Instructor Knight stood at the center of the room, spine straight, gaze unwavering.

  “There’s something I want to make absolutely clear before we move forward.”

  The room held its breath.

  “Given the Academy’s strict entry requirements, I assume none of you are under the delusion that Pokémon exist to obey your every whim. But if, for some reason, you believe humans are superior—if you see Pokémon as lesser beings—this is not the place for you.”

  Her voice was calm, controlled, and sharper than steel.

  I felt the temperature in the room drop. No one spoke. No one even moved.

  She means every word, I thought. Not just a warning. A line in the sand.

  “With that said,” she continued, “let’s talk about the origin of our world.”

  She stepped to the edge of the platform and tapped her Pokédex. A large projection screen flickered to life behind her, displaying the opening lines of an ancient Sinnoh text.

  “In the great void of chaos and nothingness, a solitary Egg emerged…”

  Her voice was smooth and deliberate, as if she'd recited these words a thousand times.

  “From the Egg hatched Arceus, the primordial being of creation. Arceus gave form to the universe by creating the three fundamental forces: time, space, and antimatter. But Giratina—formed from that last, volatile force—was cast into the Distortion World for its violent nature. From there, Dialga and Palkia shaped the world we live in and then vanished into their own realms.”

  I’d heard versions of this myth before. But the way she told it, stripped of awe and poetry, made it sound more like history than legend.

  “I’m not here to argue whether this story is literal truth,” she said. “That’s a discussion for theologians and historians. What matters is what it tells us: from the very beginning, humans and Pokémon have shared this world. Our stories, our records, even our sciences all point to the same truth—we are connected.”

  She paused to let that sink in.

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  “This connection is not symbolic. It’s fundamental. Pokémon don’t just exist beside us—they are a part of everything we do.”

  I glanced around the room. Most students were listening with intense focus. Even Flavio had stopped fidgeting. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected from a ‘training theory’ class, but it wasn’t this. And yet, it made sense. A lot of sense.

  Instructor Knight moved on, eyes scanning the crowd again.

  “This is not a history course, so we’ll move on. But you need to understand how our world came to be if you want to shape its future.”

  She stepped back toward the center.

  “Many of you may not realize this, but just a few decades ago, war was common between regions. Entire generations—human and Pokémon—were lost. That changed when the Pokémon League was founded. Champions across the world worked with governments to end the violence and unite the regions under one system.”

  Another pause.

  “Our modern society—our peace, our prosperity—it exists because of that cooperation. With Pokémon, we’ve solved problems that once seemed impossible. Energy. Food. Medicine. Transportation. All of it.”

  Her voice softened slightly, but only for a moment.

  “But peace is never permanent. There are still those who twist Pokémon for their own gain. People who would burn the world to remake it in their image.”

  I felt a weight settle in my chest.

  “I don’t say this to scare you,” she continued. “I say it so you understand: strong trainers are not a luxury. They are a necessity.”

  She let that linger.

  Then she paced once more, steady and sure.

  “Thirty years ago, children as young as ten were sent into the world with little more than a Pokeball and dreams. Many never made it past their first year. They weren’t weak—they were unprepared.”

  The silence was heavy now.

  “Those traditions are gone. Replaced by structure. By education. Now, children attend standard schooling until age twelve. Then, those who choose the path of a trainer enter institutions like this one. After three years, at age fifteen, they graduate—ready to begin their journey with real knowledge, real skills, and a system designed to support them.”

  I hadn’t realized just how recent this system was. Just how fragile the balance was.

  She faced us fully again.

  “This academy was built for you. Every part of it—every rule, every challenge—is meant to help you grow. Not just as battlers. As people. As protectors.”

  Her expression hardened.

  “Before this, a ten-year-old could be thrown into a match against a twenty-year-old with years of combat experience. It wasn’t training—it was cruelty.”

  She looked at us, eyes narrowing.

  “That is why League Conferences are now divided by age and experience: Rookie, Junior, Challenger, and Professional. You will compete with your peers—not against veterans who’ve had decades to hone their teams.”

  A few students nodded around me.

  “This isn’t about sport,” Instructor Knight said. “Yes, there are tournaments. Yes, there is glory. But that’s not the point.”

  She paused one final time.

  “The world needs strong trainers. Trainers who understand their responsibility. Trainers who are willing to stand between society and those who would tear it down.”

  Her gaze swept the room one last time.

  “That is why you’re here. Never forget it.”