Time passed, and three years had flown by.
Rustboro City, Hoenn Region
Rustboro Trainer School, Class 10-7.
"This time, everyone's progress in the test is clear, especially Steven and Gordie, who scored first and second in the entire grade. Everyone should learn from their example," Mr. Ole announced proudly, his gaze sweeping over the classroom.
A ripple of applause spread through the room, though the enthusiasm was mixed from student to student.
Gordie, sitting by the window, puffed his chest out slightly. He gave a modest nod, trying to keep a straight face and not let the smile tugging at his lips show too much. He didn't want to appear overly proud, but the recognition felt good.
Steven, the rich heir, on the other hand, remained calm and composed, his expression unchanged as always. To him, scoring high was just another ordinary achievement, something that didn't seem out of the ordinary.
Their peers looked at them with either admiration or jealousy. In a class this competitive, getting close to the top was no easy feat. The better your results, the more privileges you gained and the better your chances of starting a career as a trainer.
As everyone knew, Trainer Qualifications followed this path:
Aspiring → Rookie → Ace → Veteran → Professional → Elite → Champion → Top Champion → Master → Monarch
Becoming an Aspiring Trainer was seen as the pinnacle of achievement for the students. Little did they know, becoming an Aspiring Trainer was just the beginning.
It was like graduating from college—at first, it felt like the end, but once you started looking for a job, you realized it was just the first step toward something even bigger.
Allen joined in the clapping, though his enthusiasm was nowhere near that of his classmates. He felt as anxious as if he were sitting on hot coals. Every now and then, he couldn't help but glance at the wall clock above Mr. Ole's head.
"Come on, come on, come on," he muttered under his breath.
"Most of the students performed well," Mr. Ole continued, but his tone took a sharp turn. "However, some didn't strive for improvement and ended up with a zero, dragging down the class average." His face darkened, his frustration becoming more apparent. "To think there's even one student who forgot to attend the assessment!"
He paused, narrowing his eyes, letting the tension build up in the room. He didn't have to say it directly; everyone knew who he was talking about.
Everyone eyes unconsciously shifted to one of their classmates sitting by the window. As they focused on him, they suddenly realized something was off—his face was sweaty, and he kept muttering "come on, come on" while nervously glancing at the wall clock.
What further explanation was even needed?
Mr. Ole's mouth twitched. Just imagine having three of the most talented students in your class. Two are fine, normal. But the third?
Well, the third is probably more talented than both of them combined, but his attitude?
Negative zero. He's a walking disaster with potential.
Allen, seeing everyone suddenly looking at him, was caught off guard. He straightened his back instantly like a soldier, fixed his eyes on Mr. Ole, clamped his mouth shut, and looked every bit the model student—ready to embrace the challenges of the day.
'Stop acting! He's clearly pointing at you!'
Gordie, seated next to Allen, leaned over and whispered, "What are you doing right now? We're about to graduate—why are you acting up now?"
Allen didn't answer. Instead, he just glanced sideways at his desk mate.
What a coincidence, really—Gordie, the future Gym Leader of Galar, attending Rustboro Trainer School of all places. But of course, there was a reason for that.
He wanted to escape his mother's grip.
Over the past four years, they had grown into good friends, and Allen knew just how rocky Gordie's relationship with his mother really was. The guy had literally fled from Galar to Hoenn just to escape her radar.
The tension between them all came down to one thing: his mother wanted him to follow in her footsteps as an Ice-type specialist and eventually take over as the Circhester Gym. But Gordie had other plans—he wanted to carve his own path to greatness.
That difference in vision had sparked a massive argument right in front of the school during new student orientation. It got so heated that it nearly turned into an all-out Pokémon battle between mother and son.
Things escalated so badly that neither of them noticed a little girl—barely four years old—wander into the street. A car was speeding by, and she was just seconds away from getting hit.
That's when Allen stepped in. He rushed forward and scooped the little girl out of harm's way, putting an abrupt end to the explosive argument.
After that, Melony was furious. She never set foot in Rustboro Trainer School again—not after her youngest daughter had come so close to a serious accident. But of course, that didn't mean she had given up on Gordie. In fact, Allen himself had secretly become her informant, reporting back on Gordie's school performance and daily life.
Still, seeing the unique backgrounds and stories behind each Pokémon character like this always filled Allen with a strange kind of happiness. It was like watching the behind-the-scenes of a drama he never knew he'd be part of.
Allen didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned to Gordie and asked gently,"We're about to graduate soon, and you'll have to return to Galar. Are you… still angry with your mom?"
Hearing the question made Gordie slump.
"Dynamax Defense Program," he sighed.
It was just like in Korea, where everyone eventually has to show up for some form of military service—except here, it's called the Dynamax Defense Program.
It was originally established in response to the Darkest Day, a catastrophic event that once shook the region. That's why everyone in Galar is required to attend the program—after all, Dynamax is a unique phenomenon tied specifically to Galar.
Galar government hoped that by doing so, every citizen would gain essential knowledge to face global threats and prepare for potential future crises. Especially if the Darkest Day were to return, every Galarian would have the skills and understanding needed to recognize the dangers posed by rampaging Dynamax Pokémon.
Gordie let out a long breath through his nose. If he had a choice, he wouldn't go back to Galar. Not now. Maybe not ever. But did he really have a choice?
Allen nudged Gordie with a sly grin. "Hey," he whispered, then casually threw an arm around his friend's shoulders and leaned, "Say… can foreigners join your Dynamax Defense Program? Are there any exceptions? If there are, please tell me. Or better yet—let me take your spot if you don't wanna go."
Gordie's eye twitched as he turned to Allen, disbelief plastered all over his face. "You—"
KRINGGGG~
"I—"
Before Gordie could even form a full sentence, the school bell rang like salvation from the heavens.
"Goddammit, finally!" Allen shouted, practically leaping from his seat like he'd just been released from prison.
Without waiting for anyone else—no packing, no polite "excuse me"—he swiped his bag in one motion and whoosh, bolted straight out of the classroom, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Everyone stared in stunned silence. Even Mr. Ole, mid-sentence, paused with eyes wide as saucers.
"You…"
He looked like he was about to yell—but after a long sigh, he just shook his head in defeat. "Forget it. They're graduating soon anyway. Not worth the blood pressure."
SWOOSH!
Allen sprinted through the hallway like a man on a mission, dashing past confused students and stunned teachers. His bag flapped behind him, nearly taking out a class bulletin board, but he didn't slow down. Not even once.
Finally, he burst through the front gate of the school, skidding slightly as he came to a stop. Standing there was an old man in a worn-out cowboy hat. Next to him perched a grayish-brown avian Pokémon, eyeing the man with playful menace.
The bird gave the man's hand a sharp peck, earning only a lazy chuckle in return. Despite the aggressive gesture, Allen knew it was just playing around. The old man didn't even flinch—instead, he cracked a small, amused smile, like this was just another Tuesday.
"Hello, are you the one who's taking me to Littleroot Town?" Allen asked politely.
The old man adjusted his goggles, gave Allen a once-over, then checked his Pokétch. "You Allen Buffet?"
"Yes, that's me."
"Alright, scan here."
Payment up front, huh? Allen didn't mind.
He lifted his Pokétch, scanned the code, and with a soft beep, the transaction was complete.
The old man handed him a helmet and a pair of goggles. "Standard procedure," he said in a gravelly voice. "Safety first. Not just for you—for my license too."
It wasn't his first time, but he didn't mind it. This was standard procedure, of course—safety first when you're hitching a ride on a Staraptor, especially over such a long distance.
Since the Staraptor wasn't large enough to carry two people, only Allen would be riding it. But with a specially fitted saddle and safety harness, it was considered safe enough for solo travel. The old man began his usual safety briefing, starting with, "No feeding the Pokémon mid-flight, and so on."
Soon, the old man finished the explanation. "He's done this before, so he knows the drill. You just need to trust him, understand?"
"Got it, old man," Allen replied. He quickly clambered onto Staraptor's back, tightened the harness, slipped on the helmet and goggles, then looked up at the open sky with anticipation.
"Let's go!"
"SKREEEEEEEEE!"
With a sharp, high-pitched cry, Staraptor spread its powerful wings wide, feathers rustling as it prepared for liftoff.
"I'll go first, old man!" Allen called back with a grin, giving a quick salute. Then, with one mighty leap and a strong flap of its wings, Staraptor launched into the air—kicking up dust and leaves as it shot upward, slicing through the sky and vanishing beyond the tree line.
The old man simply chuckled and adjusted his hat. "Kids these days..."
The journey took less than an hour, soaring over Petalburg City before heading straight toward Littleroot Town.
The wind whipped through Allen's hair, and he could barely contain the grin spreading across his face. Part of him wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to cry—this was freedom, pure and unfiltered, wrapped in the thrill of flight.
Then, he saw it.
Littleroot Town.
Tucked gently between rolling forests, the town emerged like a watercolor dream—quiet, humble, and utterly serene. A few rooftops peeked through the trees, their simple shapes connected by winding dirt paths and cozy houses. It was the kind of place that felt like a memory you didn't know you had—soft, warm, and full of peace.
Staraptor let out a sharp SKREEEEE! and banked smoothly to begin its descent, gliding down in a wide arc before landing with a soft thud in a grassy clearing just outside town.
It had taken just thirty minutes from Rustboro to Littleroot by air—efficient, breathtaking, and slightly exhausting... at least for Staraptor.
The bird Pokémon let out a long huff and flopped down dramatically onto the grass, throwing Allen a tired but unmistakably pointed look. The kind of look that said: 'You brought snacks, right?'
Allen laughed, reached into his bag, and pulled out a pouch of treats. He tossed a few in front of Staraptor, who immediately perked up and began munching happily.
Once satisfied, Staraptor gave a content chirp, stretched its wings, and without so much as a backward glance, launched itself back into the sky.
A gust of wind followed in its wake, sending Allen's hair flying as the bird disappeared into the blue, fading behind the treetops.
Littleroot Town – Professor Birch's Laboratory
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK
"Professor! It's me, Allen! Open the door!"
It was nearing the end of the year—graduation season was fast approaching. Allen was due to return to Sinnoh soon, but before that, there was one thing he had to do: check on the two Pokémon eggs he'd left here. After four long years, they still hadn't hatched.
Just last month, Professor Birch had claimed he was close to a breakthrough in figuring out how to hatch the eggs. Not long after that, Allen—caught up in excitement—ended up skipping his school assessment entirely.
The result? A big fat zero on his record. Didn't care though.
'Four years.' He sighed deeply.
You could imagine the cost of keeping those eggs stable. The incubation fluid had to be replaced regularly, and that wasn't cheap.
Luckily, the Cascoon silk produced in Celestic Town was doing well—just enough to cover about half the cost. As for the rest? His ever-patient aunt, Drasna, had graciously stepped in with a loan he still hadn't paid back.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
"Professor!" Allen called again, louder this time, before rubbing his temples in frustration.
No response.
It seemed, once again, that Professor Birch wasn't in. Allen clicked his tongue.
Typical.
Professor Birch had a bit of a reputation—not just for his brilliance, but for being notoriously difficult to track down. He was always off somewhere: wandering through tall grass, chasing wild Pokémon, or studying ecosystems firsthand. Honestly, finding him actually in the lab felt like witnessing a miracle.
"Ah, what time is it now? Four o'clock already? The lab assistant's probably down by the river taking care of the baby Mudkip. Might as well head there first instead of wasting time waiting for Professor Birch."
The thing is, at Professor Birch's Laboratory, it's usually the assistant who takes care of all the Pokémon, since the professor himself is rarely around.
Most of the time—especially around this hour—you can find the assistant gently bathing the baby Mudkip in the river, letting the Torchic roam freely through the grasslands, or helping the little Treecko climb trees and explore the branches.
Allen soon made a decision. He made his way to the back of the lab, where a river flowed gently toward the ocean. But before he could reach it, a series of red flashes caught his attention—and his heart skipped a beat.
Pokéballs.
Something was wrong.