Let’s set the stage. In the middle, a dirt floor. Freshly packed and spray-painted, the white paint of the boundary lines stand in stark relief to the dark brown, still-wet earth. The stadium is rectangular, and on each end trainers stand on raised metal platforms. Don’t look at them-- they’re unimportant. Look at me. The Riolu bouncing on the tips of his toes, arms swinging like a prizefighter. There’s a manic grin on my face, and the gleam of pure, unadulterated ambition in my eyes. I look like a champion, if I say so myself. (And obviously, I do.) I had it all planned out. My enemy would have me on the ropes, grass and bug attacks wearing me down. I’d feel a flash of inspiration; I’d grit my teeth and change my stance. A blue glow, and I’d finally evolve in a dramatic mid-match evolution. I’d finally stop being infantilized and patronized. I’d knock that irritatingly smug expression straight off that leafy bastard’s face. Two torrents of razor leaves later, and I had lost. The referee brought down his flag with a shrill whistle. Joey threw my pokeball at me, and as always, I knocked it away. I limped out of the stadium under my own power, deep gashes across my body bleeding freely. Joey sprayed a potion on me to temporarily close my wounds. Where the wounds were too wide or too deep for the low-strength bonding fluid to work properly, he tied medical gauze around me to stem the bleeding. The gym leader-- Burgh-- droned on about the battle. What Joey and I had done right, and what we could have done differently. He ended with some vague platitude about how we’d do better next time. I tried to listen; I really did. Burgh had some decent advice. But deep down, I knew exactly what I’d done wrong. I’d spent a little over three years on this planet, and all but four months of that time with Joey. I’d fought two gyms, a few dozen trainers, and countless wild pokemon with him. And yet, I still wasn’t a Lucario. “Friendship Evolution - Daylight.” I shielded my eyes against the early morning sunlight as Joey carried me to a pokemon center. ~oOo~ Two days later, and we were back at it. “It” being destroying teams even less impressive than ourselves. A single, well placed force palm and the Purrloin-- a purple and yellow cat about half my meagre height-- is out like a light. The enemy trainer, distraught, scoops up his treasured pokemon. His silver hoodie reveals dyed-orange hair. He tends to his pokemon as Joey waits patiently for his prize money. I eye his Team Plasma paraphernalia with mistrust. As the plasma grunt finally hands over the money, he makes his pitch. “Wow, I’m really impressed by how your Riolu fights; it’s clear that you and he have a strong bond. Team Plasma exists to give support to trainers who treat their pokemon well, in the hopes of encouraging the bonds of pokemon and trainer to grow close, to create a Unova where pokemon and trainer can live in perfect harmony.” His delivery is stilted, by rote, but sincere. He’s clearly a new, passionate recruit, still enamored with his standard-issue purloin and fresh uniform. Joey looks tempted; he always does. He’s heard this exact same speech before, as well as a dozen near-variants. I can tell the ideals of Team Plasma appeal to him. They would; he’s a good kid. I growl menacingly, glaring at the plasma grunt. Joey grins ruefully. “Sorry, but Riolu doesn’t seem to like Team Plasma for some reason.” The plasma grunt nods, a sad smile on his face. “That’s a pity. Hopefully he’ll come around someday. Anyways, good fight!” Our groups parted ways The plasma grunt towards the docks and the pokemon center, us towards a nearby bistro. With the trainer fights we’d already fought today, we had enough money to stay in the black for another month. It wasn’t a huge sum, but government subsidies paid for a lot. We celebrated by eating out; a late lunch of a sandwich apiece. Nothing fancy, but extravagant compared to trail rations or pokecenter cafeteria glop. We ate in silence. I’d glance at Joey, then the table, then outside, then my sandwich, then the other patrons. Joey fixed his stare on me, as if trying to unravel a mystery. “Hey-ooo~!” The intrusion startles both of us. Two hands slap our table. A zorua yips, and a fletchling dances on the head of the excitable blond girl who’s intruded into our personal space. “Therese! What are you doing here?” “I finally caught up to you! I thought I’d see you at Lenora’s gym, but I guess having a fighting type made her too easy for you.” Therese’s voice is slightly nasal, a remnant from her childhood years in Kalos. As recently as a year ago, she still slipped in the occasional Kalosian word, but finally stopped after years of teasing and not-quite bullying. The only remnant of her erstwhile homeland is her fletchling, a gift from her mamie-- her grandmother. “Bonjour, Riolu! It has been far too long since we last spoke.” Fletchling, meanwhile, is more than Kalosian enough for himself and his trainer combined. The small orange-and-grey bird speaks in a deliberately thick accent to accentuate his exoticism. I’m told the local chicks go nuts for him. “Wassup, mothafucka.” Her Zorua, on the other hand, is as Unovan as it gets. The humans ignore Zorua; they don’t understand us, anyways. “Hey guys.” My greeting is even, but my lips are threatening to twitch up into a smile. “Bugs ‘been kickin’ your ass?” Zorua asks, a cheeky grin on his foxy face as he jumps on top of the table. “Unfortunately, yes,” I admit reluctantly. “Shit, man, how come?” I gesture towards myself. “Still not a Lucario?” “Yeah,” I grind out. “Your pride will be your undoing, mon amie. You like Joey already, you must simply learn to see him as an equal.” Fletchling’s reprimand is gentle, but still manages to sting. “Ah, enough moping. Want to have a battle?” Fletchling perks up at Zorua’s proposal. Beside us, Therese proposes much the same thing, at nearly the same time. Pokemon and trainer on the same wavelength. I frown. “No, there’s no point. We know exactly how it would end up going.” Joey looks like he’s going to accept, so I send him a disapproving stare. He relents, and declines. “Shit, man, you’re no fun at all.” I shrug. “I try not to fight losing battles. Anyways, how did your gym battles go?” “Well we beat Cress like a drum, but we had to fight Lenora three times.” “Our attacks were magnifique-- our defense, less so.” I laughed-- a short bark. “Yeah, I have the same problem. Anyways, and this is unrelated, but have you been seeing an increase in Team Plasma grunts running around, or is it just me?” Zorua blinked. “The white-knight guys? Dunno. Maybe. We’ve fought a few, but we’re not as paranoid about them as you are, so it’s not like we keep count.” Fletchinder shrugged, a curious motion on a bird. “Perhaps we’ve seen more than usual, but this is Castelia, after all-- a slightly more liberal place than the backwaters we’ve traveled through.” Zorua rolled his eyes. “Oh man, he’s ranting about ‘backwaters’ again. Fuckin’ shit. I know for a fact he’s never ever been to Lumiose.” “How dare you!” Affronted, Fletchinder began to excoriate Zorua. “Just because a country bumpkin like you can’t sense the culture and refinement of your betters--” Zorua and Fletchinder devolved back into their long standing argument, as I watched in amusement. By the time I had finished my sandwich, they were three tangents removed from their original argument. “I’m just saying, Kalosians are more ‘cultured’ only because they have a nanny state to keep them safe. And the only reason they can fund it is because Unova guarantees its territorial integrity against foreign invasion.” I perked up. Zorua, for all he affected being uneducated and uncultured, had still been alive for almost a decade. More time than me and Fletchling combined, at least without counting my previous life. As such, he had a far better grasp of local politics than I did. “Aha! So you are finally admitting that Kalosians are more cultured than Unovans!” “Well, yeah, but not because of something inherent to Kalos, just because the Unovan government--” “Zoruaa~!” Therese interrupts the argument by picking up Zorua and hugging him to her chest. Zorua’s illusion ability flickered, black planes of not-light appearing and disappearing around him. He’s reflectively trying to hide himself, a sure sign of embarrassment. “I’m sorry to interrupt you guys while you’re catching up, but we gotta go!” “See ya.” I smirk at Zorua’s embarrassed expression. Fletchling gives a wing-salute, and flaps back on top of Therese’s head. I nod in response, and mirror Zorua’s goodbye. “See ya.” We decide to head back towards the pokemon center. The trip is short and without incident, although I notice a pair of Team Plasma grunts handing out food to a gaggle of homeless people and pokemon. We head to the dorms. Joey pulls out his bag out from under his bunk. He pulls down the privacy shroud and turns on the lamp attached to the bottom of the bed above us. Without my prompting he hands me his smartwatch, which I gratefully accept. I open up the notepad, in anticipation of his question. “What could we have done?” I’m touch-typing before he can finish his sentence. “I could have evolved.” After some deliberation, I add a second line. “We could use a second team member.” I hand him the smartwatch. He frowns, then sighs. “No. I know you blame yourself for our losses--” Who else could I blame? I thought, but didn’t-- couldn’t-- say. “--but I have full faith that we can beat this gym. Like, I’m not against the idea of getting another pokemon in principle, but I worry that would just be a crutch, when what I really need to improve is myself.” I nod and fake-smile. I couldn’t really do anything else, although I hated to make him think this was somehow his fault. Fact was, if I evolved, we could beat this gym. It was that simple. Or it would be, if I could just get myself to consider him a “friend.” I liked the kid. I really did. I’d known him for years, and he’d been nothing but kind, understanding, loyal, and thoughtful. But later tonight, he’d pull out his correspondence course work and I’d help him struggle through basic algebra problems. The kind of stuff I’d breezed through in my first life, and the kind of stuff Joey was almost a year behind on. I liked the kid, but I didn’t respect him. We went to sleep early that night, earplugs in and nightmasks on to cover the sound and light of the trainer who occupied the top bunk having a vidphone conversation with his girlfriend. When we woke up, it was to the buzz of the entire population of the pokemon center gathered around the flat screen TVs in the lobby. On screen was the leader of team Plasma. Ghetsis. He stood in the arboretum of the presidential palace, Castelia’s skyline visible through the glass walls. Arrayed in front of him were politicians. Some stood with sombre expressions, wearing small team plasma pins. The rest knelt, black bags over their head. “Through the trials and the tribulations of the the last two decades,” thundered Ghetsis, “we have determined that the Unovan experiment in democracy was a well-intentioned failure.” A ripple of uneasiness went through the crowd. I looked around. There wasn’t anyone wearing a Team Plasma uniform, but that didnt’ necessarily mean anything. “We thought, with the revolution that brought down the illegitimate monarchs who ruled us, that we would finally see a return to the prosperity not seen since the golden age of Unova millenia ago. But corrupt presidents and corrupt congresses have brought the people of Unoval low. Poverty! Nepotism! Pointless foreign conflict! No more! The royal blood has returned. Behold!” An enormous black dragon descended. On its back, a small regal figure with green hair sat, poised. Zekrom and N.