After the first demonstration wrapped up, a few more battles followed—second- and third-year students showing off their skills. They were decent, even flashy at times, but none of them came close to what Leon and Layla pulled off. It was like watching backyard wrestling after a championship match.

  To close things out, two teachers stepped into the ring. It was a one-on-one battle—Typhlosion versus Incineroar—and it was a whole different level. Raw power. Precision. Strategy honed over years. When Typhlosion finally stood victorious, barely upright, the entire stadium was silent. Then the applause came, and it didn’t stop for a while.

  As the sun began to dip behind the horizon, we were dismissed and sent to our dorms. The Pokémon Battle Academy, nestled deep within a small archipelago somewhere near Kanto, ran like a self-contained city. Every student had their own room—it wasn’t big, but it was private, and that mattered more than space.

  I tossed my bag onto the chair and dropped onto the bed. Not soft, but not rock-hard either. It worked.

  Pulling out my Pokédex, I checked my schedule again.

  Monday: Pokémon Training 101 and Battling 101.

  Tuesday and Thursday: Physical Conditioning.

  Wednesday: Pokémon Care 101.

  Friday: Training and Battling again.

  No electives yet. Just the basics.

  I stared at the screen for a while longer, then let it fade to black as I closed my eyes. Before I knew it, I was drifting off, images of battlefields and roaring crowds swirling behind my eyelids. In the dream, I was leading a full team. My team. And we were winning.

  I woke early, the rising sun pouring through the blinds and painting soft gold across the floor. The room was still quiet, the academy not yet buzzing with life. I showered, dressed, and stepped out into the crisp morning air, stomach growling loud enough to be mistaken for a wild Growlithe.

  Flavio was already waiting at the dorm entrance, leaning casually against the wall like he’d been there for hours.

  “Hey there, buddy!” he said, his grin ever-present. “Ready for your first day of class?”

  “Not yet,” I muttered. “Gotta feed the beast first.”

  “Ah, right. You skipped dinner last night, didn’t you?” He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “That explains the face. You look like a Snorlax in hibernation mode.”

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  I didn’t respond. Too hungry. Too focused. He kept talking anyway, pointing out students on the way to the cafeteria—especially girls. He had a running commentary, which I mostly tuned out.

  When we finally got there, I grabbed a tray and devoured everything in sight. Pancakes, eggs, rice balls—gone. I was halfway through a second helping when I realized students at nearby tables were staring. Not that I could blame them. I was eating like I hadn’t seen food in days.

  For the first time, Flavio looked embarrassed to be sitting next to me.

  “Dude,” he whispered. “Slow down. You’re ruining my image.”

  I smirked, mouth full.

  That’s when a tall girl with deep brown skin, striking violet eyes, and an almost regal posture approached our table.

  “Excuse me,” she said, voice steady and confident. “Is this seat taken?”

  I paused mid-bite. “Go ahead,” I said, gesturing with my fork.

  She sat down with elegance that made even Flavio straighten up.

  “I heard you two are legacies,” she said simply, like stating the weather. “So am I.”

  Flavio perked up immediately. “Wait—you’re the sister of Gregory Walker, aren’t you?”

  “The name’s Melody Walker, and yes,” she replied, chin lifted with pride. “Alola League Champion Gregory Walker is my older brother.”

  Even I recognized that name. Champion. Alola. A big deal.

  Melody turned to Flavio. “And you’re Flavio Rios. Son of Eugenio Rios—the regional researcher behind the Mount Lanakila project.”

  Flavio’s chest puffed out slightly. “Guilty as charged.”

  They were clearly from the same region. I felt like I’d just walked into a club where everyone knew each other—except me.

  I cleared my throat. “I have no idea who you’re talking about. But you’re welcome to join our little group of pariahs.”

  Flavio practically choked on his juice. “Okay, not knowing my dad, sure. But not knowing Gregory Walker? Come on, man—he’s literally one of the strongest trainers alive!”

  I shrugged. “I’m from a tiny village in Johto. No internet. No televised tournaments. My mom wasn’t exactly supportive of the whole 'trainer' thing. So I didn’t grow up watching any of it.”

  They both stared at me like I’d just admitted to never hearing of Pokémon before.

  That silence stretched until Melody finally spoke. “Wait. If your mom’s not into battling… how did you get in as a legacy? I thought that only applied if your parents had some kind of trainer history.”

  “My mom’s a housewife,” I said, lowering my voice just a little. “My dad… was a Pokémon trainer.”

  Melody’s expression softened. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  Flavio went quiet too. The energy around the table shifted—slightly awkward, slightly heavy.

  Melody, sensing it, pivoted. “Anyway, I don’t know your name yet.”

  “Gabriel Santos,” I said. “Gabe, for short.”

  As I smiled and went back to eating, I noticed Flavio’s expression change. His usual grin faded, eyes narrowing in thought. He stared at me for a second longer than normal.

  “What?” I asked.

  He leaned closer, speaking low—almost like he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

  “Are your parents… Javier and Maria Santos?”

  I froze.

  My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.

  “…Yeah. Why?”

  Flavio didn’t answer right away. He just looked around the cafeteria, his joking tone gone, his posture suddenly tight.

  “Flavio,” I said, voice quiet, steady. “How do you know their names?”

  He finally met my eyes.

  And whatever I saw there… wasn’t the look of someone casually curious.

  It was the look of someone who knew something—something I didn’t.