Chapter Text
Location: Rocket HQ.
“Captain Owl…”
“Captain Owl…”
“Captain Owl, Boss Giovanni is looking for you.”
Owl clicked his tongue and gestured for the messenger to leave. But the messenger stood firm, staring straight at him, waiting for a response.
“Understood.” Owl pulled up his flame-patterned scarf and muttered his reply before walking away without looking back.
Moments later, Owl approached a wall, reaching out to feel for a hidden panel. He kicked open the inner office door, ignoring the two piercing glares from beside him. He looked straight at Giovanni seated in the plush armchair and said bluntly, “Old man, what do ya want? If it’s a mission report, I turned it in ages ago.”
“Gold,” Giovanni didn’t react to Owl’s (Gold's) borderline or outright disrespectful address. He merely nodded towards the desk, calmly reminding him, “Knock next time you come in.”
“So, what’s up?” Gold—Akin was his given name, he pulled out a chair and sprawled into it, bending one leg before crossing it over the other.
“How old are you now?”
“Sixteen, old man.”
“Six years have passed…” Giovanni rubbed the red and white Poké Ball in his hand, the muscles at the corners of his mouth tight. His expression showed neither amusement nor anger, only his jawline twitching slightly with the rhythm of his movements.
“Tch. So? Spit it out.” Gold grew tired of the meaningless pleasantries and shoved his chair back, preparing to get up and leave.
“It’s time you went to Logistics to receive a starter Pokémon,” Giovanni finally spoke, his voice steady, just before Gold could explode.
“WHAT???” Gold froze, his pupils contracting rapidly.
The next second, he violently kicked the chair over. Metal shrieked as it scraped the floor. Before Giovanni could speak, Gold had already sprinted to the door. He slammed his palm heavily onto the door frame, using the force to pivot—
The wooden frame groaned under the immense impact, wood fibers smoking faintly at the edges from friction.
“Old man, if Logistics dares give me a piece of junk Pokémon—”
Before he could finish, he’d vanished down the corridor, leaving only a deep palm print on the door frame and a few torn scarf tassels fluttering behind.
In the hallway, Rocket Grunts were sent sprawling by Gold’s headlong rush, cries echoing around him.
A few researchers, momentarily distracted by the chaos, scrambled to clutch their documents and try to follow, but could only watch Gold disappear into the distance. Resigned, they yelled after him, “Captain Owl! You haven’t registered yet—!”
Meanwhile, Professor Elm’s Lab.
A small Totodile hopped excitedly over to Silver, who was organizing data, then happily rubbed its face against his leg.
“Silver, you’ve worked hard today too,” Professor Elm carefully placed the latest stack of papers in his hands onto the table. “Still no plans to challenge any Gym Leaders this year?”
“Unnecessary,” Silver shook his head, then crouched down to gently brush the scales on the Totodile’s back with a grooming tool. “Speaking of which, I believe Professor Oak is coming this afternoon to exchange the latest insights— So Professor Elm, are you prepared?”
Unsurprisingly, Elm hastily departed the lab, forgetting even to wipe his sweat. After all, the visitor was the renowned Pokémon Professor—Professor Oak—and accompanying him was his grandson, Green: a rising star, phenomenally talented, and brimming with youthful potential.
Silver sighed and picked up the Totodile as he stood.
“Speaking of which, why didn’t you take to the previous trainer?” Silver murmured, unconsciously holding the Totodile tighter. “Wasn’t that trainer pretty good?”
Location: Somewhere, Free Battle Zone.
“The winner is—Gold from New Bark Town!”
As the referee’s flag swept down, the promising young trainer who had received the starter curled in on himself helplessly, his face ghostly pale. The fear in his eyes screamed that he was completely shattered.
“Hey kid, a promise’s a promise,” Gold stopped spinning the Poké Ball on his fingertip and clenched it in his fist. His lips curled into a smirk, his voice dripping with unmistakable malice. “That Cyndaquil belongs to me now!”
“No… no no…” The rookie trainer’s pupils shrank, but he seemed to remember something. A feverish flush rose to his cheeks as if grabbing a last lifeline. He suddenly jerked his head up and screamed, “Referee! I accuse—!”
“—This guy is Team Rocket!”
The victory message on the electronic screen instantly blacked out. An ear-splitting alarm tore through the air, red lights sweeping over Gold’s smirking face. The Poké Ball spun faster on his finger; his scarf blazed like fire in the alarm-triggered wind.
“Kid, you jokin’?” Gold sneered as he advanced. “Team Rocket’s been gone for years. Gotta have proof to say stuff like that.”
“Proof… test him! Yeah, test him right now! I don’t believe he’s not Rocket! If he isn’t tested, this match doesn’t count!” The rookie yelled hoarsely, eyes blazing with desperation and resolve. He waved his arms wildly as he shouted. The surrounding audience, shocked by his sudden, intense outburst, erupted in hushed whispers.
“Order!” The referee hastily blew his whistle to restore calm. Faced with the rookie’s tantrum, he sighed helplessly, his gaze meeting Gold’s with a trace of pity. “Since such an accusation has been made, to ensure fairness, we have no choice but to scan you for any team affiliation markers. Sorry, please cooperate.”
Gold’s face darkened; a flicker of anger flashed in his eyes. But he quickly regained his careless expression and scoffed, “Scan away. I wasn’t scared you wouldn’t.”
The referee and arena staff exchanged weary glances. Under everyone’s watchful eyes, Gold was led to the designated verification area. Cold scanners passed over him, emitting pulses of deep blue light. Tension hung thick in the Free Battle Zone.
The results came back quickly. The display showed no trace of any Team Rocket identifiers or affiliated markers. Gold raised his chin and strode back to the rookie trainer, glaring down at him with undisguised mockery. “Alright kid, got nothin’ left to say now? Lost fair and square and slingin’ mud— smooth move!” Hearing this, the rookie trainer’s face went ashen. His body trembled slightly; his lips parted several times, but no sound emerged.
At that moment, the referee stepped forward, cleared his throat, and raised his flag to announce the final verdict. “As the scan proves this trainer has no Team Rocket affiliation, the outcome of this match stands!”
Hearing the verdict, Gold’s mouth curved into a satisfied grin. He reached out and snatched the red and white Poké Ball from the rookie trainer’s limp grasp—inside was the Cyndaquil he’d coveted. The rookie trainer clutched at the air where the ball had been, his eyes filled with utter despair and defiance, but under the crowd’s expectant gaze, his resistance crumbled, and he let his hand fall.
Gold snagged the ball easily. He tossed it idly in his hand a few times before calling out to the lingering spectators, “Show’s over! Move it! Some of us gotta train our new Pokémon!” The crowd gradually dispersed. Gold also turned to leave the Free Battle Zone. But barely a few steps out, he felt the weight of several unusual stares fixed on him from the shadows.
“Guess it is way too eye-catching, huh?” Gold mused, chin resting on his palm as he looked sideways at the golden Hoothoot on his shoulder. The Hoothoot just tilted its head, its red eyes blinking slowly, completely oblivious to its own conspicuousness.
It was a rare Shiny Hoothoot. Unlike regular Hoothoot’s dark brown plumage, its feathers were a brilliant amber-gold. Under the sun, each feather shimmered with an iridescent, dazzling light—impossible to look away from. No wonder the rookie earlier had challenged him, eyes burning with envy.
But that guy had nothing but guts. After Gold trounced him effortlessly, he’d completely cracked, accusing Gold of being Team Rocket… Luckily, Gold only carried Team Rocket gear on missions; privately, he brought absolutely nothing related to them.
But he hadn’t expected that guy to dare accuse him of being Rocket, even though the organization had publicly disbanded three years prior. Sheer audacity? Or had someone leaked info? Or maybe… Team Rocket was just too infamous, a convenient villain to blame?
Couldn’t figure it out. Not at all. Gold frowned. Being outside and feeling those eyes still on him, he kept his agitation in check, not bouncing around or scratching his head like usual. To any observer, he just seemed deep in thought about something important. That’s all.
“Excuse me, could I get a closer look at the Hoothoot on your shoulder?”
Gold was still brooding over the earlier events when the sudden question startled him. He quickly adjusted his expression, then turned around with a slightly puzzled look. Cast in the sunset’s glow stood a young man in a white lab coat, with spiky yellow hair, smiling and waving at him.
“First time meeting you. You can call me Green,” Green continued gently. “It’s a bit noisy here. Perhaps we could talk elsewhere?”
“What the— talking to yourself much?” Gold scowled and took a half-step back. “And why should I listen to you? Do I even know you?”
“Ah, troublesome…” Green seemed to read the resistance in Gold’s tone and chuckled knowingly. He rolled up his sleeves, his smile becoming more relaxed and assertive. “I guess I’m still not used to that formal approach…”
“Huh?” Gold looked bewildered as the researcher walked towards him and, without hesitation, tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
“This is the Free Battle Zone, right?” Green flipped out a Poké Ball with a practiced motion; the sunlight glinting off its metallic surface caught Gold’s eye. “If I win, you’ll have to lend me an ear later?”
“Pokémon battle? Sounds fun!” Gold’s eyes lit up, his resistance to Green’s proximity fading. “But what if you lose?”
“I—I won’t lose to a runt like you.”
“Hey! You don’t look that much older than me, Spiky!” [Note: Changed from "Hedgehog Head" to "Spiky" for natural English slang.]
Location: Free Battle Zone Periphery (Aftermath)
The Free Battle Zone’s alarms had long since stopped, but the whispers of the spectators still pierced the boy’s eardrums like poisoned needles.
“Some 'genius trainer'… couldn’t even beat a Hoothoot.”
“Heard he just got that Cyndaquil from Professor Elm today, and turned around and lost it!”
Ten-year-old Totaro clenched his empty Poké Ball belt tightly, fingernails digging into his palms. Three hours ago, a Poké Ball containing a Cyndaquil had hung there—now it belonged to that red-scarf jerk named Gold.
The boy genius, whose ears had only ever been filled with praise before, felt the brutal law of the jungle for the first time. Mocking voices were endless; even pressing his hands hard over his ears couldn’t block the malice.
“Thought he was supposed to be amazing? Doesn’t seem like it now.”
“Heard he even got his starter through connections. Shows he’s got no real skill.”
As time dragged on, people started pointing fingers. Unfounded accusations flew just to see him shatter further. One started, then others joined in, amplifying each other’s malice and speculation.
“Acting all high and mighty before? Figures he cheated to get that starter.”
“Look at those fancy, expensive clothes. Probably just bought his way in. Rich kids are different.”
“SHUT UP!” Totaro’s voice ripped through the crowd, sharp with fury. The spectators jumped, instantly falling silent. Eyes shifted nervously. Then they all focused back on the trembling figure.
The boy was only ten years old.
Someone suddenly grasped the situation, opening their mouth as if to offer remorse or comfort—
But it was too late.
Totaro shoved through the stunned onlookers and bolted. They could only watch the small figure shrinking away into the distance.
Shoving through layers of gawkers, he stumbled blindly into an alleyway. He slammed his fist against the grimy wall with all his strength.
“Why…?! I earned it through my own skill!” Totaro gritted his teeth, knuckles white with force.
For the past year, he’d visited Professor Elm’s lab weekly to "observe and learn." He’d even personally helped the Professor compile Poké Egg incubation records! Everyone called him a "once-in-a-decade prodigy." Even Professor Elm had marveled this morning, handing him the Cyndaquil, "You and this one have the same spark." And now? Now any random trainer could trample his dignity and laugh heartily.
The impact vibrated through the wall. A small Rattata suddenly popped out from a crack nearby, tilting its head curiously at the shaking human.
“PISS OFF!” Totaro lashed out with a kick. The Rattata squeaked in terror and fled, knocking over a trash can in the corner. Rotten fruit peel splattered onto his expensive, custom-made sneakers. He curled his lip in disgust.
“Ordinary Pokémon… just trash.”
He needed strength. He needed a stronger Pokémon. If he could just get a stronger Pokémon, he could crush that bastard. Crush everyone who mocked him. Then reclaim the title of "genius."
How could a mere Hoothoot ever beat Pokémon known as "pseudo-legendaries"?
Clang— A metal card fell from his pocket. The sharp sound startled a Murkrow perched on a nearby eave. Totaro froze, staring dumbly at his distorted reflection swimming on the card’s surface. It was a spare keycard for the lab. Professor Elm had lent it to him for temporary use because he’d been such a diligent helper. It was supposed to be returned yesterday. But no one asked. And he… he hadn’t said anything. What state of mind had he been in?
He reached out reflexively to pick it up. His fingers trembled uncontrollably. He stared at his shaking hand, seeing phantom faces swirling – Professor Elm’s expectant smile, his parents' wall covered in trophies, the spectators' grinning mouths. As his fingernails dug bloody crescents into his palm, a dry, raspy laugh scraped from his throat.
The sun dipped low. The four o'clock chimes rang out over New Bark Town, startling the youth. Totaro snapped his head up. His bloodshot eyes widened. An image clicked into place:
That morning, picking up the Cyndaquil… he’d overheard Professor Elm telling Silver, “The exchange starts at three. We need to leave early for Goldenrod City.”
"Right… this afternoon…"
"They left at three… That means… only the security guards are left in the lab now?"
"Ordinary Pokémon are trash."
"But those rare ones… the ones that Elm hides…"
His trembling fingers finally scraped up the edge of the card. Its cold, hard corner dug into his skin. He staggered to his feet. Sweat and grime streaked his face. He wiped his cheek roughly and whirled around, breaking into a frantic run towards the back alley behind Professor Elm’s Laboratory.