King sat in the waiting room of the Mistralton Pokemon Center, tapping his foot against the sleek white flooring. Palpitoad was seated to his right, sleeping, and rufflet to his left, making soft noises from time to time that seemed to be out of nervousness. Or maybe that was King's imagination. Though, considering that Pokemon could cry, perhaps they could be nervous as well. Or that could be only zorua. Zorua was different. Always had been, for as long as King had known him.

A nurse walked out of the back room. King whipped his head to look at her, opening his mouth, meaning to ask how zorua was, but she turned toward the counter. He licked his lips and stared at his tapping foot.

They were still checking on it. Three hours after Chargestone Cave. They'd all healed except for it - even King. After dropping his three Pokemon off at the Center, he'd gone to the hospital and had his thigh wrapped - the wound wasn't bad - and demanded to be released so he could come back to the Pokemon Center. He'd assumed zorua, like palpitoad and rufflet, would have been healed by the time he got back. It wasn't.

You hate that man? You act just like him! King pursed his lips. Zorua was right. He'd been acting like his father, and because of that, he'd allowed zorua to be injured. Not dead. The nurses weren't going to come out and tell King that zorua was dead.

He wiped the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand. If they did, he didn't think he could take it, knowing that it had been his fault.

Rufflet nudged his arm with its beak. King patted its head absentmindedly. They had all suffered for what he did, not only zorua. All because he wanted to surpass his father.

Was it worth it, for zorua's life? But Pokemon are tools. What do you do when a tool breaks? You don't cry over it. You get a new one. No. That was what his father thought; what he had preached to King when he was a little boy. Over the years, King had started to believe what his father was saying was true. But he would not be like that bastard.

So, what? Now you think of Pokemon as teammates? He thought. You're starting to sound like that N. He believed Pokemon should be treated with fairness, as well.

And is that such a bad thing?

Another nurse walked out of the back room. This one began to head toward him, heels clicking. He shot to a stand, rufflet flying over to perch on his shoulder.

"King?" She asked, stopping in front of him.

"Yeah," he said, "that's me. How's zorua?"

She flicked her head over her shoulder, toward where she'd come. "Why don't you follow me and I'll show you."

He nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Palpitoad startled awake when he picked it up and held it in one arm.

The nurse led him through a painted white hallway that ran the length of the Pokemon center, and into a room in the back. It smelled like a doctor's office.

Inside was a table with a glass dome covering it. Zorua lay within, breathing softly, covered head to toe in bandages.

King ran to it. Palpitoad bubbled sadly, and rufflet folded its wings close to its chest. King's eyes flicked downward. Did his Pokemon blame him for what they saw? The other nurses, with their chanseys and audinos, worked at the electronics at the far wall or stared at King. They probably blamed him, too.

The one that brought him there stepped beside him. "How honest do you want me do be with you?"

"Give it to me straight."

"Zorua might never be able to battle again. Ignoring the serious injuries it has almost everywhere on its body, rips in the flesh and excessive blood loss, one of its forelegs was completely broken."

King ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. Never be able to battle again? His heart sunk. If that were the truth, it would crush zorua. It had only ever wanted to have fun in battle with a trainer that loved it. All my fault. Because I didn't see. Because I didn't care.

"How did this happen?" Another nurse asked. He recognized her as the one he'd yelled at before going to Chargestone Cave. "Injuries this bad are very rare, even for trainers whose Pokemon are constantly battling."

"Listen. I apologize for coming in here and yelling at you like that before," King said. "I wasn't in the right mind. I went to train zorua and rufflet and palpitoad after. I… pushed them too hard."

"Sometimes," said the nurse next to him, "if an owner is abusing their Pokemon, we have the right to take that Pokemon away and put them somewhere else where they can be happier. Is that what we're-"

"No," King interrupted. "No. Please. That won't be necessary. I realize that I've made a mistake. I won't make it again."

The nurses eyed one another.

"Isn't there anything you can do for zorua?" He continued. "There must be."

The nurse at his side shook her head. "There isn't. Nothing that we haven't already tried. You have to understand that sometimes a wound goes so deep that no amount of Pokemon healing or our own medicine can fully heal it. Such is the case with one of zorua's legs. We've set it back in place, but it didn't heal right. Zorua may never be able to walk on it again, but I suppose only time will tell. There's always the slim chance that it could recover, depending."

The glass was cold as he laid a hand on it, watching zorua. It was his fault that it was like that. That it might never battle again.

"However," the nurse continued, "I think we're going to allow zorua to return to you once we determine it's ready to be discharged. You seem to care about its fate genuinely."

"How long?"

"A few days at the most," she said. "Stay around town; we'll let you know. For now, you can leave. Zorua is in good hands."

He nodded and reluctantly pried his hand off the glass. "Come on," he mumbled to palpitoad and rufflet, walking from the room. He found his way back to the lobby, where the sliding glass doors opened to let him outside.

The guilt he was feeling was like nothing he had ever experienced.

He started away from the Pokemon Center, shoving his hands in his pockets. The wind swirled around as he walked, no particular destination in mind. He eventually ended up staring at the gym, with its open ceiling and glass windows.

He remembered zorua disregarding his orders and charging forward. Maybe it had had enough. Maybe King still wouldn't have won, even if it hadn't done that. Something that I'm missing…

That thing. What was it? What allowed emolga and Skyla to be so in sync to the point where it seemed like emolga was reading Skyla's thoughts? No. You know what it is.

A young kid, no more than ten years old, walked from the gym, grinning and holding a Jet Badge in the air. There was a pikachu on his shoulder, and the Pokemon scampered down, admiring the badge. The kid thanked and hugged it, claiming that it was only because of pikachu that he was able to win the medal.

King looked away. All along, that was what he'd been missing. Why a kid could beat Skyla when he couldn't.

Because he didn't ever form a bond with his Pokemon. Because he hadn't ever cared enough.