Author's note: I am not proud of this chapter. I don't have a beta, and every time I re-read it I hate it a little more. Merry Christmas, Happy Boxing Day, and I hope you like it more than I do.


"So, ready for your big day next week?"

Mike's step-father sat himself down opposite of his step-son at their small table, a bowl of cereal in each hand. After a moment of careful observation, the young boy chose the slightly fuller bowl and took it from his step-father, placing it on the table in front of him. Noticing the spoon was already in the bowl, he took a quick bite before answering.

"Yup," the boy offered, "Mommy got a call from the breeder's place in Johto, and Sampson's babies are old enough for training!" Mike took another few bites, attempting to juxtaposition his hunger and his conversation, "He says I can have one! A baby Aron!"

"He better have said that," came his mother's voice from the other room, "imagine if he didn't let you have one of your dad's starter's kids? And an Aggron will make for a great partner someday. And those Bullet Train tickets wre expensive." His mother finally entered the room, still dressed from work last night and bleary-eyed as ever. With a yawn, she asked, "Are you gonna get a boy or a girl?"

"I dunno yet," Mike mused in to his cereal, "what do you think, Dom? Uh, sorry, dad?"

"Well, I was never the best trainer, but I've never had a problem with ladies," he gave his wife a wink, who returned it with a giggle.

"Dominic, behave," Mike mimicked his mother, pointing his spoon threateningly at his step-father. He smiled when his mother laughed behind him. The one thing his house was never short of was laughter.


"Kaitlyn, you're next," Professor Oak beckoned the girl from before forward, snapping Mike out of his daze. He turned his view to Kaitlyn's selection screen, watching the silhouettes flash by and settle as they did before. She seemed to deflate at her selection. She was obviously expecting a Dratini, or something more dragon-esque. Mike even felt slightly bad for her at the two Pokémon he could see: A Magikarp and a little blue rabbit thing that was unfamiliar to Mike. The third was obscured from view, but it was luckily the first chosen. To Mike's great surprise, another Poliwag had appeared. This one seemed normal-sized, which made it twice as big as the contained tadpole he now owned.

She looked over it patiently, examining it from every side. She didn't pick it up, but she probably couldn't if she wanted to. It was a big, slippery thing, and Mike doubted even he could pick it up safely. He chuckled to himself, remembering how hard it was to pick up his first Pokémon, and just like that he was drifting back to thoughts of his first trans-national trip to visit his father's prized Aggron and his clutch of young Aaron...


"So, which one do you like," growled a proud father Aggron hovering over Mike and the baby Aron running around his feet. Mike had been quietly surveying the little metal wrecking balls milling around his feet with a silent curiosity. He had been trying to decide between a large boy who was covered in dents, an equally large girl covered in an equal amount of dents, and the slightly smaller boy who had just picked a fight with the large boy over the large girl. Or, Mike figured that's what it was about.

"I dunno yet, Sampson, who's the little scrappy guy?" Mike asked, pointing to the smaller Aron who had just rolled the larger one on to its back. Sampson squinted for a moment, scratching his chin with a squealing of metal-on-metal.

"Tybold, I think," The Aggron spoke, thinking for a moment, "plucky little thing. You know how sometimes the genetics let a Pokémon pick up on moves easier, right? Well, he's a born Body Slammer." On that note, there was the heavy clunk of two rocky bellies meeting each other. "Not saying it does much good with other Rock- and Steel-types, but… there you go."

Mike nodded, feeling a little tug at his pant leg. Looking down, he saw an Aron chewing at his pant leg. It seemed like a dull little thing, but as Mike leaned over to shoo it away, it reeled back in surprise. There was a moment where the Iron Armor Pokémon quickly searched side to side, before pointing a stubby paw of blame at his father. Mike couldn't help the smile that sprawled over his face.

"Farran, beat it," Sampson chided, giving the little metal thing a gentle punt in the opposite direction, where the Aron landed harmlessly on its thick, metal skull. It took a tumble, finally landing on its metal stubs after a moment of impromptu (and frankly accidental) acrobatics. Mike chuckled at the Aron, who nodded its head as if it were bowing.

"I kinda like that one," Mike smiled as he advanced on the bowing Pokémon, "what was his name again?"

"… You're kidding, right?" Sampson asked, "not Farran. He's a smart-ass. And a lazy-ass."

"Sampson!" The breeder's son had called from across the yard, "how many times do we have to tell you to watch your bloody mouth?" The Aggron let out a low growl towards the boy, who couldn't help but flinch.

"Better listen to Jude, Sampson," Mike chided, kneeling next to Farran and polishing the dirt from his head with his shirt sleeve…


"Mike!" Kaitlyn suddenly called over her shoulder, snapping the Champion back from his daze. She had just returned the odd rabbit-like Pokémon and had turned her attention to him, "you're a Pokémon wizard, right?"

"W-well," Mike gave a sheepish grin and a small blush, "I wouldn't s-say that." But, it was true. Besides the professor, he was probably the most knowledgeable person in the room when it came to Pokémon.

"And you got a Poliwag too, right?"

"Yep." Mike rolled the Pokéball in his hands, careful to keep it as smudge-free as he could.

"And you'll help me raise up the best Poliwag in all of Kanto, right?" She gave a cute little grin, which Mike found almost… Inspiring. It was odd to think of a grin as inspiring, but it gave him a strange sense of hope and confidence in the young girl in front of her. It was as if, one day, she would have the best Poliwag - or whatever it evolved in to - in all of Kanto.

But he wasn't about to admit that.

"Th-the second best," Mike returned the grin with his own, before turning his attention shyly back to his Pokéball.

"That settles it, then!" Kaitlyn span on her heels and plucked a Pokéball out of the machine, "I'll take a Poliwag, too! With two trainers on the same kind of Pokémon, we'll be able to raise them up twice as good, right?"

"C-can't argue with that," the Champion spoke, his thought process interrupted by a buzz in his pocket. He felt his mind blank. A buzz in his pocket? It could have only meant he had just received a text message. Before he could process what this meant, Mike fished the antique flip-phone out of his pocket. With a pang of regret, he realized that the text would have had to have been from Bertha. Who else had his cell-phone number? And he had never confronted her about their last argument, much to the chagrin of his team. What was he supposed to do about it now, though? He was in another country.

With a shock, Mike saw the text was from Phoebe.

Just got rocked. Literally. Kid's strong. Get your rear in gear, dear.

"Oh shit," Mike hissed, the reality hitting him. He had a challenger, and he was several hundred miles away from his post. He had to remember to thank Phoebe for keeping his number in her phone for so long, but that was merely an afterthought in his mind. Phoebe was currently the second member of the Elite Four, and frankly, the weakest. Sidney and Phoebe had purposefully swapped places to weed out the weaker trainers quickly, but this meant if the relatively strong Sidney was toppled, Phoebe would be a much more relaxing fight. And if both Sidney and Phoebe were down…

"Something wrong?" Mike had not expected that voice. It was the bratty child from before. The well-dressed shock of auburn hair seated himself next to the Champion on the couch, attempting to peek at the cell phone before Mike snapped it shut. Foiling his attempted eavesdropping did nothing to scrub the smirk off his face, however, and the fledgling trainer did not leave.

"I f-forgot something at home," Mike spoke after a moment, realizing how true this was, "M-my bag. And most of my c-c-cash." The Champion got up to ask Oak's permission to leave, but the annoying trainer next to him said something that caught him completely off-guard.

"Don't forget about your title while you're gone, Champ."

Mike turned to face the young man with slow, deliberate purpose. He looked spoiled. Not well-to-do, as Kaitlyn looked, but truly spoiled. His shirt was top-of-the-line, probably water-proof and fire-retardant. Not to mention emblazoned with some sort of family crest. His pants were of the same caliber, very high-end trainer's jeans. A bandolier was slung from his shoulder, with six visible magnetic holsters and eight squares for pinning his badges. Large heavy duty boots were laced up tight, and in his hand was clutched an Ultra Ball. And his hair, his ruddy red hair was so familiar, but Mike couldn't quite place it.

"Wh-what did you j-j-just…" Mike could hardly stutter out a reply, but the wealthy young man stood himself up, widened his smirk into a truly evil grin, and walked away before the Champion could attempt to question him further. Or stutter him to death, whichever Mike could muster first. Kaitlyn soon replaced the strange red-head, proudly displaying a Trainer Card in one hand and a Pokéball in the other. It was almost a little too much for Mike, and he recoiled slightly as she began to jabber on.

"I got the Poliwag!" She beamed at him, not waiting for any response before plowing in to her thoughts, "I wasn't sure whether to take it as an insult or not, I mean, I got a Dragon proficiency and only one vaguely Dragon-y Pokémon showed up, and I know I can catch a Nidoran myself, which I am totally gonna do, but I saw the Poliwag and I thought 'Why not?' because now we can both train Poliwag together, and I know they have a split evolution, and we can both get separate final Pokémon, and where are you going?" Kaitlyn watched Mike leave with a look of mixed confusion and aggravation. It was just a bit too much for the Champion to handle, which was evident when he brashly cut in front of a young man on his way to the machine. The Professor saw his worried and aggravated look from across the room, however, and followed him a few paces away so they could chat privately.

"What's the matter, Mike?" Professor Oak shot a look at the snooty young man across the room, "if that boy is giving you a hard time-" Mike interrupted the Professor, flipping his phone open and showing him the text message he had received.

"I need to go get my bag," Mike proclaimed just loud enough to be heard. The Professor pulled out a small pair of reading glasses, flicked them open, and read the text message. Mike hardly found this to be a stealthy move, but the elder nodded after a moment.

"Hurry back, we should wrap up here in about an hour and I'd like to give everyone the same instructions at the same time," The Professor finished, mouthing 'Good Luck' before Mike turned and began marching for the door.

"Wait!" Kaitlyn caught his sleeve as he walked past. He couldn't help but stop, turning to face her confusion, "where are you going? You need to stay here!"

"I f-forgot my bag," Mike spoke, turning to leave again. He was cut off by her quick response.

"You left your bag in Hoenn?" She asked, giving him a skeptical look.

"No," The Champion lied, "it's in V-Viridian."

"Why is it there?" Kaitlyn didn't notice how white Mike's knuckles were becoming.

"I l-left it on the p-plane." Mike replied, attempting to keep his voice level.

"How could you forget your bag?"

"I d-d-didn't. It was confisc-cated by customs."

"But you just said-"

"I forgot to pick it up after it g-got confiscated." Mike was beginning to lose his cool, but Kaitlyn wasn't picking up on this.

"But why did it-"

"I don't know why, it just was." Mike noticed then that he was getting rather loud, and dropped his voice to a whisper, "I need to catch a cab as soon as possible, so c-can you just drop it?"

"But a cab will take half an hour," Kaitlyn protested, "and we have to go to Viridian and back anyways."

"Without supplies?" Mike was beginning to let himself get carried away, "A three- or four-day journey with no s-supplies?"

"There's a shop in town," Kaitlyn huffed, "no need to get moody with me."

"I just n-need my bag, ok?" Mike took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He hadn't had to deal with drama of any sort in a long time, and the last few weeks had been chock-full of it. Even if it was petty, he had lost his tolerance for it.

"Why? You can just buy some clothes and potions in town, and-"

"They don't have clothes in my size," Mike forced out, much angrier than he intended, "so can we just drop it?"

"Ok, jeeze," she mumbled meekly, though it was a little obvious she was hunting for an apology. Mike didn't notice, though, and turned on his heel to march out of the lab. His day had quickly shifted from great to awful, smooth to tumultuous, and most importantly, from simple to incredibly complicated. He marched down the steps to the lab, hooked around the side of the building, and released his Grumpig without a second thought.

"You ok, dude?" The Grumpig asked as he forged the psychic link between their minds. In an instant, the pig was filled in, and Mike didn't have to explain. "Wow, pretty shitty day. Could have been a little nicer to that girl, though. You haven't had anger problems since-"

"Get me to the Bungalow," Mike interrupted, reaching out for the Grumpig's paw. The creature was hesitant, but Mike was in no mood for more complications.

"You do realize that the furthest Teleport I've ever made was about a hundred miles, right?" Mike flexed his outstretched hand in response.

"It's an empty Bungalow, you know exactly where it is." He glared down at his Grumpig, trying to figure out why he was rapidly becoming so irate. The Grumpig was right, it had been a long time since he had had problems with his anger. Maybe it was because he hadn't had to deal with society in a while. Or its problems. Eating, sleeping, and training had been all he had to worry about for the last two years, and he was very suddenly immersing himself in society again. He wrote his anger off to this and proceeded to leave it unchecked.

"A hundred miles, on a clear day, and I could see my location," the Grumpig reiterated.

"Coward." Mike knew exactly how to push his Pokémon's buttons. He could feel the anger radiating off of his companion's paw as it found his hand.

"You want to die? Okay. Fine. I'm not telling you who the snobby boy is, then, Mr. Anger Management Issues."

"Fine," snapped Mike, and with no further protest from either party, they vanished in to thin air.