ball?”

  At that Cynthia felt herself freeze.

  She didn’t.

  If she had…

  Cynthia wrenched that thought away, opening her mouth, then shut it when she realized she had nothing to say.

  Mostly because her grandmother was right.

  She hated asking for money. Always had. Even when she knew she should. Honestly, it shouldn’t be that hard, hadn’t been that hard before, but after all the talk about her privilege asking for more always felt like she was confirming something.

  So instead of asking she’d planned to take on jobs in Oreburgh, scraping enough together for food and maybe, maybe, one more Poké Ball before Hearthome. After all, if she didn’t get enough, Myst always had the money he got from the government.

  But as much as she hated asking for help, lately she hated needing it even more.

  So it was nice, just having her grandma here. Understanding her without a single word. Her heart warmed, just a little. And instead of protesting, she simply nodded with a soft hum of agreement. Her grandmother smiled, then gently patted her head.

  Then, without further ado, her grandmother stepped back toward her Alakazam, before pausing.

  “I almost forgot, try to call Lily more, okay? She misses you.” She hesitated. “And... have you thought more about—” She stopped herself. “Never mind.”

  She turned to Myst instead, her voice lighter again.

  “Myst, it was lovely to meet you. If you’re ever in Celestic, my house is yours. Think of yourself as among family… I have to pay back that dinner somehow, right?” she said, grinning.

  Then, as Alakazam began to glow, its body crackling with psychic energy, her grandmothers grin turned sly.

  “Oh! One more thing, Cynthia’s always liked headpats!”

  And then she vanished.

  For a long second, Cynthia just stood there.

  Then the blood drained from her face.

  Slowly, stiffly, she turned.

  Myst was already looking at her.

  He raised a single hand, palm open.

  Navi standing at beside him, raised her own little hand.

  Cynthia glared at them both.

  …

  “So, three days then?” Cynthia asked, grimacing as she scanned the prices on the shelf. Some of them were almost insulting.

  Myst nodded.

  “Yeah, and I was thinking about doing some real training during that time. I think you noticed when we fought…”

  His voice trailed off just long enough to draw her attention. Cynthia met his eyes, then raised an eyebrow in silent challenge, daring him to spell it out.

  He huffed a soft breath, almost a laugh, and continued.

  “When we fought Kael, Rei could take hits easily, but she couldn’t deal any real damage. So I've been thinking about something to help with that. I’d like Riolu’s help though, since he knows how to channel Steel-type energy and all.”

  Cynthia wasn’t going to lie, even though she’d just challenged him a second ago, she still had to force herself not to react at the name. She pressed her lips into a line, focusing on his words instead.

  He was right.

  Rei was fast, but she still lacked a bit in raw power. Her style leaned heavily on hit-and-run tactics, which made her struggle against opponents who could just stand their ground and take the hits. Right now, that was mostly just Queenie… but the point still stood.

  For a Steel-type Gym, especially if Myst planned to challenge it at a higher badge tier, like she suspected, not being able to hit hard enough could be a real problem.

  Her gaze drifted downward, landing on Rei.

  And now that she was thinking about it… there was something else that had been niggling at the back of her mind. Something felt off about how fast Rei was developing. The first time Rei and Riolu had fought, she’d been faster, not by a huge margin, but enough to tip the balance.

  After that, though?

  She wanted to chalk it up to species differences. That Riolu was just naturally stronger, faster, than Buneary. That it made sense that Rei would eventually start falling behind...

  Except—it wasn’t really true

  Riolu wasn’t slow, but Buneary were known for their speed. Even accounting for the downtime while Myst was stuck in the hospital, Rei still should’ve still be ahead, or if not, catching up rapidly.

  But she wasn’t.

  Not that Rei wasn’t still fast, she was, almost unfairly. Just… not faster. Not like Cynthia had expected her to be.

  Maybe that wasn’t fair.

  Compared to the average trainer’s Pokémon, Rei was doing fine. More than fine, really. Considering she was being trained by someone who, technically, only had one badge, she might as well be lightning.

  It was just that… compared to Riolu, or Roselia, or even Queenie...

  She was kind of... slipping behind. A little.

  Cynthia’s eyes flicked toward Myst, then just as quickly looked away.

  Of course, maybe Myst was just focusing on developing Rei’s Aura. Her control. Rei did have a large reserve of Aura, after all… and even with Navi, he always seemed more interested in how she manipulated Type Energy than how hard she could hit. Still, with how little they actually trained alongside each other, Cynthia couldn’t help but wonder how he—

  She cut the thought off before it could finish.

  It wasn’t her place to dig into how he trained his Pokémon. He was more than capable of keeping up with her. Honestly, in some areas, areas he hadn’t even known existed a few months ago, he might even be better.

  He didn’t need her hovering over his shoulder.

  Really.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head before she could talk herself into saying anything more. “Just wondering why you’d need a Steel-type move for your custom technique. Or, um… for a Steel-type Gym, I guess.”

  Myst grinned.

  “Hey, how’d you know it was a custom move? Maybe I just want to teach Rei Iron Defense.”

  Cynthia paused, picking up two Poké Balls, then slowly turned to look at him.

  Myst actually flushed under her gaze. He gave a helpless shrug. “Okay. Stupid question.”

  Cynthia let out a soft sigh and turned away, hiding the smile tugging at her lips.

  It didn’t last.

  As she moved, her eyes fell on the spot where she’d picked up the two Poké Balls in her hands—and the smile faded.

  Her grandmother had sent her just enough funds to cover the tent, plus a little extra, but Poké Balls still weren’t cheap. There was a reason most people didn’t bother with them unless they were official trainers or owned something dangerous.

  Wel, them, and the rich types who’d toss even a Wynaut in a ball just because they could.

  Still, the utility was undeniable. Less food to carry. Easier travel. A safe place to rest. For someone living the trainer life, they were worth their price in gold… She just wished she’d been able to pick up a few more back in Eterna. These prices were wild.

  Myst picked up three of his own and stepped beside her, glancing at the checkout line.

  “I never really got why people carried Poké Balls around,” he admitted. “Always felt kinda weird. Like… if I needed a new one, I could just buy one after somebody agreed to join right?”

  He grimaced, looking down at the ones in his hand.

  “Yeah. No. I’m never going anywhere without a spare again.”

  Cynthia just nodded, quiet.

  As they waited in line, she let the soft, droning music of the Poké Mart settle over her. It hummed in the background, warm and strangely hypnotic. Her body ached faintly. Not from the travel, not really. More from the weight of the day catching up to her.

  The memories. The talk with her grandmother. Myst’s talk with her grandmother.

  Her eyelids drifted low. Not closed, just heavy.

  Myst stepped a little closer, and, for once, she didn’t care about the other people nearby.

  She leaned into him.

  Not dramatically. Just a small tilt. Her shoulder brushing his, her head resting lightly against his shoulder.

  Just for a moment.

  Letting herself be tired.

  …..

  Carolina let out a sigh, sitting down in her chair.

  The day had been long, too long honestly.

  When her granddaughter’s message came in, she had just been relieved to hear from her again. After their last conversation, after Cynthia’s reaction to her lie being exposed, Carolina hadn’t expected much. Maybe a stiff check-in, a few clipped words, followed by a sharp click as the call ended.

  There was a reason Carolina had made her promise to call every time she entered a new city, after all. Without that agreement, she’d probably only hear her voice through League broadcasts and post-match interviews.

  Cynthia was terrible at staying in touch, downright awful even when she wasn’t embarrassed about something. And after being caught in a lie? One involving a boy?

  Carolina shook her head, a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  Honestly.

  Still, it was starting to become a problem. Even after months on her journey, Cynthia had only called Lily once. Once. If that little girl hadn’t idolized her older sister as much as she did, wasn’t so fiercely independent, Carolina would’ve had to sit Cynthia down and have a long, serious talk about not neglecting her responsibilities as a big sister.

  But, for now, she got to postpone that conversation.

  As long as Cynthia kept calling.

  Her gaze drifted toward her computer.

  Still, she had news now, unexpected as they were.

  When Cynthia finally explained what had happened on Cycling Road, Carolina had nearly had a heart attack. She hadn’t shown it, of course, not when her little girl needed calm, but now, after finally sitting down, after letting her body relax?

  Her hands were trembling.

  Maybe some parents would’ve thought that if their child had to run into a criminal, a Hunter was the lesser evil. They didn’t try to kill, after all. They sold Pokémon to the highest bidder. Terrible, yes, but clinical. Professional.

  Carolina knew better. Intimately.

  She let her eyes flicker to the framed photo on her desk. A smiling, pregnant blonde woman looked back at her.

  She forced them away just as quickly.

  Really, it was maddening, how Cynthia hadn’t just escaped. As important as it was to help others, even Pokémon, Cynthia had to understand: her life was more valuable.

  She should have known how dangerous Hunters could be.

  Even by accident.

  Especially by accident.

  Normally, Pokémon didn’t cause human fatalities. They were thinking creatures. They understood consequences. But when chased and injured? When threatened with capture? When pushed past reason?

  Nothing made a Pokémon, or a person, more dangerous than desperation.

  Still… Carolina wouldn’t lie.

  She was proud.

  Staying behind might not have been the smart choice, and certainly not the easy one, but it had been the right one. More than that, she could never blame Cynthia for making it, even if part of her wanted to. Because deep down, she knew she wasn’t entirely blameless in how Cynthia viewed Hunters.

  Though, next time, she sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come down to Myst having to—

  Carolina paused, then tapped her temple softly, letting out a curse.

  She’d forgotten.

  After everything Cynthia had told her, she had meant to thank that boy. Not just for staying when he had every reason to run, but for saving them both in the end. His methods weren’t ideal, no, but without him, things might’ve ended very differently.

  Well—thank and scold him. Because as satisfying as punching a Hunter might have been, there was a reason you didn’t just attack a trainer during battle.

  Carolina stood and glanced behind her.

  Most people had forgotten, but Pokémon battling, as it existed today, was a modern invention. Hell, go back far enough, and humans didn’t fight with Pokémon. They fought with their own hands—with fists, with bows, with swords. And when their enemies fell, that was the end of it.

  A fist didn’t keep swinging without somebody behind it.

  A bow didn’t nock another arrow on its own.

  A sword didn’t rise again to fight you.

  But in a Pokémon battle? If the trainer went down, all bets were off. The only thing you could do was hope your Pokémon were fast enough, strong enough, to protect you.

  Easier said than done.

  Carolina walked over to the wall, and stood next to the large, faded map of Sinnoh hanging on the wall. Her finger traced the familiar lines, rivers, mountain passes, what would one day become Routes, until it came to rest on a quiet spot on the western coast.

  Where modern maps said Jubilife City, this one read Jubilife Village.

  She let her eyes linger there.

  It was ironic, really. Most people thought of attacking a trainer as uncivilized, and it was, but just a couple hundred years ago?

  There had been no other kind of fighting.

  Jubilife was the biggest city in Sinnoh now. The most important. And yet so little of its past remained. One war. That’s all it had taken. One war, over something petty, so petty that no one even remembered the cause, and hundreds of years of history had been burned away. The entire city, and all the knowledge in it, just ashes.

  The first, and last, war in Sinnoh fought with Pokémon.

  She tapped the village on the map. Once. Then again.

  The material beneath her fingers was smooth, soft, too pristine. It looked old, but it wasn’t. A replica. A recreation. A project that had taken years: a thousand fragments of forgotten maps, sewn together to reflect how the people of Hisui, as it was called then, had once seen their world.

  Back then, when Pokémon were still new, still unknown, when people didn’t have a concept of what it meant to be a trainer.

  They feared Pokémon.

  They didn’t understand them. And because they didn’t understand them, they hated them. Even in the few records that remained, it was easy to see. The people who had Pokémon didn’t treat them as companions. They treated them as tools.

  As slaves.

  As beasts.

  There was a reason so many old books referred to those people not as trainers, but as Hunters.

  Carolina’s eyes narrowed.

  Even now, that belief hadn’t entirely died. It had changed forms, softened around the edges, but it was still there. The idea that Pokémon under human guidance became more intelligent. That they could grow into something more, become part of human society.

  Which, on the surface, wasn’t entirely wrong.

  Pokémon who lived with humans did learn to navigate human customs. But not because they grew smarter. That was nonsense.

  It was simply adaptation, a consequence of familiarity and mutual shaping.

  Still, if that had been the extent of the belief, she wouldn’t have minded.

  But it wasn’t.

  Because the unspoken underside of that belief said something far more harmful. That wild Pokémon, untamed Pokémon, were less. The implication that a Pokémon without a trainer was somehow without reason.

  Without depth.

  Without feeling.

  Carolina had to stop herself from digging her fingers into the map and instead took a step back.

  It was disheartening, how many still clung to such ideas. Not only were they wrong, factually, provably wrong, but they were just downright strange. How could anyone treat their own Pokémon like family and still believe wild ones were simply reasonless beasts?

  She exhaled, slow and steady.

  Things were better now than during her time of course.

  Education had improved, and the public was more informed. In cities, trying to voice those old theories would get you laughed out of the room—and rightly so. She had campaigned for years to make sure of that, and the current Champion had carried on her work… but in far-off villages and tight-knit, closed-off communities? The mindset lingered. Children were still raised to believe that only obedient Pokémon were good, and that wild ones, the ones who refused to yield, were lesser.

  In the end, maybe that was just how history worked. The Kamado clan had started a war, buried a century of Sinnoh’s memory—

  Carolina clenched her fist.

  And somehow, some way, the one part of that culture they should have left behind had endured.

  For a few seconds, she just stood there.

  Then, unclenching her fist, she sighed and turned away, her gaze drifting toward the desk. The computer standing there blinked softly. A new message from Cynthia. Likely a thank-you for the money. Or something like that.

  Honestly, that girl was such a handful.

  She shook her head, then stepped toward the desk, pausing for a moment as her eyes fell on the note lying there. A summary of Myst’s circumstances, written in her own neat handwriting. She had told him there was nothing she could do, that she knew of no method that could help. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t keep it in mind; it didn’t mean she wouldn’t ask around.

  She hesitated, glancing between the map and the computer.

  Something tugged at the edge of her memory, faint, ungraspable.

  And then—

  “Grandma!”

  A shrill voice suddenly rang through the house.

  Carolina snapped out of her thoughts just in time to see her youngest granddaughter come barrelling into the room, stumbling in with all the chaotic energy of a child running too fast for her own legs.

  “Beauty is sad again.”

  Lily stood in the doorway, one front tooth missing, arms flung wide in dramatic misery.

  Carolina sighed, but still walked over and scooped up the little gremlin, her joints protesting every step. Even so, she managed a smile as she looked down at her.

  “Oh, but Beauty knows Cynthia wants her around, right? That she misses her?” she said gently.

  Lily pouted. “Yeah, so Beauty should just join her, then!”

  Carolina let out a warm chuckle and ruffled the girl’s hair, refusing to let the smile turn bitter.

  “Well, I agree with you. But you know your sister. Cynthia would never force her, even if she thinks it’s what’s best for Beauty.”

  Lily paused, absorbing that. Then she flung her arms upward in protest.

  “But that’s stupid!” she cried.

  Carolina smiled again, her voice a little softer this time.

  “It is, sweetheart. But it’s how she is. Your sister is smart, just also so painfully stupid.”