Life, Music, and Ria (Ch2)

by Leonardo Jurado

Follow the life of David, a starting 19-year-old Pokemon Trainer, in his efforts to care for his eventual starter Pokemon, Ria the Ralts, and his attempts at being awesome in life. A simple tale of self-realization, self-discovery, and what it truly means to own a Pokemon, to love and to be successful. (cancelled)

1. Chapter 1

Life, Music, and Ria

By: Leonardo Jurado

Chapter 1

"I... want to have a Ralts... sir." I nervously said to the man on the other side of the counter, a psychologist who wore this drab-gray business attire, his brown eyes being backed by a pair of round spectacles.

I saw that his hands clenched together in a soft fist to support his head nonchalantly, yet when he heard the word 'Ralts' his gaze perked up and he started scanning me with a sterner look, "... A Ralts, Mr. Penchant?"

"Y.. Y-yes, sir," I tried to fake a cough to try to ease some of the nervousness that was building up in my chest before continuing, "a Ralts. I... figured that a Ralts would be an interesting Pokémon to have as a starter."

I think he noticed how nervous I was becoming, cause the next thing he gave me was an amused smile, and though his eyes were still scanning me, his tone of voice became somewhat softer and more casual, "Please, call me Dr. Fenton, or Fenton, if that's alright with you. No need to get so agitated over a simple Psychological Evaluation test."

He turned his head towards a nearby door for a second as it slowly opened, and a Gardevoir floated into the room, then closed the door behind her (I wasn't sure if the Gardevoir was a she, but I just quickly assumed by how gracefully she moved and that, admittedly, it's also the first time I've ever seen a Gardevoir up-close). She floated over to the doctor's side using her psychic power, and after Dr. Fenton and the Gardevoir exchanged a few nods as if greeting each other, the good doctor chuckled a bit before turning his eyes back to me, "No, David, you assumed wrong."

"Uh... what?" I looked at the doctor, confused by his sudden statement.

'Your assumption that I was a woman was incorrect, Mr. Penchant.' a soft, almost ethereal-sounding, yet slightly-annoyed male voice replied in my head. I was taken aback when I realized the Gardevoir had just read my mind, and what's worse, that he was actually a guy! Oh right, I read that Gardevoir were as equally likely as being a guy as they were a chick. It's understandable many people confused these Pokémon as women, considering the guys looked just as girly as their feminine-counterparts. Still, I felt I was being a genderly-biased jerk at that point.

… Wait a second... if he heard what I was saying in my head, then that meant-

"Oh, worry not, Mr. Penchant. I do not take offense at your assumptions. I am used to it."

Did that Gardevoir just suddenly speak to me in plain English?! Not only was he able to talk to me in my mind, but he could speak like a normal human too?! "Does that really surprise you, Mr. Penchant? I guess you have not had much interaction with Psychic-Pokémon, yes?"

I bowed shamefully at the Pokémon, "I'm... terribly sorry for that, Mr. Gardevoir, sir."

"Hahah, please my name is just Gary." The Gardevoir folded his arms and gave me a short snicker, "And, as I have stated before, I am used to being labeled such stereotypes. You are not the first person to think that I was a woman... and thankfully are not one of those who have considered capitalizing on it."

Eh... capitalize? You don't mean- "Yes... THAT capitalize." He responded with the distasteful, deadpan tone of a rotting-dead Zubat, and the mere thought of it sent shivers down my spine, "Although it is amusing when I slowly tell them, in my very, very male voice, that I am very, very not interested. There are of course unspeakable exceptions... but I digress."

I couldn't help but smile at that statement: it helped calm my nerves somewhat, knowing that the good doctors could act so casually around their clients. A bit unprofessional, but at least now they have some semblance of humanity in them (if you considered a Pokémon a human, that is).

Dr. Fenton rolled his eyes, "Now now, Gary. I'm pretty sure that our client isn't interested in hearing us try and prove how much we've lost our faith in humanity. You're here for your Psychological Evaluation for your Trainer Registration, aren't you? Please follow Gary to the next room, and we'll proceed on with the test."

The nervousness quickly came back from the uncertainty of what the test would entail, but Gary simply gave me a short, friendly pat on the shoulder, "Worry not, Mr. Penchant. It is just like any other Final Test Exam in Secondary School." I reluctantly nodded to him, then stood up from my chair and followed him through the door he came from.

The next room was larger than the doctor's office, but only by much. It was organized in a classroom-like setting minus the blackboard: there were several tables and chairs lined up in an orderly fashion, facing towards this single large table on a platform that I assumed was where the proctor would sit. Despite no artificial lights turned on, it was still fairly bright due to the large glass windows on the left side of the room that shone sunlight through that Saturday afternoon of November. I also observed that the room was empty of other people, 'Yes, consider yourself lucky it is a slow day, I suppose.' Gary told me in my mind, 'You should see how long and frantic the line can get to Master Fenton's office during Registration Season.'

I followed Gary 'till he told me to take whichever seat I wanted for the test, and I decided on a chair closest to one of the windows. As I took my seat, the Gardevoir motioned through another door on the other side of the room, and shortly came back with a small stack of papers and several pencils that he carried using telekinesis. After letting the materials down on his table, he took a small bundle of papers which were stapled together and asked, 'Do you require a pencil, Mr. Penchant?'

"Ah, no I brought my own pencil with me, thank you." I replied, since I knew not how to reply with my head, "I don't suppose... you also scan people's minds while they're taking the test?"

The Gardevoir only smiled in response as he sat on his chair and let the paper go, using his powers to float the test paper to my desk, 'The first page lists information and instructions you are required to follow. Simply answer the following questions honestly, and thoughtfully. Normally the test will take 3 hours per person, but for now you may answer as slowly as needed. Feel free to review any questions you have answered and rewrite the answers you deem inaccurate. The test is meant to gauge your overall psyche and current mental state of health. A good baseline would be to contemplate how you have been feeling these past few weeks...

'... You may now begin.' And with that, the Gardevoir leaned his cheek on a clenched fist, a look of boredom clearly outlined on his face.

I took out my pencil and began scanning the instructions-page on the front of the bundle: it was a multiple-choice test with a hundred-and-eighty questions, with five choices each, and you answered them on a separate answer sheet filled with numerous boxes you'd shade using the pencil. Seemed simple enough. I took the answer sheet and, after filling in my name, age, and other basic information, I turned the instructions-page over to get to the questionnaire, and began the test. So... rather than intrigue you with the excitement and valor of plundering the white boxes' virginity on my answer sheet for the next 3 hours, I'll go right ahead and give you a short intro of myself, and of my world.

My name is David Penchant, 19 years of age, debonaire and famous Pokémon Trainer extraordinaire... Oh, who am I kidding? I'm just your regular, average joe who hails from the fabulous Mauville City, Hoenn Region, currently applying to be a Pokémon Trainer. We have a family-run business of internet cafes generally known as Penchant Cafe: my parents are still managing the original branch back in Mauville, while my older brother's running a branch in Slateport, while I've been tasked to head the Petalburg branch.

… Or that was the plan, anyway. Frankly, I kinda just got here: I've only been here since two days ago, and until I've opened up for business, I'll be staying in an inn. I spent the entire time yesterday roaming the streets, scouting about until I managed to find a couple of prospective sites: a large, one-story house just outside a large residential neighborhood's entrance, fairly close to a few schools and a cathedral; the other was slightly smaller in floor area, but it had two-stories, was across the entrance to a large university, and was close to several apartment-complexes and a grocery store. The latter site, though, was near another established internet café, Adventure Cafe, but I heard rumors it was currently under bad management and was starting to lose customers, so that empty lot might still be worth a shot.

As I came up to question #62 (I kinda forgot what it was, think it was about my father or something), I kinda spaced out a bit, and then looked out the window which overlooked Petalburg's streets, letting me think and re-clarify why I wanted to become a Pokémon Trainer in the first place.

For those not familiar with what Pokémon are, the term stands for Pocket Monsters, because these notable creatures can be stored as energy in these neat, pocket-sized spheres called Pokéballs, a recent human innovation, where they're basically put into active stasis (meaning they're conscious inside one, and can come out whenever they wished, and can even refuse to go in). Only Pokémon can be stored in Pokéballs, which makes 'em unique to everything else, so we can't use Pokéballs as alternative warehouses, unfortunately. Pokéballs are kinda hollow inside, though, so you could store small stuff in them if you really wanted to... like your keys or something, in addition to the Pokémon.

... Yeah, that actually sounds like a good idea: see if that thief won't think twice stealing your keys when a Pokémon suddenly beams out and woops his sorry butt!

Pokémon are unimaginably-powerful creatures that can either dish out as much firepower as a tank, or utilize powers that break the laws of physics... or even both! All Pokémon are born from eggs (even mammal-like Pokémon, strangely-enough), and many are just as sentient as you and me, if you educate 'em right (like Gary). People use 'em for various things: physical labor, transportation, entertainment, or just having a faithful companion, to heavy-duty stuff like electricity-generation, rescue work, police/military forces, weather forecasting/changing (some can change the weather to an extent), calamity predictions, almost everything revolves around Pokémon, even our technology and culture, and people who deal with Pokémon are called Pokémon Trainers... duh.

Now, before you go on ranting, 'How could humanity have survived, let alone live along creatures that are countless magnitudes more powerful than us pathetic humans, or that they've let themselves become slaves to humanity?' Well, I'm here to tell you that it'd take a very, very, very long history lesson to explain, which I don't have the time, patience, mood nor incentive to tell you. Suffice to say, it's not slavery, and we're at a cultural level where humans and Pokémon live and coexist together. Deal with it.

Going back, at least not everyone can become a Pokémon Trainer. See, applying for Trainership's like getting a license for an exotic pet... except these pets can bend iron beams like rubber bands and shoot fireballs out their ass: gotta be voting age, no criminal record, have forms to fill up, things to clarify, money to pay for the forms to fill up and things to clarify,and tests to take to make sure you can handle caring for the Pokémon you want, particularly those with special needs... like the humble Ralts.

You see, Ralts are known as the Feeling Pokémon, and they're called such for a reason: those pair of red fins on their overly-large heads? (scientists call 'em horns, but for me they look like fins, so from from now on I'll call them as such) Those are specialized psychic-organs that sense the emotions and feelings of other creatures around them. Mind you, them fins don't absorb feelings like an emotional black hole, leaving lifeless, unfeeling husks in their wake like some sort of horror-flick, nor do they feed on emotions like sustenance or something: it's passive for them, doesn't affect anyone but themselves, and they need normal food just like you and me. It's more like they're affected by other people's and Pokémon's mood. Feeling happy? Your Ralts becomes happy. Cheerful? You bet! Sad? Ughhh... You know what I mean.

Another fun fact: the more goody-good emotions they get (cheerfulness, bliss, ecstasy, etc.), the warmer they become. Good news is that all a trainer needs to do to have a happy, perpetual radiator for cold nights is to feed it and think happy thoughts. Seems simple enough, right?

Bad news is the opposite also happens when these white-skinned, helmet-haired, toddler-sized Pokémon absorb more bad vibes (anger, sadness, fear, etc.) than good ones... They become cold, sickly, unhealthy, frail and weak, their white skin becomes coarser and duller, body gets thinner and thinner and thinner to the point that they can't walk anymore, intense epilepsy, their green hair starts falling off their large heads like a cancer patient on chemotherapy, cough up blood, start hyperventilating as their lungs and other internal organs begin shutting down, start imploding into themselves since at that point they can't support their own density...

… aaaaaaaaaaand then they die. Not even a trip to the Pokémon Center (the hospital-equivalent that's exclusively catered for Pokémon, usually government-funded) could counteract constant, long-term exposure to bad vibes. Makes you wonder if you can keep thinking happy thoughts when you realize that so much as missing your morning coffee could send you into a fit of rage that is harmful to the survival of your poor, fragile little Ralts. Oh, and that sound of your heart breaking when you read that previous paragraph? Yeah, that's poison to them. Go look at a puppy or something. Unless you just jizzed your pants while reading that, then congratulations! You just proved to humanity that you are a sick sadist. But at least your Ralts will be perfectly fine!

It's the main reason the little munchkins are normally rare in the wild (Ralts flee from hostility and negativity in general), and why even seasoned Trainers consider them as an advanced Pokémon to train: they've been known to run away from people who feel miserable, heheh. I don't blame 'em, though. Do you wanna die just cause your Trainer had too many bad days in a row? Didn't think so...

Doesn't answer why I'm becoming a Pokémon Trainer, or why I'm getting a Ralts, does it? But it does explain why I need to take a Psychological Evaluation test: to see if I'm mentally fit enough to handle a Ralts tactfully and responsibly. Seems reasonable enough, right? Why give 'em to someone who, chances are, is suffering clinical depression? Problem is, long before I've even taken the test I've already known that I'm suffering from a mild case of that.

Growing up in Mauville, my parents were constantly busy. You'd think that running an internet cafe wouldn't entail such busyness, right? I mean, aside from when one of the computers suddenly don't work right (then things got interesting), all you'd normally do is observe your customers and wait until they're either finished using and come to pay, or wish to transfer to other computers that are closer to their buddies, right?

Frankly, that's mostly true. What's really made them busy is that my family's quite involved with the customers they serve, specifically the gamer-community: they're actually one of Mauville City's elite gaming teams, the Hyperbolts, proving once and for all that even the oldies could go toe-to-toe with the youngsters. In this day-and-age, being a master in all manner of computer games is akin to being a sports-star, especially in the online community.

And it's because they're avid gamers that they're even running the Penchant Cafe in the first place: they know first-hand what limits the power of a computer gamer's ability to win: it's first, and foremost, their hardware. That's why the Penchant Cafe boasts some of the best and most advanced computer systems in all of Mauville, that some wonder if we're actually using military-grade computers and are being funded by the government, hahah!

It's one thing to have parents that everybody thinks is cool and awesome, but it's entirely another matter when you yourself aren't much of a gamer: strategy games, RPG's, first/third-person-shooters, you name it, I sucked. I mean, I don't really suck, I manage just fine, but don't expect me to bring up the whole team when everybody's suddenly down for the count in a multiplayer match, because I can't. I just can't. I have no idea why, but no matter how much I've practiced in my spare time I could only reach above-average in skill. Maybe I was ham-handed, maybe Jirachi didn't give me any lucky charms when I was born, I just don't know why I did. Compared to others I was competent enough, but compared to my family I totally sucked.

I vividly remember my brother constantly beating me in whatever computer games we played, while my parents could only scratch their heads in frustration as to why their own flesh-and-blood couldn't learn from the masters themselves. It's heavily frustrating when your troops are prepped and ready to eliminate your brother's forces, only to have your army AND your entire friggin' base suddenly and systematically eradicated by a nuke/ion cannon/insert-imbalanced-superweapon-here in one fell swoop, or when you get picked off by a cheap knife-stab in the back... for the 10th time in a row. And that's not counting when he's playing seriously, then you can't pop out to view your surroundings without immediately getting shot in the head a split-second later.

There were times when my parents got so engrossed with their gamer-lifestyle that they couldn't help me in my studies. I remember sitting in-between my parents' chairs for hours on end, holding both my math and history book in my stubby arms, watching them duke it out against other people online, waiting until they finished so that they could help me study; and though it was pretty cool when they won game after game after game, usually I'd fall asleep on the table because it had reached the early hours of morning, and they were still duking it out. I mean, I don't wanna make them sound like assholes who selfishly neglect their children: they were kinda sweet and supportive, but they just loved being gamers, you know? They were living the dream, the high-life, and they put all of their energy into it to the point that they were almost unstoppable.

In fact, I was proud to be their son... but what I wasn't proud of was myself, cause I soon realized I would never be able to catch up to their skill-levels. So I tried to be amazing in other areas: studies, sports, even helping around the Penchant, but somehow I screwed things up, one way or another. Studies soon became boring and tedious, I wasn't much good at sports either, while the times I tried to help around the cafe either led to mismatched orders, or BSOD (blue-screen-of-death, it's when the computer suddenly shits itself and the screen becomes evil, evil blue).

You could say I didn't know what I was truly good at, except at being average. I could manage just fine in the world, but I would neither be excessively-rich, nor miserably-poor. I was not particularly skilled at anything, nor did I particularly-suck at anything either. It was a frustrating scenario, and if people lost their hair whenever they scratched their heads trying to think, I'd have been bald a long time ago thinking of ways to escape this skill-related limbo.

And it's with this that I've grown somewhat depressed. Depressed with the fact that I was just so... so... normal,in a family that was awesome.Despite all the comforting and supportive words my family and friends have showered me with, I couldn't mimic their awesomeness, not even close. You could say I've developed this sort of inferiority complex: I really, really wished to be the best at something. ANYTHING. I hated failing, and was hungry for success, but the more failures I made the more depressed I got, and ironically the more depressed I got, the more I failed.

Now that you, dear reader, know why I'm depressed and (possibly, I'm not exactly sure) mentally unstable, you might be asking yourself, 'How, in your right mind, would you be able to take care of a Ralts, let alone not let it die?' Honestly, I don't know. But frankly, I've devised a plan... a plan that'll hopefully help me escape the catch-22 that was my miserable situation.

See, I'm not totally- and hopelessly-depressed. I just... lost my way in life. I still try to enjoy the good things in life, I know how to have a good time... I think? Does singing while doing air-guitar, naked while jumping up and down my bed count as having a good time? I don't know, but that's besides the point. I consciously know that my sadness is starting to reach critical levels, and I need to find the line where it all has to stop. I've tried many times to convince myself to stop beating myself up for even the slightest failure, but they've never worked, or at least they did till I failed again. I needed a more... indirect direct approach. I needed a 'mirror' of sorts, an indicator of just how badly my depression was starting to kill my life, and how rewarding it would've been had I looked at the brighter side of things.

That's why I wanted- no... That's why I needed a Ralts. Hence, why I'm even becoming a Pokémon Trainer in the first place.

It was when I had finished answering the questionnaire that I was gonna call Gary for what to do next, when I noticed he was looking straight at me with this eerily-large gaze, as if he was seeing a Magikarp suddenly charging-up for a Hyper Beam or something (note: Magikarp CAN'T DO THAT). He quickly averted his gaze, though, and faked a cough as he stood up and took the papers from my hands, "Did I... do something wrong, Mr. Gary?" I was genuinely worried what was making him act that way.

"Huh? Why no, Mr. Penchant. I was only impressed by how seriously you were taking the test." The Gardevoir soon escorted me out the room, and back to Dr. Fenton's office. He handed the questionnaire to the doctor, who then fed it into a strange scanner of sorts. When the paper came out the other side, Gary took it and handed it back to me, 'You may keep the paper as a keepsake, if you desire, Mr. Penchant. The answers are already saved on Master Fenton's database.'

The doctor swiveled his chair to face his desktop computer, apparently inspecting my test results. After several minutes of what seemed like forever, he pulled back and leaned on his chair, then scratched his chin in thought before turning his eyes back to look at me, as if wondering how I would react to the words he was about to say, "... Well. The raw test results say that you aren't mentally fit enough to handle a Ralts, David. You have a perfectionist streak, and apparently don't take too well to failure and criticism, which can be harmful for a Ralts to have a Trainer who's suffering from insecurity and indecisiveness."

I was afraid of that. Already I could feel disappointment and embarrassment building up and eating away at my resolve, like a tidal wave crashing against a sand castle's walls. Did this meant I wasn't ready to train a Ralts? Did this mean my plan won't be coming to fruition? Even worse, am I forever doomed to being depressed all my life?

"... However." Gary continued from where the doctor left off, "You are not without hope, Mr. Penchant. Your depression is treatable by medications, and if you were given special... incentives."

"Incentives?"

"Being a Trainer's much like being a parent," Dr. Fenton smiled at me, "and while parenthood entails a lot of responsibility and maturity, it also brings out lots of joy in life. Sometimes people don't know how good a parent they are until they've experienced it for themselves. Ralts are considered an advanced Pokémon to train because Trainers have to be ready to shower them with lots of love and constant attention, which can be notably difficult, especially with chaotic or stressful lifestyles. But in practice, how their Ralts fare is simply a reflection of how their Trainers view their lives, positively, or negatively.

"Though you may be distraught by your past, you seem very eager to improve. Gary here has noticed how determined you are in escaping your depression, and how knowledgeable you are of the problem itself, which can be very helpful for solving it. I expect you'll have a rough start, but hopefully the Ralts you'll be having will eventually mirror your eagerness for a brighter future."

Wait... the Ralts I'll be having?

"Why yes, Mr. Penchant." Gary also makes a smile on his face, "Master Fenton has deemed it so that you may receive your Ralts, under certain conditions."

I have to admit, it was starting to get creepy, knowing Gary could just as easily hear what I was thinking in my head, '... But I can tell you it is usually more simplistic on my part to communicate to you via sound, Mr. Penchant,'

There Gary goes again, catching me off-guard! 'Reading minds requires that I undergo special training, where I learn to incorporate your various neural impulses and sensory data into my own, which can be... tiring, to put it simply. As well, I myself admit there are just some things not meant to be read, but I digress... again.'

The doctor typed in some things on his computer, and after a few moments a paper was printed out the scanner, which he then hands to me, "Here's a prescription of anti-depressants you should take whenever you feel intense episodes of sadness. Take them only when necessary, and at most once a month. Can't have you floating in the air while conversing with a Zangoose, only to wake up suddenly drinking water from a storm drain, just because you overdosed yourself, can we?" Really? That sounded a bit too specific, like it came from personal experience or something...

Dr. Fenton then looks at his assistant for a moment, before the Gardevoir suddenly looks shocked, turning to face him. For several moments they exchange looks as if they had entered into a heated, telepathic argument: Dr. Fenton seemed amused by what he was thinking, while Gary was apparently rubbing his forehead with frustration. When they looked like they had reached some form of reluctant consensus, Dr. Fenton turned his gaze back at me, "David..."

"Y-yes, Doctor?"

"I know a Ralts who might just be the perfect candidate for you!"

"Huh? Really?"

The doctor adjusts his spectacles as he continued, "You see, Gary here has a sister who bore an egg, which later hatched into a Ralts. Apparently, the Trainer who trained his sibling wasn't interested in keeping the Ralts, so the poor thing is staying at the local Pokémon Center for the time."

Just some tips on the Ralts-line: Gardevoir are actually the adult-equivalent of Ralts, who evolve (colloquially-speaking, how we term growing-up for Pokémon) into Kirlia, the puberty-variant of the Ralts-line, who then finally evolve into Gardevoir.

I read that evolution's a spectacular event: the Pokémon suddenly glows like a LED bulb as their bodies undergo rapid changes that could be observed in minutes, sometimes in mere seconds. Not even scientists today can explain why Pokémon evolve, and the triggers for evolution can be just as diverse as there are Pokémon: depending on its' age, how much adrenaline's pumping in their system, radiation from special stones or electrical processes, the current time of day and season, even how happy and content the Pokémon's feeling at the time, and other things I might've forgotten to mention, could affect what the Pokémon evolves into, or if it even evolves in the first place.

"I advised Master Fenton that I would take her under my wing, but he proposed I give my niece to you." Gary interrupted with a slight tinge of bitterness in his voice, "He calls the prospect of my niece's situation an amusing coincidence for you, which would allow you a greater chance of better... sympathizing with her."

"Ehr... Are you... sure about this?" It didn't feel right to suddenly be entrusted with the welfare of someone else's relative from out-of-the-blue when I've only just recently met the guy, "I mean, she is your niece, after all."

The Gardevoir let out a deep sigh, '... Frankly, I share your concern, and do prefer she stayed here. Master Fenton is a well-off man who could easily fund for an additional Pokémon. But honestly, I am not much of a parent-type myself, while Master Fenton is actually fairly busy, even if he does not appear to be so.

'After all, the location she is residing at is only temporary, and I fear she might be transferred to the nearest Day Care Center for adoption should she not be found a proper home anytime soon. Your arrival, as Master Fenton describes, is a fortuitous coincidence. I sense that you would be able to take care of my niece far better than both of us could, Mr. Penchant.'

"Well... not saying that I'm not honored, Mr. Gardevoir sir, but..." I scratched my head sheepishly, "I'm just worried if I suddenly screw up, and she gets sick or something. I don't want to get you upset, you know?" Who wouldn't? How would you feel if you were entrusted with the care of a stranger's relative, and then she suddenly got sick, or lost, or got eaten by a pack of wild Poochyena while we strolled around in the park? How would you explain that to her uncle? I don't wanna have to do something as drastic as seppuku!

"Your worry's understandable, David. But I have confidence you'll do fine. I do recommend, however, that you read up on a few Trainers' Manuals regarding the care of Ralts and their evolved forms, and that you shouldn't worry too much about it... But if taking care of Gary's niece seems too much for you, we're not forcing it on you."

"On a side-note, if you do take her under your stead, you need not pay for buying a brand-new Pokémon and shelling out thousands of Pokédollars in the process." Gary's tone had a bit of reluctance to it, "All I ask from you in return is to visit us every week, or at least write to us, just to let me... us know how she is fairing under your care."

Well! That's actually a mighty-fine deal right there! Buying a Pokémon from the Breeding Center usually costs a lot of money, and I'm pretty sure the idea of caring for a brand-new Pokémon (especially one that gets sick when you're feeling sad) that would've cost me a month's-worth of salary would not put my mind at ease. A 'free' Pokémon, under the condition that I just had to let her visit her uncle once in a while, sounds like a very good option to consider. Keeping the Ralts healthy was the plan, anyway.

"We'll give you time to consider it. Such a decision as picking your starter isn't something to be rushed, of course! But for now, all you need to know is that you've passed the Psychological Evaluation test, and are one step closer to entering the world of Pokémon!" Dr. Fenton stood up from his chair and offered me a handshake, "Congratulations."

I replied the gesture with my own, but a thought quickly crept at the back of my mind, "Uh... I... passed the test? I thought you told me I was mentally-unfit to handle a Ralts?"

"Technically, you are, but you've only failed by a small margin. As Gary told you before, your depression is manageable, and hopefully in the future you'll be able to succeed in allaying it.

"You don't have to be so hard on yourself, David, and the medications will help greatly when things get rough. Problems like yours are to be examined on a case-by-case basis. If you have any problems in your life, please feel free to come by my office and tell us what's plaguing you. It's my job to help people find peace, and lead happy, fulfilling lives."

Well... can't say that I'm not happy about passing the test, I just hope the good doctor's right in placing his confidence on me. On the other hand, perhaps I'm not being confident enough on myself. I came here to get a chance to prove my worth as an awesome Pokémon Trainer, dammit! Like hell I was going to let a measly test discourage me from getting my Pokémon.

On the other, other hand... while I'm not just yet a fully-licensed Pokémon Trainer until all the paperwork's eventually worked out, the pressure's already starting to dawn on me on how much responsibility owning a Pokémon could mean, not to mention the realm of possibilities that'll soon be opened to me in due time: it could be as bitter as having my Pokémon suddenly dying on me, or that I get killed trying to befriend it... or it could be as sweet and fulfilling as having another companion to share my entire life with, complete with its ups and downs, sadness and joys, and a whole lot of other mushy stuff I'm not in the mood to iterate.

Still, there's a lot to do, lots to prepare, lots more to think about my Trainership, and all that's not considering I'm still trying to establish a new Penchant Cafe branch here in Petalburg. I still need to conduct some studies on the locals' needs for internet cafe's, find more possible locations for setting up, contact the landowners of the plots I'd have found by then (or, if they're untitled, find out how much they're for sale), obtain permits from the local governing unit, co-formulate a business plan with my parents back home on how we should do this thing, and yeah... basically a whole lot of stuff to complete before I'd even be able to open up a single computer unit. All this thinking is making me nervous, especially for someone like me, who wants to do things right the first time.

But you know what? While all this could be overwhelming, it's also ironically-invigorating that I'm about to start some sort of journey to greatness. Though I've got a long and tiring road ahead of me, that road's gonna be full of excitement and potential awesomeness. Here I was, with my Arceus-given chance to finally realize my own greatness in front of me. And even if I'll likely fail in the most epically-miserable way possible, at least I'll fail fighting.

Wait, that didn't seem to sound right. Eh, doesn't matter, you get what I mean, "I'll think about it. When I finalize my registration for Trainership in a few days, maybe I'll come by the Pokémon Center and visit her. Does your niece have a name, Gary?"

"... Actually... no, she does not." The Gardevoir folds his arms just below his psychic-fin, "Well, not permanently, that is: Maria, my sister, desired that her daughter be called Ria, the short version of her own name, yet her Trainer perished the thought and had not entitled her a real name before entrusting her over to the Pokémon Center's stead.

"Technically there is nothing preventing you from calling her whatever name you desire, but I propose you retain Ria as was originally planned by her mother. When you do finalize your Trainership and have decided to care for my niece, upon arriving at the Center, simply motion to the Nurse and tell her that I have sent you."

Ria... simple, yet distinct. Sounds good enough for me, "Alright... Though I have to admit, and I don't mean to offend, but you kinda make your sister's Trainer sound like a jerk for leaving her like that."

The Gardevoir frowns in reply, "Master Jericho is a practical man, Mr. Penchant. He simply has not the time, nor the funds to care for an additional Pokémon. Although he appears harsh to other people, he is actually a fair and just man, worthy of being my sister's Trainer."

After exchanging a few more parting handshakes between Dr. Fenton and Gary, I left the doctor's office with a renewed vigor in my heart... I had the feeling today was gonna be the start of a new beginning, the start of a new chapter in my life towards awesomeness. Well, maybe not really about awesomeness (maybe stress is more like it), but at least it'll be something other than normal, I can tell you that.

Yup. The days ahead were going to be far from normal. I just hope I won't be regretting what I've wished for...

- End of Chapter 1 -