Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon.
The oppressive weight of the summer heat pressed down on Jake Porter like an unrelenting force, turning every breath into a laborious task. The sun, a blazing orb of torment, hung high in the sky, its searing rays mercilessly scorching the earth below. Yet, despite the discomfort, Jake remained resolute, forcing himself to focus on the task ahead. Every fiber of his being was taut with tension, every sense heightened as he crouched behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak tree.
The Oak Laboratory loomed ahead, a stark monolith of glass and steel against the otherwise quaint backdrop of Pallet Town. The sleek, reflective surfaces of the building mirrored the surrounding landscape with an almost surreal clarity, making it seem both a part of and apart from the world around it. Jake's chest tightened as his pulse thudded in his ears, each beat a reminder of the risk he was taking. He clenched his fists, knuckles white, steeling himself for what lay ahead. His sharp green eyes flicked across the perimeter, searching for any sign of movement, any indication that he had been spotted. But the only sounds were the distant Pidgeys chirping and the faint leaves rustling in the breeze.
Jake tugged at the oversized collar of his shirt, the fabric threadbare and loose around his wiry frame. His unruly brown hair fell into his eyes again, no matter how many times he brushed it away. His jeans, frayed at the cuffs, hung low on his hips, telling a silent story of hand-me-downs and too many cold nights. With its small-town charm and quiet streets, Pallet Town felt like a world away from the life Jake had known. But he wasn't here for nostalgia or to reminisce. He was here to take a chance—a desperate gamble that could change his predicament.
He had overheard the conversation two nights ago in the dimly lit corner of the local cafe where he had been nursing a glass of hot momo milk. The older trainers had spoken in hushed, reverent tones about the legendary Professor Oak and his groundbreaking research. The excitement in their voices had stirred something in Jake—a flicker of hope, a whisper of opportunity. He had no idea who this professor was, but if the lab held even a fraction of the value those trainers believed, it could be Jake's ticket to a better life. He knew it was risky—more than risky—but after years of scraping by, he was willing to take that chance.
He pressed his back against the rough bark of the oak tree, his breath catching as he waited for the cameras to complete their sweep. Every second felt like an eternity, each moment stretching out in agonizing slow motion. Finally, when the coast was clear, Jake bolted from his cover, sprinting toward the lab's perimeter with a speed that belied his thin frame.
"Move it, Tide," he hissed over his shoulder, frustration lacing his voice as he spotted his Pokémon lagging behind. Tide, a Marshtomp with a perpetually laid-back demeanor, seemed wholly uninterested in the situation's urgency. His blue skin glistened in the sunlight, and his orange gills flared slightly as he plodded along at his own pace. "We'll be caught if you don't pick it up!"
Tide gave Jake a sidelong glance, letting out a low grunt that was half dismissal, half irritation. Jake rolled his eyes but didn't press the issue. He loved Tide, but the Pokémon's leisurely attitude was a constant source of frustration, especially now when every second counted.
A tall, imposing fence surrounded the property, but Jake had done his homework. He had scouted out a section where the ground dipped slightly, creating enough space to squeeze through. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Jake slid under the fence, the cool metal brushing against his back as he wriggled through.
On the other side, he waited for Tide, who squeezed through with considerably less urgency. Jake's eyes darted around, taking in the state-of-the-art security measures that dotted the lab grounds. These weren't the outdated cameras he had seen outside; these were newer, with advanced sensors and tracking capabilities that left no room for error. He had surveyed from a safe distance as much as possible—limited as it was—and knew that most of the staff were away on a field trip. If there was ever a time to act, it was now.
Jake moved forward, keeping low to the ground, his body tense and coiled like a spring ready to snap. The lab was a stark contrast to the rest of Pallet Town. Even as the town had grown, it retained its small-town feel, with quiet streets and modest buildings. But the lab was different—a gleaming testament to the future in the heart of the past. It was both alluring and intimidating, a place that seemed to whisper of secrets and untold knowledge.
He had no clear idea of what he was looking for—just a vague notion of finding something valuable enough to sell that could keep him and Tide afloat for a few more weeks. But there was more to it than that. Deep down, Jake knew he needed a win to prove to himself that he could turn their situation around.
"I'm going to have to recall you," Jake whispered as they reached the outer wall of the lab. "You're slowing us down."
But Tide refused, as stubborn as ever. Instead of complying, he responded by spraying Jake with a fine mist of water, causing him to shiver as the cool droplets soaked into his shirt.
"Are you kidding me?! That's my last clean shirt, you little—" Jake bit off the curse, glaring at Tide, who seemed utterly unrepentant. With a resigned sigh, Jake shook his head and pressed on, stretching the soaked shirt that now clung to his body like a second skin, the task's weight growing heavier with each step.
He flattened himself against the wall, straining to hear any sounds from within. The silence inside the lab was unsettling, amplifying the sound of Jake's ragged breaths. For a moment, his resolve wavered, a small voice in the back of his mind whispering that this might be a mistake. But he quickly shoved the thoughts aside. He had come too far to turn back now.
Sliding along the wall, Jake finally found a small side door, likely used by staff to slip in and out without drawing attention. He tested the handle—it was locked, as expected. But Jake had come prepared. His fingers trembled slightly as he pulled a small toolkit from his pocket, the adrenaline making his hands less steady than he would have liked. The lock was more complicated than he anticipated, but within a few tense minutes, he heard the satisfying click of success. Tide kept watch, his usually lazy eyes now alert as they scanned the area for any sign of danger.
Jake slipped inside, closing the door softly behind him, unaware that a hidden camera had already locked onto him and Tide. The corridor was dimly lit, the sterile, white light casting a cold glow that made everything feel clinical and detached. Jake's heart pounded in his ears as he crept down the hallway, his footsteps barely making a sound on the polished floor. Each step felt heavier than the last, his mind racing through a thousand scenarios, each more disastrous than the previous.
He passed a series of closed doors, each one labeled with names that his brain filtered out the moment they were perceived: "Genetic Sequencing Lab," "Energy Analysis," and "Behavioral Studies." None of these seemed like the right place. A door labeled "Library" caught his eye at the end of the corridor. Jake was about to pass it by when a sudden noise from Tide made him pause, followed by the faint sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Seeing no other option, he ushered Tide and himself inside. Thankfully, this was the one door that didn't require a keycard. The green-eyed boy stopped all his movement, putting his palm over Tide's mouth while pressing his ear to the door for the second time today, trying to hear any sound that could compromise them. Hearing the faint footsteps weakening, he deemed that it was safe enough to relax, removing his hand from his partner. Gesturing to Tide to be silent, he turned around, facing the room.
The library was a stark contrast to the rest of the lab. The dim, warm light cast a golden hue over the room, making the space feel almost inviting. Tall, imposing bookshelves lined the walls, packed with well-worn volumes that looked like they had been handled with care and respect over the years. The scent of aged paper and polished wood filled the air, a comforting reminder of simpler times.
Jake's plan had been straightforward: find something valuable and get out. Whatever he could grab and sell would be enough to keep him and Tide going for a while. But as he scanned the room, he saw nothing of obvious value. No rare machinery, no Pokémon eggs. Just books. Then, his eyes fell on a stack of volumes sitting on a large oak table in the center of the room. These weren't the typical scientific texts he had expected—they looked more like personal journals, with worn leather covers and yellowing pages.
Curiosity got the better of him. Jake reached out and picked up the top book, handling it with a caution born of experience. The first few pages were filled with scrawled handwriting, diagrams, and detailed notes on Pokémon training. As he flipped through, he realized it wasn't just any book—it was a collection of notes, almost like a guide or manual on Pokémon battles, strategies, and care. The writing's depth of knowledge and passion was unlike anything Jake had ever seen.
"This is amazing. Did I just strike gold?" Jake muttered, leaning closer to the pages. The notes were intricate, discussing advanced battle techniques, the psychology of Pokémon, and how to optimize their growth. The more he read, the more fascinated he became. Whoever had written this had a deep, almost intimate understanding of Pokémon—far beyond anything Jake had ever encountered.
Jake glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting someone to burst in and catch him in the act. But the room remained silent, save for the quiet hum of the air conditioning. Tide hung back by the door, his eyes fixed on something outside Jake's view. It was strange—Tide was usually more curious, especially when Jake was up to something risky. But maybe the Pokémon was just in one of his odd moods. Tide always had these phases, and Jake had learned to roll with them.
Jake shook his head, focusing once more on the book. He couldn't help but lose himself in the pages. The notes weren't just about battles; they also delved into the care of Pokémon, discussing how to nurture them physically and emotionally. This wasn't the usual "feed your Pokémon well and train them hard" advice—this was about understanding them, connecting with them on a deeper level, and using that bond to help them reach their potential. It was something Jake had never considered before. To him, Tide was his partner, his ally, but this was… something else entirely. The idea that maybe, just maybe, there was more to being a trainer than just winning fights began to take root in his mind, though it was still foreign, strange, and a little uncomfortable.
Jake was so engrossed in the book that he didn't notice the cameras tracking his every move, silent sentinels transmitting footage to a nearby monitoring room where Professor Gary Oak sat, watching with a mix of curiosity and amusement. Gary had stayed behind at the lab today, a rare occurrence given his usually packed schedule. The other staff members were away on a field trip, leaving him with the quiet of the lab—and now, apparently, an uninvited guest.
Gary Oak, now 28 years old, was no longer the brash, spiky-haired boy of his youth. His once rebellious locks had been tamed into a more professional style, though a few stubborn strands still stuck out at the edges. His sharp, dark, viridian eyes remained just as piercing, reflecting years of experience and wisdom. Clothed in a white lab coat over a casual shirt and jeans, he didn't exude the authority typically associated with his name.
Gary had caught the boy's attempt at sneaking in by chance as he passed by the monitor room, noting the way he handled himself with a mixture of confidence and recklessness. The kid had a talent for sticking to the shadows. That much was clear, but there was something else in his movements—desperation and recklessness. Despite his skill, the boy had been spotted by Gary's most hidden camera. It was clear the kid thought he was cleverer than he really was. Still, something about the boy intrigued Gary—maybe it was the raw determination in his eyes or the way he clung to that notebook as if it were the key to his future.
Finally, Gary decided it was time to confront the boy. He rose from his seat, smoothing his lab coat, and approached the library. He wasn't angry, not really—more curious than anything.
Jake was still engrossed in the book, oblivious to the world around him. The library door creaked open, and Jake's head snapped up, his heart leaping into his throat. He hadn't heard any footsteps, hadn't realized anyone was coming. He snapped the book shut and looked up, his eyes widening as a man in a white coat stepped into the room, his presence filling the space.
"Well, well," the man said, his voice calm but with an edge of authority. "I wasn't expecting visitors today, especially not someone as young as you."
Jake's mind raced. He hadn't planned for this—getting caught was not part of the plan. But he wasn't about to let this old man get the better of him. He leaned casually against the table, trying to look unfazed.
"Yeah, well, your hospitality leaves a lot to be desired. No welcome mat, no snacks… pretty rude if you ask me."
Gary smirked, unimpressed. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Sneaking into my lab, managing to get this far… But you're not as clever as you think you are."
Jake shrugged, his eyes darting to the door and then to Gary. "Clever enough to make it past your fancy cameras, though. Maybe you should invest in better security. I hear they have these new things called 'locks.' Might want to look into it."
"I think they work pretty well if I managed to corner you," Gary smirked, taking a step closer. He could see the boy tensing, his bravado slipping just a fraction.
Jake's eyes flicked to the window—a possible escape, but risky. Gary seemed to notice, shifting slightly as if to cut off that route. The air between them felt charged, both waiting for the other to make a move.
"Cornered? Don't think so, old man."
Jake's heart pounded, but he kept his face neutral. He couldn't let this guy see how nervous he was—he'd been in worse situations before, right? But deep down, a voice nagged at him: What if he was in over his head this time?
Gary's smirk faltered slightly, his dark viridian eyes narrowing. A flicker of annoyance passed through him at the boy's cheeky remark about his age. He had to remind himself to stay calm, not to let a kid get under his skin.
"Cheeky little brat, aren't you? But you're way over your head. Do you even know what you're looking for?"
Jake opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, a sudden burst of water shot through the air, striking the wall beside Gary with enough force to leave a dent. The professor instinctively ducked, surprised by the unexpected attack. He hadn't seen that coming.
Jake spun around, spotting Tide crouched low in the corner of the room, his eyes sharp and focused in a way Jake hadn't seen in a long time. For a moment, even Jake was taken aback by how his usually laid-back partner suddenly became so vigilant.
"Nice shot, Tide!" Jake called, trying to sound more confident than he felt. He turned back to Gary, flashing a cocky grin. "Looks like you're not so clever yourself. Cornered my ass."
Gary straightened his expression to one of genuine surprise. He hadn't even realized there was a Pokémon in the room. How had the Marshtomp managed to evade the cameras so well? This kid wasn't just resourceful—he was equipped with a Pokémon of impressive skill. A dangerous combination, Gary thought to himself.
But Jake wasn't sticking around to see how this played out. "Well, Professor, it's been fun, but I think it's time I made my exit."
With that, Jake sprinted towards the window. He fumbled for Tide's Poké Ball as he ran, the adrenaline scorching through his veins like wildfire. With a swift motion, he recalled Tide—Marshtomp wasn't exactly the fastest on his feet—and in one fluid movement, Jake launched himself at the window. The glass exploded around him, shards of glass catching the sunlight as Jake plunged through, a desperate bid for freedom in every motion.
He hit the ground hard but rolled expertly, the pain barely registering as he scrambled to his feet and took off running. Behind him, he could hear the distant sound of Gary shouting something, but he didn't stop to listen. All he could think about was getting away, putting as much distance between himself and the lab as possible.
As he disappeared into the trees surrounding Pallet Town, Jake finally allowed himself to breathe. His shirt was torn, and his body ached from the fall, but he was alive, and he had gotten away. Clutching the notebook tightly, he knew he'd found something valuable—maybe not in the way he'd initially intended, but useful nonetheless. For the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of hope.
The basement was a world apart from the bright, sunlit streets of Pallet Town. It was a place of shadows and silence, thick with dust and the stale scent of neglect. Boxes and old furniture were stacked haphazardly against the walls, forming dark, irregular shapes in the dim light filtering through a single, grimy window.
Jake Porter stumbled down the narrow staircase, his breath ragged and his body aching from the escape he had barely managed. His shirt was torn, and a shallow cut on his arm throbbed with each movement, a sharp reminder of just how close he had come to being caught. The wound wasn't deep, but it stung like fire, a pain that was as much a testament to his desperation as it was to his recklessness.
He didn't know whose house he had broken into—only that he needed somewhere to hide, somewhere out of sight where he could catch his breath and figure out his next move. With its cool, dark corners, the basement seemed like the perfect spot—quiet, isolated, and far from any prying eyes. But as Jake moved deeper into the shadows, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone.
"Great, just what I needed," Jake muttered under his breath, gingerly brushing past a stack of old crates. "Some creepy basement. This day keeps getting better."
Tide, his loyal Marshtomp, was at his side, his usual brightness dimmed by the tension in the air. The Pokémon's orange gills flared slightly as he scanned the room, his instincts on high alert. Tide wasn't typically one to spook easily, but there was something about the basement that set him on edge. Jake had learned to trust Tide's instincts more than his own, and the Pokémon's unease only added to his growing sense of dread.
Jake spotted a small nook between a pile of crates and the wall—just big enough for him and Tide to squeeze into. He moved toward it, favoring his uninjured side, but a strange, tingling sensation spread through his body as he was about to slide into the space. His muscles locked up, refusing to obey him. Panic surged through him as he realized what was happening.
No… No…, he thought frantically, trying to force his body to move, but it was useless. He was completely immobilized.
Out of the shadows, a Mr. Mime emerged, its eerie smile and glowing eyes sending a chill down Jake's spine. The Pokémon's hands were raised, maintaining the psychic hold over Jake with an unsettling ease. Jake had heard stories about Mr. Mime's powers—tales meant to scare the younger kids back at the orphanage, stories about how the Pokémon could paralyze you with a thought. But experiencing it firsthand was something entirely different. This wasn't a ghost story—it was his reality.
Tide, sensing his trainer's distress, let out a low growl, his body tensing as he tried to move to Jake's defense. But before he could do anything, Mr. Mime's eyes flashed again, and Tide, too, was frozen in place, unable to move a muscle.
Jake's heart pounded in his chest as he realized his dire situation. Injured, trapped, and at the mercy of a Pokémon he had no way of fighting against, he felt despair creeping in around the edges of his mind. This is it, he thought, a cold, sinking feeling settling in his stomach. There was no way out of this.
Time seemed to stretch into an eternity in the dim light of the basement. Each minute felt like an hour as Jake remained locked in place, his muscles aching from the unnatural stillness. The only sounds were the slow, methodical footsteps that began to echo down the stairs, growing louder with each step.
The man who appeared at the top of the stairs was tall and lean, his dark hair neatly styled in a way that suggested both a casual attitude and a hidden sharpness. He wore simple clothes—jeans and a black shirt—that made him appear like an ordinary guy, someone who might fix fences or work the fields like most people in this backwater town. But as he descended the stairs, there was something in his eyes, something keen and unsettling, that set Jake on edge. This was no ordinary man.
The man's sharp eyes scanned the room before settling on Jake, who remained frozen. "Now that's quite the predicament," he said, his tone light but edged with suspicion. "Gotta say this isn't what I expected when I heard the noise from down here. Usually, we have Rattata problems this time of the year."
Jake tried to speak, but his mouth refused to form the words. The psychic hold was still too strong. All he could manage was a muffled sound, frustration boiling inside him at his helplessness.
The man sighed, his expression one of mild annoyance. "Alright, Mimey, you can let him go. But stay close; this one looks like trouble."
Mr. Mime tilted his head slightly, considering the command before slowly lowering his hands. Instantly, the psychic hold released, and Jake stumbled forward, nearly collapsing from the sudden freedom of movement. The pain in his arm flared as he caught himself on a nearby crate, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out. Tide, too, was freed from the psychic grip and immediately rushed to Jake's side, glaring at the man and his Pokémon.
Before Tide could make a move, a yellow rodent with black stripes emerged from the shadows behind them. Jake barely had time to register the new threat before a quick jolt of electricity zapped through the air, causing Tide to hesitate. Two on one was not a good matchup.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man said calmly, his Pikachu perching on his shoulder, a mischievous glint in its eyes. "Pikachu here is a little trigger-happy, and I'd hate for things to get messy."
Nervously, he started rubbing at his scar, a faded mark that stretched in a perfect line from the right side of his jaw until the bottom of his right eye. Grasping the situation, he motioned for Tide to stand down. Flexing his right hand to shake off the lingering numbness, Jake glared up at the man, his mind racing for an escape plan.
"Just let me go, man. The last place I wanted to be at is your shitty basement!" His voice was sharp, almost desperate, as he tried to mask his fear and pain with anger.
The man leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms. "Yeah, you don't look like you're having the best day. But breaking into a lab, stealing stuff, and then hiding in my house? That's some day you've had. Bravo!"
Jake's eyes narrowed as the man clapped mockingly. "How do you know all of this?" he snapped, the frustration and exhaustion evident in his voice. "Never mind. I just needed a place to lay low. I'll be out of your hair in a second. Don't need to get jumped by your freaking creepy clown again!"
The man's expression hardened. "Watch it, kid. You're in my house and in no position to be mouthing off. Gary told me an annoying kid with a scar on his face broke into his lab today. That's you, right? You seem quite annoying."
Jake kept his mouth shut, glaring at the man, his mind working overtime to find a way out of this mess. But the man didn't seem fazed by Jake's silence. Instead, he took a step closer, his gaze never leaving Jake's.
"So why don't you tell me what you're really up to before I decide to call the cops?"
"Why does it matter to you?" Jake shot back, his voice still defensive but with an undercurrent of uncertainty.
The man pushed himself off the wall and moved closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It matters because you're bleeding all over my floor, and you might be in a lot more trouble than you realize. Also, you stole something important from my friend. So, how about you return the notebook, admit you messed up, and figure out how you will make it right before this gets any worse for you?"
Jake hesitated, his mind racing. He didn't know who this guy was, and he certainly didn't trust him. But he was too exhausted and too injured to keep up the fight. "Okay, okay," Jake muttered, his tone still defensive. "You got me." He pulled out the stolen notebook and handed it to the man, who took it without a word.
The man's eyes flickered slightly, though his tone remained firm. "Alright. Here's the deal: you've got two choices. I can turn you in, or you can own up to your mistake and start figuring out how to set it right. The ball's in your court."
Jake's fists clenched, his defiance flaring up again despite his exhaustion. "I've returned it, alright? Let me go."
The man crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "Sure. If you'd rather be stubborn and get into even more trouble, that's on you. I'll be going up just to make one tiny phone call."
Jake looked at the man, trying to gauge whether he was serious. He didn't have much of a choice—he was too injured and too tired to keep running, and there was no way he could escape cleanly from the basement. Reluctantly, he muttered, "Fine, whatever. I'll do what you want."
The man looked at him for a moment before asking, "What's your name, kid?"
"Jake," he replied quickly, still wary.
The man nodded and started up the stairs, his Pikachu jumping onto his shoulder. "Ash. Now, let's get that arm patched up, and then we'll figure out what to do next. Sound good?"
Jake followed Ash up the stairs, his mind racing with questions and doubts. He didn't know who this guy was or why he was offering to patch him up, but for now, he didn't have much of a choice but to go along with it.
The living room was a stark contrast to the basement's cold, shadowy confines. Sunlight streamed through large windows, filling the room with a warm, golden glow that seemed almost at odds with the tension hanging in the air. The space was cluttered but cozy, with a well-worn sofa at its center, surrounded by books, papers, and a few Poké Balls scattered on the coffee table. The room felt lived-in, comfortable, yet Jake couldn't shake the unease gnawing at him. He knew this wasn't just a casual conversation but an interrogation.
Ash gestured for Jake to sit on the sofa while he moved to a small cabinet, pulling out a first aid kit.
"Don't think about making a run for it," Ash warned, his back to Jake as he rummaged through the kit.
"I didn't," Jake retorted, though his voice lacked conviction. The truth was, he'd already scoped out the back door the moment he entered the living room, mentally calculating the distance and the time it would take to bolt. But something in Ash's tone, the quiet confidence with which he spoke, kept Jake rooted to the spot.
Ash turned around, holding the first aid supplies, and approached Jake with a measured calmness. He wasn't in any hurry, and that unnerved Jake more than anything. The man's demeanor was relaxed, almost casual, but his eyes—sharp, dark, and focused—missed nothing.
"Well, if you hadn't had that creepy clown down there, Tide would've made quick work of your rodent," Jake snarled, wincing as Ash began to clean the cut on his arm.
"In your dreams, boy," Ash replied with a chuckle, not the least bit offended. His Pikachu, perched on the arm of the sofa, gave a snicker of its own as if sharing in the joke.
"Electric doesn't work on Tide, old man. It'd be a piece of cake," Jake muttered, trying to maintain his bravado even as the sting of the antiseptic made him flinch.
Ash didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he focused on bandaging Jake's arm, his hands moving with the practiced ease of someone who had done this countless times before. Up close, Ash wasn't what Jake had expected. His dark hair was tousled, his face lined with the kind of weariness that spoke of long days and little rest. He wore a simple black shirt stretched over broad shoulders that hinted at a life lived outdoors. There was something rugged about him, something that didn't quite match the laid-back attitude he projected.
"Sure, whatever you say, shorty," Ash replied, his tone light but carrying an edge that Jake couldn't quite place.
Jake bristled at the nickname, standing up abruptly, almost bumping into Ash in the process. It wasn't until he was face-to-face with the man that Jake realized how much taller and broader Ash was—an unsettling reminder that he was still just a kid despite all his bravado.
"You scared? Well, then again, you look like one of those clueless country guys who can't find their ass with a map when it comes to Pokémon battles," Jake spat, trying to sound harsh.
Ash laughed—a deep, hearty laugh that seemed to fill the room and rub Jake the wrong way. The laugh was too easy, too dismissive as if Ash didn't see him as a threat at all. And maybe that was what stung the most—the idea that this man, who Jake was beginning to suspect was far more than he appeared, didn't take him seriously.
Clenching his fists, Jake glared at Ash, his frustration bubbling over. He was tired, he was hurt, and now he was being mocked.
"Now I know you're trying to get a rise out of me, maybe waiting for a mistake to make a run for it, or maybe something to quell your frustration, but you're way over your head, kid," Ash said, patting Jake mockingly on the shoulder.
Pikachu, who had been watching the exchange with interest, suddenly perked up, its cheeks sparking lightly as it glanced at Ash.
"Well, Pikachu here is ready to accept your challenge, so maybe let's settle this outside. It's been a long time since I battled someone of your abilities."
Smoke practically poured from Jake's ears when he heard those last words. Usually, he could keep his cool when it mattered most, but Ash's words had hit a nerve. This wasn't just about winning or losing a battle—it was about proving himself. Jake had spent his whole life being underestimated, overlooked, and pushed aside. He wasn't about to let that happen again, especially not with this guy.
"Fine, let's do this, old man," Jake spat, his anger barely masking the uncertainty gnawing at his gut. He didn't know if he could win, but there was no way he was backing down now.
Ash's smirk widened, clearly enjoying the fire in Jake's eyes. "May want to wipe that milk off your lip first," he quipped, though there was an unmistakable glint of approval in his gaze. Ash recognized the defiance, the determination, and the desperation that drove Jake forward. It was the same fire that had burned in him when he was young, and it was that fire that had carried him through countless battles.
But Ash also knew that fire alone wouldn't be enough. As they moved toward the door, heading outside for the battle, Ash couldn't help but wonder if Jake had the resolve to learn from this, to grow stronger through defeat, or if he would let his pride drag him down.
Jake clenched his fists, feeling the weight of the Poké Balls at his side. Tide was ready, and so was he. No matter what happened next, Jake was determined to prove one thing—that he wasn't just some kid to be dismissed. He was a fighter, and he wasn't going down without a fight.
The late afternoon sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, golden shadows across the clearing behind Ash's house. The light filtered through the trees, dappling the ground with a warm glow, but the air between the two trainers crackled with tension. Jake stood rigid across from Ash, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring, his heart drumming in his chest with a volatile mix of anticipation and smoldering anger. Tide was by his side, the Marshtomp's gills flaring as he locked eyes with Ash's Pikachu, who seemed almost bored by the whole situation.
Jake clenched his fists, feeling the sweat slick against his palms. Strategies churned in his mind, but they felt half-formed and uncertain. He leaned down, whispering a tactic in Tide's ear—his voice steady, but his heart wavered. This was it. Whatever this old man threw at him, he'd handle it. He had to. But something about Ash's calm demeanor, the nonchalant air that he stood with, unnerved him. Maybe this wouldn't be so easy.
"Alright, Tide," Jake muttered under his breath, trying to keep his voice steady. "Show them what you've got and proceed as planned. We'll wipe that smug look off their faces."
Ash approached with a casual stride, hands buried in his pockets, his expression thoughtful but tinged with the quiet confidence of a seasoned veteran. He simply nodded at Pikachu. Pikachu's cheeks crackled with tiny sparks, but instead of attacking, the electric mouse unleashed a playful volley of zaps, each one snapping at the air near Tide like tiny whips, teasing and taunting the Marshtomp. Tide growled in annoyance at the disrespect.
"Don't let him get to you, Tide! Start with Mud Shot!" Jake ordered, his voice rising with determination.
Tide unleashed a barrage of mud balls, each one hurled with precision, but Pikachu danced through them with effortless grace, darting to the side in a flash, leaving the mud to splatter harmlessly on the ground. Jake barely had time to register what had happened before Pikachu dashed forward, closing the gap between them in a blur. Tide tried to meet him head-on, swinging a Water Gun at the spot where Pikachu had been a split second ago, but the electric mouse was already gone, reappearing behind Tide. This dance continued for a few minutes, with Tide shooting mud and water at the rodent in various directions, trying to clip him or limit his movement, while the yellow devil kept avoiding it at the last second.
Jake's frustration simmered with each missed shot, his teeth grinding in sync with the mounting tension as Pikachu's agile dodges mocked their every effort. This wasn't a battle—it was a game of cat and mouse, and Pikachu was always a step ahead. What infuriated Jake the most was that Ash hadn't uttered a single command. Pikachu was doing this all on his own as if he'd done it a thousand times before. Knowing that getting close was their only option, Jake changed his commands.
"Tide, get in close! Use Tackle!" Jake shouted, his voice tinged with desperation. Tide charged at Pikachu, determined to land a hit. Pikachu sidestepped at the last possible moment, his tail glowing silver as it whipped around in a fluid arc, striking Tide's back with just enough force to send the Marshtomp sprawling across the dirt.
"Get up, Tide! Don't let him get away with that!" Jake urged, but Tide was already struggling to his feet, shaking off the hit. With a playful gleam in his eye, Pikachu dashed around Tide again, this time letting off another series of quick, teasing zaps—not enough to harm, but enough to keep Tide on edge.
Tide growled in frustration, firing another Mud Shot in Pikachu's direction, but the attack only splattered harmlessly on the ground as Pikachu zigzagged around, never staying in one place for more than a moment.
"Water Gun! Now!" Jake commanded, his voice rising with urgency.
Tide unleashed a powerful stream of water, aiming to hit Pikachu as he darted past, but the aim was far from the mark, signaling his energy depleting. Pikachu was too fast, too nimble, and capitalized on it. He leaped over the attack, landing gracefully a few feet away. As Pikachu got in close from behind with yet again a weak Iron Tail, Ash's sharp eyes caught the subtle shift in both trainer and Pokémon—a momentary calmness, as if they were actors slipping out of character after a performance, their desperation giving way to a more calculated resolve.
"Now, Tide," called Jake, and as soon as the words left his mouth, Tide's fin was glowing with energy, coming close to his opponent as he turned around. But to no avail—even this trick failed, the Brick Break move that they practiced so hard as a trump card was fading as Pikachu managed to avoid it with great acrobatic skill.
Jake's teeth clenched as he watched his partner struggle. This was different from how it was supposed to go. He had hoped Tide's strength and power would be enough, or at least with their acting, they would manage to catch their tormentor off guard, but Pikachu was toying with them, making them look like fools.
"Don't let him mock you, Tide! We can win this!" Jake shouted, trying to keep his own frustration from spilling over. But Tide was tiring, his moves becoming slower, more desperate. Conversely, Pikachu seemed as fresh as ever, bouncing lightly on his feet, waiting for the next opening.
"Pikachu, Iron Tail," Ash said calmly, his first actual command of the battle.
Pikachu got the sense that playtime was over, and his tail glowed silver as he darted forward, striking Tide with a forceful Iron Tail. The force of the strike sent Tide skidding across the clearing, leaving a trail in the dirt before coming to rest at Jake's feet, exhausted, sides heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.
Jake dropped to his knees beside Tide, his hands shaking as he reached out to comfort his partner. His muscles ached from the tension, each breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps, as if the battle had drained every last bit of strength from his body. "You did great, Tide... we almost had them," he murmured, though the words felt like dust on his tongue—empty and unconvincing.
Ash approached slowly, hands in his pockets, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You've got potential, kid. I'll give you that. The way you tried to catch Pikachu off guard with that sudden move—it was smart, and it was probably your best shot at landing a hit," he said, his voice now calm and free of any earlier mockery. "But here's the thing—you were up against someone who's been through this a lot more times than you have. Pikachu's quick on his feet because he's had years of practice, and he's learned to read his opponents at the moment."
Ash continued, "This battle wasn't just about strength or outsmarting us with a trick. It's about learning how to read a situation as it unfolds. You and Tide fought hard, but you were mostly reacting to what was happening, not anticipating it. That's something you can't expect to nail right away—especially not in your first battle against us. You've got to learn how to adapt and work with your Pokémon in a way that brings out both of your strengths."
Jake stared at the ground, his vision blurring as the reality of his defeat sank in. The sting of failure was sharp and bitter, like a fresh wound that refused to heal. He could feel the weight of the battle pressing down on him—the frustration of coming so close and yet being so thoroughly outclassed. He didn't need a lecture; he needed results. He needed to be better, to prove to himself and to everyone else that he was strong. He needed to win.
Ash's calm, almost casual demeanor only made the defeat sting more. Here was a guy who hadn't even broken a sweat, whose Pokémon had danced circles around Tide without so much as a command. Jake's pride was bruised, his confidence shaken, but he wasn't about to show it.
"So I should have just given up? Is that what you're saying?" Jake's voice was sharp, tinged with defiance. "You're telling me I shouldn't even try? Sounds like loser talk if you ask me."
Ash raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, you still lost, didn't you?"
The words hit Jake like a punch to the gut. He bristled, fists clenching at his sides. Ash wasn't saying anything that wasn't true, but hearing it out loud, so bluntly, made the reality of his defeat even more challenging to swallow.
Jake's mind raced, searching for a retort, something to throw back at Ash to reclaim some sense of dignity. But what could he say? The fact remained that he had lost and lost badly. His strategy, his effort—it hadn't been enough. And deep down, that terrified him. Because if this was what he was up against, how could he ever hope to stand a chance in the more significant leagues? How could he ever be strong enough to make a name for himself, to be more than just a kid with no past and no future?
Ash seemed to sense the turmoil raging inside Jake, and his tone softened, losing some of its edge. "Look, kid, I get it. No one likes losing. But losing isn't the end of the world. It's part of the process. It's how you learn, how you get better. If you never lose, you never grow. And trust me, I've lost more battles than I can count before I started winning."
Jake looked up at Ash, the older man's words slowly sinking in despite his stubbornness. There was something in Ash's voice, a depth of experience that Jake couldn't ignore. He knew Ash was right, even if he didn't want to admit it. But it didn't make the sting of defeat any less painful.
"You don't get it," Jake muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't afford to lose. Not now. Not ever. If I lose… what does that make me? Just another nobody?"
Ash's expression softened further, a knowing look in his dark eyes. "No, kid. Losing doesn't make you a nobody. It just makes you human. And it's not about how many times you lose but how many times you get back up. How many times are you willing to fight, learn, and keep going even when things get tough?"
Jake swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump forming in his throat. He wasn't used to this—being vulnerable, letting someone see the cracks in his armor, and that man's effect on him was terrifying.
"So what, I'm just supposed to accept it? That I'll lose over and over again until I get it right. That sounds like a pretty crappy deal."
Ash chuckled, but it wasn't mocking this time. It was understanding, almost kind. "Yeah, it's a crappy deal. But it's the only deal you've got. And trust me, it's worth it. Every loss, every setback—it all adds up. And when you finally start winning, it feels much sweeter because you know how hard you worked to get there."
Jake let out a long breath, the weight of exhaustion mingling with his fading anger as the tension began to drain from his body. Maybe Ash was right. There could be something to be learned from losing, even if it was the last thing he wanted to do.
Ash clapped a hand on Jake's shoulder, breaking him out of his thoughts. "You've got a real talent for battling, kid. I saw it. But potential's just a word unless you put in the work. You want to be strong? Then learn from this. Let it make you better. And who knows—next time, you might even land a hit."
Jake looked up at Ash. The older man was probably right, but the last words still rubbed him the wrong way.
"Alright, enough talk. Let's head back to Gary's lab, return what you took, and figure out how you will make things right." Ash's voice carried a firmness that brooked no argument, yet there was an underlying tone of support.
Jake trailed behind Ash, grumbling to himself, each step on the dusty road kicking up small clouds of frustration. The Oak Laboratory loomed in the distance, its glass panels catching the evening light and making the building appear even more imposing. Jake's thoughts were stuck on the battle, replaying every moment when he could have done something different. Ash's words still stung, though he knew the man had been right. It was infuriating.
Beside him, Tide trudged along, his usual confident stride now replaced with a slight limp, a reminder of the recent defeat. Pikachu, meanwhile, hopped lightly beside Ash, glancing back occasionally at Tide with an almost playful smugness. The electric mouse seemed to be enjoying the aftermath of the battle as if he found the entire ordeal amusing.
Ash began to whistle, a light, carefree tune that grated on Jake's nerves. The sound only served to remind him of the gap between them—the ease with which Ash had defeated him. Tide let out a low growl, clearly sharing Jake's irritation. Pikachu responded with a cheeky zap of static in the air, causing Tide to glare, but the amphibian was too worn out to react beyond that.
As they walked, Jake's frustration slowly shifted into determination. Ash's words weren't just a taunt—they were a challenge. He wouldn't let this be the end. He had too much to prove to himself and to everyone who doubted him.
After a few minutes of silent walking, realization hit Jake like a bolt. He stopped abruptly, causing Tide to halt as well. A grin tugged at his lips as he blurted out, "One hit? Next time, I'm taking you down!"
Ash glanced back, his smirk widening at the defiance in Jake's voice. "May want to wipe that milk off your lip first." His tone was light, but there was a glint of approval in his eyes—Ash recognized the fire in Jake's words, the determination to rise from defeat.
Jake clenched his fists, feeling the burn of resolve. He wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot. Tide, sensing the renewed determination in his trainer, puffed out his chest slightly, ready to follow Jake into whatever came next. Pikachu, noticing the change, gave a knowing nod as if to say, We'll be ready.
They walked for a few more minutes until the lab property appeared. Ash's house and Professor Oak's laboratory were separated by a fair distance, enough that the walk between them offered a stretch of time for reflection—or, in Jake's case, growing frustration. Ash seemed comfortable in Pallet Town, greeting residents with the familiarity of living in a place too long to remain a stranger.
Jake's mood, however, was souring with each pause. He began grumbling under his breath, the nerves from his impending meeting with Professor Oak gnawing at him. The more Ash chatted, the more Jake's anxiety bubbled up, bringing with it the unwelcome memory of a past incident that still stung. He tried to shake it off, but the feeling lingered.
Noticing his trainer's unease, Tide nudged Jake's leg gently, his way of offering comfort. Jake looked down at his Pokémon, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself.
"Thanks, buddy," he whispered, giving Tide a reassuring pat.
Catching the exchange out of the corner of his eye, Ash decided it was time to move things along. He quickly wrapped up his conversation with Mrs. Foller, a kindly old woman who ran the town's café, promising to stop by later in the week.
"Come on, let's pick up the pace," Ash said, his tone light but firm.
"Finally. I thought we'd have to talk to every person in this goddamn town before we got there," Jake muttered, though he kept his voice low.
Ash didn't respond immediately, instead letting out a quiet sigh. Was I that impatient when I was young? he mused, memories of his early days as a trainer flashing through his mind. Probably.
As they resumed walking, Jake couldn't help but ask, "What's the deal with you? Are you a celebrity here or something?"
Ash chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Neither, kid. Just someone who's been around long enough to know most of the folks here. It's a small town—people tend to remember you if you stick around."
Jake huffed, clearly unimpressed. "Well, I just want to get this over with. I'm not really in the mood for a social tour."
Ash nodded, his expression turning serious. "I get that. But there's more to life than just rushing from one thing to the next. Sometimes, you gotta take a moment to appreciate where you are, even if it's just a small town like Pallet."
Jake shot him a skeptical look but didn't argue. The lab was now within reach, its sleek structure standing against the rural landscape. Jake's nerves returned in full force as they approached, but he kept his expression neutral, determined not to show any more weakness.
Ash seemed to sense Jake's unease but didn't comment. Instead, he simply said, "Professor Oak is fair, but he won't let you off easy. Just be honest, and you'll get through this."
Jake didn't reply, his focus now entirely on the lab's entrance looming before them. He knew he had to face whatever was coming head-on—no more running and hiding.
As they approached the lab's entrance, Ash swiped a small card through the reader beside the automatic sliding door. The door hummed softly as it slid open, revealing the cool, sterile interior of the laboratory. Ash stepped through with the ease of someone who had done this countless times while Jake hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment settling heavily on his shoulders.
The contrast between the warm air outside and the coolness inside made Jake shiver slightly, though he wasn't sure if it was the temperature or the nerves. He followed Ash down a long, polished hallway lined with plaques and framed photographs—images of Professor Gary Oak and another older man who looked just like him, according to the plaques, with various Pokémon and notable trainers. Jake couldn't help but glance around, feeling a mix of awe and a growing sense of being out of place.
Finally, they reached a large, reinforced steel door with a brass plaque that read, "Professor Gary Oak." Ash swiped his card again, and the door slid open with a soft hiss.
"Is that the office of the head nerd community?" Ash called out, a grin spreading across his face as they entered.
Gary looked up from a set of notes on his desk, a smirk already forming on his lips. "Well, it ain't the office of the shit-for-brains one, sadly for you. Might need to call security if you keep barging in like this."
Ash chuckled, leaning casually against the desk. "Security? It sure is lacking for one of the most prestigious places in the region. You let a scrawny kid get the better of you."
Gary rolled his eyes, but his smirk remained. "Yeah, yeah. We're researchers, not the Ranger Corps. Besides, we've got footage. The kid wasn't going far."
Ash shrugged, knowing this old argument about the lab's security was going nowhere. "Got your message, and look what I brought you." He gestured dramatically toward Jake, who stood awkwardly by the door, trying not to let his discomfort show.
Gary's eyes shifted to Jake, his gaze sharpening. "You almost took my head off, kid."
Jake struggled to keep his cool under Gary's intense stare. "Well, it's mostly Tide's fault," he said, crossing his arms in an attempt to appear nonchalant, Tide's indignant cry at being sacrificed. "So, what's the deal? I return your stuff, and we're done here, right?"
Gary leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. "It's not that easy, kid. You don't just waltz in here, pull a stunt like that, and walk away scot-free. Mistakes have consequences, and you're not skipping out on yours. You and Tide have a debt to settle."
"Yeah, you tell him, Gary," Ash chimed in with a grin, earning a lighthearted glare from Gary.
"Shut it, Ash," Gary shot back, though his words had no real venom. He turned his attention back to Jake, curiosity flickering across his face. "Why did you even take that notebook anyway?"
Jake shifted uncomfortably, his bravado beginning to crack under the weight of Gary's scrutiny. "I—I didn't mean to, I was looking for something more, but after reading it in the library, I thought… maybe it could help me get stronger." His voice wavered slightly as he continued. "That notebook… I thought it could help."
Gary's gaze lingered on Jake, his dark viridian eyes narrowing as he weighed the boy's words. There was no hint of emotion on his face, just a quiet intensity that made Jake shift uncomfortably. The silence stretched thick with unspoken judgments. Finally, Gary nodded slowly, his tone softening just a fraction.
"It's more than just a notebook, kid. But if you want to earn the right to use it, you must make up for what you did. Heck, you will have to make up for it for that cheap Water Gun your Pokémon fired at my head."
Sensing the shift in Gary's tone, Ash interjected with a smirk. "You heard the man. Time to put your money where your mouth is, kid. You have a lot of work ahead of you."
Jake looked between Ash and Gary, and the reality of the situation began to sink in. He swallowed hard, the weight of his determination pressing down on him. "Alright. What do you want me to do?"
Gary's eyes narrowed, but his gaze showed a hint of approval. "Good. Let's talk. What do you know about Tauro's muck?"
Jake's eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly in shock. He froze for a moment, trying to process what Gary had just said. Ash, catching the look of disbelief on Jake's face, burst out laughing. Once he settled down, the man clapped a hand on Jake's shoulder, reassuringly squeezing it.
"Welcome to the deep end, kiddo. Better learn to swim fast. Or you'll be drowned in shit."