Leaving Accumula felt harder than getting there in the first place. Mike had spent a few days lingering and 'picking on' trainers, as Bianca had once accused him. He would while away his mornings and evenings in the Center's lobby, waiting for the tours to finish before offering to have a quick battle.

"We gotta break in your trainer card," he'd say, so often that it felt like a motto. Bianca didn't seem to hate it, except for the fact that Mike's Litwick had a terrific edge on most of the other starters.

Most of the remaining trainers that came through were much younger, right around the legal training age of thirteen. Excitable and passionate, they often leapt at the chance for a fight with an 'Ace.' They marveled at his Pokédex, which Mike was sure to allow each of them to use. He took to carrying the complimentary notepad and pen from his room at the center, so that trainers could scribble down any of the information they desired from the little computer.

As far as Mike was concerned, sharing his 'dex was a win-win: he filled out the machine a little more, they could train their starters a little better, and everyone had a good time.

Mike always made sure to keep the stakes low, if they existed at all. He would even offer to fight 'off the books' if they didn't want to get money involved. Unregistered battles were technically illegal

"But, y'know, our starters are all too weak to really hurt anything. Besides," Mike explained to a particularly worried young woman named Trish, "we're out in the open. No sense in hiding, yeah?" He had taken to fighting smack-dab in the middle of the town square, which today drew a small crowd of local looky-loos. Mike smiled at the girl, who relaxed and grinned back.

"And," an adult cut in, a bronze seal flashing on his chest as he walked, "we'd rather you practice in town, anyways." The warden made his way over and introduced himself. Any coils that had been added to Mike's anxiety by his skirting the law were unraveled by Warden Schmidt in moments.

Mike and Trish clicked their only pokéballs together, moved to either end of the town square, and made to announce.

"Oh, uh, First to One I guess?" Mike called. They were supposed to do this before their salute, but Warden Schmidt jangled his nerves.

"Full Team Wipe!" Trish demanded. Mike bit his cheeks. It meant one of them would scurry back to the Center after this. He wondered if he'd been hustled. Well, two could play at that game.

"Double the bet?" Mike asked this to both her and the Warden. Trish nodded. The Warden pulled out his Trainer ID, and after a moment both his and Trish's chimed.

"Let's try to remember to do this before salutes next time," Warden Schmidt called out. Both trainers apologized.

"Ready?" Mike called. Trish nodded. "Alright, I challenged, but you changed the rules, so you first."

"It's a Tympole! Go ahead, Froppy!" There was a flash of light from her hands, and in a moment a small, spherical, black-and-tan creature trilled away a rhythm in front of them. It bounced as it did, keeping a lively tempo.

"Nice," Mike called back, unsure of how this battle would go. He'd be at a disadvantage. "I'll use my Litwick, Robin." He patted the flap of his backpack, and his Litwick shook herself awake. She clambered onto his shoulder.

"Rise and shine, Robin," Mike helped her down. "This will be tough, it's water. Remember water?" Robin frowned up at him as Mike unclipped her harness. She clearly did remember the last time she fought a water type. To her credit, she turned and glided to face the—

"Froppy! Bubble!" Robin had hardly taken her place when the girl barked the order. Mike squawked dismay at the false start, but Robin vanished before the Tympole finished inhaling. It automatically sprayed out a thick jet of foam, apparently unable to stop itself.

Mike didn't want to spoil the surprise: he knew what Robin was up to. But he also wanted to give a good impression to the younger trainers around him. And to the Warden who had taken to observing his daily routine.

"Astonish," he shouted. The Tympole looked around wildly, but nothing happened. It had lost its beat, and began to count itself back in with its tail. A few moments passed. Mike shrugged.

"Guess she just isn't—"

Robin materialized with a shriek that blew the Tympole over and made most of the crowd jump. The tadpole instantly began to sob. Considering it was in-time with its previous rhythm, it was almost funnier than it was sad.

"That was a dirty trick!" The little girl snipped.

"So is false-starting," the Warden drawled. He raised a brow and a hand in Mike's direction

"No, no, we're good," Mike nodded at the man. "Smog it up!"

Robin looked back at him.

"Smog!" Mike repeated. The Tympole was recovering from its shock. Their window was closing. "Smog!" He could see her in his mind, clear as day, issuing forth a thick cloud of burning, choking smoke.

Robin nodded, whirling around and gliding in quick circles around the Tympole. Thick white smoke poured from her wick.

"Bubble it!" They were able to see the Tympole whirl around on its belly, spraying jets of foam this way and that. Mike threw up his hands as a soggy jet slopped near his feet, splattering his front.

"Keep it up!" Mike wondered if she understood. The smoke began to thin, and he could tell she didn't get the message. "No! Robin! Smog more! Smog more!"

Robin, panting, leaned over slightly to catch her breath. She hadn't been unscathed. The Tympole, though, was in a similar state, and completely turned around. She looked up to Mike, locked eyes with him, and pushed herself back into movement. The cloud began to thicken once more.

"Yes! Good work!"

"Froppy! You gotta stop it! Supersonic!" Trish was too little too late. A noise echoed dully through the smoke that made Mike's head swirl, but it gurgled and died away in a hacking fit of tiny coughs.

Robin stumbled out of the cloud in little corkscrews, her eye not quite able to focus on anything. But she was still standing. Froppy was belly-up, coughing and hacking, its skin terribly dry.

"The Tympole is no longer fit to battle," Warden Schmidt announced. "Congratulations, Mike."

Mike jogged into the arena and scooped Robin up. He immediately regretted it, the not-quite-cleared smoke stinging at his eyes and throat. He meant to give his starter a big squeeze, but only managed a thumbs-up as he retreated. She smiled widely anyways, smoke trailing from the corners of her mouth.

On Thursday, Mike took up his usual position near the Center's front desk.

"Hey, Tiff," Mike called. The older nurse slid her cash drawer shut before sticking out both of her arms.

"Where's my baby," Tiffany demanded. Mike obliged, releasing Robin onto the counter. The little candle literally and figuratively lit up to see one of her favorite 'Joys.' The two spent some time cooing at each other as Mike scanned the lobby for Bianca. She ran late as a rule, but after fifteen minutes of playing with one girl and idly flirting with the other, Mike felt like something was wrong.

"Bianca's running later than usual," Mike mused as the two worked to try and style Robin's waxy fringes. They often picked on her during their lulls, reasoning that she needed to get used to human touch. The Litwick in question, albeit a little annoyed, allowed them to shape and mold her 'hair.'

"Bianca? Oh, she's done," Tiffany replied, "she's too young for you anyways, sugar."

"Wh— Ew!" Mike retched, which drew a giggle out of the nurse. "She's, like, twelve."

"I'm just sassin' ya, dear. I know you're here to bully the babies, but they're all gone now." Tiffany cocked her head at Mike, sizing him up. "To be honest, I think Bianca appreciated you." He looked up, curious to hear more.

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm." Tiffany split up some of Robin's wax and began to braid it. "We get one or two every season who wanna stay around an' pick fights. But you're gentle with 'em. You don't make 'em bet, you let 'em see your 'dex; you're a good little teacher."

"Thanks," Mike replied, unable to hide his pride, "I was gonna be one, got my degree and everything, but I decided I wanted to try this before I settled down. So that— It's nice to hear, thanks." Tiffany beamed back at him. She pressed the ends of the Litwick's waxy braid together so it would stick.

"Alright, hun, all done!" She turned her smile to Robin, who gently shook her head. The braid flopped from side to side with surprising ease. Mike enjoyed being able to see both of her little eyes, each so full of delight.

Given the news, Mike spent the rest of the day shopping and preparing for Route 2. It was about as long as the route before, as the 'krow flies. Various incoming trainers from that direction - who were few and far between - remarked on the ease of the downhill trek. That always threw a coil around Mike's chest. The last route was flat; how would he handle this one?

Robin, however, was restless. She had been adapting to their crepuscular rhythm with particular gusto. She loved to fight and loved attention, and she only partook in those things when she and Mike were awake at the same time. When Robin finally realized that they weren't going to be fighting that day, she had a small meltdown in the middle of a thrift store. She seized the legs of the jeans Mike had found - a true rarity given his size - and set fire to them. After a lot of stamping-out and a loud scolding, Mike returned her for the rest of the trip. He also wound up begrudgingly buying what would soon be shorts.

On his way back to his room at the Center, he stopped in a tiny mom-and-pop-ish bookstore. He found the mouseish owner and asked him for their section on ghost-specific training. Mike was led around a few turns in the packed, barely-organized labyrinth until they found a shelf loaded with 'TRAINER'S GUIDES' of all shapes and sizes. The owner left Mike to his search, and - with nothing to guide him - he started to pull various 'spooky-looking' books out of the collection.

The orange-and-black books, which he hoped were halloween-ish, turned out to be mostly for dark- or fire-types. He skimmed a few of the latter, but found very scant entries on Litwicks - if anything at all. The purple-ish books skewed much more in his favor. Eventually he narrowed down his choices to three different ghastly tomes, which he leafed through quickly.

Mike eventually settled on a newer-looking violet paperback. On its front, in blocky yellow letters, read The EASY MEDIUM: How to Handle HARD to Train Ghosts. The humor of which sold Mike immediately. At a glance, a solid third of it was devoted to general care, tips, and resources for ghost-types. The rest included the most common specters of Unova, which left plenty of room for each to be given ample attention.

When Mike took it to the counter, the owner tittered about the publisher and authors with delight. He pointed out that a long-standing member of the Elite Four penned the forward for their region's edition. If Mike hadn't been sold before, he was now.

He sat in the cafeteria some time later, helping himself to a second omelet and worriedly logging the excess. He'd spent most of the first plate skimming a section entitled 'What to Eat When You're Being Eaten.' He'd been good so far about sticking to a five hundred calorie excess, but the more he read, the more he worried. Seeing as he was probably the primary source of nutrition for the Litwick, he was more than likely underfeeding himself. At least, according to the various charts now at his disposal.

As he picked and perused, he flipped deep into the book to find the section on Litwick. To his great joy, he found an entire section for the species labeled 'Basic Communication.' He began to read - and eat - with gusto.

"Intentions (by which we mean your immediately present thoughts and urges, both conscious and unconscious) form an important set of signals for ghosts. Litwick are no exception; they can read most beings' intent with ease. As pattern recognition is to human beings, intention cognition is to ghosts.

"As a reminder (for those who have forgotten or skipped Section I): In order to set up traps, scares, pranks, and generally evoke an appetizing emotional response, most ghosts have evolved to be able to clearly sense what you are

currently doing and thinking about - as well as what you are immediately about to do. We sum up this phenomena as "intention cognition," and will make extensive reference to your "intent" within this chapter.

The intention cognition phenomena present in ghosts is most akin to a psychic's combination of telepathy and genuine precognition, however the former should never be mistaken for the latter. Whereas psychics and other telepathic Pokémon can easily open up a two-way avenue, communication via intent alone will only be trainer-to-ghost."

- The Easy Medium, Section II, Chapter 3: Litwick, Lampent, and Chandelure

"Alright, alright- it's recording. Stay there…

"Okay! Ready, Robin?"

"Lit!"

"Okay. Right hand!

"Right! Come on!"

"Wih!"

"Good! Now, left."

"Wih…"

"Fu- yes, heck yes, okay…

"Both!"

"... Li-twi?"

"Now headbang!"

"Yeah-ah-ah-ah-ah!" "Wii-ii-ii-ii-ii-ii!"

#DidYouKnow that Litwick (and a lot of ghosts, apparently), read intention to hunt? And they eat emotions? It sounds complicated, but basically it means that if you think super hard they can hear you and do tricks! Like this! Look at us go! #RockinRobin #MetalHeads

Mike wanted to make sure he had an early start the next morning, but it was all he could do just to open his eyes. Shortly before four he scrubbed, shaved, packed, and readied himself and his starter for the long day they were anticipating. He passed by the front desk just after five, his bag on his back and a groggy smile on his face. Robin, much cheerier than usual, had been allowed to wander without her leash. Nurse Tiffany was busy counting a cash drawer, but called out as they passed.

"Mike, c'mere," she beckoned. Mike gave an exaggerated groan before thinking 'desk' as hard as he could at the Litwick. It slid to a halt, processed the incoming 'intent' with a little burst of purple flame, then scooted merrily back to her favorite nurse.

"Morning, Tiff," Mike yawned, leaning heavily against the counter. Robin hopped up with ease, beaming at Mike and waiting for praise. He smiled weakly back at her and rubbed her unlit head. "What's up?"

"You aren't." She smirked as she slammed the register drawer shut. "Look, I gotta be honest with you. I've been watchin' you pretty hard these past few days." Mike bobbed his eyebrows, to which he received a dismissive snort. "Not like that. Like, how you've been with everyone. Especially the newbies. You're a good man.

"Now, I was hoping you weren't leaving so soon: I only just got the go-ahead to ask, but looks like you're on your way, so it's now or never."

"Where's this going, Tiff?" Mike was slowly rousing himself, realizing these compliments and kind words were coming from somewhere.

"I got a favor to ask," she continued. Mike nodded with a poorly-suppressed yawn. "A co-worker and good personal friend of mine usually has one of her kids take the other to Striaton for school. Her older son is busy and she's on the clock all weekend. Justin's begging to make the trip alone, but legally he's too young. Barely."

"Justin's the kid?" Mike asked, still visibly bereft of his morning coffee. Tiffany nodded.

"Yup. He's great. Eager - full of it, really - but smart. He'll be a part of Juniper's Winter Program, but until then it's illegal for him to be out on the routes alone. His mother and I haven't been able to find a solution. Until now.

"If you're up for it, of course," she added, almost as an afterthought. "Juniper's trainers're all background checked, yeah?" Mike nodded as he began to put two and two together.

"What, does he go to boarding school?" He was busying himself by lazily playing with his Litwick, thinking simple commands as hard as he could and watching her wave her arms or do little dances.

"Bingo!" She watched the two with a small smile as she continued, "Academy of Combat Enthusiasts, Striaton Campus. Big, ornate building on the west side of town. Can't miss the place."

"That makes much more sense," he nodded, causing Robin to nod with ridiculous vigor. "And - not to help anyone's decision-making - but these," he pulled out the Pokédex from its protector at his hip, "are all GPS tracked and have emergency whatevers and junk."

"Don't I know it." Tiffany's smile broadened as she continued, "an' since yer hell-bent on taking the long way to Castelia, that makes you the perfect man for the job."

"Well…" Mike thought about it, as much as he could. He was going that direction, anyways. It would be nice to have more than himself to talk to - especially if Juniper had been right about the lack of trainers. "How old is this kid, again?"

"Justin's almost thirteen," Tiffany replied, not without some bitterness, "an' he won't let you forget it."

"He sounds like a— Wait, wait..." Mike was squishing his eyes shut and concentrating. Robin finally understood and her flame bloomed into life. She gave a little giggle in anticipation. Mike reached out two fingers and started again. "He sounds like a de-light." As he enunciated, he pinched the flame out. Tiffany gave an amused cluck of a laugh as Mike showered the Litwick with praise.

"I'm reopening your room for the morning, my treat. Go sleep on it an'—"

"Today would be free anyw—"

"Go sleep on it and be back at nine." Tiffany leveled a glare at Mike that strongly reminded him of his mother.

"Why do I have the feeling this isn't an option?" Mike had already decided he wasn't going to say no, but he didn't particularly enjoy his loss of agency in the matter.

"If they can afford a boarding school, they ain't broke," Tiffany added, with no attempt at subtlety. Mike enjoyed that about her.

"You're absolutely right," he replied with a grin, suddenly in much better spirits. "This isn't an option."

A few hours and one much appreciated nap later, Mike and Robin returned to the Pokémon Center's lobby in near-opposite spirits from their earlier visit. Robin's glee with freedom seemed to be the only thing keeping her awake, and Mike's exhaustion had taken a massive blow thanks to his sleeping in and the promise of payment.

"There he is," Tiffany nodded in their direction. Mike couldn't help but clock the flash of surprise on the other woman's - the mother's - face. He was much more pleased, however, by the boy next to her, who he assumed was Justin. He was used to kids having zero grace when it came to his size, but Justin smiled broadly and betrayed nothing but joy. Perhaps because he was much more focused on Mike's Litwick.

"Hi, I'm Michael," He said to the both of them. He and the woman shook hands.

"Rebecca," she replied with a smile. Mike looked over to the boy, who was focused on Robin, who was focused on her reflection in the polished Center floor.

"You can call me Mike, if you want to," Mike spoke at the boy, hoping to prompt a response. Justin didn't take his eyes off of Robin, as if she might disappear at any moment. Which, in his defense, she could.

"What about your Litwick?" Justin's question drew Robin's attention. She looked up and struggled through a yawn.

"This is Justin," the mother introduced the son. Her voice was dripping with exhaustion and irritation in equal measure, making Mike assume that the boy wasn't one for manners or tact. Which made him no different than any other kid. The two women immediately went back to a hurried conversation. They must have been switching shifts.

"Her name is Robin," Mike returned his attention to Justin. The little kid shot him a funny look. "Well, she's a bit of a thief. See, when I first met—"

"So are you Crobatman?" Mike suppressed a cringe and shot back his own terrible pun.

"No, but you're 'Just-in' time for a butt-kicking." Justin gave an exaggerated guffaw. Mike made a show of pointing at his eyes then pointing at the kid. Robin, to their surprise, mimicked the motion - albeit with her arms in lieu of fingers. All involved were trying their best to suppress grins and maintain their mock-irritation.

"Settle down, boys," Tiffany called, "and c'mere, Mike." He moved obediently over to the counter, quickly repeating the 'I'm watching you' motion over his shoulder as he went. He enjoyed kids, and felt like he was good with them. It was a large part of the reason he wanted to pursue education. Justin seemed to be no exception - so far.

"So," Rebecca started, halfway through pulling on a pink Center uniform, "are you sure you're alright with this?"

"Uh," Mike hesitated, "I think so? But I—"

"Oh, thank you so much," Rebecca barreled over him. "I know this is weird, but all of the trainers from the lab's program are checked and double-checked, and I didn't know what else to do. Tiffany told me there was a nice young man helping out the newbies from his class, and work has been so hectic lately. And Ben, his older brother - bless him - he just got a promotion. They usually do this every year, you know. Ever since Justin was six. The walk isn't hard, but he's not a legal trainer yet, and he really needs a—"

"Uh, Miss? Ma'am?" Mike interjected sheepishly.

"I'm so sorry," she chuckled off some anxiety and settled herself. "Yes?"

"Do you mind if we go over some specifics?"

"Of course," she clucked out a few more chuckles, "right, so what did Tiffany tell you?"

"Not much, just enough - I think," Mike replied. "She has a friend who needs a favor - you - and that favor is getting Justin to school: the A.C.E. over in Striaton. I don't think anyone else from the lab is taking the slow way, so I'm your guy if he needs a baby-sitter." He called the last few words somewhat behind him, to which Justin balked his indignation. Tiffany and Rebecca laughed.

"I know we're total strangers," Mike continued, to clear the air, "but I am going the same direction, and I was planning on leaving today anyways. I'll go ahead and give you my Trainer ID Number and Cell Phone number. Please don't hesitate to call at any time! Justin seems like he's got a good attitude and a good sense of humor, and my skin's as thick as it looks." He smirked at the self-depreciation. Mike noted that Rebecca did not.

"Sounds like you've got a handle on things. Anything else you'd like to know?" Rebecca asked, counting in her cash drawer.

"Does Justin have any medications he needs to take?" Mike, unable to help himself, slipped into responsibility.

"... No, he's twelve," Rebecca replied. Mike shrugged, remembering the medical cocktail that Scott had begun trying at his age.

"Any allergies?"

"Keep him away from too much milk and he'll be fine."

"Disabilities, phobias, or—"

"Are you—" Rebecca laughed aloud at Mike's sudden, clerical shift in demeanor, "were you a teacher or something?" She straightened her hat in the reflection of a blank monitor.

"That's what I thought," Tiffany cut in, emerging from a door behind the counter wearing much less pink. "He's got his credential an' all that, but wanted to do this first."

"Just the degree, no credential," Mike clarified, glowing with pride. "But yeah, that's the plan after training. I never did it at his age."

"Well, lucky me," Rebecca smiled at him, "if I wasn't comfortable before, I am now. Anything else?"

Mike hesitated. This would be the point where he would begin to haggle, but suddenly he felt incredibly guilty about asking for payment. He was going to be making the exact same trip he would have, just with an extra pair of eyes, ears, and hands. Plus, Justin was a soon-to-be-Ace. The kid could probably do this alone, were it not technically a crime.

"Nope," he decided after a moment, "But you should know I'm a brand new trainer. I only have Robin over there."

"Oh! He has a little Oshawott named Choppy. I almost forgot, here," she reached into her pocket and pulled out a Great Ball covered in scuffs and scratches. "He's been taking care of the little thing for a long time, and he really needs some exercise if he's gonna shape up into Justin's starter, anyways. Justin!"

The boy trotted over, hands covered in a thin layer of wax, which went just past his wrists.

"What on earth," Mike muttered with disbelief.

"She's a ghost!" Mike snorted at the comment. "I was just petting her and whoosh! Then I wanted to see if she stole anything." Another snort.

"Didn't you have an Xtransciever?" Justin paled at Mike's question. They all turned to see it sticking out of Robin's forehead. She seemed entirely unperturbed. Or, quite possibly, she was acting unperturbed.

"Please leave Michael's Litwick alone," Rebecca gave an exasperated sigh, "you and Chop get up to enough mischief as it is." With that, she handed over the ball. Justin went to throw it, but with a bark of, "not in the Center," from several staff members, he pocketed it instead.

After a brief shopping trip - wherein Justin was quicker to point out essentials than Mike was - Rebecca bade them farewell and they were off. Their first stop was the Warden's Station that separated Route 2 from the city proper. At Mike's insistence, Justin kept his Oshawott within its ball until they cleared the gate. Once they were officially on Route, Mike was introduced to the spunky little otter and the four made their way up the gently sloping trail and into the woods.

Justin and Mike got on like a house on fire, where Mike was the house and Justin was the fire. The two bickered, picked, and argued with good humor as they marched through the trees. Mike loved every moment; he always wanted a little brother. He had two older sisters and wasn't particularly close with either of them. Justin felt like a small taste of that reality.

Choppy was much like his owner, and even more like his name. As they trudged along, the Oshawott would charge forward to slash at flowers and slice at weeds. Each time he did, he'd look back to see who was paying attention. Mike couldn't help but marvel at the swiftness and sharpness of the little shell, and how it somehow stuck fast to the otter's stomach.

Occasionally they would be barked at by some brave little Lillipup or Patrat. After Robin made short work of one or two - her intangibility and flames making things incredibly one-sided - Mike allowed Justin and his Oshawott to mop up most interlopers.

Choppy would chase down and swipe at anything and everything, unless Justin was giving 'strict' orders. Those orders tended to simply be guided chasing and swiping, with the occasional blast of water for good measure. The Oshawott seemed to have a much firmer understanding of English than Robin did, though Mike noted that the latter wasn't far behind. Where he and Robin still fumbled with basic strategy, Justin and Choppy could almost formulate hilariously ineffective plans. Almost.

"So this time," Justin whispered, pointing to a fat, pink thing that Mike didn't recognize, "you need to remember about its tongue. Tongue," the boy stuck out his own to reiterate. He continued, pointing at his mouth, "Do - no'uh - tut-th - thuh tung"

"Osh!" The little otter nodded, sticking out its own tongue, and barreling off towards the… thing. Mike pulled out his Pokédex and pointed it towards the Oshawott's prey.

"Lickitung, the Licking Pokémon," came a happy, tinny voice from the Pokédex. "Being licked by its long, saliva-covered tongue leaves a tingling sensation."

"No! Chop! Don't touch the tongue!" Justin's anguish pulled Mike away from the screen. He looked up to see that the Oshawott had misinterpreted its orders. The otter was whining and squealing, its little shell stuck to the huge pink tongue of its target, who barely noticed the intrusion.

"It says here," Mike drolled, only half-looking at the chaos, "that it's gooey saliva sticks to anything."

"No, really?" Justin shot back with a nasty look. Mike grinned, scrolling to another trainer-submitted entry. Distantly he heard some thumping stomps, a rush of water, and a lot of strange, possibly tongue-obstructed gurgling.

"Ooh, apparently," Mike continued, "ahem, 'it is somewhat put off by sour things.' I wonder why." Justin yelled in frustration. Mike felt Robin stir from her perch in his bag.

"Make Choppy pull its tail," Mike guffawed as he suggested it, "I wanna see if it reels in its tongue."

Eventually the Oshawott prized its 'scalchop' off the walking tongue and routed the poor critter. Mike still hadn't made his mind up about whether or not it was worth catching, but since he wasn't sad to see it go, he felt that he'd found his answer.

Mike would only insist on Robin fighting when he heard the hiss of a Purrloin. He knew they were dark types, and knew that they had the upper hand against ghosts. He wanted to make sure that his Litwick had ample experience dealing with that sort of adversity. As well as plenty of practice being woken up to fight.

"Why haven't you caught one yet?" Justin asked Mike for the fifth or sixth time that day. The two of them were presently watching Robin as she warily weaved closer to a large Purrloin. Mike admitted to himself that the unique calico-ish dappling was appealing, but he stuck to his guns.

"Because I don't want one." Mike's simplicity seemed to irritate Justin.

"But, like, you keep fighting them— Get 'im, Robin!" The Litwick had made a sudden leap, attempting to Astonish the poor cat. It hissed and kicked up dirt in response, not bothered by the scare.

"Yeah, it's good practice for her," Mike nodded to Robin, who was now hurling tiny Embers at the Purrloin. Or trying to, at least. The trainers deflated at the misses, until Mike realized that the flames were slowly circling around the cat. He whipped out his Pokédex to confirm a suspicion.

"That's a Fire Spin," Mike smiled, pointing at his screen. Justin looked quickly at the device, then back to the action with glee. "That's new! Good job, Robin! Good Fire Spin!" The two boys watched as the flames ramped up their pace, swirling around the cat with alarming speed. It hissed and spat at the dancing lights, unable to move much without bringing itself pain.

"But that one's huge," Justin returned to his prior issue after a moment, "and it's a scrapper! Look, it's—"

"It's a cat," Mike remarked, as if cats somehow offended him. "I'm only gonna be a trainer once, and I don't want something unless it's, like, exceptional. Smart, or strong, or rare, or something."

The cat in question, having been pelted with several true Embers within its prison, flopped onto its back in exhaustion and submission.

"Okay, Robin, that's a clear faint, that's enough." Robin, familiar with the word 'faint,' doused its flames and returned to Mike's side. The Purrloin didn't move for a few moments, its body heaving with labored breaths. Suddenly it righted itself and bolted off clumsily into the thick woods.

The two stopped for a brief lunch at the base of a steep, crumbly ledge sometime later. As they ate, Mike wondered aloud at why the trail led almost neatly to a stop under the short cliff-ish structure. It was nearly impossible to climb, entirely too steep and studded with many loose stones and dirt clods.

"You can save a few miles through the woods. I mean, when you're headed to Accumula," he explained with a grin. "So trainers do it all the time, and the trail makes itself. That's what Ben says." Mike, who had a mild fear of heights, suppressed it with a knowing nod. Justin insisted on being boosted up to the top to demonstrate. He then slid back down the way he came with ease, none the worse for wear - albeit dustier for his trouble. He immediately went for his canteen, and Mike poised himself to strike.

"Okay, my turn." Mike timed his deadpan perfectly: Justin sprayed a mouthful of water from his nose in two impressive jets.

After lunch, Mike insisted on the two of them reapplying their sunscreen - which Justin openly loathed just as much as Mike secretly did - before they continued. They were making remarkable time, even with all their stopping to bully the local wildlife. Justin continued to ooh and ahh over various interesting specimens: a very stripey Watchog they saw from a distance, a small pack of short-hair Lillipup, and every single Purrloin that Mike insisted on facing down.

As the sun began to sink towards the treeline, the two rounded what Justin announced was the second-to-last bend.

"Oh, uh, can I ask a favor?" Justin posed, suddenly timid. That was new to Mike.

"Shoot," Mike replied, eager to humor the kid he'd been denying all day.

"There's this, like, glade thing tucked away back there." Mike followed a pointing finger, seeing a thin trail lead off into the woods behind them. "Ben and I go check it out every year. He always looks for Pokémon that aren't super common out in the open, and I like seeing what trainers leave behind."

"Leave behind?" Mike raised a brow. He had noticed small things left at campsites, but they were either trash, camping equipment, or simply not useful to him.

"Oh, yeah, that's a thing. Have you heard of geocaching?"

"I have not!"

"Basically, people leave stuff for other people to find, but you have to swap something for whatever it is you take. Or you can just leave stuff, take a few things, whatever. Some trainers love to do it!" Justin fished around in his bag and pulled out a bright red, ornate Pokéball with a broken clasp. "I found this when I was ten!"

"Whoah," Mike gently took it with genuine surprise, "aren't these things—"

"Yeah! They're super rare! It's called a Cherish Ball! I wanna get it repaired one day, but even fixing one is pricey. Mom said maybe as a graduation present." Mike gently returned it, now curious himself to see what all the glade-related fuss was about.

"Okay it with your mom first," Mike replied, nodding at Justin's Xtransciever. The boy snapped it open and called within seconds. After a few rings, Rebecca's familiar face filled the screen.

"Hi, you two!" They both greeted her in kind. "Almost there?"

"Yeah, we're a mile or two out," Mike confirmed.

"He told me I had to ask about the glade," Justin rattled off, "can we go, mom?"

"Sure, you go every year," she shrugged, confused. "Oh! Mike's never been, right. Yes, it's perfectly safe. Apparently that trail widens out pretty quick. You should be able to make it there and back before it's too dark, but feel free to camp if you need to. Classes don't start until Monday."

"That's all I needed to hear," Mike replied, smiling at Justin. "He's been great, and Choppy's gotten plenty of training. Are you sure this kid can't catch anything out here? He wants me to start a zoo or something." Rebecca frowned up at them from the screen.

"Yes, he's only got one more month, he can wait," she spoke, as if for the umpteenth time. "I'm personally okay with skirting the law on this - you're a great little trainer already, Justin - but the Academy would confiscate it on the spot. He'd be in a heap of trouble and he'd have to release it. Not to mention there'd be quite a fine for any aider and abettor."

"I haven't caught a thing!" Mike raised his hands, as if that somehow proved his innocence. "Honest! But apparently he wants to be a crazy old cat person when he grows up."

"Hey! You keep picking them out!" Justin shot back.

"I told you why—"

"Children," came a stern voice from the boy's wrist. Mike stifled a giggle. "Alright, you're racing the clock if you wanna go there and back tonight, so get a wiggle on. Call me when you get settled! Love you, hun!"

"Love you," Justin replied with a grin. Mike bit his tongue and resisted the comedic urge to echo it back. Funny to him, sure, but definitely weird. He settled with waving. The Xtransciever automatically snapped shut when Rebecca ended the call. Justin was moving the second it did, incredibly eager for whatever the glade held.

The boy took the lead as they wound their way through tall, leafy trees. They tried following a thin path, but it dissolved into grass on more than one occasion, nearly leaving them lost. After a half hour of picking their way through, Justin made his way back to Mike, whose sore feet and aching calves were taking their toll.

"Through here," Justin encouraged. Mike could finally see where Justin had meant to lead them. A break in the trees gave way to a wide clearing of short grass. There were a few circles of stones, having seen scant but still obvious use for fires. A neat stack of wood was left between the closest two. Seeing as the sun was hidden behind the trees, Mike insisted that they set up camp.

"Sure, sure, but let's—"

"No 'butt-lets,'" Mike chided, "help me get a fire started and then we can keep exploring."

Mike hadn't seen anyone work quicker in his life. Justin produced a bow drill and had a fire going in moments; the talent left Mike quite jealous, loath though he was to admit it. The man barely had his tent up and Justin was already nipping at his heels to go treasure hunting. Mike could no longer see the sun, but the bright streaks of red and gold reassured him. After pounding a final stake, he finally acquiesced.

"So it's back here a little more, like, fifteen minutes tops." Justin chattered away as he led, almost literally pulling Mike along. Which Mike would have enjoyed, as he was almost completely spent. Robin tagged close behind. She once again was the reverse of Mike; she slowly but steadily gained more and more vigor as the light dwindled.

They pushed their way through a tight web of branches, Justin following an almost invisible run of sorts. He pointed to various tracks and signs that Mike would have completely missed even if he was well-rested.

"See the nibbling here?" The boy dropped his voice and pointed at a thorny little shrub. It's branches were riddled with uniformly sized missing chunks. "The teeth marks are too big for a Patrat, but too small for a Watchog. It's gotta be a Nidoran! They're rare around here but apparently Ben says they do live here." Justin looked back with a bright smile. "Nidoran, right? Am I right?"

"How do I know?" Mike whispered as well, shrugging the question off. "I dunno what that is."

"What!? They're little, like, rabbits," Justin hissed, eyes wide, following the barely visible trail of barely eaten plants and small piles of round scat, "but they're blue or purple, depending on the gender. And they're poisonous, but it's not, like, lethal. I don't think. Not when they're little."

"Oh, I think I've heard of those," Mike recalled, racking his brain, "they live here?"

"There, like, suuuper rare," Justin spoke, squatting to look at some weeds. Or, no, he was using a stick to poke through some droppings. Mike scrunched up his nose. "There's a really small group or something out here. Ben tries to catch me one every year, but they're so skittish. This kinda looks like Patrat piles, though. I dunno."

"How can you—" Mike whispered, then caught himself, "Never mind. I thought we were geocaching?"

"I don't have the app. I wanted to find—"

"Hey, you said we were going to—"

"You're a trainer! I can show you rare 'mons! I swear, there's this place, it's just through—"

"You stinker! You want me to catch you someth—"

"Yes, but like, lemme expl—"

"Are those—" Mike's whisper prompted the boy to press a finger quietly to his lips in a 'shut up you moron or they will run' sort of way. After a moment, the boy nodded in answer.

In the middle of the glade was a small fluffle of blue and purple creatures, nearly a dozen total if Mike had to guess. The purple ones were larger and fewer; Mike could only see two of them. The colony sniffed at the ground over a large, loose circle, chewing on thorny weeds and grasses, somewhat oblivious to the two trainers. The boys stood stock still, appreciating the gentle crunching and leafy tearing sounds the creatures made.

"These are so rare," breathed Justin. Almost two dozen large ears pricked in their direction. The colony of Pokémon became so still that, save for their rapidly sniffing noses, they could have been statues. Slowly, their snouts returned to their landscaping duties. Mike turned to see where Robin was and noticed with a jolt that she was nowhere to be found.

"Where's Robin," Mike mouthed to Justin. The boy looked around and shrugged. Mike pulled out his Pokédex, ensured the volume was off, and pulled up her tracker.

She was somewhere to the right of the two, moving slowly along the edge of the glade. If he squinted, he could just see her harness gently bobbing in the distance. Mike could only guess that she was getting ready to feed. He had an ambitious idea and tried to hold a picture in his mind.

A pile of colorful rabbits. Themselves. Robin on the other side.

He thought it very hard, and very 'loud,' until the image and words related to it drowned out anything else in his head. The dot on the screen representing Robin stopped for a moment, then proceeded to move in a straight line towards exactly where Mike was thinking. He couldn't believe it was working.

"Should - I - catch - one?" Mike mouthed to Justin. He didn't know exactly what possessed him to ask, but it did. Opportunity knocked but once, right?

Justin's eyes widened as he nodded vigorously. It was all the excuse he needed.

"What - color?"

"Blue," Mike thought he mouthed back. It was only one movement; it had to be blue.

Mike waited for Robin to get into position. A few of the creatures bristled and looked about as she passed, but the colony didn't move except to find a new plant to eat. Mike studied the closest blue Nidoran, forming as strong of a mental picture as he could of it. Blue, smaller ears, whiskers, fewer spines. He held it in his head and once again 'yelled' the image.

Then he waited. He 'yelled' it again. He wished dearly that she could speak back to him and let him know that she got it. Any sort of signal would surely disrupt the group, and ruin any plan.

Mike looked down, found a twig, picked it up, and snapped it.

The colony turned their heads as one, a dozen-ish pairs of fearful eyes locking with Mike's.

"Fire Spin!"

The Nidoran scattered in all directions at Mike's command, save for one, who was caught by a swirl of flames in an instant. Robin's practice that day made the move's execution much faster than it had been. Or perhaps she had been scattering her strange, vanishing flames around one while they waited. Screams and shrieks came from the center of the cyclone; it was thoroughly trapped.

Mike closed the distance quickly, fishing in his pocket for a crate of Pokéballs. He popped open the carton as he ran, picking one out of its spot and discarding the rest of the box. He'd grab it later.

"Good girl, Robin," Mike called to her across the flames, shielding his face from the heat as he tried to get closer. He could clearly see the struggling Nidoran - thankfully the correct color - trying vainly to dart out of the vortex. On the other side of the Fire Spin sat his Litwick, waving her arms to maintain the flames. The creature within was too fast to aim at, and even if Mike could hit it with the ball, it would likely break out and bolt.

"Robin, we need it weaker, but gently," he called out. Pokéballs rejected unconscious targets. He tried to think gentle thoughts, and settled on…

A pillow fight.

Robin leaned to the side, squinting at Mike for a moment, then she nodded. She first reinforced the whirling flames, which had been shrinking away. Then she loosed a swirling cone of energy that washed through the flames, through the Nidoran, and through Mike's own mind.

Mike would later describe it as a very bad, but very funny 'trip.'

Each time he blinked, the figures in front of him were a little different. A purple Nidoran was throwing itself awkwardly into the water sloshing around it. A lit firework was moving towards him with a worried little frown.

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

This time the blue rabbit was back, but it had once again stumbled into a wall of whirling blue rabbits, while a blue rabbit tugged on his blue-rabbit-colored pants. He pushed her away with his blue rabbit paws and blinked again.

A moment of normalcy, at last. He kept his eyes open and wound up the orange in his hand, throwing it into the middle of the juicer where it collided with the lazily spinning blade. The fruit split open and spilled bright juice everywhere.

Mike, his mission done, decided to close his eyes and sit down until life made sense again. Somewhere in the chaos that was the real world, he heard a satisfying click.

"You got one!" Justin's hoots and hollers came from far away, but he and his footsteps were rapidly approaching Mike as he sat on the ground. He decided to open his eyes.

The child-sized Farfetch'd he'd been travelling with all day had a wide grin on its beak.

"That was awesome," quacked Justin, "how on earth did you do that? Robin totally knew where to go and what to do! Were you talking to her? How did you do it? Can I—"

"I will explain," Mike cut across the hyperactive bird-man, "after we get cack to bamp. I got caught in the foss-crier and my bomble got smutched."

"... What?"

"Please - walk - me - help," Mike choked out, pushing himself awkwardly to his feet.