Route 1, Hoenn Region.
May, Aspiring trainer.
[Ralts, the Empathy Pokémon: Ralts senses the emotions of people using the horns on its head. This Pokémon rarely appears before people. But when it does, it draws closer if it senses that the person has a positive disposition.]
The gentle chime of the Pokédex caught May's attention as she lowered the device, her brow knitting with curiosity.
"That's odd," she murmured, eyes fixed on the screen. "This Ralts… its hair is blue, not green."
Before them, the creature shimmered faintly under the sunlight. Its hair was a delicate, glacial blue, falling like silk over its head. The red horn on its forehead glowed brighter than usual, and its silver-toned body gleamed softly—ethereal and strange.
Wally's eyes never left the Pokémon. "It's a shiny," he said quietly.
May glanced up, surprised at how steady his voice sounded. "How did you know something like this would appear?"
Wally shrugged dramatically, tossing his bangs with mock flair. "Must be my natural charms," he said with a grin. "Even rare Pokémon can't resist."
May snorted, elbowing him playfully. "Right. That or the universe has a weird sense of humor."
Wally laughed softly, but there was a calmness to him that stood out—quiet, measured, like a still pond barely disturbed by a breeze.
Ralts stood firm, its gaze locked on Wally. Its posture was no longer shy—it radiated a quiet confidence, a readiness. The crimson horn pulsed faintly, and its tiny fists clenched.
"I thought Ralts were supposed to be shy," May said, brow furrowed. "But this one… doesn't look shy at all."
"Ralts are shy," Wally replied, eyes wide with interest. "But shiny Pokémon sometimes have different temperaments. Maybe this one's… a fighter."
Ralts took a bold step forward, lowering its head slightly, like a knight preparing for a duel. Its aura had shifted completely—no longer gentle, but assertive, demanding. It let out a sharp cry, piercing the quiet air, and the tall grass around them shivered in response.
"Yup, that's definitely a fighter," May spoke, stepping back quickly. "This one wants to battle."
Wally met the gaze of the Empathy Pokémon with calm eyes, a soft determination there.
"It's sizing me up," he said quietly. "Not through emotions, but strength."
His hand rested on his belt, fingers curling around a Poké Ball. The warmth from the metal was faint but steady, matching the rhythm of his pulse. He stepped forward, matching the Pokémon's challenge without hesitation—but without rush.
May studied him closely. He was calm, yes, but it wasn't the kind of calm that hid fear. It was a quiet steadiness, as if he was finally beginning to accept what it meant to be a trainer—not just in theory, but here and now.
"Alright," Wally said softly. "If it's a battle you want, I'll give it my best. Go, Zigzagoon!"
The Poké Ball opened with a flash, and Zigzagoon sprang out eagerly, its fur bristling. It circled cautiously, ready.
Ralts stood still, horn glowing softly, as if anticipating the first move.
May stepped closer, careful not to interfere.
"Wally, the first rule is to weaken the Pokémon without knocking it out. Watch its reactions. Ralts might look fragile, but don't underestimate it."
"I've read about this," Wally said with a small smile. "But… it feels different when it's right there."
May smiled to herself, remembering her own early battles. "That's the real test."
Zigzagoon charged with a Tackle, but Ralts raised its arms. A wave of psychic energy pushed Zigzagoon aside, surprising it.
"Psychic moves can disrupt your flow," May cautioned. "Don't rush."
Wally's eyes darted between Ralts and Zigzagoon, his calm tempered by focus.
"Zigzagoon, use Sand Attack!"
Zigzagoon kicked up dust, clouding Ralts's vision. The Pokémon blinked, momentarily disoriented.
"Good. Now keep chipping away."
"Zigzagoon, Tackle again!"
The hit connected. Ralts staggered, but held its ground.
Wally's heart pounded beneath his calm exterior, but he didn't rush. He was learning patience.
May's thoughts drifted. Watching Wally now, she saw something subtle—a quiet bravery, a willingness to face uncertainty without panic. It was different from the excitement she remembered feeling. Wally's calm wasn't cold; it was steady, like a small flame burning bright in a breeze.
"Don't rush the catch," she reminded softly. "Wait for it to tire."
Wally nodded, breath steadying, eyes focused. "Right. Wait for the moment."
Ralts's horn flared brighter—another Confusion attack charged.
Zigzagoon hesitated.
Wally called out, "Dodge, Zigzagoon! Circle right!"
The Pokémon slipped away just in time. "Now, Tackle!"
Ralts stumbled again, slower to recover.
"There," May said, heart quickening. "That's your chance."
Wally's fingers tightened on the Poké Ball. His breath hitched slightly—but his face remained calm, composed. This was his moment.
"Poké Ball—go!"
The ball flew through the air, striking Ralts. The shiny Pokémon was pulled inside with a soft, melodic sound.
Click.
The ball shook once.
Twice.
Three times…
The light shifted—green.
Stillness.
May held her breath. Her gaze locked on Wally's face. His eyes were wide, but calm, filled with wonder and something deeper—pride, maybe, but also a quiet realization.
"…I caught it," he whispered.
May smiled, "You caught it, Wally. Congratulations on catching your first pokemon."
Zigzagoon barked in celebration, tail wagging like crazy as it bounced in a circle around the Poké Ball.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Wally smiled—bright and real. That moment, that look on Wally's face, was something she knew she wouldn't forget anytime soon.
...
Petalburg Town, Hoenn Region.
John, the Gardener.
The mornings were quiet in Petalburg, with dew still clinging to the windows and the distant cry of Tailow echoing across the rooftops. It was the kind of peace one grew used to. Predictable. Steady.
But lately, something had changed in their home—and in the boy who lived under their roof.
Wally.
The name alone stirred a mix of warmth and ache in his chest. His nephew had always been a gentle child. Polite, quiet, and painfully thin. There were seasons when his cough kept him bedridden for days, his skin nearly translucent under the fever sweats. He remembered the first time Wally had collapsed in the garden, how his sister, Wally's mother, had begged them to take him in. The cleaner air near Petalburg, they said, might help. And so they had, gladly.
He loved the boy. How could he not?
But Wally had always been distant in his own way. Not unkind—never that—but absorbed. His world revolved around his books, the old Pokédex encyclopedia, and rewatching League matches on tape until the cartridges wore thin. While other children chased Zigzagoon and wrestled in the dirt, Wally watched from the porch, clutching a blanket, content with stories rather than steps.
And yet now…
The uncle stood by the kitchen window, watching the dirt path leading up to the front gate. A bag of berries rested on the counter beside him, forgotten.
Wally had changed.
It was subtle at first. A sharper gleam in his eyes. He spoke a little more at dinner. Laughed, even. And then came the letter in the mail: he'd passed the Pokémon license test.
From home. With no field training. No hands-on experience. Just sheer determination and endless studying.
Incredible, really.
Even now, the uncle wasn't sure whether to be more amazed or worried.
Behind him, his wife wrung a dishcloth in her hands. She hadn't touched the sink in five minutes. Her brow was furrowed tight.
"He's still not back," she murmured. "It's nearly noon."
"He's fine," the uncle said gently, not turning from the window. "He went with that girl—Norman's daughter. May."
"She's a good girl, but Wally's… He's not built for this."
"He's not made of glass," the uncle replied quietly.
Her lips pressed together, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was familiar. Heavy with the shared memory of late-night worries and whispered prayers.
Then—movement.
Out on the path.
Wally was coming home.
He moved with more spring than usual, although still with the careful pace of someone long accustomed to conserving energy. And floating just behind him…
The uncle squinted.
Ralts.
But not just any Ralts.
It shimmered faintly under the sun. Its pale body almost silver, its hair a glacial blue. It moved with precision, not skittishness. Eyes clear. Sharp.
Wally opened the gate, expression glowing.
"I'm back!" he called, breathless. "And I—I did it."
The aunt rushed out first, wiping her hands on her apron. "Oh my goodness, Wally—what a precious little thing!"
She bent toward the Ralts, reaching to stroke its head.
But the Pokémon shook its head sharply and stepped back. Its gaze fixed, protective. Unyielding.
The aunt blinked, her hand hovering midair.
"Oh…" she said softly. "That's… unexpected."
Wally's smile didn't falter. If anything, it grew more proud.
"She's not like most Ralts," he said. "She's… strong. Brave."
The uncle watched from the porch. He had to admit, the Pokémon's demeanor was unusual. Fierce. Not in an aggressive way, but deliberate. Like a knight standing guard.
Just like Wally himself had been lately.
The uncle stepped down, resting a hand on Wally's shoulder.
"Proud of you, Wally," he said. "I really am."
Wally looked up at him, and for a moment, the uncle saw a future he hadn't dared to imagine—of journeys and challenges, of things beyond hospital beds and filtered air.
"I've been thinking," Wally said, voice quiet. "About Verdanturf Town. It's even cleaner than here. And there's a Pokémon Center nearby. I think… I want to go. Just me and Ralts."
The words landed softly, but firmly.
The aunt looked stricken. "Wally…"
The uncle met her gaze, steady.
"It's time," he said gently.
The boy beside them wasn't the same child who arrived fragile and silent, afraid of a stiff breeze. Something had shifted in him. A small, bright spark.
He had a Ralts now, his very own Pokémon.
And a dream burning in his chest.
They would help him pack in the morning.
...
Thanks for reading~