Growing up in Littleroot had changed a lot over the past ten to twelve years.
Ever since the Team Rocket fiasco in Kanto, other criminal organizations had been periodically sprouting up in other regions. First there was Team Magma here in Hoenn, Team Skull in Alola, and still others that I can't recall right now. The crime wave hit the pokemon world pretty hard.
Although each organization was thwarted by a dashing hero (or heroine) pulled straight out of a novel, the Elite Four and Champions of each region were concerned by how quickly, and easily, each group rose to power.
Such thoughts brought about sweeping changes for the training world as a whole. Ten year olds no longer received starter pokemon right away, as the governing bodies decided that kids (no matter how talented of trainers they were) were too impressionable, too easy to overpower. There was no more legal training age, instead you were required to have a high school diploma to apply for your trainer's license.
Radical changes to the culture didn't go down smoothly, of course. There were the traditionalists that argued in defense of the old ways, mainly centering around the fact that the crime rings were thwarted by young trainers. The governing bodies argued back that most of the ranks in said organizations were made up of young trainers. The two sides constantly clashed until the laws were slowly changed into what now shapes my world.
The changes seem to have worked, too. Although there were still the sporadic trouble-makers every once in a while, there were no more organized crime rings gaining power.
Although, that could be a side effect of the lower number of pokemon trainers running around as well.
Before Team Rocket, it was every kid's dream to become a pokemon trainer. Every ten year old from here to Fortree wanted their very own torchic or ralts. You could not walk to another town without coming across at least a dozen trainers. Now, fewer and fewer kids want to become pokemon trainers. They have their sights set on becoming the next doctor, police officer, or pokemon researcher like Professor Rowan.
Not me, though.
Ever since I could form coherent thoughts, I knew that I wanted to be a pokemon trainer, and not once did that determination falter. While other boys my age were chasing girls, playing sports, or working part time jobs, I was taking night classes to graduate sooner. While other kids were out partying and drinking, I was nose deep in Hoenn pokemon books. I even had dreams about perfecting my team, rotating different pokemon in and out of it to match my exact specifications. I wasn't going to be just any trainer; I was going to make a name for myself.
I was going to become the Champion.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"Sweetie, come eat. Dinner's ready." That got my attention.
I looked up from my water pokemon behavioral book and wrinkled my nose in response, trying to smell what my mom was cooking that night. A slightly spicy blend wafted into my nostrils, forcing a grin to tug at my cheeks. Tacos. Mom always loved to spoil me with my favorites.
I closed my book, tossed it on the bed, and headed out of my room towards the kitchen, scent growing stronger as I got closer. My mouth watered as I walked into the kitchen to a flurry of activity, except there was only one person there.
"Mom!" I laughed as I leapt out of her way. She was a culinary artist. The kitchen was her studio, the stove her blank canvas, and she loved every minute of her craft.
Today she was expertly bouncing around from counter to counter, humming along to the old radio in the corner. "Go on dear, take a seat. I'll be over in a second," she spared me a quick kiss on the cheek then resumed her routine.
I wiped it off with a grin, and settled into my place at the dinner table, watching her go to work. Her brown hair was tied back in a haphazard ponytail, bouncing along as she bustled from countertop to countertop.
Within a few minutes, the dinner table was crowded with various taco shells, meats, toppings, and silverware. I laughed. "Mom, it's just two of us. How are we supposed to finish this feast?" Feast was simplifying it. This looked like one of those dinners set up in medieval times when the tables were over 20 feet long. We could eat until our stomachs exploded and not even make a dent in the food.
"Well, it's not every day your child gets a trainer's license."
I paused mid chew and eyed her warily. My mom approached me with a red and white parcel, packaged with black tape around the middle. She was beaming with pride.
"But, how?"
"What do you mean?" She looked perplexed.
"How do I have my trainer's license?" I haven't even gotten my diploma in the mail…" It was taking forever to get here.
Her look of confusion broke into a huge grin. "Your diploma came weeks ago, honey. Sorry I didn't tell you! I filled out your trainer's application and mailed it the next day. You're licensed!"
"Oh my god, Mom!" I leapt out of my chair and threw myself at her, "thank you so much! I can't believe it!"
I took the package from her and tore into it, revealing a shiny laminated index card with my personal information on it. My trainer card. Other than my school yearbook photo used as identification, which earned my mother a glare shot in her direction, it was perfect, and everything I could've dreamed it would be.
I plopped back into the chair at the dinner table, admiring my new trainer's license. This was it. It finally happened for me. After years of sticking my nose in books and turning down a lifetime of memories, my dream has come true.
I was finally going to be a pokemon trainer.