Fishing is a great sport. You think I'm lying? No seriously! Okay, okay. I know it doesn't look like much. Honestly, it isn't, especially when you're fishing for a certain rare Pokémon. How many young trainers set out each day to start their Pokémon journey? Think of how many fishermen they challenge and pass by, not really listening to a word they say. How many have lied to the Fishermen Brothers, just to get their rod of choice? I know I did. It's not that I hated fishing, but I, like many others, were pretty "meh" about it. Do you get what I mean? I think you get what I mean. When you're fishing for Dratini, fishing becomes really monotonous, you know? You start wondering why you're even doing it, why it's so hard, etc, etc. All these questions pop up in your head, because you're so tired of catching the same Goldeen and Seaking over and over again from the same pond. All for what? Honestly, it wasn't the Dratini which put me in that position (No, at that point, I already had two Dratini). I was fishing for a Dragon Scale, an item which only appear in 5% of catches (according to the reported statistics, anyway). And given my rotten luck, the mere chance of me catching a Dratini is about 5%...so what? If my math is right, then that meant I have less than 1% chance of getting what I needed, right? Great.

But of course, there's no way that I would be telling you this if there weren't a catch. Literally. I mean, there has to be a turn-around, right? You're probably wondering how I'm gonna prove you all wrong. How I'm gonna show you how fishing is actually really awesome. I know, I know. In the back of your minds, you're probably thinking how awfully cliché it's gonna be. Well, I'm here to say…first of all, give the cynicism a break! You bet your little clenched butt cheeks I'm gonna show you how fishing is super-special-awesome! 'Scuse my French. But secondly, what you get is what you got. Man, I don't know why I need to say any of this anyway. You're reading this, aren't you? Just…don't be like, "Gasp! Oh, how horribly conventional of a novice writer! How pretentious! Wow, you think you're so deep!" Because trust me, I've gotten it, and all I've wanted to do is to just shut them up. And they do! Pretty quickly, in fact, when I remind them that I'm still a better trainer than them. So, if you give any bit of a damn, just shut up and read (or listen, if that's more your taste).

You know, I used to be like you. I don't mean to impose on your character. I mean, I used to be cynical. Nihilistic. I used to believe that the world was RULED by randomness, and that to be really cliché was really disgusting. A human invention, really. I mean, like watching-the-sunset, romantic feelings; you know, those type of things. I hated it, which is why I set out on my journey pretty hastily. Looking back, I sure would have liked to fully feel out the emotions of leaving home. But, of course, I didn't want to be sentimental back then. I was an ace trainer, as they say: always looking to train, always looking to get stronger. I mean, in a world like ours, why not? It was the way trainers went to the big leagues…became world champions. I wanted to be strong, and I would do almost anything to get to the next level. I was living every kid's dream. I was living the fast life, and my Pokémon were my partners. I'll admit this much now; sometimes, I got a little carried away.

I had decided way back when I was just a no-badge kid that I was gonna train up a Kingdra. I loved the Pokémon, and had always wanted one. In the night when we walked through the forest, I would share my aspirations with my then-cute Bulbasaur. He would always look at me blankly, and then continue napping. He didn't have a full name back then, but, over time, I came to call him Rue-Rue. To this day, I still can't believe I would just call out to him by his species name. That's like someone calling out to me with, "Human!" Anyway, I remember that when I caught my Horsea and named it "Perfection", Rue-Rue looked at me with a kind of bemusement. The folded skin on his face smoothen, his ears flicker, and his eyes widen more than usual. It's the kind of face he gives me when I do something stupid. But then as I spent more and more time talking about the Horsea, Rue-Rue would sometimes growl real low, and stare intensely before sauntering away. I suppose he disapproved of my zealousness. What kind of trainer names their Pokémon "Perfection"? Plus, I hadn't even asked the Horsea if he wanted a life of training. Luckily for me, it was obvious that "Perfection" (or Perffy, as I like to call him) had no issue with my ambitious plans for him.

I still remember when we walked into Lavender Town's Pokémon Tower for the first time with Perffy. I packed camping supplies, including a little basin for him to swim in. When we ran into our first Gastly, he was a little rattled. I was holding the little guy in my arms. The ghost Pokémon laughed at him, chuckling in that low spooky voice. It taunted the Horsea, circling us in trails of gas. Perffy surprised Gastly and me both by making the first move: a strong bubble beam to its purple face. Well, it must have been strong, I thought, because the Gastly split after that. As we chased after the fleeing ghost, I remember thinking that Perffy had a lot more potential than I thought. I had not expected him to out speed a Gastly, even if he was a few levels higher. Perffy quickly got over the appearance of the Gastlys. He learned quickly in those nights that we spent in the Tower. Even when we camped out to rest, he would watch the Gastly congregate and play, always alert and tense. It was as if he couldn't forgive that first Gastly for taunting him. He learned so quickly that soon, he was literally shooting them down easily, one-by-one. He stopped relying on me for mobility as his aim and reach became better. Instead, he would start shooting them down from his basin whenever fog developed. Stationed there, he would cry out to the mist, challenging whatever lurked in the shadows. I would just stand by, feeling useless. Who wouldn't? After a while, The Gastlys stopped mocking him, and the fog became thinner. Soon Haunters would come out to challenge him. But soon after, he'd be shooting them down too. At this point, I was sitting down, though as a trainer, I really should have been standing up with my Pokémon. I remember reminding myself of that at times, so when Perffy spent the whole night challenging whatever came forward from the darkness, I stayed up supervising his battles, watching him. I gave him medicine when he needed it, and occasionally commented. There were some nights, though, when we said nothing to each other. It wasn't needed. He was extremely dependable, but more than that, it felt like he was proving himself to the world. How could I not just sit down, and watch? At this point, we had spent almost a week in Pokémon Tower.

I would have stayed there all my life, if I could. But it was our final night, and I was exhausted. A human can survive on canned beans for only so long. A Pokémon, however, can survive on canned PokeFood for, well, for the rest of its life. Perffy wasn't fatigued at all, and seemed like he wanted to keep going. So if you don't take any moral lessons from this, at least take this biological one: Pokémon are naturally stronger than humans. By the last day, I was sick from sleeping in a cold tent, and I was pretty sure the presence of the ghost Pokémon were starting to affect me somehow. When I think back to it, it's funny to me to think of how I was only getting weaker behind him while Perffy was getting stronger. I started off standing, then sitting, then finally lying back against the wall. Of course, it's probably not that funny, 'cuz I'm pretty sure I was actually dying. At one point late at night, I accidentally fell asleep during training. When I awoke, Perffy was beside me, staring intently. I realized he must have jumped out of his basin, and hopped over here. I remember apologizing over and over again for falling asleep, for some reason. Thinking back, it was probably no big deal. But it felt like I had broken an important promise. His eyes flashed, and his guard lowered. I thought he looked a little sad, so I reached out and patted his head. I remember noticing that the air was thick with the smell of rotting wood and dust. With the fog gone, faint outlines of gravestones could be seen in the dark. Some Gastlys came by, and Perffy returned to battle them. At some point, it started to smell like rainwater. I muttered that it must be raining outside again. I must have looked really bad, because Perffy returned, looking more distressed than before. Yes…I suppose I did, lying up against the wall in a dark corner like that. Nevertheless, I surprised when he jumped onto my lap. We stayed there until sunrise. I don't quite remember what had gone through my mind that night, but I am embarrassed to say that I rambled on all throughout that night. I told him all sorts of silly things, including how proud I was, how I wished I could stay here and watch him be his best. I don't think I should have said all that; I don't mean to worry my Pokémon, after all. But looking back, I would say (with a careful choice of words) that Perffy had gone where I could not follow, and that perhaps, I should not have been following in the first place. I woke up the next morning at Mr. Fuji's house, saying that they found me in the morning, unconscious and with a high fever.

From then on, it seemed like Perffy couldn't be bothered to be that tense every again, always taking things slowly yet assuredly. I couldn't rush him if my life depended on it. Even so, training had gone extremely well, and he quickly became a bona-fide sharpshooter. It's not like things don't bother him, because trust me, he always has a cheeky comeback to every offence. Beyond those brief moments though, he was always serious, in a calm, self-assured sort of way. That attitude only got more intense when he evolved into Seadra. I remember (jokingly) crying to Rue-Rue that my cute little Horsea was gone, replaced with a prickly, sassy Seadra with scary eyes. I could no longer hug him, at least, not without risking getting pricked by the poison barbs on his back. Rue-Rue acted mildly interested in my laments, as Perffy would pretend to be annoyed by crying out and threatening to shoot me with water. Of course, he would never admit to enjoying my antics. ..No, I quickly learned it's better to leave him be. Not to say that I do, of course not! I always bother him by being silly, but unfortunately unlike Rue-Rue, I can't just shake off water like a dog. Perffy makes sure I never have any dry clothes; it's his way of saying, "Go die from hypothermia, you dumb human" Still, I'm pretty sure he's happy. It was, and still is, really nice, you know. There is a kind of silent understanding between all of us, and it makes Rue-Rue relax his gaze sleepily, and it lets Perffy just float along the water, looking up at the sky.

Perffy got puffier over the months, but not from overeating. When I formally introduced him to the team, he literally puffed up with pride. I thought I saw a childish twinkle in his eyes. I noticed his barbs glistened in the sun. With poison, of course, but that's not the point. What I mean to say is that in the backdrop of the beach as we set our course to Cinnebar Island, Perffy looked truly majestic. Is it so bad to feel that way, even if it was cliché? Do I have to deny it, even when I can swear on my life that it was real to me? I didn't think it at the time, I just felt a strange swelling in my chest. I really was proud of little Perffy, I guess. At the time, I would have denied it. But it was there, I know it was. Well, the pride, I mean. Does that even make sense? If that makes me pompous, then let it be. If writing all this makes me pretentious, then by Arceus, let it be. I know I probably look like a dumbass right now, putting all of my pride on someone else, and suggesting that my Pokémon is happy being with me. I don't know why that even matters. It's not like I did much anyway. After all, Perffy was the one working his ass off in the Pokémon Tower. And I know it's bad to be so proud, especially when it's making me look stupid. The worst part is the fact that I know all of this, but I can't help but enjoy writing all this. I'm tackling to impossible task of describing nights when we trained or stayed up until the sunrise, not saying a word to each other, and trying to rationalize and reason out the trust in the sort of calming confidence we've built in each other. I have to be honest with myself: it's a trust that really doesn't make any sense. But I suppose it doesn't have to. I guess the best way I can summarize it, well, is that he's my partner…that's all.

To Be Continued…