To the reviewer that requested nickname clarification: Amber is a Riolu, Egg is a Pikachu, Fossil is a Kabuto, and Program is a corrupted Porygon/MissingNo. Drakon, Wyvern, and Coatl are Lance's three Dragonites; Drakon is pure Dragonite (and Lance's official starter), Wyvern is part Hydreigon, and Coatl is part Altaria. Some other minor characters have nicknamed some of their Pokémon; knowing those isn't quite as important as knowing Ash's and Lance's Pokémon, but for those curious, Brock's Golem is called Aida, his Rhyperior is now called King, and Surge's two Raichus are Rai (Kantonian) and Chu (Alolan). Duplica also shows up in this chapter and refers to a Pokémon called ; it's not too plot relevant, but she's referring to her Porygon-Z there.
To everyone who has been demanding that I update and otherwise cajoling me to finish the story (to the Guest who didn't understand why I didn't finish—it's because the story's not done yet? It's not marked Complete, is it?): please understand that I am doing my best to write as quickly as possible. There happen to be days in which I don't even open my laptop to do work, much less write fanfiction.
During a lull in their spar, Lance briefly marveled at how much Ash had improved in a year. The crouched boy in front of him, eyes narrowed in concentration as they flickered back and forth, had emerged from the terrified shell that he once was. Lance had once thought that Ash improved rapidly in those first few weeks; he was rapidly proven wrong as a painfully naïve yet extremely intuitive mind slowly blossomed as Ash lost the excessive caution that had been drilled into him since his youth.
"I didn't think you were much of a thinker, Ash," Lance teased, whipping his cape out of the way as Ash dove for it.
"You've got a lot to say for an old man!" the boy jeered back, tucking his chin and rolling away to somewhat land back on his feet. Ash took two steps forward and launched himself into the air, his eyes flickering to a fiery blue for a second as he leapt higher than a boy his age should have been able to.
"You think your pretty little light show is going to help you?" Lance said, reaching out to snatch Ash from the air rather than dodge again. The boy let out an inhuman yowl as Lance grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, holding Ash away from himself as he smirked triumphantly at the pouting boy. "Don't be arrogant, Ash. What does Sabrina always say?"
"There's always someone better than you," Ash recited dully, swatting at the hand holding him in the air.
"Exactly." Lance poked him on the nose. "Now, do you want to try again with some company, now?"
Ash's eyes lit up and he immediately began squirming. Lance let go, letting his charge fall to the ground. Ash landed on his feet with a strangely feline grace and immediately darted over to where Ash had neatly lined his Pokéballs up. Lance made a mental note to teach him soon about portable Pokéball holsters.
Ash finally picked a Pokéball, ran back to the battlefield, and brandished it in the air. A yellow blur flew out of the trees to join him.
No manner of convincing managed to get Egg to truly adapt to a Pokéball. He was lucky that he was just a Pikachu and had the species-specific popularity to get away with being seen outside of a Pokéball. He seemed to favor hanging out on Ash's shoulder whenever he could. Lance originally worried about the shoulder strain that this could cause; Pikachu weren't exactly the lightest Pokémon, and Egg spent hours sitting on Ash. The worrying was been proven unnecessary by a physical that Bruno conducted six months after Lance found Ash. Apparently, the boy operated at peak fitness, which Lance had no way of explaining. Now he was working to convince Ash that he didn't have to just pretend that Egg was always in his Pokéball.
Ash and Egg's relationship fascinated Lance. Despite his obvious closeness to Mewtwo and strange protectiveness over Amber, Ash was clearly closest to Egg. He treated him as his first partner, the first comrade to call to join him. Of all of his friends, Egg was the most akin to Ash's starter and seemed to expect to be treated as such. Lance didn't know what it was that set him apart from Mewtwo and Amber, but Ash relied on Egg almost as much as he seemed to rely on Mewtwo's input.
Lance released a serpentine blue Pokémon that immediately screeched his glory into the sky, open maw gathering energy for a flash of pure energy that did nothing besides dazzle everyone's eyes. Whiskers flicking, the leviathan coiled in the air, slithering as though he was carving through ocean currents as his species was known to do.
Egg looked unimpressed at Gyarados's flamboyance. He was slightly more entitled to his arrogance now, having undergone a gruesome training routine with Lieutenant Surge and regularly keeping up with the exercises that Surge sent to Lance every week. Surge's excitement to work with Egg hadn't been unfounded at all, and now the Pikachu reveled in exploiting his teachings at every possibility. Lance had given up on trying to observe their training sessions; the bright, sudden flashes of light that Rai and Chu constantly emitted while Egg danced between their attacks gave him a migraine.
"Two-on-two, battle settings. We go until one is unconscious or detained. The first move is yours," Lance recited. Ash gave a firm nod, pointed at a spot he wanted Egg to start from, and took a deep breath.
The boy's feet lit up bright blue, and he sprang ten feet into the air, grinning madly as he began to descend. Lance smirked in response, reaching up to snatch Ash out of the air by his ankle. Right before he could have grabbed hold, Egg let out a lance of a spark that smacked Lance right in the palm of his hand. He recoiled instinctively, missing his target. Gyarados was able to knock Ash off balance with a well-placed Aqua Tail, but Ash simply grabbed hold of the appendage, gritting his teeth as Gyarados began to thrash around. The Atrocious Pokémon kept a thin veil of water surrounding Ash; Egg looked annoyed at this, as it meant that any electric-type move he directed at the larger Pokémon would be conducted straight to his beloved Trainer. Lance leapt towards Egg, trying to draw his attention away; the Pikachu immediately flashed into action, leaving behind small patches of sparks that rattled on the ground before sputtering out.
"Oh no, you don't," Lance muttered to himself. "Gyarados, shake them both off, would you?"
Gyarados gave a quiet hiss, flicking his tail to dislodge Ash (who quickly dove off of Gyarados with another Aura-powered jump to minimize injuries) and slamming it into the ground. Lance crouched down to wait for the mild Earthquake to pass, but Egg quickly lost his footing and tripped over himself. The ball of yellow fur had only managed to snort out an annoyed grumble before Gyarados turned and spat an Icy Wind at him. The Pikachu stumbled to his feet and tried to get away, but the intense cold that Gyarados had thrown at him had locked up his muscles, forcing him to run at what would be considered a normal Pikachu's speed.
Egg snarled in indignation at this offense, sending an arc of electricity towards Gyarados for daring to slow him down. Ash called out a warning (or something along those lines; Ash had never lost his instinct to revert to Pokéspeech) and Egg immediately calmed down, leaping towards his Trainer and clinging to his shoulder.
Gyarados simply blasted Ash and Egg with another Icy Wind. Ash backed up quickly, his hands held loosely in front of him and glowing in a cyan blue, while Egg stared intently at Gyarados with narrowed eyes. The serpent continued to blast cold air at the two, and Ash continued to nimbly dodge the worst of the attack, occasionally leaping backwards with a quick burst of energy towards the ground to move more quickly. Egg kept his eyes on the puffs of cold air; at one point, it looked like the air in front of him shimmered with a wavering translucent gold screen that Gyarados easily broke through with a weak, pinpointed Hyper Beam.
The young Trainer and his Pokémon didn't seem to notice Gyarados's master plan until Lance appeared behind the two and scooped Ash up in a bear hug. Egg quickly tumbled off, snarling sulkily as Lance held Ash in the air, his arms firmly clamped to his sides, feet not touching the ground. The Dragon Master made exaggerated growling noises in Ash's ear, ducking beneath bony elbows that were flung into his face.
Egg bounced around on the ground, trying in vain to find some way to free Ash without hurting him. His cheeks sparked in warning before a blast of electric energy flooded towards Lance, only to be stopped by a translucent green orb that materialized around them. Egg looked bewildered until he whipped his head around to glare at Gyarados, who looked amused. Egg tried to attack Gyarados's Protect screen for a couple of seconds before plopping down in defeat. The Pikachu stared up at Gyarados, grumbling in defeat.
By this point, Lance had exchanged his theatrical sounds for laughter, and Ash had flopped over in his arms in a mockery of unconsciousness.
"Okay, okay, uncle, uncle! Get off me, Lance," Ash said, slapping at his arms.
"As his majesty demands," Lance said with a snort, throwing Ash at the ground. The boy somehow twisted in midair to land on his feet, though he flopped onto his back anyways. Egg came over to sit on his chest.
"What did I do wrong this time?" Ash asked, scratching Egg behind his ears, much to the Pikachu's audible pleasure.
Lance nearly began listing off his observations before stopping himself and thinking. Ash peered up in confusion when his guardian didn't respond.
"I don't know if I like the look on your face," he mumbled.
"I was just thinking, why don't you tell me what you think you did wrong?" Lance proposed.
Ash's eyes widened comically before he flopped back down, sighing loudly to protest the inconvenience of it all. "Oh, where to start!" he said. "I guess I was tryin'a look like I was showing off too much? Uh, I didn't need to jump that high at first, and Egg 'n' I somehow forgot that of course Gyarados would know Earthquake" (the Atrocious Pokémon looked smug at that admission) "so we didn't do the nullifying move that you spent so long teaching us three days ago, and we should probably have paid more attention to what Lorelei was sayin' about the body and temperature changes, and I guess Egg didn't get a chance to do a lotta fast things and I didn't get to do a lotta Aura things, but that was because we didn't give ourselves the space to." Ash looked up again. "Did I get everything?"
"Just about," Lance said. "Remember, self-critique is—"
"—the first step in self-improvement, I know," Ash said, rolling his eyes.
"Any more sass and we're going again," Lance said, raising an eyebrow.
Ash visibly winced at the thought of another intense spar. "Can't we just work on more techniques? Egg and I wanted to work on more deflection and Protect shields and stuff."
"Everything under 'stuff' is the most important part of that lesson," Lance said, shaking his head. "How will you learn if you don't take it more seriously?"
"By doin' it?" Ash asked, sitting up and inadvertently dumping Egg into his lap.
Lance sighed, recognizing the gleam in Ash's eyes. "I'm going to bury Samuel alive for introducing you to Gary. That cheeky runt has no business teaching you how to behave."
Ash grinned back as toothily as he could. Egg snickered.
"Well? How're the little rats doing?" Lieutenant Surge asked, the wine glass in his hand looking comically small, especially given that the man had downed its entire contents in one casual swig.
Lance swirled the contents of his own glass absentmindedly. "I'd request that you try not to say such things about my charge, but I doubt that it'd be effective," he responded. Surge had been the third Master to approach him at this year's meeting about Ash (covertly, of course; no one wanted to admit that they actually cared about a skinny child).
"They deserve it," Surge said with a snort, examining his glass for any trace of wine before handing it to a passing server. "Little turds spent all of last year making Rai and Chu chase them around. Rai's ready to redeem the beatdown that she's owed."
"I'm sure," Lance said. "They're very excited to challenge you again. Let me know when you're not beating Blaine's Magmortar to the ground and I'll bring them around."
Surge's grin became almost feral in excitement. "Good. I look forward to pummeling them into the ground." He bustled away, perhaps to tell his Pokémon about their upcoming reunion with their trainee.
Lance shook his head as he left, and when he turned back around, he saw a teal-haired girl wearing a long pink sweater with a blank face on it. She was grinning from ear to ear, eyes twinkling.
"Should I be frightened?" Lance asked.
Duplica barked out a laugh. "Absolutely not, Lancey," she said. She slyly pulled something out of her pocket. "I thought you might be interested in this."
Lance held his hand out for the tiny thumb drive that Duplica presented. "What's on it?" he asked.
"A little something for a little someone. I was doing some upgrades to and stumbled upon a really good line of code. Somehow completely morphed the shape and abilities of my guy. I know Mini-Kid's got a programmable Pokémon of his own who's facing some issues, so I thought he might want to try adding this to his projector. It might help stabilize the Pokémon." Duplica's typical amusement faded from her expression. "Lance, this file is pretty powerful, and given the latest improvements in technology, it's more than easy to copy it. I need to get this back as soon as you've transferred it to limit its being leaked. I trust you, but there's always the potential of a hacker or just a general thief. You understand."
"I do. Thank you for trusting me with this."
Duplica winked, twirled, and bowed, suddenly in a black cape, red jacket, boots, and red spiky wig. "But of course, Dragon Master," she said in a passable impression of his voice.
Lance snorted and refused to acknowledge this, moving on as Duplica sniggered behind him.
After approaching Sabrina with an update ("He refuses to refer to me as anything besides that horrid nickname. If I didn't find Mewtwo so fascinating and think that he's near the end of his training, I wouldn't want to teach them at all again," she said with a sniff, turning away. Lance had the feeling that she wasn't as firm in her resolution as she wanted to seem), Lance drifted towards the tables, resplendent with various hors-d'oeuvres, and began filling a small plate. As he turned away, he caught the eye of one of the quieter Masters.
"Master Lance," Giovanni said in a low voice. "Many of our peers seem captivated by one that they call your charge. I cannot imagine that you would have a child around you, especially one at the age that they insist he is, without informing me? I would have been very interested in introducing any child of yours to my own son, as well as helped mold him into as respected a Trainer as you or I."
Lance paused with a grape halfway to his mouth. "I'm sorry, Giovanni; it must have slipped my mind that you have a son around Ash's age. I didn't think to inform you or ask you for help as most of the Masters I have been working with on his behalf are simply Masters in the Type of his Pokémon companions. Anything else you have heard I can only say is speculation, as I haven't told many others about his existence. I don't see it as so huge of a thing that I need to send out a message to all Masters about it. Would you mind telling me about your son? I don't think I've heard much of him from you."
"Oh, Kamon? He's nothing too noteworthy," Giovanni said dismissively. "Eager to please, constantly begging for attention. He's been easier to control now that he has a Houndour of his own to amuse him." After a slightly too long pause, Giovanni hastily added, "And yours? What is he like?"
"Ash is very loving," Lance said, uncertainly noting Giovanni's demeanor, "and he takes insult very harshly. He doesn't like strangers too much and likes to seclude himself away in these days, though I don't try and force him to socialize as much as I used to. He has built up a solid circle of friends for himself, and he has his own Pokémon to train with as he wishes."
"Ah, you mentioned that earlier; is his name Ash?" Giovanni's lip curled upwards slightly. "How interesting."
Lance shrugged. "I guess it is. Not a very popular name, but he seems to like it enough." He noticed Daisy waving to him from behind Giovanni, Brock awkwardly standing next to her. "If you'll excuse me, it seems that I have a mermaid to please," he said wryly.
"Of course. You wouldn't want to get on a siren's bad side. I should know." Giovanni nodded to Lance as he hurried past.
"Lance!" Daisy cooed, hugging him the second she could reach the Dragon Master. "You don't visit anymore; the girls were so looking forward to getting to see you again."
"Well, you've met the person taking up all of my time," Lance replied, giving Brock a nod. "How are the girls, anyhow?"
"Well, Violet and Lily are, like, as flighty as ever," Daisy said, wrinkling her nose slightly. "I swear, the only reason they're still Trainers is because we have to work with any new Pokémon we get to make sure they're ready for our shows. They do love teaching all of my Pokémon new, 'more beautiful' moves, so I guess I can't be too upset with them." A grin curled around Daisy's lips. "Our li'l Misty is getting ready to start adventuring for new Pokémon to try out. I wouldn't be surprised if she comes back with, like, half of the world's Tentacool. I'm pretty sure she's also secretly preparing to challenge me for my title one day, but we'll see how successful she is when she gets there."
"Misty? The little redhead that had two Staryu following her around everywhere?" Lance asked, gesturing by his waist to signify her height.
"She's a bit taller than that now, but yes! Those Staryu love her," Daisy said, rolling her eyes. "I swear, she bewitched them somehow. They spent their first two days with us soaking Violet as she tried to get them to listen to her and have since been crowded around Misty as if there's no tomorrow. She's just as fond of them, which is all the better."
"That sounds like how Forrest acts," Brock piped up. "He's been trailing me around, begging for a Rhyhorn of his own. It's cute when it's not annoying."
"Oh, but we didn't call you over to talk about our squirts!" Daisy interrupted, looking sheepish. "As much as we love them, we wanted to ask about one of yours! Specifically, a little round-ish one. How is he doing?"
"As well as he could be," Lance said. "Perhaps he will always be a bit behind the others, but he is very diligent when it comes to improving."
"Of course he is, we trained him," Daisy said almost dismissively. "I might not have the experience with his species as Brock does, but if there's anyone who needs a good dose of creativity, it's him, and if there's anyone who can teach him that, it's me. After this year, I'm going to have him swimming in circles around the others on land."
"How is he going to swim on land?" Brock asked, risking a sidelong glance at Daisy and averting his gaze quickly when it didn't settle on her face.
The Water Master waved her hand dismissively. "That's for me to know and you boys to find out," she said.
Lance shook his head. Daisy's flair for the dramatic wouldn't ever be truly tempered, it seemed. He left the two Masters lightly bickering over the balance of dual-type Pokémon and which of their two types they would together make sure Fossil specialized in. Lance felt no need to join that particular debate. He had one final Master he wanted to speak with before retreating to his room.
Samuel Oak had never been a very extroverted man, though he was warm and friendly and easy to talk to. His genial personality was part of the reason why his fame as a Professor had grown—he wasn't only an intelligent man but also a caring man, known both for his impeccable research as well as his vast ranch where his sponsored Trainers left their Pokémon to be taken care of. It was perhaps a more symbiotic relationship than just that; any Pokémon left at the ranch were left there with the understanding that the Professor could use them as subjects for his research into Pokémon-human relationships.
The model was incredibly successful. Lance knew of many researchers who wished their work was as easy to modify.
At the moment, Professor Oak was speaking in low tones to Blaine. Lance couldn't quite make out what they were speaking on, and when they noticed him approaching, Blaine abruptly stopped speaking, nodding brusquely to Professor Oak before bustling away in a rush.
"I apologize for interrupting whatever that was," Lance said, gesturing at the retreating man.
There was an odd look in Samuel's eyes as he watched Blaine. "I'm not particularly sure what that was either," he said slowly. "Master Blaine had just run up blustering about a child and another Master and how we need to watch out for someone, but he seemed a bit… paranoid? He didn't seem sure of who to talk to about all of this. He's most likely going to approach you as soon as he gets all of the information that he thinks he needs."
Lance made a noncommittal noise.
"Was there something you needed?" Professor Oak prompted.
"Oh, right. I wanted to ask how Gary was doing—I've been getting a lot of nudges from certain people."
Samuel chuckled. "Ah, yes, my incorrigible grandson. He's a real peach, isn't he?"
"If peaches were crabapples," Lance said.
"Exactly. He's doing well enough; I gave him an egg on his seventh birthday to start generally teaching him how to care for a Pokémon. Blue wanted me to give him one of Charizard's kids like how I gave him one when he was younger, but I think I've chosen a better Pokémon for Gary."
"I assume that I'm not allowed to know which one," Lance said.
Professor Oak merely responded with a smirk that both his son and his grandson inherited from him.
Lance sighed.
"I assume that the children want to see Gary again," Professor Oak said.
"That is, in fact, a popular request," Lance said drily.
Samuel chuckled. "I'll see what I can do. Blue's been getting ready to challenge Giovanni for his title this upcoming year, so I find myself watching the little monster more often. He feels bad asking Yellow to help out, and even when she does, she's usually at the lab anyhow."
"Ah, that's right—how is Yellow doing, anyways?"
"Better." The Professor frowned slightly. "Struggling with all of the paperwork she needs to fill out, on top of it all. One of the other researchers has been staying with her. The two are as close as sisters at this point; it's quite refreshing to see. Delia has always been a sweet girl."
"That's good to hear," Lance said. "I'm sure that the kids would appreciate getting to see Gary again; it's been almost a month since they last saw him and a couple in particular have been getting a bit antsy."
Professor Oak nodded to him, and the two men made quick plans before saying their goodbyes.
"So what're we gonna do today, Lance?" Ash was bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly excited to get started. "More dodges? More jabs? More work on combination moves? Oh, can we please work on more combination moves? I swear that Egg and Fossil have one that'll knock your socks off!"
Lance patiently waited for Ash to run out of breath. "Before you get started again," he quickly said, cutting off Ash's next words, "we will be doing something that you're going to view as much, much more boring than any of that."
He watched Ash deflate slightly. "Oh. What are we doing, then?"
"Do you remember your first day of training?" Lance asked.
Ash deadpanned. "Please don't tell me that we're throwing Pokéballs again. I thought I learned all of that."
"You did—but we didn't cover where your Pokéballs go on your body. Now that you're comfortable with moving around and actually battling in both formal and informal settings, we can start talking about preparing for matches and battles."
Lance could see Ash starting to perk up again. "So, still talking about battling, right?" the boy said cautiously.
"Ash, when don't you talk about battling?" Lance asked, amused.
"Point. So?"
Lance opened the box he had brought with him. Ash scrambled over to peer inside interestedly. He began to pull out the articles inside and look at them, mildly baffled.
"Clothes?" he asked, sounding unimpressed.
Lance cracked a smile. "You don't seem enthusiastic anymore," he said. "Remember, your friends may never have to wear clothes unless it's an extreme emergency, but they're generally required in human society."
Ash looked at him flatly.
Lance reached over and took the folded shirt from Ash. "Let's take a closer look at this. These are traveling clothes, yes, but they are pretty high-quality since it's easier to learn about the best and then decide what aspects you personally care less about." He quickly unfolded the shirt and held it up. "What's the first thing you notice about this shirt?"
Ash furrowed his brow. "It's smooth?"
"Exactly. This is most likely partially made of Cinccino fur, which naturally produces and retains a sort of oil thought to be a skin treatment. While I don't know too much on that, it does provide the shirt a crisp look when put on." He handed the shirt to Ash. "Do you notice anything else?"
The boy looked at the white button-up. "The buttons look pretty standard, but there's no reason to get all fancy with those, I guess," he said slowly, poking around the shirt. "I guess it feels pretty warm, even though I'm not wearing it, but I don't think anyone would overheat in it."
"Excellent deduction," Lance declared, catching a proud grin from Ash. "There is some sort of wool in the cloth blend; I would assume Wooloo, as anything from the Mareep line would have static that's hard to comb out, no matter how much time you spend. There must also be some sort of temperature-wicking threads woven into the shirt. Again, I don't know too much about fabric engineering, but I would assume some of it comes from a member of the Cottonee line. Rest assured, none of the Pokémon mentioned would need to be hunted for this shirt; all of them would lose the fibers used naturally, and some are very willing to donate any of their excess. All in all, a relatively simple shirt that both looks good and feels good in all weather. I would still recommend wearing a coat when it's exceedingly cold or finding an even lighter blend for when it's exceedingly hot, but those are specific examples and not really considered part of a weather norm. You can choose to get a cheaper shirt that wrinkles easily, or has a much shorter temperature limit." Lance quickly refolded the shirt and set it aside. "What else is in that box?"
Ash seemed much more enthusiastic about this venture now. He quickly reached in and pulled out a pair of jeans. "These!" he said.
"Alright, start poking around. What do you notice about those?"
Ash looked hard at the trousers. He picked them up, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. "They're pretty thick. Still lighter than I expected," he commented.
"They're made of a much denser fabric weave, still probably Cottonee or Whimsicott. The thickness probably speaks to their durability while they're still temperature-wicking. Anything else?"
Ash frowned as he poked around the top of the jeans. "These pockets couldn't fit everything that's in mine. I don't think I like that," he said.
"That's going to be because most Trainers don't really carry all of their Pokéballs in their pockets," Lance commented, "but we'll get to that. The only things that a Trainer is expected to carry with them is maybe a wallet and a badge case, and even then, it's generally good practice to keep that in a travel bag or in an inner jacket pocket. As such, pockets on pants, while still large enough to fit some of whatever you may want, aren't too utilitarian."
Ash kept poking around, though the final details were more universal for jeans rather than specifics that Trainers' jeans were built with. He then reached back into the box and pulled out a cap.
"Nothing too out of the ordinary for that one, either. These hats are usually worn with the sun in mind; generally, Trainers prefer not getting the sun in their eyes, and they are able to soak up some amount of sweat on hot days. Just remember to keep it clean or else your skin won't be too happy."
The final item in the box was a leather belt, preset with six clips on the right side.
"What you're holding is perhaps the most important part of a Trainer's arsenal," Lance said. "That's what we call a belt holster."
"Belt holster?" Ash repeated, poking at the clips.
"Yep. This is a standard holster—all Trainers have permission to have six Pokémon available to them at all times. Trainers who prove capable of caring for more than that can get their limit extended, though the League is generally pretty stingy about giving those permissions to Trainers. The Masters you've been working with have all been granted permission to carry double that—we can all carry up to twelve. That's also to keep wishful Trainers on their toes; while we're known to use certain Pokémon, our actual battling parties can differ as much or as little as we want them to. It's meant to encourage Trainers to come up with strategies against our Type specialty or battle style rather than counters for our specific Pokémon." Lance shrugged. "Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't."
"So, I'm a standard Trainer?" Ash asked.
"As of when you turn ten," Lance corrected. "I wouldn't be surprised if you qualified for a three-Pokémon extension in your first year formally Training. You've still got a couple of years to go until then, so don't get too many ideas."
Ash's eyes glowed at the idea of having even more friends around. He didn't even seem to catch what those last words Lance said were.
"How does it work?" Ash asked.
Lance responded by taking off his own holsters and setting them on the table in front of him. "As you can see, holsters can be of many different shapes and sizes," he said, gesturing towards the gloves in front of him. It felt strange to be without them; even on days when Lance only had a few of his team members with him, he had his gloves on. "The belt is standard; most Trainers start with them. I still prefer using a belt holster when I'm not out on a mission or in the field. You gradually come to learn exactly what is more conducive to your style of battling. I found myself unable to completely twist around to grab some of my team members, which was unacceptable to me in a high-risk situation, so I had these made for me." He showed Ash the panel of six Pokéballs neatly grouped together on the inside of each wrist. "The clips react both to the inherent electromagnetism within Pokémon as well as the material that the Pokéballs themselves are made of and cling to them. It takes a bit of finger strength to detach them. Once you do, you treat them as you would any shrunken Pokéball. It's generally regarded as good conduct to put the exact number of Pokéballs on your belt as you have teammates; for you, for example, you might keep Egg's Pokéball on your belt even if he's out and about to signify that he is officially on your team rather than a surprise seventh team member."
Ash made a sound of understanding, though he still seemed a bit confused. He reached into a pocket and brought out the handful of Pokéballs that his friends were currently inside. As was custom at this point, Ash quickly let Egg out, reshrinking his Pokéball after the Pikachu crossly shook out the last remnants of stasis from his head and turned to his Trainer with an adoring look in his eyes. Ash absentmindedly started petting the Pokémon while looking at the holster.
"Just try it for now," Lance suggested. "Once we start training, you'll be able to vocalize exactly what you like and don't like about it, and we can talk about what other kinds of holsters you might prefer."
The boy nodded, satisfied at the suggestion. He began to carefully clip the Pokéballs available to him, including Egg's empty Pokéball. There was one space left after he was done, and he had made sure to put that farthest behind him.
"Starting from today, I'll expect to see you at least in that holster, at best in all of that," Lance said, nodding to the pile of clothes. "You might be used to your own clothes right now, but there could be a chance that you have to defend yourself with travelling clothes on, and I'd rather you prepare for it now rather than have to deal with it on the fly."
Ash nodded his assent, and Lance dismissed him for the afternoon. They would train on the combination moves that Ash so desperately wanted to learn about that evening, but Lance had a few things to take care of first.
Blaine ended up tracking Lance down near the end of the Masters' gathering. He looked terrible; his dark sunglasses weren't enough to hide the deep bags under his eyes and the fine silk shirt he typically wore looked crumpled and stained, as though he hadn't changed his clothes throughout the week that the Masters had been at the League. Lance almost didn't recognize the typically proud man, though he had heard of more Masters wondering his absence. Surge in particular had bemoaned that he didn't have the chance to pummel him into the ground.
"Lance!" Blaine hissed to him. Lance turned to see the Fire Master peering around a door, nervously glancing around the room to ensure that the other Masters hadn't noticed him. Blaine gestured for Lance to follow after him. By the time Lance had managed to sneak out unseen, the man had disappeared. A rectangular orange Pokémon that darted back and forth in the air gave an electronic chirp before whizzing down the hall, forcing Lance to jog to keep up with hit. The Heat-forme Rotom guided Lance through the League building and into Blaine's room. It hit the touch-activated pad on the door with a single spark, making the door splutter and swing open gently.
Blaine's room was as much a mess as he was. Lance was shocked at the change; the Fire Master had always been impeccably organized, books arranged in alphabetical order by author's last name, papers neatly slotted into manila folders, which themselves were inserted into large butterfly files that the old man dragged with him everywhere. When Lance first obtained his Charizard, at the time a freshly hatched Charmander, he had visited Blaine to ask after information on how to raise him. Blaine had merely had to walk to a specific bookshelf, pull out an overflowing file, and hand Lance the entire thing, filled with diagrams and papers and references to more esoteric tomes all about the Charmander line. Lance remembered asking him exactly why he was so meticulous in his filing.
Blaine had glanced about his study (bookshelves filled only with a countless number of those butterfly files, a single coffee mug sitting on a desk besides his large computer set-up) and shrugged. "My best explanation is that my surroundings usually reflect my mind. If I'm extremely frantic and stressed, I tend to falter in my fastidiousness." Blaine gestured wildly. "I've seen my research destroyed once before—I was grateful at the time, if you can believe that, and I still am grateful, to be honest—but that resulted in a lot of scatterbrained behavior, and my house was an utter mess. Thankfully, I recovered fairly quickly. It was a bit abnormal, truly; usually it takes me quite a few months to recover from such a mental state."
The room that greeted Lance was in complete disarray. Papers were thrown across every available surface, with small patches of floor visible such that one could teeter to the door if need be. None of Blaine's Pokémon had been released besides his Rotom; Lance assumed it was because of the walking fire hazards that he trained; his Charizard alone was enough to burn the entire League down without a single thought, let alone all of his paperwork. Some seemingly important papers had been pinned to the walls haphazardly, white paper stark against the dark crimson of Blaine's quarters.
"Blaine?" Lance called out hesitantly.
"I'm back here! Give me a second—" Lance heard some crashing from behind a door, and the Fire Master stumbled out of his bathroom. His round spectacles had been perched on top of his head, revealing bloodshot eyes, and there was water still dripping down his face. For the first time, Blaine looked extremely old to Lance. He blearily stumbled over, rubbing at his face. Papers crumpled under his feet.
"You look horrible," Lance said.
Blaine gave him a weary glare. "I'm no spring chicken but that gives you no right."
"I'm not even talking about your age. You look like a stampede of Tauros has been chasing you for a solid week and finally caught up to you," Lance retorted.
"Fair. There's more to that, though." Blaine maneuvered himself to his small kitchenette, dug out a bit of fruit leather, and angrily gnawed at it while turning to the papers he had pinned to the wall. He gestured for Lance to come over, snorting derisively as the Dragon Master took care to step over some of the sheets of paper scattered across the floor. By the time Lance had joined him, he had found some bit of charcoal in his pocket and was furiously scrawling revisions to the wall papers.
"Do you recognize this person?" Blaine asked abruptly, stabbing at a blurry photo with the charcoal. Lance examined the photo more carefully: it appeared to be taken from security footage, and its resolution was terrible. All he could really make out was a towering hulk of a man, someone with broad shoulders and a rigid posture that claimed authority.
"I don't know if I can from this image," Lance said.
"Look closely, Dragon boy," Blaine snapped. "Doesn't he strike you as familiar?"
Lance indulged the man another look. He observed the man's surroundings more this time: the lights were thrown behind him, obscuring his face even more than the camera quality normally would. It didn't help him elucidate the man's identity any further, and he told Blaine as such.
The Fire Master suddenly drooped, losing all of the wind in his sails. "Then there's no hope, at least for now," he muttered.
"Come again?"
Blaine leaned forward, tracing the outline of the man faintly with the charcoal he still held. "I never really knew who this man was," he said ruefully. "All I knew was that he was sponsoring my research. He would come, face obscured with whatever he felt like, voice altered by some technology, and demand results. We gave them to him because we didn't know any better. I left that lab after the funding ran out. A month later, I hear word that an associated lab exploded and burned to the ground and all of my data from the past ten years disappeared. I've been combing security footage and finally found this picture. This one picture of this man without anything to disguise himself, and yet I'm still unable to identify him."
"I'm really sorry Blaine, but why is this relevant to me?"
Blaine stared at the rest of the papers on the wall. "I can give you a few reasons," he said after a long pause. "One: my research was at the time was mainly in genetic material that this man claimed was from the legendary Mew itself, and how to manipulate it for a purpose. Two: you'll want to see this" –he carefully unpinned one sheet of paper and handed it to Lance—"perhaps scrutinize it before giving it back. Be wary of how you get it back to me; I don't want it traced. And third: I have every reason to suspect that this mysterious sponsor is at the very least tied to one of the other Masters with us this week."
Blaine ushered him out of the room immediately after that revelation, urging him to look over the paper in private (where Lance knew there weren't security cameras to pick up on their behavior) and speak with him again. Lance risked a glance down at the paper in his hands.
The very top of the form was labelled "PROJECT: TRAINER. FINAL ASSESSMENT."
Lance wasn't sure whether to be disturbed or disappointed that the assessment notes hadn't seemed too out of the ordinary or menacing outside of its title. On the whole, the paper was filled with detached notes on the subject in question: measurements of growth, results of endurance and speed tests, even down to the rate at which the subject's fingernails and hair grew. There was no physical description of the subject itself, but something about the way the paperwork was worded reminded Lance of words that he heard recited from a young boy long ago.
The last part of the report read "Testing is proving favorable. Already milestones are being crossed leaps and bounds faster than previous to TRAINER's development. All other PROJECTS view TRAINER as center of world—exactly as planned. We (the life development team) believe that TRAINER will be ready for training come next week. Head of life development is optimistic. Further reports will be submitted by the training team."
Blaine's spiky script and uncertain skepticism was unmistakable as well as the jargon that he used. Something began to crawl through Lance's insides, turning them chilly in one second and then sending them roiling the next. He didn't know whether he felt nauseous, upset, furious, or all three at the same time. All that he knew was that he would want more answers before returning to talk to Blaine.
And that left him where he was now, standing in front of Ash's room.
He knocked lightly before quickly letting himself in, as was his habit. To Lance's surprise, only Amber and the indistinct form of Program were in the room. He surmised that the others were off training in a separate arena, leaving Amber to juggle small Aura Spheres and Program to focus on trying to maintain a physical form.
Lance noticed Ash's Pokédex lying on a table. He took mental note to reprimand Ash later for not keeping it on his person before picking it up and plugging in the USB that Duplica had loaned to him. After transferring the data to the attached Porygon projector, he called Program over.
"Our resident Normal Master developed a new file that she thinks might help stabilize you more; would you mind taking a look and trying it out?" he asked. The sentient data whirred [happily?] before buzzing into the machine. Lance saw Program's form blink on-screen (a more indistinct pink-blue bird-like shape, fuzzier than a Porygon's should be) before the Pokémon manifested as a strange ghost-like figure in front of him. Program gave an 8-bit cackle as it managed to keep its form rather than suddenly phasing into a new one. Amber began to happily applaud the Pokémon as Program dove through the air, morphing through different shapes seemingly with ease.
"Glad that's working for you," Lance said. He was much more reluctant about his next task. "Amber, could I speak with you for a second? Is there even a way to?"
The Riolu gave him a look as though she were caught in headlights, but she dutifully walked over. "I've talked to Ash and Mewtwo but I was curious about your perspective. Can you describe your life pre-League?"
Amber went perfectly still. Her eyes were locked on Lance, startled at his request.
"You don't have to go into any more detail than you want to," Lance promised. "I learned something today and I wanted to compare a few things."
Amber didn't look convinced by Lance's vague reasoning (which was understandable) but she still plopped down on the ground. She glanced at Program (now a strangely solid mass of pixels) and crooned something. Program immediately whirred and threw itself at the Pokédex.
"Of course, Master Lance," a robotic voice played from the device.
Now it was Lance's turn to look startled.
"Egg and I discovered this feature the other day," Amber said through Program. "It is quite useful, if you ask me. Program is much smarter than perhaps many take him to be and found a text-to-voice program in the Pokédex. He simply has to input what I say and, with some mild delay, you can hear it in your own tongue. But that is neither here nor there. Could you repeat your request, Master Lance?"
"Just Lance is fine," he corrected automatically.
"I'm afraid the expectations of my species don't allow me to call you Just Lance," she said. Lance saw the amusement in the Riolu's expression.
"Of course." He cleared his throat. "I guess… would you mind starting from your name? Egg and Fossil and even Program are a bit easy to extrapolate, but Amber seems a little bit… perhaps, random? Random isn't the correct word—it doesn't quite follow the logic of the other names."
"I do see what you mean," Amber mused. "Program was the first, programmed into existence. It is easy enough to code an artificial consciousness now. I believe Fossil came next, as the technology of revitalizing ancient remains slowly came about. Egg was after that—a study in the altering of pre-existing DNA within a fertilized Egg. The scientists used those experiments to verify what they already knew: that DNA and RNA and all that goes into one's biology are now mere toys, paints with which one can create the exact masterpiece that one desires.
"Amber came next."
"You came next?" Lance asked.
Amber shook her head. "No. Amber came next." She seemed to emphasize the name.
"Aren't you Amber?"
A bark of rueful laughter. "To be exact, I'm technically Amberthree. Amber herself was Ambertwo. Amberone was, to my knowledge, a little girl who died from a strain of the flu at the age of six."
Lance felt his blood run cold.
"From what I know, Amberone is completely unrelated to our story. She was born from a mother, nurtured by her parents, and died quietly in her sleep." Amber shrugged. "Humans mourn such losses more intently than Pokémon do. I guess it's something hardwired within us to grieve for such a short time; nature is cruel in the ubiquity of its effects, after all. We all die, and in death we come anew. But Ambertwo was created because the head of life development was Amberone's father, and he mourned the death of his daughter far too deeply. He threw himself into the past rather than trying to look forward to the future."
Amber snorted derisively. "From what I recall, his-wife-Amberone's-mother left him after he became obsessed with the idea of bringing Amberone back to life. A week later, Ambertwo stabilized and began to grow. Before she could be connected to the others, she died. It became obvious to the scientists that they couldn't just take old DNA from a dead subject and expect to create something that could last. Even Fossil, whose creation process was most similar, has been stabilized with Cradily DNA, without which he couldn't exist.
"So, they tried again. This time, they decided to focus on Amberone's aura.
"It's surprisingly easy to extract aura, even if you don't know what you're doing. They managed to get enough aura to encourage self-sustenance and then they made it a vessel. One who was naturally good at manipulating and channeling aura."
"You?" Lance said.
"Me. Technically, I'm Project: Aura, but being composed primarily of another being's aura means that I'm technically more Amber than whatever non-Amber there was prior." Amber looked grim at that statement. "I'd rather be acknowledged as mostly-Amber now."
"But you aren't technically Amber herself?"
"I mean, I am Amber in many ways," the Riolu tried to explain. "I remember looking into the mirror and seeing a human girl with teal colored hair. I remember greeting my father with happiness and I remember how it felt to speak to humans and be understood. I remember hugging my stuffed animals and being tucked to bed by my mother. But I'm aware enough to know that those aren't actually my memories. I know that if I tried to talk to you or Ash without Program, then it would sound garbled and unintelligible at best. It's probably stranger to hear it described than to live it."
"It is, in fact, extremely weird to hear described," Lance said.
Amber smiled softly. "Mewtwo and Ash thought so, too. After I was successfully created, there was one final Pokémon Project. This Project was one that was meant to outshine the rest of us. We were all tests to find out how to artificially recreate life from a simple DNA chain. There were countless other tests that failed, other Ambertwo-like creatures that didn't live for longer than a week, some who didn't even gain consciousness. Finally, the researchers created something stable, something viable. The scientists carefully built that DNA sequence from one that they got from who-knows-where, and they injected that into a Ditto cell and gradually nurtured it until it grew strong enough to reach out, searching for friends. When I met it for the first time, it was in our collective mindscape. Egg had been trying to teach us how to make electricity to no avail. Fossil and Program were just floating around. And we all heard this voice call out. We followed it to find a curled up Pokémon that neither I nor the other Ambers had never seen before.
"He called himself Mewtwo."
"Mewtwo," Lance repeated, more to attempt to stay on track with the story that Amber had poured out to him.
"Mewtwo was kind enough, though uncertain of what to do. I think he must have seen me as Amber and not as a Riolu, as he asked me about how to work the radio and what a stuffed plushie was," she said. "He also asked what tears were, when one of the other experiments failed and we watched them fade away. He tried to understand everything about what being alive meant, and he was so concerned about his focus, his goal. He felt aimless. To be truthful, we all felt aimless. We had all grown up in this large blank space with no idea of what we could do. You can only run through six years of memories for so long; the others didn't even have memories outside of our abilities. We replayed Amber's memories so often that they no longer excited us.
"And then Ash appeared, the same way that Mewtwo did.
"Ash was different. Ash was loud and boisterous and wanted to know everything. He didn't have any old memories, but he knew how to speak and read and write and move immediately. He knew how to laugh and love and connect with us all. Somehow, we all knew that he was like Egg and Program and Fossil and not like me and Mewtwo. Ash was the first and only human to be created from scratch and somehow sustain himself. I suspect it's the vast amount of aura that pulses from his system." She shivered. "Honestly, simply being around him can be intoxicating. Perhaps that is why so many humans flock to him.
"Suddenly, Mewtwo and I had a focus. Ash wanted to learn how to speak to us, really communicate with us with his voice and gestures. We all patiently worked for hours to help him perfect some amount of what you call Pokéspeech, as well as teach him how to access the aura inside of him to touch the others around him. Humans can't understand Pokémon normally, but we could replicate the connection that Pokémon have with one another by mimicking it with the aura that Ash instinctively knew how to wield. After Ash was satisfied with that, we followed his lead. He would invent games for us, he would run around with us, he was exactly what he needed.
"And then we woke up."
She fell silent.
"You woke up?" Lance said.
"Yes," Amber said flatly. "I do not know if I can really describe what that was like. I was treated just like one of the Pokémon at that point, and we were treated well enough, I guess. Ignored, for the most part. It was Ash and Mewtwo that the other humans cared so much about. You should ask them if you're still curious."
Lance debated on insisting that she keep telling her story, but something stopped him. No matter how fantastical her descriptions seemed, Lance had the feeling that there was a solid kernel of truth. There was no reason for the Riolu to make anything up; she could have just said that she was named for her eyes, or that it was an acronym for something mundane. To go into such detail about her old life to someone she had barely known for a year? Lance felt humbled that she felt comfortable enough to tell him as much as she had.
"Thank you so much, Amber," he said as firmly as he could. "I don't think I'll need to ask any more of you on that today."
The Riolu shrugged lackadaisically. "As long as Program is around, I can answer questions," she said. "And I am sure that Egg or Fossil would be able to tell you as much. We are all very grateful that you took us in with nary a spare thought; Mewtwo has always said it was admirable of you to do so."
Lance blinked. "It was the right thing to do," he said.
"Not many good people do the right thing," Amber said gravely. She growled something else, but it must have been an aside to Program as he didn't bother translating it. "The others may return soon. If you have any further queries, they may be able to answer them. I'd like to go back to practicing my dexterity."
"By juggling?"
Amber barked out a laugh again.
Lance watched her juggle four Aura Spheres for a minutes before deciding that their conversation was enough for now and that he wanted to take note of what he was told. He could easily return to ask for clarification, especially since his audience seemed more than willing to clear anything up. Lance bid Amber and Program farewell.
"Can you describe what this Project: Trainer was?"
Blaine stared at the steam gently drifting up from his cup for a second. "I wasn't privy to the entire plan," he admitted. "I was just a laboratory scientist, asked to take notes on what experimentation the head of the team conducted. It was simple enough; many of the Projects expired in the beginning, some before they even had the chance to develop. Project: Trainer was completed much faster than Project: Pokémon was, but that was because we had found a method that worked well enough in that first stage."
"Could you elaborate on what 'method' you're referring to?"
Blaine's gaze darted to Lance's. "I have your word that I won't be treated as colluding with these criminals?" he checked.
"Of course not. You are a Master now, and while that would normally be enough, you clearly regret your decisions. No court would want to throw you in with the rest of these scientists," Lance said.
Blaine relaxed slightly. "We figured out how to patch the broken DNA together, to improve it. Sometimes, it was finding a Pokémon of the same formal egg group to use as a base. Sometimes, it was knowing that another species had an exact trait that we wanted the latest Project to have. We spliced together extinct species easily, and I think once we managed to find the exact genetic sequence in Ninjask that gives them their blinding speed and coaxed it to activate in a Field-group egg. We toyed with life, Master Lance.
"It's a heady feeling, to know how to manipulate such things, to know what Mew herself might have felt while creating life. DNA is generally the same throughout all species of life, flora or fauna, and the minute differences mean a world of differences. One wrong base-pair change led to an entire Project needing to be scrapped. Projects fell apart after weeks of faux stability. It was so unbelievably stressful, and when all of our tests would come back positive for longevity as well as the results we wanted, we celebrated. So few Projects survived, but they were beyond comprehension in their survival. It was beautiful to witness.
"The first time I had the thought that something was off was in my third year working for the team." Blaine leaned back. "Our group was deemed 'life development.' Surprisingly vague title for the specificity of the work we were performing. I was generally too busy to think twice of whatever it was we were doing, but I remember specific memories standing out, or rather, a specific lack thereof."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, any scientist or researcher worth their salt would tell you that it feels as though funding is so precious and grants never-ending. I can reassure you that when I headed my own lab, my pile of grant applications never seemed to go away no matter how hard I tried. I never saw our team leader fill out a single grant application, and I never questioned where our seemingly unending funds came from. The day after one team member idly mentioned some device they had heard of that might help, it would appear in the lab. And yet, not a single paper or even a figure was published in all my years of working in that lab. None of it made sense. Why perform experiments if we weren't going to report on it to the world at large?"
"You think your work wasn't meant to target the scientific community." It wasn't a question.
Blaine looked blankly at the papers he had left pinned to his wall. The papers strewn on the ground had been hastily cleared away, but the haphazard bits tacked up were still there. "If it was, there was no need for the secrecy that I saw," he answered finally. "None of it added up. I didn't understand."
Lance followed Blaine's gaze to the papers. The notes scrawled on those pages seemed incomplete, half-finished. They seemed to be waiting for something to be added to them.
"Who was your team leader, anyhow?" Lance asked. "Surely they could explain to us further what was happening, or perhaps at the very least answer a few of your questions."
"That's the most insidious thing of all," Blaine growled. "I can't for the life of me remember his name."
Lance blinked. "Come again?"
Blaine stood up and walked over to the papers on the wall. "I must have known the man's name. He was a fiery, passionate person. We got along very well on a personal level. It couldn't have been a secret from me, but no matter how hard I try to remember his face or anything about him, I can't recall. His face is a haze, his voice a garble, and his name a complete mystery." Blaine turned to Lance. "This was all of two years ago. I left as soon as I was no longer needed, as I didn't want to be more involved than that. My memory is not horrible. I should remember that man. It's like there's a block in my head; only this past year did I even remember that I was part of these Projects."
The Fire Master looked furious. "Something's messed with my head, Master Lance, and I don't know what or who to trust anymore."