The train rumbled softly under Ren's boots, carrying him across rolling green hills and deep forests toward the future he had chosen.

  Outside the window, Kanto stretched endlessly — vast and wild, alive with unseen dangers.

  Ren leaned back into his seat, black eyes half-lidded, watching the blur of landscape pass by.

  Two years ago, he had woken in this world broken and lost.

  Now, he was something else.

  Still young. Still unfinished.

  But sharper.

  Tempered.

  At his belt, Charmander’s Pokéball rested snug against his hip — a quiet, comforting weight.

  "Next stop: International Trainer Academy," a mechanical voice announced over the speaker system.

  Ren straightened slightly.

  The real journey was about to begin.

  The Academy gates loomed large in the afternoon sun — twin iron doors wrought with intricate carvings of Pokémon both familiar and mythical.

  At the center of the gate, the symbol of the four united regions shone:

  a compass star framed by fire, water, earth, and sky.

  Beyond the gates, the Academy spread like a fortress — sprawling fields, forest preserves, stone battlegrounds, and towering lecture halls.

  This was no playground.

  It was a crucible.

  And only the strong would endure.

  Ren adjusted the strap of his pack and stepped forward without hesitation.

  The checkpoint stations were efficient, clinical.

  A League officer — a woman in a dark, crisp uniform — scanned Ren's ID card with a soft beep and handed him a slim device.

  "This contains your dorm assignment, class schedules, and campus map. Study them," she said briskly. "You'll be evaluated constantly. Failure is not tolerated."

  Ren gave a short nod and moved on, slipping the device into his pocket.

  All around him, other new students filtered through — some alone like him, others accompanied by personal aides or bodyguards bearing the crests of famous families.

  He heard snippets of conversation:

  "He’s from the Wateru Clan..."

  "That one’s the Stone heir..."

  "Did you hear? Cynthia’s attending this year..."

  Names and whispers swirled like currents in the air.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  Ren ignored them.

  It didn’t matter who came from wealth, from bloodlines, from ancient traditions.

  Strength would decide everything here.

  Not privilege.

  Still, it was impossible not to notice them.

  Some stood apart not by wealth or noise,

  but by the way space seemed to bend subtly around them —

  attention drawn as naturally as a flame draws the eye in darkness.

  Ren spotted him first — leaning casually against a marble pillar, arms crossed.

  Tall. Red hair like fire.

  A black leather jacket adorned with a subtle draconic emblem.

  Lance Wateru.

  The future dragon master — though he was only a boy now.

  Lance's crimson eyes flickered briefly over the crowd, pausing on Ren for the barest moment before moving on — unimpressed, perhaps, or simply conserving his attention for those he deemed worthy.

  Ren didn’t flinch.

  Let them underestimate him.

  That would only make his rise sharper.

  Near the main lecture hall steps, another figure stood — not brash like Lance, but with a stillness that spoke of cold certainty.

  A boy with silver hair, neat and precise as a blade,

  dressed in dark formalwear with a subtle Devon Corporation pin glinting at his collar.

  Steven Stone.

  Ren observed the way Steven spoke in low, measured tones with an instructor — the way his gaze flicked from people to buildings to pathways, always calculating.

  There was no wasted energy in his movements.

  No arrogance.

  Just quiet, dangerous focus.

  And then — by the central fountain — the air shifted.

  Ren’s steps slowed without conscious thought.

  There, perched lightly on the stone rim of the fountain, was a girl.

  Golden hair caught the sunlight, silver threads glinting faintly in the breeze.

  She wore a simple white travel coat over dark tights, boots scuffed from real use.

  Her arms rested casually on her knees, head tilted as she watched the crowd.

  She wasn’t laughing.

  She wasn’t boasting.

  She simply watched — like a queen surveying a chessboard.

  Grey-blue eyes — sharp, cool, endlessly deep — met his across the courtyard.

  For a heartbeat, the world seemed to narrow.

  Ren looked away first, forcing his gaze back to the path ahead.

  Cynthia Carolina.

  Daughter of Professor Carolina.

  Heir to the Celestic traditions.

  A name whispered in reverence among the new generation.

  Ren didn’t approach.

  Didn’t gawk.

  He simply moved forward.

  They were all here for the same reason.

  And one day, they would meet — not in courtyards or casual glances,

  but in battle.

  The Academy bell tolled — deep and resonant, vibrating through the stone underfoot.

  Students hurried to organize by regional divisions — Kanto-Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh — forming rough lines across the vast plaza.

  Ren found his place among the Kanto-Johto first-years, standing tall and silent.

  From the grand stairs of the main hall, an imposing figure emerged.

  A man in his fifties, wearing a crimson League overcoat and bearing scars across one side of his face.

  His voice, when he spoke, cut the plaza like a whip.

  "Silence!"

  The noise died instantly.

  The man's gaze swept over them, heavy and unflinching.

  "You are here because you wish to become Trainers," he said. "Some of you come from great houses. Some of you bear famous names."

  A pause.

  "None of that matters now."

  The weight of those words settled heavily on the courtyard.

  "Strength is the only currency you will carry here.

  Skill, discipline, courage.

  Not birthright."

  Another pause.

  "You have one year. One year to prove yourselves. Or to be broken."

  A final beat of silence.

  "Remember that."

  The bell tolled again, harsh and final.

  "Dismissed. Orientation begins tomorrow. Prepare yourselves."

  The lines dissolved into scattered movement.

  Students broke into groups — old alliances reforming, new ones whispering to life.

  Ren stood alone for a moment longer, feeling the weight of a hundred futures pressing around him.

  Then he moved, slipping through the crowd without fanfare.

  No allies yet.

  No enemies yet.

  Only a fire burning in his chest.

  Only a partner waiting at his side.

  And a road that would lead to greatness —

  or to ruin.