Gon always awoke early, just in time to see the sun rise over the highest crest of Wailmer Island. The morning air filled his lungs and brought life back to his rested limbs. With unparalleled vigor, he leapt out of bed in a nearly perfect parabola, landing loudly on the wooden floor.

This morning, his heart raced with new excitement, the kind he could no longer contain.

In a few short hours, a respected professor, whose studies were regarded with the utmost respect and accolades, would be arriving by ship. And rumor had it, he was bringing some specimens, the pinnacle of his research:

Pokemon.

Aunt Mito was already in the kitchen, frying eggs over the stove, by the time Gon had dressed and styled his hair.

"Good morning, Aunt Mito!" Gon chirped, swiping the short stack of plates from the counter so he could begin setting the table.

"Good morning, Gon," Mito said, somewhat reluctantly. She eyed her nephew as he bustled about, his dark eyes robust and gleaming. At the ripe age of 12, he was certainly more physically fit than any other child she had encountered, but he was young nonetheless. Sending him off on his own adventure, with no one to guide him, or watch over him, or…

"Aunt Mito! The bacon!"

Gon's sudden cry brought Mito back to reality, and she scrambled to turn off the heat beneath the sizzling bacon. Gon collapsed on one of the chairs, leaning back so the front legs hovered waveringly, so that he could prop his feet on the table.

"You've got to pay more attention," Gon chided, biting into a slice of toast. "Don' wanna burn th'ouse down."

"Don't talk with your mouth full,' Mito said absently, flipping an egg so the yolk was on top.

Mito supposed she couldn't convince Gon to stay. He was stubborn, almost as stubborn as his father, and when he set his heart on something, by Jove, he'd do anything to achieve it.

She flipped the other egg in the pan, but this time, she must've been too rough. The runny yolk spread from a crack in the thin membrane, hissing when it puddled on the bottom of the pan.

Despite knowing the boy wouldn't change his mind, Mito steeled herself. She had to try.

"Gon," she said, turning the stove completely off, "are you sure you want to meet with the professor today?"

"Of course!" he responded. "I mean, he probably won't come back to Wailmer Island. Who knows if I'll ever get this chance again!"

Mito bit her bottom lip. She gently placed the unbroken egg on Gon's plate before slapping the broken one, the yolk hard and dark, on her own plate. "You're right," she said softly. "You're right. But why are you so determined? You're twelve years old! You're still a child! Why do you want to risk your li—"

Gon's steady gaze stole the words from her mouth and the air from her lungs. "Because," he began, blinking, "I want to."

Mito hung her head. She shouldn't have expected some grand explanation, some divine reasoning. This was Gon, after all.

"My father left everything behind to become a Pokemon master," Gon continued. His eyes fell on the small, framed picture of his father crouching by a motorbike. "He even left me, when I was just a baby! I've got to figure there's something great in being a Pokemon trainer!"

Suddenly enraged, Mito slammed both palms against the table. "Gon, what your father did was… was unbelievably cruel," she said. "I don't want you to throw away your life to copy him."

But Gon shook his head and smiled. "I don't want to copy him," he said. "I want to surpass him. And maybe, along the way, I'll find him, somewhere, someday."

Defeated, Mito sank into her chair and held her head in her hands. "Do you really think you can surpass him, Gon?" she asked, her voice muffled.

"I don't see why not!" he said. "He was twelve when he caught the Red Gyarados, Lord of the Lake, with a Great Rod! I caught him with just an Old Rod!" He jabbed his chest with a thumb and beamed. "Have faith in me, Aunt Mito! I'll come back when I'm a proper Pokemon Trainer!"

She reached across the table to ruffle his hair. "There's no helping it, then," she said. "Make me proud, Gon."

With a mouth full of egg, Gon grinned. "Will do!"

The professor waited on the doc, perched on his suitcase with his eyes closed. A soft hum escaped his wrinkled lips, and the sun beat down on him, warm enough to cause sweat to bead along his brow.

"Professor Netero?"

The old professor opened one eye. Standing a few feet away, hands nervously clasped before him, was a man from the village, presumably one in charge, judging by the look of his robes and the beads hung around his neck.

"I am Netero, the Pokemon professor," Netero said, stepping off his suitcase so he could stand on solid ground. "Thank you for inviting me to your lovely island."

The man fumbled for words, bowing hastily. "No, no, thank you for accepting! It's a great honor. Please, make yourself at home. I apologize if any of our inhabitants are a bit too exuberant. So many of us have been eagerly awaiting your arrival."

"I'm flattered," said Netero, handing off his suitcase to the other man. "Before I subject myself to relentless questioning, would you mind if I explored the island a bit on my own?"

"That's dangerous!" the man blurted. "We might not have many Pokemon on this island, but there are other deadly creatures that—"

Netero held up a solemn hand, and with his other, he dug into the satchel hanging off his hips to retrieve a small red and white ball. "I may not be as young as I used to be," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "but I can handle myself pretty well."

The other man bowed in resignation and apology. "Forgive me, Professor," he said. "Please, explore the island to your heart's content."

"Don't mind if I do," Netero said, smirking. "Take my suitcase to my lodgings. And do be careful; my priceless research is in there." He called the last bit over his shoulder, much to the village leader's dismay, chuckling as the man fretted over the luggage. "Now then," Netero said to himself, eying the dense woods that clung to the mountainside, "where to begin."

"I'm off then!" Gon called as he slipped on his boots and threw open the door. His backpack was slung sloppily off his shoulders, one strap tighter than the other, and his fishing rod—his good one, the one he'd bought from a traveling fisherman—barely secured by the top flap.

Mito waved a dish towel in his direction. "Wait, wait!" she cried. "You can't go out like this. Where are you off to in such a hurry? The professor isn't to give his first talk until this evening."

As Mito adjusted his straps, Gon bounced on his heels. "I can't just sit here and wait," he whined. "I've got to do something. I'm gonna go to the forest and run around for a while. I'll be back before dinner, promise!"

With a heavy sigh that made her shoulders slump, Mito stepped back. "Fine," she said, "but be careful."

"I always am!" Gon shouted, bounding out the door. He raced along the narrow path that wove around the nearest cliff and led to the mountains.

Mito cupped her hands around her mouth. "Don't tell lies, Gon. You're terrible at it!" she yelled.

Though faint, his cry of "Sorry, Aunt Mito!" reached her before she closed the door. With her back against it, she sagged into the wood, her chest tight. She clenched the dish towel in her hand, fingers paling against the cloth.

She pressed her free hand against her teeth and shut her eyes, tightly enough so that the budding tears wouldn't have a place to fall from.

Gon, she thought, take care of yourself. Please.