Chapter 59: Bye-Bye, Bonsly!
Samuel Moodsway woke before the sun.
Not because he wanted to. Not because he was one of those trainers who believed in the virtue of dawn drills and cold showers and punishing discipline before breakfast. He woke because Bonsly was crying again.
The small rock type sat in the corner of their rented room, its tiny brown body trembling, its large eyes leaking tears that seemed too big for its face. It had been doing this for three nights now—waking in the dark, shaking with something that wasn't quite fear and wasn't quite sadness, just a deep, wordless unease that Samuel couldn't name.
"Hey," he said, his voice soft and rough with sleep. "Hey, little one. I'm here."
He crossed the room barefoot, the cold floorboards creaking under his weight. Bonsly looked up at him, its green growths drooping, its expression one of pure, helpless apology.
"You didn't do anything wrong," Samuel said. He sat on the floor beside it, his back against the wall, his long dreadlocks spilling over his shoulders. "You're okay. We're okay."
Bonsly crawled into his lap and pressed its face against his chest.
Samuel wrapped his arms around it and held it there, feeling the small body shudder, feeling the tears soak through his shirt. He didn't try to make it stop. He just held on.
The city hummed beyond the window—Aethelburg's endless noise, the crystal towers vibrating, the canals flowing, the trainers and merchants and schemers all moving through their lives without pause. But in this room, there was only the two of them.
Just a man and his rock.
---
He'd found Bonsly three months ago.
It had been abandoned at a waystation outside the city—left in a cardboard box with a note that said, "Can't handle it anymore." The poor thing had been surrounded by trainers, all of them looking at it with pity or disdain or the cold calculation of someone deciding whether it was worth their time.
Samuel had looked at it and seen something else.
He'd seen fear.
Not the fear of a wild Pokémon, sharp and instinctual. The fear of a creature that had been let down, that had trusted someone and been thrown away, that had learned the lesson that love was just another thing that could be taken from you.
He'd picked it up. He hadn't said a word. He'd just picked it up and carried it away.
Bonsly had cried for an hour.
Samuel had held it for two.
---
"That's good," Samuel said, two hours later, standing in the training yard behind the inn. "That's really good."
Bonsly stood ten feet away, its body planted, its eyes focused. It had been trying to use Rock Throw for the past thirty minutes, and it had finally managed to fling a small stone more than three feet.
It wasn't impressive. It wasn't even competent. But it was progress, and Samuel would take it.
"Again," he said.
Bonsly nodded—a small, determined motion—and tried again. The stone went four feet this time. Five. Then one pathetic inch.
"Don't push it," Samuel said. "You're doing fine. You're doing great."
Bonsly looked at him with those big, uncertain eyes—the eyes of a creature that had learned not to trust praise, to expect disappointment.
Samuel smiled.
"Seriously. You're doing great."
Bonsly smiled back.
---
The morning passed in a blur of repetition.
Rock Throw. Rock Polish. Rock Tomb—which Bonsly couldn't even approximate, its boulders too small and too soft to do any real damage. But Samuel didn't care about damage. He cared about effort, about focus, about the small, trembling creature learning to believe in itself.
By noon, Bonsly was exhausted.
By one, it was frustrated.
By two, it was crying again.
"I know," Samuel said. He sat beside it on the training yard bench, his colorful clothes dusted with dirt, his handmade bracelets jangling as he moved. "I know it's hard. I know you want to be stronger. I know you're scared you never will be."
Bonsly looked at him.
"But here's the thing," Samuel said. "You're not alone. You don't have to do this by yourself. That's what I'm here for. That's what all of this is for."
He gestured vaguely at the city, at the world, at everything.
"We're a team. We're partners. And partners don't give up on each other just because things get hard."
Bonsly blinked.
Then it nodded.
---
The idea came to him in the afternoon.
He'd been thinking about Bonsly's battle against Dariana's Croagunk—a fight that had ended in a loss, but a loss that had shown something interesting. Bonsly had watched Croagunk move, had tried to mirror its stance, its timing, its way of striking. It hadn't worked, of course. Bonsly was too slow, too small, too inexperienced.
But the instinct was there.
The instinct to copy.
"What if we leaned into that?" Samuel said.
He was sitting on a low wall near the canal, Bonsly perched on his knee, the water glittering in the afternoon sun. He'd been talking to himself for the better part of an hour, working through the idea in his head, and now he was ready to test it.
"Bonsly, I want to try something."
Bonsly looked up at him.
"It's called Mimic. It's a move that copies your opponent's last move and uses it right back at them. It's tricky. It's finicky. It doesn't always work."
Bonsly tilted its head.
"But I think you can do it," Samuel said. "I think you've got the instinct. I think you've been copying everything around you since the day I met you—the way I move, the way I talk, the way I laugh. You're a mirror. You just don't know it yet."
Bonsly blinked.
Then it nodded.
---
They started simple.
Samuel used Aipom as the test subject.
The purple monkey was the perfect partner for this—quick, nimble, always ready to show off. It stood on the low wall across from Bonsly, its tail twitching with impatience, its eyes bright with curiosity.
"Okay," Samuel said. "Aipom, use Swift."
Aipom opened its mouth—a volley of glowing stars erupting outward—and Bonsly took the hit. It staggered, but didn't fall.
"Now, Bonsly," Samuel said. "Mimic."
Bonsly's eyes glowed—a faint, uncertain light—and nothing happened.
"That's okay," Samuel said. "That's okay. It's a hard move. You're doing great."
Bonsly didn't look convinced.
"Again," Samuel said. "Aipom, Swift."
Another volley. Another hit. Another failed Mimic.
Again.
Again.
Again.
By the fifteenth attempt, Bonsly was shaking with exhaustion. By the twentieth, it was crying again. By the twenty-fifth, Samuel was starting to wonder if he'd made a mistake—if he was pushing too hard, if he was asking for something Bonsly couldn't give.
Then, on the twenty-sixth attempt, something clicked.
Aipom used Swift. The stars erupted outward. Bonsly took the hit, staggered, and then—for just a moment—its eyes glowed with something different.
A flicker.
A spark.
A single, glowing star appeared in front of Bonsly's face and then vanished.
"That's it!" Samuel shouted. "That's it! You did it!"
Bonsly blinked, confused, uncertain.
"You did it," Samuel said again, kneeling down beside it, his voice fierce with pride. "You did it. That was Mimic. You actually did Mimic."
Bonsly's eyes widened.
Then, slowly—uncertainly—it smiled.
---
The breakthrough came three days later.
They'd been practicing Mimic every day, and Bonsly had gotten better—not good, not consistent, but better. It could mimic simple moves now: Swift, Fury Swipes, even a weak version of Bite. It was slow, it was unreliable, and it drained Bonsly's energy like nothing else. But it was working.
Then came the moment.
Aipom had been using Double Team—a move that created illusory duplicates, that blurred the line between what was real and what wasn't. It was a difficult move to mimic, requiring perfect timing, perfect focus, perfect understanding of the opponent's intent.
Bonsly had tried it twice and failed both times.
On the third attempt, something happened.
Aipom split into five copies. The copies circled Bonsly, chattering, teasing, daring it to strike. Bonsly stood still, its eyes tracking each one, its body trembling with concentration.
Then it moved.
Its form blurred—not into five copies, not into three, not even into two. Just one extra. A single, flickering duplicate that mirrored Bonsly's every move.
It lasted for half a second before dissolving.
But it was enough.
Samuel whooped—loud and reckless and joyfully—and Aipom stopped its circling, its copies fading, its eyes going wide. Bonsly stood in the center of it all, its chest heaving, its expression one of pure, astonished triumph.
"You did it," Samuel said. "You actually did it."
Bonsly didn't cry this time.
It just smiled.
---
They celebrated with dinner.
Samuel bought Bonsly a special treat—sweetened rock candy, the kind that took hours to eat—and the two of them sat on the edge of a bridge overlooking the canal, watching the water flow beneath them.
"You're getting stronger," Samuel said. "You know that, right?"
Bonsly nodded.
"You're not the same creature I found at that waystation. You're not the same frightened little thing."
Bonsly looked at him.
"I'm proud of you," Samuel said. "I don't say that enough. I should say it more."
Bonsly leaned against him.
They sat there in silence, watching the city settle into evening, the crystal towers lighting up one by one, the canals glowing with their own strange light.
---
That night, Bonsly woke again.
But this time, it didn't cry.
It stood in the corner of their room, its body trembling, but not with fear. With something else. Something bigger.
Samuel sat up.
"Bonsly?"
It turned to look at him, and its eyes were different. They were still the same eyes, still the same uncertain, quiet eyes, but there was something moving behind them—a light, a presence, a force.
"Are you okay?"
Bonsly nodded.
Then its body began to glow.
---
Samuel had seen evolution before.
He'd watched his Aipom try to evolve, only to fail, only to try again. He'd watched Doduo split and reform, watched Nosepass hum with energy, watched Carnivine stretch and grow.
But he'd never watched a Pokémon evolve from the inside.
Not like this.
The light started soft—a glow around Bonsly's body, warm and gentle. Then it grew—brighter, hotter, almost blinding—and Bonsly's form began to shift.
Its shape stretched. Its size increased. Its legs grew longer, its body wider, its growths transforming from small green sprouts into large, branching structures that looked like antlers or arms or both.
The light reached its peak.
Then it faded.
And when it was done, Bonsly was gone.
In its place stood something new.
Something taller. Something stronger. Something that had always been there, waiting.
---
Samuel stared.
The Pokémon stood nearly four feet tall—tall enough that Samuel had to look up at it. Its body was brown, tree-like, with a thick trunk and branching arms. Its face was the same, though—the same uncertain eyes, the same vulnerable expression.
It looked at Samuel.
Samuel looked back.
"Bonsly?" he said.
The Pokémon shook its head.
No.
It raised its arms—the long, flexible branches that had replaced its stubby little growths—and it flexed them, demonstrating their strength, their reach, their potential.
Samuel's breath caught.
"Sudowoodo," he whispered.
The Pokémon nodded.
---
The next hour was chaos.
Sudowoodo was learning its new body—testing its strength, exploring its reach, experimenting with what it could do. It tried to take a step and fell over. It tried to move its arms and knocked over a chair. It tried to use Rock Throw and sent a boulder through the wall.
Samuel didn't care.
He was laughing—loud and joyful and completely unashamed—as he helped Sudowoodo to its feet, as he dusted off the debris, as he guided his Pokémon through the first steps of its new existence.
"You're beautiful," he said. "You're absolutely beautiful."
Sudowoodo looked at him.
Then it did something it had never done before.
It laughed.
Not the shaky, uncertain sounds it had made as Bonsly. A real laugh—deep and rumbling and full of something that sounded almost like joy.
Samuel's heart swelled.
---
They trained the next morning.
Sudowoodo was different now—stronger, faster, more confident. It moved with a new kind of certainty, a new kind of presence. It used Mimic perfectly, flawlessly, copying Aipom's Swift with such precision that the two moves looked identical.
It used Rock Throw with real power, sending boulders flying across the training yard.
It used Rock Polish with grace, its new body gleaming like polished stone.
It was, Samuel realized, everything Bonsly had been—and everything Bonsly had been trying to become.
"You did it," he said. "You actually did it."
Sudowoodo looked at him.
Then it smiled.
---
That evening, Samuel found Briv in the training yard.
The champion looked tired—hollowed out and haunted and utterly exhausted. He was sitting on a bench, his head in his hands, his Pokémon scattered around him. Monferno was curled at his feet. Piplup was perched on his shoulder. Riolu and Gible were wrestling in the dirt.
"Hey," Samuel said.
Briv looked up.
"Hey."
Samuel sat beside him.
"You look like shit."
"Thanks."
"I mean it." Samuel's voice was gentle. "You look like you haven't slept in days."
"I haven't."
"Bad dreams?"
Briv didn't answer.
Samuel nodded slowly. He didn't push. He just sat there, quiet, waiting.
It was what he did.
---
"I evolved Bonsly today," Samuel said eventually.
Briv blinked.
"What?"
"Bonsly. He evolved. He's Sudowoodo now."
Briv stared at him.
"That's... that's amazing."
"It is." Samuel smiled. "He's beautiful. He's strong. He's everything I knew he could be."
Briv didn't say anything.
"You know what I learned?" Samuel said. "Watching him grow. Watching him struggle. Watching him become something new."
"What?"
"Growth isn't about being ready. It's about being willing. Bonsly wasn't ready to evolve. He was scared. He was uncertain. He was convinced he wasn't good enough." Samuel paused. "But he was willing. He was willing to try. He was willing to fail. He was willing to keep going even when everything in him said to stop."
Briv looked at him.
"That's what matters," Samuel said.
Briv was quiet for a long moment.
Then he said, "I don't know if I'm willing."
Samuel put a hand on his shoulder.
"You're here," he said. "You're still here. You're still fighting. That means you're willing."
Briv's eyes glistened.
"I don't feel willing. I feel like I'm drowning."
"Then you're drowning with the rest of us." Samuel squeezed his shoulder. "That's what friends do. We drown together. We fight together. We keep going together."
Briv laughed—a real laugh, the first one Samuel had heard from him in days.
"Thanks," he said.
"Anytime."
---
Later that night, Samuel stood on the balcony of his room, looking out at the city.
Sudowoodo stood beside him, its new body tall and strong, its eyes bright and calm. It had grown so much in such a short time—from a frightened little thing to a creature of real presence and real power.
"You did good today," Samuel said.
Sudowoodo nodded.
"You're going to be incredible in the League. You know that, right?"
Sudowoodo nodded again.
Samuel smiled.
"We've got a month. A month to train. A month to prepare. A month to become everything we need to be."
He looked at Sudowoodo.
"You ready?"
Sudowoodo looked back at him.
Then it nodded.
And Samuel knew it meant it.
=====
The morning light cut through the gap in the curtains like a blade through silk, and Samuel Moodsway was already awake.
He'd been awake for hours, actually—since before dawn, since before the city's crystal towers had begun their daily hum, since before the canals had caught their first glint of sun. Sudowoodo stood beside the window, its new body silhouetted against the pale glow, its eyes fixed on something in the distance that Samuel couldn't see.
"You feel it too," he said.
Sudowoodo nodded.
The weight of something coming. The pressure of days collapsing into each other. The sense that time was running out, that the League was no longer a distant marker but a blade pressed against the throat of every waking moment.
Samuel ran his hands through his dreadlocks and stood.
"Let's get breakfast," he said. "Then we train."
Sudowoodo turned from the window.
It smiled.
---
They ate at a small café near the canal, the kind of place that served honeyed bread and bitter tea and didn't ask questions about the Pokémon sitting at the table. Samuel ordered enough for both of them—sweet cakes for Sudowoodo, spiced eggs for himself—and they ate in comfortable silence, watching the city wake around them.
"You know what I've been thinking?" Samuel said eventually.
Sudowoodo looked at him.
"About what you said. Before you evolved. About being willing."
Sudowoodo tilted its head.
"I've been thinking about what that means. For me. For all of us." Samuel took a sip of his tea. "We're all carrying something. Briv's got the weight of the League and whatever the hell is going on beneath that marsh. Patricia's got her own battles. Nicola's fighting herself more than anyone else. Dariana's trying to hold everyone together while falling apart inside."
He set the cup down.
"And me? I'm just trying to keep up. Trying to be good enough. Trying to prove I belong in this group of people who are all so much stronger than me."
Sudowoodo reached across the table and placed one of its branch-like arms on Samuel's hand.
"I know," Samuel said. "I know you believe in me. I know they believe in me. But sometimes believing isn't enough. Sometimes you have to do something. You have to prove it."
Sudowoodo nodded.
"So that's what today is about," Samuel said. "We're going to find a battle. A real one. And we're going to win."
---
They found the battle before noon.
Samuel had been walking through the eastern district, Sudowoodo at his side, when he heard the commotion—a crowd gathered near a fountain, voices raised, the familiar crackle of Pokémon moves being used. He pushed through the onlookers and stopped.
A young woman stood in the center of the plaza, her posture relaxed, her expression one of calm amusement. She was tall and striking, with long black hair that fell past her shoulders and warm bronze skin that caught the light like polished copper. She wore a turquoise outfit adorned with golden jewelry and sapphire gemstones—elegant, regal, completely out of place in the dusty plaza.
In front of her, a trainer was recalling his fainted Pokémon.
"That's three," the woman said. "Anyone else?"
The crowd murmured but didn't move.
Samuel stepped forward.
"I'll take that challenge."
The woman turned to look at him—really look at him—and her brown eyes lit up with something that might have been interest.
"You're Samuel Moodsway," she said.
"I am."
"I've heard about you. The reggae artist who fights like he's dancing." She smiled. "I'm Jasmine."
"I know who you are."
Jasmine tilted her head.
"You do?"
"Everyone does." Samuel crossed his arms. "You're one of the best trainers in the region. Top ten, at least. Maybe top five."
"You're flattering me."
"I'm stating facts."
Jasmine laughed—a warm, genuine sound that seemed to surprise even her.
"You're interesting," she said. "I like interesting."
"Is that a yes?"
"That's a yes." Jasmine's smile sharpened. "Three-on-three. Standard rules."
"Deal."
---
They found an arena near the canal—a proper one, with marked boundaries and stands for spectators and a referee's podium at the center. The crowd followed them, drawn by the promise of a real battle, and by the time Samuel and Jasmine took their positions, the stands were packed.
Axel was already there.
Samuel spotted him leaning against the referee's podium, his arms crossed, his green eyes unreadable. He looked like he'd been waiting for something like this—like he'd known it was coming.
"You're refereeing?" Samuel asked.
"I am."
"Why?"
Axel shrugged.
"Because someone has to. And because I want to see what you've got."
Samuel didn't ask what that meant.
He just nodded.
---
Jasmine released first.
"Castform. Let's go."
The normal type materialized in a burst of white—small, round, its body shifting and shimmering like unsettled weather. It hovered above the ground, its expression serene, its eyes fixed on Sudowoodo.
Samuel considered his options.
Castform was tricky. Its form changed with the weather—fire in sun, water in rain, ice in hail. In neutral conditions, it was unpredictable, adaptable, dangerous.
"Doduo," Samuel said. "You're up."
The two-headed bird appeared in a flash of brown and cream—restless, alert, its two heads already scanning the arena for threats. It hopped from foot to foot, its powerful legs coiling and uncoiling with barely contained energy.
Axel raised his hand.
"Three-on-three. No items. No switching unless a Pokémon faints. Begin."
---
Doduo moved first.
It sprinted forward—fast, faster than Castform expected—and struck with a Double Hit. The two heads snapped in perfect sequence, one after the other, and Castform was thrown backward.
"Weather Ball," Jasmine said.
Castform's body glowed—a sphere of energy forming in front of it—and it launched the attack at Doduo. The bird dodged left, but the ball followed, tracking its movement, slamming into its side.
Doduo staggered.
"Again!"
Another Weather Ball. Another hit. Doduo was faltering.
"Quick Attack!" Samuel's voice was sharp.
Doduo recovered—fast, faster than it had any right to be—and slammed into Castform with both heads. The normal type spun backward, its form flickering.
"Thunder!"
Castform's body crackled with electricity—lightning erupting outward—and Doduo took the hit head-on. The bird screeched, its legs buckling.
"Get up!" Samuel shouted.
Doduo tried. It really did. But the electricity was too much, the damage too severe. It collapsed.
It didn't get up.
"Doduo is unable to battle," Axel said. "Samuel, send out your next Pokémon."
---
Samuel recalled Doduo with a whispered apology.
One down.
He reached for his second ball.
"Hippopotas."
The ground type materialized in a burst of sand and brown—small, sturdy, its large snout twitching as it scented the air. It planted its feet and waited, its eyes fixed on Castform.
"Begin," Axel said.
"Weather Ball," Jasmine said.
Castform's body glowed—the sphere forming—but Hippopotas was already moving. It opened its mouth and unleashed a Sand Attack, the burst of grit obscuring Castform's vision.
The Weather Ball went wide.
"Sand Tomb!"
Hippopotas stomped the ground—sand erupting upward—and Castform was caught in the swirling vortex. The normal type spun helplessly, its form flickering.
"Weather Ball!"
Another sphere. Another launch. But the sand was too thick, the aim too uncertain. The attack missed.
"Sand Tomb again!"
Another vortex. Another trap. Castform was slowing—its movements growing sluggish, its form growing dim.
"Thunder!"
Castform tried—it really did—but the electricity dissipated in the sand, grounding out before it could reach Hippopotas.
"Bite!"
Hippopotas lunged—fast for its size—and sank its teeth into Castform's body. The normal type screeched.
It fell.
It didn't get up.
"Castform is unable to battle," Axel said. "Jasmine, send out your next Pokémon."
---
Jasmine recalled Castform with a calm nod.
"You're good," she said.
"I know."
Jasmine smiled.
"Cyndaquil. Let's go."
The fire type materialized in a burst of orange and cream—small, agile, its back erupting with flames as it took its stance. It looked at Hippopotas and snarled.
"Hippopotas, stay sharp," Samuel said.
Hippopotas rumbled.
"Begin," Axel said.
"Flamethrower," Jasmine said.
Cyndaquil opened its mouth—a torrent of fire erupting outward—and Hippopotas took the hit. The ground type staggered, its sandy hide scorching.
"Sand Tomb!"
Hippopotas stomped—the vortex erupting—but Cyndaquil was already moving, darting around the attack with practiced ease.
"Flamethrower again!"
Another torrent. Another hit. Hippopotas was burning now—literally, its body smoking, its movements growing sluggish.
"Bite!"
Hippopotas lunged—but Cyndaquil was too fast, dodging left and countering with another Flamethrower. Hippopotas collapsed.
It didn't get up.
"Hippopotas is unable to battle," Axel said. "Samuel, send out your final Pokémon."
---
Samuel recalled Hippopotas and stood alone.
One left.
He reached for his final ball.
"Sudowoodo."
The rock type materialized in a burst of brown and green—tall, strong, its new body gleaming in the afternoon light. It looked at Cyndaquil and didn't flinch.
Cyndaquil looked back.
"Begin," Axel said.
"Flamethrower," Jasmine said.
Cyndaquil opened its mouth—the fire erupting outward—but Sudowoodo raised its arms and countered with Mimic. A torrent of fire erupted from its own mouth, colliding with Cyndaquil's attack and canceling it out.
Jasmine's eyes widened.
"Interesting," she said. "Again!"
Another Flamethrower. Another Mimic. The two attacks collided and dissipated.
"Quick Attack!"
Cyndaquil blurred forward—fast, precise—and struck Sudowoodo in the chest. The rock type staggered but didn't fall.
"Rock Throw!"
Sudowoodo's arms glowed—a boulder forming—and it hurled the rock at Cyndaquil. The fire type tried to dodge, but the attack was too fast, too accurate.
The boulder hit dead center.
Cyndaquil flew backward, its flames sputtering.
"Flamethrower!"
Cyndaquil tried—it really did—but Sudowoodo was already moving, using Mimic to copy the attack and send it right back. The fire collided with fire.
Cyndaquil collapsed.
It didn't get up.
"Cyndaquil is unable to battle," Axel said. "Jasmine, send out your final Pokémon."
---
Jasmine recalled Cyndaquil with a quiet sigh.
"You're really good."
"I know."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
Jasmine smiled—a real smile, not forced, not defensive.
"Snorunt. Let's go."
The ice type materialized in a burst of white and gray—small, round, its body covered in a cloak of snow. It looked at Sudowoodo with calm, calculating eyes.
"Sudowoodo, stay focused," Samuel said.
Sudowoodo nodded.
"Begin," Axel said.
"Ice Beam," Jasmine said.
Snorunt opened its mouth—a beam of ice erupting outward—and Sudowoodo took the hit. The rock type staggered, frost forming on its body.
"Mimic!"
Sudowoodo's eyes glowed—and it copied Ice Beam, sending the attack right back at Snorunt. The ice type took the hit, its body crackling with frost.
"Ice Beam again!"
Another beam. Another Mimic. The two attacks collided and dissipated.
"Double Team!"
Snorunt split into five copies—illusory duplicates that circled Sudowoodo, darting and weaving. Sudowoodo stood still, its eyes tracking each one.
"Rock Throw!"
Sudowoodo hurled a boulder at one of the copies—but it passed through, striking the ground behind it. The copies laughed.
"Again!"
Another boulder. Another miss. Sudowoodo was surrounded.
"Rock Polish!"
Sudowoodo's body gleamed—a silver light—and its speed increased. It moved faster now, its movements sharper, more precise.
"Ice Beam!"
Snorunt fired—but Sudowoodo was already moving, dodging left and countering with Mimic. The ice beam struck one of the copies, dissipating it.
"Again!"
Another beam. Another dodge. Another copy destroyed.
"Again!"
The third copy. The fourth.
Then there was only one Snorunt left.
"Rock Throw!"
Sudowoodo hurled a boulder—fast, precise—and Snorunt couldn't dodge in time. The ice type was thrown backward, its body cracking.
"Ice Beam!"
Snorunt's final attack. Sudowoodo took the hit—frost spreading across its body—but it didn't fall.
"Mimic!"
Sudowoodo's eyes glowed—and it copied Ice Beam, sending the attack right back. Snorunt screeched as the ice struck.
It collapsed.
It didn't get up.
"Snorunt is unable to battle," Axel said. "Samuel wins."
---
The crowd erupted.
Samuel stood in the center of the arena, his heart pounding, his breath ragged, his eyes fixed on Sudowoodo. The rock type stood tall, its body gleaming, its expression one of quiet triumph.
"We did it," Samuel whispered.
Sudowoodo nodded.
Jasmine crossed the arena—her steps measured, her expression unreadable—and stopped in front of him. She offered her hand.
"That was incredible," she said. "You're incredible."
Samuel took her hand.
"You pushed me," he said. "That's more than most people can say."
Jasmine's smile widened.
"Rematch sometime?"
"Anytime."
---
Axel approached.
"Good battle," he said. "Both of you."
Jasmine looked at him.
"You're Axel, right? The one with the Rotom?"
"That's me."
"I've heard about you." Jasmine tilted her head. "You're one of those trainers who doesn't need a full team. Interesting."
Axel didn't respond.
Jasmine shrugged.
"Whatever. Good to meet you."
She walked away—her turquoise outfit catching the fading light, her sapphire jewelry glittering—and disappeared into the crowd.
---
Samuel recalled Sudowoodo and stood alone in the arena.
Seven wins.
He'd lost to Raze, lost to the no-name kid from the outskirts, lost to more trainers than he cared to count. But he'd won today. He'd won against someone who pushed him, someone who made him think, someone who made him better.
It wasn't enough.
It was never enough.
But it was something.
---
That night, Samuel found himself on the roof of the inn.
The stars were out—bright and cold and impossibly distant—and the city hummed beneath him like a living thing. He sat on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling over the side, Sudowoodo beside him.
"You know what's funny?" Samuel said.
Sudowoodo looked at him.
"I spent so long thinking I wasn't good enough. That I didn't belong. That I was just... keeping up. Tagging along."
He leaned back, his dreadlocks spilling across the rooftop.
"But today, I beat one of the best trainers in the region. Not because I got lucky. Not because she went easy on me. Because I was better."
Sudowoodo nodded.
"I'm not saying I'm the best. I'm not saying I've got it all figured out. But I'm saying..." He paused. "I'm saying I belong. I've earned my place. And that means something."
Sudowoodo leaned against him.
They sat there in silence, watching the stars, feeling the city breathe beneath them.
---
The door to the roof opened.
Samuel turned.
Jasmine stood in the doorway, her turquoise outfit replaced by something simpler—a loose shirt, worn jeans, her hair down. She looked different in the starlight. Softer. More real.
"I thought I'd find you here," she said.
Samuel raised an eyebrow.
"You were looking for me?"
"I was." Jasmine walked across the roof and sat beside him. "I wanted to talk."
"About?"
"About the battle. About you. About..." She paused. "About a lot of things."
Samuel waited.
"I've been watching you," Jasmine said. "For a while now. Not in a creepy way—well, maybe a little creepy. But I've been watching."
"Why?"
"Because you're different." Jasmine met his eyes. "You fight like you're dancing. Like every move is part of some bigger rhythm. It's beautiful to watch."
Samuel didn't know what to say.
"I'm not good at this," Jasmine said. "I'm not good at... people. I'm good at battles. I'm good at winning. But this—" She gestured vaguely between them. "This is harder."
"What is 'this'?"
Jasmine looked at him.
"I don't know yet," she said. "But I want to find out."
---
Sudowoodo stood and walked to the other side of the roof, giving them space.
Samuel watched it go.
Then he turned back to Jasmine.
"You're not what I expected," he said.
"What did you expect?"
"Someone colder. More distant. You're one of the best trainers in the region—I figured you'd be..."
"Arrogant?"
"Confident."
Jasmine laughed.
"I am confident," she said. "I'm just also... lonely. And tired. And looking for something that isn't another victory."
Samuel nodd.
"I know what that feels like."
"Do you?"
"Yeah." He looked at her. "I've spent my whole life trying to prove myself. Trying to be good enough. Trying to earn my place in a world that doesn't want to give me one."
Jasmine was quiet for a moment.
"Then we're the same," she said.
"Maybe."
"Maybe."
---
She kissed him.
It wasn't tentative. It wasn't uncertain. It was bold and direct and exactly what he should have expected from someone like her. Her lips were warm, her hands firm on his shoulders, her body pressing against his with a confidence that left no room for doubt.
Samuel kissed her back.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the heat of it—the press of her mouth, the slide of her tongue, the way her fingers curled into his dreadlocks like she was holding on for dear life. The city hummed beneath them. The stars watched overhead.
Then she pulled back.
"Your room or mine?" she said.
Samuel blinked.
"Mine's closer."
"Lead the way."
---
They didn't make it to the room.
They made it to the stairwell—the narrow, dimly lit space between the roof and the top floor—and that was close enough. Jasmine pressed him against the wall, her mouth on his neck, her hands working at the buttons of his shirt.
"You're impatient," Samuel said.
"I know what I want."
"And what's that?"
She pulled back just enough to look at him—her brown eyes dark, her lips swollen, her expression one of pure, unapologetic hunger.
"You," she said. "Right now. Right here."
Samuel didn't argue.
He pulled her shirt over her head—she helped, yanking it free and tossing it aside—and then his hands were on her skin, her bronze body gleaming in the dim light, her small breasts bare and perfect. He cupped them, thumbed her nipples, watched her breath catch.
"Fuck," she whispered.
He kissed her again—harder this time, dirtier, his tongue sliding against hers as his hands moved down her stomach, her hips, the waistband of her jeans.
He unbuttoned them. Unzipped them. Pushed them down.
She stepped out of them, kicked them aside, stood before him in nothing but her underwear—simple black cotton that did nothing to hide the shape of her, the heat of her, the way her thighs pressed together with need.
"You're beautiful," Samuel said.
"I know." Jasmine smiled. "Now take off your pants."
He did.
His cock was already hard—aching, straining against his boxers—and when he pushed them down, Jasmine's eyes widened.
"Fuck," she said again. "You're big."
"Is that a problem?"
"Not even close."
She dropped to her knees.
Samuel's breath caught as she took him in her hand—her fingers warm, her grip firm—and then her mouth was on him, wet and hot and impossibly good. She took him deep, her tongue sliding along the underside of his shaft, her lips tight around him.
"Shit," he gasped.
She hummed—the vibration sending sparks up his spine—and took him deeper. Her hand worked the base of his cock while her mouth moved up and down, a rhythm that was slow and deliberate and absolutely devastating.
Samuel tangled his fingers in her hair.
"Jasmine—"
She pulled back just long enough to look up at him.
"Don't hold back," she said. "I want to taste you."
Then she took him again—deeper this time, her throat working around him—and Samuel stopped thinking entirely.
---
He came with a groan, his hips bucking, his release spilling into her mouth.
Jasmine swallowed every drop.
She stood, wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and smiled.
"Your turn," she said.
Samuel didn't need to be told twice.
He pushed her against the wall—gently, but firmly—and dropped to his knees. Her underwear was soaked through, the fabric clinging to her skin, and he peeled it away with deliberate slowness.
Her pussy was bare, glistening, perfect.
Samuel leaned in and licked.
Jasmine gasped—her hands flying to his shoulders, her nails digging in—and Samuel smiled against her skin. He licked again, slower this time, his tongue tracing the length of her slit before circling her clit.
"Fuck," she breathed. "Fuck, that's good."
He worked her with his mouth—licking, sucking, teasing—while his fingers found her entrance and slid inside. She was tight, wet, ready.
He curled his fingers, found the spot that made her knees buckle, and pressed.
"Oh god—"
He did it again.
And again.
And again.
Jasmine came with a cry—her body convulsing, her thighs clamping around his head, her hands fisting in his dreadlocks. Samuel didn't stop. He kept licking, kept fingering, kept pushing her through wave after wave of pleasure until she collapsed against the wall, breathless and shaking.
"Holy shit," she whispered.
Samuel stood.
His cock was hard again—aching, desperate—and Jasmine looked at it with something that might have been reverence.
"I want you inside me," she said.
"Where?"
"Here. Now. I don't care."
He lifted her—she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck—and positioned himself at her entrance.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Fuck yes."
He pushed inside.
Jasmine cried out—a raw, guttural sound—as he filled her, stretched her, claimed her. She was tight and wet and absolutely perfect, and Samuel had to close his eyes to keep from coming right then.
"Move," she gasped. "Please, fuck, move—"
He moved.
The first thrust was slow—deliberate, controlled—but the second was harder. The third harder still. Soon he was pounding into her, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the stairwell, her moans mixing with his grunts.
"Harder," she demanded. "Fuck me harder—"
He gave her what she wanted.
He fucked her against the wall—rough, raw, brutal—his hips slamming into hers with a force that made the old wood creak and groan. Her nails raked down his back. Her teeth found his shoulder. Her pussy clenched around him like a fist.
"I'm close," he growled.
"Me too—fuck, me too—"
He reached between them, found her clit with his thumb, and pressed.
Jasmine screamed.
Her orgasm hit her like a wave—crashing, consuming, dragging her under—and Samuel followed a heartbeat later, his release flooding into her as he buried himself to the hilt.
They stayed like that for a long moment—panting, trembling, clinging to each other—before Samuel finally pulled out.
Jasmine slid down the wall, her legs giving out, and sat on the floor.
Samuel sat beside her.
Neither of them spoke.
---
"So," Jasmine said eventually.
"So."
"That was..."
"Yeah."
She laughed—a tired, satisfied sound—and leaned her head against his shoulder.
"I don't do this," she said. "Not usually. I'm not... I don't just..."
"I know."
"You do?"
Samuel nodded.
"I know what it's like to be alone. To want something you can't name. To find someone who makes you feel less alone, even for a moment."
Jasmine was quiet.
"That's what this is," she said. "A moment."
"Maybe."
"Maybe."
She stood—slowly, unsteadily—and gathered her clothes.
"I should go," she said.
"I know."
She dressed in silence—her shirt, her jeans, her shoes—and then she looked at him one last time.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For tonight. For the battle. For... everything."
Samuel smiled.
"Anytime."
She left.
---
Samuel sat in the stairwell for a long time after she was gone.
Sudowoodo found him there eventually—the rock type had been waiting on the roof, patient as always—and sat beside him without a word.
"You know what's funny?" Samuel said.
Sudowoodo looked at him.
"I won today. I beat one of the best trainers in the region. I proved I belong."
He paused.
"And I still feel empty."
Sudowoodo leaned against him.
"Maybe that's just how it is," Samuel said. "Maybe you can win every battle, prove every point, earn every victory—and still feel like something's missing."
He looked up at the ceiling.
"Or maybe I just need to figure out what that something is."
Sudowoodo nodded.
They sat there in silence—the city humming beneath them, the stars watching overhead—and for the first time in a long time, Samuel felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Even if he didn't know why.
---
The next morning, Samuel woke to the sound of his phone buzzing.
He rolled over—his body aching, his mind foggy—and grabbed it.
A message from Briv.
"Emergency meeting. Everyone. Now."
Samuel sat up.
Sudowoodo was already at the window, its eyes fixed on something in the distance.
"What is it?" Samuel asked.
Sudowoodo didn't answer.
It just pointed.
Outside, the crystal towers were dark.
All of them.
Samuel's blood ran cold.
He grabbed his clothes and ran.