Interlude – The Faculty Roundtable

  The meeting room on the third floor of the Academy’s east wing was rarely used outside of orientation week and staff evaluations. But once every few weeks—especially in the early months—it became the place where the instructors gathered to trade notes, voice concerns, and check the pulse of a hundred restless first-years.

  At the center of the room stood a round table of ancient Johtoan cedar, once carved from a fallen tree said to be blessed by Celebi itself. Around it sat six chairs—four already occupied.

  The fifth was empty no longer.

  Professor Lila Sanders glided into the room like a curtain of dusk catching the breeze. Her flowing robes swirled behind her as she moved with measured steps, an Espeon padding soundlessly at her heels. She nodded once, took her seat at the head of the table, and folded her hands atop a stack of slim silver data-slates.

  “Initiating Roundtable,” she said, her voice calm and resonant. “We will begin with the first-year performance overview.”

  Instructor Jordan Skywatcher, seated to Sanders’ left, leaned forward. The light from the center hologram washed faintly over his thick beard and broad shoulders, lending him the air of a mountain at sunset.

  “Battling 101 has opened strong,” he said, voice steady and deliberate. “We ran two practicals this week. Monday, we broke the class into groups of ten. Each student was assigned a Normal-type partner—mostly common species found on beginner routes—and matched up for single battles.”

  He tapped his data-slate. A projection shimmered above the table—dozens of matchups, names and Pokémon flickering like chess pieces.

  “Five wins, five losses per group. The idea wasn’t just about winning—it was about evaluating instinct and baseline field coordination. One extra point was awarded to each winner.”

  He paused to shift the hologram. It focused now on four names glowing subtly in green.

  “Of note—Gabriel Santos, Irene Redstone, Melody Walker, and Lidia Betti. Each earned strong praise from their monitoring advisors. Santos showed unusually fast bonding with his assigned Zigzagoon. He led the match without dominating it—subtle guidance, not brute control.”

  He gave a small nod, not unkind. “That kind of attunement’s rare in the first week.”

  Another tap. The hologram displayed Irene mid-motion in her match—calm, efficient, her opponent off-balance.

  “Redstone dictated the tempo from the first move. Clean rhythm control. She didn’t just react—she predicted, adjusted, and pressed advantage.”

  He shifted again—now to a slowed clip of a Skwovet and a Sentret facing off, motion blurred at the moment their moves clashed mid-field.

  “Walker and Betti were paired against each other. The only match to end in a draw—technical, but earned. Both Pokémon were winded but standing. Neither side overcommitted. Tactically mature.”

  Then the feed dissolved, and a new one took its place: a blank screen, slowly populating with text. This one read more like a test log—hundreds of questions indexed, skips noted, partials marked, and at the top: Simulator Evaluation Results.

  “On Friday, we shifted gears,” he said. “Simulator Test. Individual terminals. Students were tested on theoretical battle knowledge—not just memorization, but adaptive thinking. The questions change every attempt. Randomized sequencing. No brute-forcing. No flash-card glory.”

  He let that sink in.

  “To pass, they needed to complete a sequence without skipping three questions or missing two in a row. It’s less about ‘what you know,’ and more about ‘what you understand under pressure.’”

  The center projection flickered, now showing student names tagged with a glowing numerical value beside them.

  GRADE-1... GRADE-1... GRADE-1... GRADE-1...

  And then, at the top—

  GRADE-2 – Redstone, Irene

  “Only one cleared Grade-2. Redstone again. The system flagged her for upper-bracket critical thinking. The questions at that level covered status layering, terrain mechanics, and tactical application of moves like Quiver Dance, Wish, and Destiny Bond.”

  A few instructors raised their eyebrows. Knight nodded, just once.

  “She navigated the sequence without skips, and only one partial. Five optimized answers. Clean logic chains. No panic. No second attempts.”

  Skywatcher swiped again, showing a broader breakdown.

  “The rest of the class—seventy-five percent—landed comfortably in Grade-1, which aligns with our expectations. These are first-years, most of them fresh out of pre-academy. They know the basics. They can articulate core systems. But few have wrestled with edge cases—evolution through environmental stress, partial status resistances, or the nuances of Substitute interactions.”

  He tapped a name in the middle tier.

  “Gabriel Santos, for example—Grade-1. He answered over eighty questions. Many answers were thoughtful, even when incomplete. He knew what he didn’t know, and chose to skip intelligently. He’s not there yet—but he’s trying to think like someone who will be.”

  He looked around the table, briefly catching Lila Sanders’ gaze.

  “That matters.”

  Skywatcher leaned back slightly.

  “Jeremy Fox also completed a full sequence. Sloppy logic. Misapplied terrain rules. But he didn’t quit. That, too, is worth noting. We’ll speak more on him when we reach individual concerns.”

  The screen dimmed again, leaving the room momentarily quiet.

  “The Simulator is going to be one of our benchmarks for intellectual adaptability. We’re not training move-reciting tacticians. We’re raising battle philosophers. The ones who’ll survive in the wild, not just win indoors.”

  A small nod to Sanders. “Redstone’s leading. But others are showing the right questions. The right thinking.”

  He folded his hands again.

  “I’m satisfied with the foundation. And optimistic about what’s coming.”

  Sanders gave a soft, unreadable smile.

  “Thank you, Jordan. Instructor Knight—your insights next, please.”

  Instructor Helena Knight sat erect and still, hands clasped before her on the polished cedar, her posture as sharp and unwavering as her tone.

  “Training 101 began with foundational philosophy,” she said. “The origin of the trainer's role. The ethics of power. The shaping influence of aura between humans and Pokémon.”

  She did not glance at her slate. Her memory, like her words, was exact.

  “I’ve already identified which students need further grounding in moral responsibility versus ambition. Jeremy Fox is of particular concern. He displays signs of dominance-based bonding, not partnership. It’s not uncommon in early Dragon-type trainers. His aura influence is progressing too rapidly for someone without emotional control.”

  She paused.

  “Conversely, Gabriel Santos articulated the nature of trainer-Pokémon connection with uncommon clarity. Not academic—personal. Rooted. Alicia Young and Melody Walker are likewise grounded, especially in their understanding of reciprocal bonds.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  She turned her eyes briefly toward Instructor Joy.

  “Delilah Grey, the Lavender orphan, has deep alignment with her Misdreavus. Too deep. Her aura is being shaped by isolation. Not malicious—but unbalanced. She needs counterweights.”

  She folded her hands again.

  “My class does not grade for obedience. It evaluates understanding. The students who will succeed here are not those who simply battle well, but those who know what it means to shape another living being—and be shaped in return.”

  Sanders glanced down, then turned to her right. “Savannah?”

  Instructor Savannah Smith sat straight-backed in her chair, arms folded. Her dark skin gleamed faintly under the overhead lights, still smelling faintly of chalk, sweat, and clean earth—she had come straight from her final late-day training circuit without so much as brushing the dust from her boots.

  “Physical Conditioning 101 began with full-body endurance and strength testing. No special treatment. No filters. I told them the truth: their bodies are seeds, and I am the storm. Most understood. And those who didn’t, will.”

  She glanced down at her tablet, flicked once with a finger, then looked back up.

  “We ran cardio trials—paced laps increasing in intensity, followed by raw strength lifts, reaction sprints, flexibility drills, and bodyweight output.”

  She let the pause linger just long enough for tension to settle.

  “Most students are where I expected: undertrained, overconfident, and sore by the end. That’s a good sign.”

  Another flick.

  “Melody Walker outpaced a martial-arts prodigy on endurance. Claire Bellecendre, Irene Redstone and Gabriel Santos pushed above-average thresholds. Santos has a work ethic built from real-world terrain.”

  She didn’t smile, but her tone shifted—faintly approving.

  “Next week, the partner Pokémon join in. That’s when I’ll get a real read. Reflex, balance, mirrored breathing, synchronized movement.”

  She let her hand rest over her tablet.

  Sanders gave a quiet nod, tone unchanged. “Thank you, Savannah. Instructor Joy—your update?”

  Instructor Aurelia Joy adjusted the ribbon in her hair before speaking. She didn’t carry a slate—she never did—but no one ever accused her of being unprepared.

  “Pokémon Care 101 has transitioned smoothly into its early bonding phase,” she said, voice even and warm. “The egg bonding protocols have begun. Students were briefed on early developmental stages, with emphasis on energy imprinting, close-contact incubation, and passive emotional exposure.”

  She folded her hands.

  “But I’m not just speaking as an instructor. As director of the Pokémon Center, I had a front-row seat to today’s matches. And what I saw told me more than any care checklist could.”

  She looked around the table, meeting each instructor’s eyes in turn.

  “Some students brought their partners in after tough fights—scrapes, bruises, energy drain. Normal. Expected. But the difference lies in how they reacted. Some trainers took immediate responsibility. They stayed close. Asked the right questions. Watched every movement their Pokémon made during recovery. Others? They handed over Poké Balls without a word and vanished to check their rankings.”

  A pause.

  “Gabriel Santos returned twice today—once after a high-intensity match, and again after a sparring session. His Teddiursa showed mild fatigue, nothing serious—but the boy stayed through the entire healing process. Asked how to take care of his Pokémon after intense battles. That’s care.”

  Her gaze didn’t shift, but her voice cooled slightly.

  “Jeremy Fox, by contrast, returned with a Bagon suffering from recoil trauma—poor posture during repeated charge attacks. He had no idea. When we asked about training methods, his answers were vague. Disconnected. His Pokémon’s injury wasn’t from bad luck—it was from neglect.”

  Another pause. Shorter. Sharper.

  “Irene Redstone brought in her Electrike after her fourth match of the day. Light muscle strain. Nothing serious. She administered the pain balm herself before asking to use the Center’s pulse scanner. She didn’t need to. But she did.”

  She tilted her head slightly, just enough to imply satisfaction.

  “That’s care as instinct.”

  Her tone softened slightly.

  “Outside of battle, a few names stand out. Alicia Young’s Cleffa has an intuitive healing field—gentle empathy. She’s already syncing her own rest patterns to her trainer’s rhythm. Hugo King’s Petilil responds to vocal cues with meditative stillness. Smart pairing. And Delilah Grey…”

  Joy hesitated for just a breath.

  “Delilah’s Misdreavus shows early signs of ambient emotional imprinting. Passive shadow mimicry, reduced vocal response. Not dangerous—but isolating. The girl is already very quiet. Ghost-type alignment can magnify that if left unchecked. She hasn’t spoken to a single Center assistant without being prompted.”

  Joy looked to Professor Sanders. “I recommend pairing her with a graduate support specialist—someone familiar with Ghost psychology. She needs social reinforcement before long-term bonding starts feeding on suppression.”

  Then she leaned back slightly, expression unreadable.

  “There are a few others I’ve kept notes on. Some Fire-types are overactive—likely due to mismatched sleep cycles. Flying-types have sustained the most minor injuries—aggressive dodging, poor trajectory control. We’ll continue monitoring trends.”

  She nodded once, arms folding gently across her lap.

  “That concludes my report.”

  Professor Sanders tapped her fingers once—lightly—against her data-slate.

  Silence fell like a curtain.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice cutting through the stillness with measured calm. “Your assessments confirm the pattern we expected. A small group rising quickly. Another struggling quietly. And the vast majority hovering in the threshold between understanding and application.”

  She flicked her wrist, and the central hologram reappeared—now a sphere of light fractured into three rings, each turning at different speeds. Small glowing names hovered throughout, some clustered together, others orbiting at odd angles.

  “Santos and Redstone,” she said, eyes never leaving the projection. “Our current poles.”

  With another motion, the hologram zoomed in. Two names pulsed at the center: Gabriel Santos – 68 pts and Irene Redstone – 51 pts.

  “Statistically, Redstone is the more complete battler—academic excellence, field control, and high emotional restraint. But Santos carries momentum. Field growth. Accelerated practical adaptation. And,” she glanced briefly toward Jordan, “something else.”

  Instructor Skywatcher nodded once, but said nothing.

  “A good instinct,” Instructor Knight added quietly. “But instinct must evolve into discipline. Or it will cost him.”

  “It already has,” Instructor Joy murmured. “That wager against Jeremy—twenty-five points. He won it, yes. But he made himself visible.”

  “Too visible,” Knight said flatly.

  Savannah Smith folded her arms. “That lead makes him the peak target when new rules are introduced. No first-year maintains an edge like that without paying for it later.”

  Sanders nodded. “Exactly. And the rules will change.”

  “Most students,” Sanders said, “remain in the thirty-five range—standard performance with one or two matches on record. Modest wagers. Predictable pacing.”

  She gestured subtly, and the projection adjusted to show the median cluster—a wide curve centered between 34 and 36 points.

  “These students are progressing as expected. Participating, observing, adjusting. The average growth pattern is intact.”

  Then she tapped the glowing peak—Gabriel Santos: 68—and it pulsed in red.

  “This is not,” she said simply.

  Instructor Knight folded her hands. “That’s not growth. That’s a rupture.”

  Skywatcher nodded. “A twenty-five-point leap in one match skews the entire curve. If Jeremy had won, he’d be up here instead—and the board would look very different.”

  “Jeremy should not have accepted that match,” Knight said flatly. “He let pride blind him. He was baited.”

  “And Santos used that bait well,” Sanders said. “Emotionally reactive, yes—but tactically effective. He saw an opening and made it matter.”

  “But now,” Smith interjected, “every student will see him as the summit.”

  “And that,” Sanders murmured, “is the danger.”

  Knight gave a single sharp nod. “He’s at the top. Now he has to hold it.”

  “And Irene,” Joy added softly, “will be the one to chase him first.”

  Sanders allowed herself a very small smile.

  “She already is.”

  Sanders gestured again, and two names flickered briefly—Jeremy Fox and Delilah Grey—before dimming.

  “They are not failing. But they are deviating,” she said. “Each for different reasons.”

  She turned her gaze toward Skywatcher.

  “Jordan. I’m assigning both of them to your office for graduate tutoring placement. They need specialized intervention before their development curves diverge too far.”

  He nodded once. “Understood. I have candidates in mind. Chessa for Jeremy. Evan for Delilah.”

  “Good. Have them start by Tuesday.”

  Sanders paused, as if watching the entire board shift behind her eyes. Then she spoke again, her voice lower, more deliberate.

  “As of this coming week, the rankings will become formalized. All official battles must now be recorded through the League’s student registry system. Points will update in real-time.”

  That got a reaction.

  Smith raised an eyebrow. Joy folded her arms. Even Knight inclined her head, though only slightly.

  “No more informal challenges,” Sanders continued. “No more untracked wins and losses. If students want to climb, they must do so within the structure.”

  She tapped again. A new projection appeared—THE WEEKEND CHALLENGE STRUCTURE.

  WEEKEND BATTLE PROTOCOLS

  Ranked matches may only be held Friday after 3PM to Sunday night

  Students may only challenge opponents ranked above them

  Each student must accept at least three challenges per weekend

  No official challenges permitted during the weekdays

  Unranked matches remain allowed for training and club purposes

  Top sixteen will receive a valuable prize by the end of the semester

  “This will limit point hoarding,” Sanders said. “It will also pressure the top sixteen to prove their worth—repeatedly.”

  Knight’s voice sliced through. “Santos will be challenged nonstop.”

  “Yes,” Sanders agreed. “That is the consequence of being first. But it will also force growth. Pressure defines potential.”

  Skywatcher leaned forward. “He can handle it. But we’ll need to keep an eye on his Teddiursa. That Pokémon’s evolving emotionally as fast as he is tactically. A misstep could overload both.”

  Joy nodded. “I’ll have my team track post-match recovery for him. He’s not overtraining yet, but with five matches in two days, he’s close.”

  “And Redstone?” Smith asked.

  Knight answered first. “She’ll accept every challenge. And she’ll win most of them. But she’s going to calculate. Select her opponents. Choose precision over volume.”

  “And what of the students who haven’t stepped into the spotlight yet?” Joy asked.

  Sanders looked up, “We’ll find them. Or they’ll find us.” She looked down again, then closed her slate.

  “The board is set,” she said softly. “The first points have been placed. And the rules have changed.”

  She looked around the table, meeting each instructor’s eyes one by one.

  “Next week, they’ll begin to understand what this Academy really is.”

  And with that, the meeting was adjourned.