King shuddered against the cold. It was warm in his apartment, of course, but still, he shivered. It was the cold of knowing how many months he would spend without a roof over his head, exposed to biting winds and heavy rains if he didn't do something.
He sat alone in the living room of his apartment, arms slumped on his knees, hands dangling toward the floor. It'd been twenty days, and he had yet to relocate a single item of furniture. Grey darkness veiled the room. Water wept from the kitchen faucet, dripping over and over into the metal sink, leaking down into the drain. Drip. Drip. Drip.
He ran a sweaty palm over his forehead, trying to banish the dull thud pounding incessantly behind it. His head felt like someone had jammed it with wool. Three voices, all intermixing together, jumbled about inside. One, high, and child-like. Are you a trainer? Why don't you become a trainer? Another, rigid and cracked enough to sound like two pieces of gravel grating together. You never try and follow in my footsteps, boy. I'm the greatest there ever was and ever will be. Do you understand me? And the last, his voice, weak and uncertain.
I need to do something.
Someone started to pound at the door. King whipped his head toward the noise, expecting that at any moment, his father would burst through and stomp over to him. Then, the beatings would begin.
Instead, a different voice called out.
"King? You better be in there!" Stephanie. He looked back toward the floor. "I know you can hear me! Get your ass out here and tell me why you haven't moved any of your things out yet! Now!"
He stood, swallowing a deep breath, heart pounding in his ears. He had to do it. All the other doors and all the different paths, they were closed and gone now. He had one option, one chance to see if he was good enough. All his life, he had believed that there was one thing he could never do, and that was to become a trainer. He had always been scared that if he tried, his father would kill him for it. Now there weren't any other options.
He circled the couch, heading for the bedroom, ignoring the pounding at the door like a heartbeat. He wreathed a hand around the metal doorknob. The door creaked as he opened it, then stepped inside. Under the bed. That's where it would be.
He came over to the bed, pressing his chest on the floor as he lay. There, right where he had put it all those years ago, was an empty Pokeball caked in dust. The button in the middle stared at him like an eye, taunting him, measuring him up.
Don't you do it, boy, his father's voice echoed in his head. Don't you go and do it. You know what will happen.
King hesitated. Was he going to let his father control his life, who he chose to be, even now? No. He wasn't afraid. He was no longer a sniveling kid who cowered under his father's gaze, always lurking behind him like a beaten Pokemon, forever stuck in his far-reaching shadow. The Vertress Tournament had a cash prize at the end. If he won it, everything would be better. Everything would fall into place. That was the plan he had come up with. That was what he had decided. It was time to take a stand.
King reached out and grabbed the Pokeball.
He stood, stomping away from the bedroom, gripping it tightly in one hand. He did not think. He didn't dare let go of it. If he did, he wasn't sure he'd be able to pick it up again.
Stephanie backed away in surprise as he threw open the door to the hallway.
"King? What are you-"
He pushed past her, then turned a corner toward the elevators. Her screams after him died as he descended to the lobby.
Warm air washed over him when he stepped outside. Wind rippled his clothes, tossing his hair about. Above, the sun shone amid faces of gray clouds. Ignoring cars, ignoring people, he sprinted out onto the sidewalk, searching, searching. He peered down streets and alleyways. His breaths grew ragged as he scoured the city. Finally, chest heaving and throat burning, he found the small, red, and black bundle of fur sleeping in a heap of garbage bags, tucked into the corner of a narrow alley between buildings.
He stepped up to it, panting. "You the… same one?"
It picked its head up from the trash. Dried blood seeped down from a tear on its ear, staining its fur, and one eye was swollen purple.
Sir?
King breathed in through his nose, eyebrows furrowing. "What happened?"
It shifted, favoring one leg as it stepped out in front of him. Somehow, even though it was a Pokemon, he could see incredible sadness and confusion in its one eye as it looked at him. His heart clenched in his chest. It was just a Pokemon, sure, but the world could be an incredibly cruel place, even to them.
I… tried to find a trainer.
"Well," King said, holding out the Pokeball. "You've found one."
Its tail started to wag. Really? Oh, really? Thank you, sir! Thank you! I knew you were a nice one!
"Alright, alright." He gestured over his shoulder with a flick of his head. "Come on. Let's get you to a Pokemon center."