Note- Well, its been a couple (or 3) months, but as the Backstreet Boys once said, "Oh my god, we're back again." We've entered spooky season and one of the two times of year I am at my busiest with teaching and tennis! I apologize for the slightly longer delay. I've had this chapter finished for nearly a month, but life has been absolute chaos and I just haven't had the time to proofread and publish. But enough of that! I'm so happy to be back and I hope these words find you doing well and staying safe!
As we return to the action, we find the February days passing quickly by! Chris is back with an important meeting and a special character gets his first ever perspective chapter as a mini tease to the end of this chapter! I'm really looking forward to these next few chapters as our favorite trainers prep for the Silver Conference! Our lovable Cherrygrove protagonist finds himself in a slightly different competitive battlefield today! So let's get into it and see what this installment brings us! Hope you enjoy! Please Review and Subscribe!
Chapter 56
A High Fly Ball
The wooden crack of a bat. The gradual roar of a crowd. The dwindling cheers as the ball falls into the glove of the center fielder. The walk-up music of the batter as he steps to the plate. The soft crunch of cheese soaked nachos.
Arceus, I've missed this.
Chris and Ben Aedan sat halfway up the first section, just beyond first base and its accompanying dugout. The preseason crowd only had the ballpark at about fifty percent capacity, leaving open the option to move several rows down around field level. But there was something to be said for being slightly above the action—to be able to fully see the chess game on the field, and the musing enemy dugout. That worked out beautifully today as the opponent dugout happened to play host to Chris's own Cherrygrove Cobras.
Thanks to his dad, Chris had been sports' obsessed since he was a boy. He'd loved and played them all. And despite not all of them being perfect fits—he still had a scar on the back of his head from a poorly attempted move on the soccer pitch—they had conditioned him and helped him build a social circle outside of the trainer-focused majority. The friends he'd made in tennis and basketball, his two favorite sports, he thought he'd have for life. But aside from an occasional text, their relationship had become distantly cordial at best. He'd been the only one to leave town this early; the only one to pursue the path of a trainer. As he glanced over at his dad, Chris felt a twinge of something—maybe empathy—heat up his chest.
"I still can't believe they let you take this long of a lunch break," Chris said between bites of a nacho.
His father grinned as his eyes closely followed the pitcher's walk to the mound. "Better to let me go for a few hours than forever."
Chris sat up straight and nearly spilled the drink in his hand. "You've thought about quitting?" he asked.
"They need me too much to let me go for long. I can occasionally use that to my advantage."
"But you'll have to go eventually. Why not train a replacement and go out and fish for the rest of your days?"
A high pitched thump echoed out as the pitcher's fastball found the catcher's glove. In this case, that glove was Aipom's hand-like tail. The catcher was young, and had only started a couple games for the Cobras, but Chris had been impressed with the Long Tail Pokémon. Xatu brought up his right wing and pointed down the first base line, registering that heater as a strike. That prompted his father to roll his shoulders and made a small circle with his right arm. His pitching arm.
"Chizik is pitching a good game today," he said. "How'd he do last year?"
"Uh…" Chris tried to think back to the spring, summer, and fall of the previous year. Of all his various memories, none of them remotely involved the baseball diamond. He'd caught a few games during some of his stays in hotels and Pokémon Centers, but they'd rarely captured his full attention. "Shoot. I don't even know, dad."
"Bigger fish to fry, huh?"
Chris chuckled. "I've been busy trying not to be the fish."
"I'm sure you've been great," came his father's quick response. Ben had never allowed his family to put themselves down. "I am curious though; who gave you your biggest challenge?"
Chris brought a hand up to his chin. Clair was the easy answer, but the young man would rather not tell his father about the five-on-one battle he'd been on the losing side of. He was thankful for the crack that echoed out from home plate. The baseball looked like a white speck as it soared through the clear blue sky. The cool breeze had picked up in the stadium, driving the ball even further. It's got the distance, Chris thought. The Goldenrod fans around him realized this too; they rose in unison as the ball curved toward the foul pole beyond right field. It flew past it, too close for Chris to call. It thankfully wasn't a problem for the Skarmory perched atop the yellow pole. He shook his head and stuck out his left wing.
"Good," his father mumbled amidst the groans. He took a large bite out of his third hotdog of the afternoon and grinned at his son. Despite being a Goldenrod resident, he'd never had love for their team. Along with being an Ecruteak Spirit's fan, Ben had always pulled for his sons' teams.
As Chris and his dad sat back down, the answer finally came to the former. "Master Kiyo put me through every challenge imaginable, but I don't think that's what you're really asking. With everyone else on the table, I'd say this girl named Sarah. She's from Sinnoh."
"Really? Not a Gym Leader?"
Chris breathed a sigh of relief. If this conversation had played out back in Cherrygrove, his mom would have already hit him with ten questions about Sarah. "Whitney would be the obvious answer as far as Gym Leaders go. She's the only one I lost to. But we've already talked about that nightmare. And Sarah actually beat me twice."
"You think you'll be able to beat her if you meet up in the Silver Conference?"
That wasn't really a question. "Of course. We came very close in both battles."
His father grinned as he grabbed a handful of nachos and choked them down. Beneath the man's unzipped jacket, his gut protruded against his undershirt. Outside of Chris's baby pictures, he'd never seen his father this overweight.
"And I plan on training with some top trainers here in a couple weeks. Sarah might be one of them… if she actually shows." He'd called her and not gotten an answer. It had taken her three days to call him back, and she'd given him no actual excuse for the delay. Her answer had been equally as empty, but her tone had carried the tiniest hint of curiosity.
"Just be careful," his father said. "Training with the best is a great idea, but you don't want to show too much. If you let these trainers figure out your team combinations, and they match up with you in the tournament…"
"Oh, I've seen enough of that. But we can adapt to whatever counters they throw out. We're made of tough enough stuff."
"You do come from two pretty tough individuals!"
"Speaking of Mom, she had mentioned that you were taking care of all the sponsorship stuff. Have you gotten any letters about that?"
His father shifted in his seat as he threw back another handful of nachos. "I fielded a couple calls and got some letters. I didn't really like the sound of 'em."
"I might have liked the sound of their money these past couple months," Chris said with a smile.
His father's face softened. "I understand. Time and money, or lack of it, drove me to a different path. But you know me and your mom can and will support you. We've got enough money to go around."
"But it would be cool to make it on my own. That's what all the great trainers did."
"I doubt every great trainer had a rags-to-riches background."
A swing and a miss meant both teams were headed to the ninth, with the visitors holding a one run lead. Even with his team holding the lead, and knowing who their ace was, Chris could feel knots forming in his stomach. The direction he was about to take this conversation didn't help.
"Matt pulled it off," the young man said.
"We weren't financially secure back then."
"Still, he was motivated to make it. He knew he could use sponsorships to provide for the journey. And that gave him extra incentive to do well, especially in tournaments. I could have done the same and saved you guys money."
"We appreciate it, but your mother and I are doing just fine now," his father said with a sigh. "And do you remember how many tournaments Matt won?"
"Three."
"Now do you know how many of those he won after receiving all that free gear and monetary backing?"
Chris felt his lips twitch. "You can't say that's the reason."
"You talked to him just like we did," his father said, a strange firmness entering his voice. "He changed. There's no way you didn't notice."
"When we spoke..." Chris paused to knock down the lump in his throat. He didn't want to say this, but it was the truth. "Most of the negative things he had to say were about you."
A quiet settled over father and son, even as the crowd around them cheered for the second consecutive strike from the visitors. The ninth inning always saw the team on defense bring in a Pokémon to pitch as the "closer." The other team had the opportunity to insert a designated hitter Pokémon for one at bat. The strategy and performances of these Pokémon could easily turn the tide of a close game. In some rare cases, an inspired at bat or pitching performance could spark a huge run for their human teammates.
It was clear that Goldenrod's closer had his stuff going. He'd fanned the first two batters with six consecutive fastballs—or fireballs, as the signs in the crowd called them. That left Chris's squad to send in a designated hitter. The Sneasel that scurried out to the plate would normally ensure at least a double off a clean hit. But from the moment he stepped into the batter's box, his stiff posture gave away just how uncomfortable he felt against the heat-slinging pitcher. Thus, it came as no surprise when Darmanitan sat him down with three more fastballs, the last of which Chris swore Sneasel must have swung at with his eyes closed.
As both teams switched positions, his dad cleared his throat with a soft cough. "I remember doing the same when I was his age. It's tough for a fourteen year old to relinquish some of their newfound freedom. Especially when you've had as much early success as your brother did."
"You didn't think he could keep it up?" Chris interjected.
"That's not it. I knew he could. I just saw a potential pitfall and wanted to steer him clear."
Chris ran his tongue over the top of his teeth. He didn't doubt his father's intentions, but his brother had seen it differently. On the rare occasions Matt had opened up, he'd mentioned just how little their parents trusted the trainer career path. It had spurned their father and turned out more impoverished individuals than any other profession. Many of those struggling individuals found themselves searching for another career, with most options now filled by their peers who had initially pursued these paths. Their own father had been one of these individuals. Ben had wanted to pursue the trainer pathway from a young age, and his parents had encouraged him by enrolling him in a trainer academy. Despite such a promising background, he'd ended up burning out after just his first year. He'd delayed making a crucial transition by pursuing a pitching career in baseball that saw his height and unpracticed arm betray him. If not for his innate technology ability and a couple lucky breaks, Arceus only knew where he might have ended up. Combined with his mother's blue collar background, it wasn't surprising when they'd enrolled Matt and Chris in a school with little in the way of trainer pathway courses.
"You sure you just didn't want him fully committing to being a trainer?"
His father scoffed. "That's just silly. He was one of the favorites to win the Silver Conference."
"Then why didn't you trust him?" Chris asked, shaking his head.
The Cobras had brought out Hitmontop to save their one run lead. The Fighting-type veteran had some nasty, off speed pitches. It had earned him one of the highest save percentages in the entire league. His ability to mix up his delivery had Goldenrod's first batter staring at strike three as it passed over the middle of the plate. The next batter looked like more of the same. He watched the first strike and then swung at a ball in the dirt.
"I'm his father," Ben finally said. He was out of food to eat, but his hands still scrapped at the remaining cheese on the nacho tray. "I think you both sometimes forget that. I can sense certain things after spending enough time with you. And you two have some of my traits, even if you thankfully got all the positive ones from your mother." He found a smile. "Your brother never handled stress well. It didn't seem to bother him when it was just him and his team and times were going well. But once those outside pressures started to creep in, and losses started piling up…" His father slowly shook his head. If he was going to finish that thought, the crack of a bat prevented it.
The two men remained seated as the struck ball found its way over the shortstop's glove. The center fielder scooped it up and got it back into the infield, but the runner had already circled back to first base. It's alright, Chris thought, we'll get these last two outs. And the next batter seemed to agree. He mustered a couple foul balls, but struck out after five pitches.
"Do you really think the same thing will happen again?" Chris asked.
"I don't know. I just know it happened to Matt."
"We're not the same."
His father smiled. "True. I appreciate your willingness to give me the time of day. I know I don't have the level of success or experience that your brother and friends have."
"You've found your own path," Chris replied, giving his father's shoulder a squeeze. "And I'd say you've managed it pretty darn successfully."
"It's managed me, you mean."
Goldenrod had brought in their designated Pokémon for this last out: a Farfetch'd that looked all too calm as he stepped into the box. The species trademark leek had been cut so that it matched the dimensions of a league-mandated bat. He kept it tucked beneath his wing as the first pitch whizzed high for ball one. He brought it out but didn't swing as the second pitch nearly bounced off the plate.
Chris's teeth began to grind together. "The strike zone is so dang small for him."
That didn't keep Hitmontop from finally finding it. After stepping further back into the batter's box, Farfetch'd watched strike one go into Aipom's glove. The spinning pitcher couldn't make consecutive strikes happen, with Xatu confirming the pitch to be just outside the zone. But his next pitch thankfully found the corner without the batter even attempting a swing.
"A full count," Ben mumbled.
A nervous buzz filled the crowd. Even for a game this inconsequential, a bottom of the ninth set up like this was nearly storybook. Some people in the stands rose to their feet, but they made no more sound than their seated counterparts. Chris found himself wishing he still had food left. He was forced to settle on the straw in his drink.
Hitmontop flipped onto his head once more and began to bounce the ball between his spinning legs. He twisted faster than he had on any prior pitch; so fast that Chris feared the spike on his head might drill into the mound and cause a balk, automatically giving the batter the base. His legs were a blur, the white ball nearly invisible between. Even if he doesn't balk, he's gonna get a delay of game at this point.
The sixth pitch hurtled off the point of one of his legs. It arced to the right, so much so that Chris half expected it to plunk the on-deck batter. But the ungodly spin brought it back to form a sharp parabola. Still, even from here, Chris thought the pitch looked low. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if it was. It would certainly be easier to get the final strikeout on someone else.
The ball struck the front of the plate and a relieved sigh began to pour from Chris's lips.
Thwack.
Like a golfer teeing off on a drive, Farfetch'd swung his leek toward the sky. The upward swing found the bouncing ball on its way up.
The half full crowd leapt to their feet. Ben did as well, but Chris remained seated. The right fielder sprinting backward was the last thing he saw before his view of the field vanished behind the wall of standing fans in front of him.. He didn't need to see the rest; he already knew what was about to happen.
The cheers were impressive for such a crowd. What little could be heard of Farfetch'd's walk-up music was soon drowned out by a round of fireworks over the distant bleachers. As Chris finally rose to his feet, he could see all of Goldenrod's players gathering around home plate as Farfeth'd slowly rounded third. The visitor's dugout held silence as the slumped shouldered defense slowly returned. Chris knew he shared their posture, but inside he just felt numb. Outside, he felt his father's hand on his shoulder.
"Well, at least we got an exciting game for our money."
"Yeah," came Chris's hollow reply.
"It's just a preseason game," his father gently said. "I'm sure Cherrygrove will get them back when it matters."
He knew his father was right. This game was one of a dozen, designed to recondition rather than factor toward the playoffs. But seeing victory, just one strike away, gone in an instant left the young man feeling nauseous. All it took was one wrong move, one right prediction by an opponent…
"Chris?" his father's voice cut through. When the young man glanced over, he found Ben with a worried expression. "You aren't going to be sick, are you? You look pale."
"May have eaten too much," Chris muttered, clutching his stomach.
His father reached into his pocket and withdrew a small container. He pulled out a couple of capsules and popped one into his own mouth. He handed Chris the other. "This stuff is great for heartburn and indigestion."
Chris swallowed it down with what remained of his drink. As he waited for the effects to kick in, he glanced around their section. Most everyone had filed out of their chairs and started up the stairs toward the exit. The trainer looked back at the field. Hitmontop had yet to make it back to the dugout. He had stopped near third base, his eyes staring up at the grey clouds that had rolled in. For a veteran to have such a somber look after a preseason game—even one that he had blown—looked odd.
"No pitcher can brush off a blown save," his father said. "Even a secure veteran like him will be thinking about that one for the rest of the day."
"That can apply to a competitor in any field."
"You're not wrong. He's probably thinking of all the better pitches he could have thrown."
By the time father and son had made for the exit, the majority of the fans had gone. The trains weren't as packed for preseason games, meaning the duo managed to hop on the first one they saw. The way back saw a couple of inebriated Goldenrod fans throw some light barbs at Chris. The trainer didn't have the energy to send some back, so he just grinned and forced laughter.
After a couple of stops they arrived back at the Johto Broadcast Network, departing at a station still nostalgically titled "The Radio Tower Exit." A round of small talk lasted them until they'd arrived at the entrance to his father's work.
His father wheeled around with a grin. "Thanks again for inviting me to a game!"
"Thanks for going with me! And for helping with tickets."
"I wouldn't miss a chance to hang with my boy. And as for the tickets, I might as well get all I can out of work if it's going to get all it can out of me!"
The two came together in a warm embrace. Ben gave his son's back several pats and went to let go, but Chris wasn't through. He squeezed tighter.
"You aren't trying to get that medicine back out of me, are you?" his father joked.
That brought a real round of laughter from Chris. When he finally let go, he replied with, "No. I'm just trying to help you slim down."
"Did that medicine seem to help?"
"Oh yeah. I've felt fine since we got on the train."
His father came back in for another hug. "Good."
Chris squeezed back even tighter than before. "I better not keep you from work. I don't want you falling behind."
"I'm already behind. So what's a little bit more piled on?"
His father let go and turned to head for the sliding doors.
"I love you, dad."
"I love you too."
Ben gave him a wave and a smile. Then he passed through the entrance and was gone.
Chris stood there for an extra moment, oblivious to the busy foot traffic circling all around. He still couldn't believe he'd gotten to spend that much time with his father, especially during a workday. They'd had a necessary dialogue and had parted on good terms. It had been a great day, even with his team blowing a ninth inning lead.
And yet, the pain in his stomach had slowly returned. He found himself wishing he had more of his father's medicine. But why does he carry that stuff around with him? Chris's mind interceded. Needing to be on medicine to work somewhere couldn't be a good sign, could it? He tried to put the thought behind him as he slid into the late afternoon crowd. His father was a grown man who had done this job for over a decade. Only he could take responsibility for his own health. And it wasn't like Chris didn't already have enough to worry about with his mother's safety, his team's development, and the Silver Conference looming. And they still had to finish their cycle around central Johto to boot.
As Chris rounded the expansive broadcast structure to head north, a row of pictures on the wall caught his eye. And a moment later, they had his feet moving toward them as well. The images showed both men and women, with some being mugshots and others snapshots from surveillance footage. Above the row of pictures, a line of text described the people pictured as wanted criminals. A hotline had been added for any reports on their whereabouts or additional sightings. One of the men pictured had been caught on camera just outside the Johto Broadcast Network.
Chris's stomach lurched and he felt the sudden need to vomit.
Dobbs had never felt better. His body glistened like a bronze artifact under Cianwood City's warm sun. The ocean breeze may have had a cooler bite, to the point that his nipples were sharper than knives, but it could not faze him. He was a statue—chiseled by Arceus and as immovable as a mountain. Well, except for when he had to scratch his nose. Or the couple of times he had run into the water to take a quick piss. Of his few weaknesses, those ranked near the top.
"I am a statue," he mumbled, before slowly, silently twisting his head to the right. His trusted Machoke stood next to him. The Superpower Pokémon had held that flexed pose for nigh on two hours. His chest and biceps were more impressive than even Dobbs's own, though that clearly came from the genetic build of his species. Sweat poured down his brow and across his lowered eyelids, but the Fighting-type paid it no mind. That brought out a smile from his trainer, who quickly removed it, after remembering that statues couldn't show emotion.
Wait, he thought. I've seen statues smile. There's nothing wrong with showing emotion.
"Have you melted into your surroundings?" a raspy voice called out.
Dobbs turned toward the voice. The graying man who approached wore a martial art's gi. His bare feet pounded against the sand with purpose. Dobbs bowed and said, "Yes sir! I am as immovable as—"
Chuck's karate chop caught him on the crown of his skull. The blow rattled the bones from his cranium to his feet. His strong legs held steady, but he could no longer feel the sand beneath his feet.
"Statues don't move and talk!" Chuck roared.
"Yes sir!"
The next blow found a nerve in his shoulder. His right arm went limp. Tears sprouted from his eyes, prompting Dobbs into a furious blinking fit to hide them. Between burning tears, he could see Machoke shaking in his held pose. The trainer and his teammate had never stood idle when the other had been slighted. It had started when he'd stumbled upon a secluded training den of the then Machop. The sight had piqued the new trainer's interest, much to the wild Pokémon's annoyance. And Machop hadn't been shy at showing his frustration. Despite his smaller size, the Fighting-type had thrown the larger boy around every time he'd tried to involve himself in the training session. The young man had staggered home with more bruises than he could count. But he'd come back the next day. And the one after.
Getting thrown around in the wild still felt better than being ignored at home.
Machop never failed to acknowledge him, even if that came in the form of a punch. And by the time he'd visited for a ninth and tenth time, those fists were coming with guidance behind them.
"Why do you willingly bring this on yourself?"
Chuck's question found Dobbs as he dropped to a knee. The young man swayed to keep his balance and fought to ignore the soreness swallowing his body.
"Each hit reminds me I'm alive and growing stronger."
"But have you even learned anything?"
On wobbly legs, Dobbs slowly rose. "I learn my own way, sensei," he said.
"Then don't call me sensei," came Chuck's raspy counter. He shook his head and flexed the muscles in his forearm. Those tendons and the fist at their end grabbed Dobbs' attention.
"Your lessons are helping."
"Where's the proof? After all this time, you're only at fifty percent of where you need to be. And I can't promise I'll be able to stick around to see things through. My old body has been breaking down for years!"
"That's awesome, sensei."
Chuck gave him an incredulous look. "Awesome that my body is breaking down?"
"No," Dobbs managed through heavy breaths. His legs had gone from rubber to paper. He wasn't sure how he was still standing. It had to be his sheer, incredible willpower. His eyes found the pulsing tendons in his teacher's arm and the shaking fist at its end. Despite their threatening presence, he'd take any distraction to make him forget about his trembling legs. "It's great that I've managed to make it halfway. Think about how great I was at the start. And now we've built on an added fifty percent of strength on top of that." Dobbs could feel adrenaline surging through his own veins. "Hit me again."
Machoke's head turned toward him a fraction of an inch. Dobbs' woozy vision didn't give him a good view of his companion, but from what he could make out of his peripheral, his first teammate looked intrigued.
The blow came without a word or any hesitation. Dobbs' legs went almost immediately. He threw both arms behind him as he toppled backward. His wide palms found the warm sand. His arms straightened and locked—the exact opposite of his folded legs. It wasn't the most dignified position, but it meant that Dobbs had still not fallen. From this position, he had to squint to see anything through the sun's dominating glow. Machoke had leaned closer to his trainer and looked dangerously close to dropping his statuesque composure. The young man gave him a small shake of his head. Then he turned his squint toward Chuck.
"When you first took me on, you could knock me down with a single blow. Today, it took three." He paused to hide a grunt as he shimmied his arms closer. That managed to bring him to something resembling more of a squatted position. "Tomorrow, it'll take four."
Chuck's arm came down swift again. But instead of bringing a karate chop with it, Chuck's open hand grasped under Dobbs' armpit. In an effortless motion, he lifted the young trainer back up and held him so that none of the larger lad's weight fell onto his spaghetti legs. The Cianwood Gym Leader motioned for Machoke to break his stance and throw one of his trainer's arms around his broad shoulders. When the Fighting-type had done so, Chuck took a step back.
"You're the most baffling student I've ever taken on," he said. "And because of that, whether on purpose or not, I think you're somehow teaching me a lesson as well. Though, I'm not quite sure what it—"
Dobbs weakly lifted a hand. He nodded down at the vibrating device on his wrist. "Sorry, broski sensei. I'm going to take this call."
Know this chapter was a bit breezier than previous ones, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same! Great to catch up with Ben and get a better perspective on the enigma that is "Dobbs." I hope I can get the next chapter to you guys a bit quicker, but with no Fall Break this year and a wonderful woman now in my life, my writing time might be a bit less frequent. Even so, I love what we have here and I can't wait to get you guys out next chapter! I hope to see you guys again soon! :) Please Review and Subscribe!
