For the love of various gods, people, stop doing this.

Pokemon School

By a Farla who, unlike some, actually respects basic logic.

-

There was a pokemon school in Pallet.

Shut up, there just was, okay?

Ahem. There was a pokemon school in Pallet. Professor Crabapple was in charge of it. Every year one star student was selected to become a pokemon trainer at age seventeen. Because sixteen, well, who'd send a little sixteen year old out into the world all alone? And eighteen is just way too old.

Even though it might appear to some of the more foolish readers that kids could start being trainers the moment they turned ten, all of them went to the school and learned instead, on the faint chance they might be the one and only student in their year to become a trainer.

And today was Exam Day. Everyone had studied frantically and now had the opportunity to prove their knowledge in subjects that varied between diagnosing and treating pokemon illnesses to the mental state of pokemon, although it did not include ways to guess levels or pokemon attacks.

Of course, with three hundred and eighty-six different pokemon, the task was quite impossible.

James Adams was currently sweating over question three. If your snorunt seems lethargic, what is the probable cause, related symptoms to check for and the correct treatment? He'd never even seen a snorunt and didn't intend to change that. And as they were native to Hoenn, it could be stated with reasonable certainty he'd never have one, let alone have to deal with any illness. He'd guessed at the last two questions, involving a farfetch'd and a chansey. His classmates were doing little better, although one would have the superb luck to have a question on a pokemon she actually knew halfway through the test.

Somehow, James finished the test.

Abrupt Scene Change

"James," Professor Crabapple said, "you got the highest score ever recorded at Pallet Pokemon School."

"I – I did?"

Professor Crabapple nodded. "Yes. A six."

"Yes!"

"Unfortunately, one of your classmates outscored you. He got a seven." Professor Crabapple turned to another boy, Jake Winters, as James collapsed to the floor in shock. "As the highest scorer in this year's class, and therefore the most qualified, you will be a pokemon trainer." He handed over six pokeballs, a pokedex, and various items. "I've given you a rattata as your first pokemon."

Another Abrupt Scene Change

Jake had been traveling for weeks, and still hadn't met another trainer to have a pokemon battle with. He'd fought some of the wild pokemon, but it wasn't the same as fighting against another human.

He arrived at last in Pewter.

"Where's the pokecenter?" he asked.

"Oh?" the woman said. "It's closed right now."

"What? It can't be closed! What if a trainer came along with an inj-"

"There haven't been any trainers in five months. It's ridiculous to keep that whole building powered up, air-conditioned, and with a Nurse Joy there twenty-four hours a day on the off-chance one of the three or four trainers in Kanto might decide to show up. Do you have any idea how expensive it is to run?"

"The pokemart?"

"Closed from lack of business."

"Gym?"

"Same."

And in closing: There are a lot of trainers. If you have only two or three people graduating, or one per town or some other stupid thing you've thought up, your trainers have no one to fight and the expensive infrastructure has no reason to be there. I don't care how special you want your trainer to be, there are a lot of them. Deal with it.

And no one would go to a school that makes them wait an extra year, let alone the two or three or five that show up in fanfiction.