Journey

Zane’s mother guided us back to his home. He kept gloating about how he won his first battle. Freeloader or not, good for him. She treated my wound herself with a thick, green salve. It was like fire in the gash, but the blood dried up before the ointment could even be rubbed off. If the kinds of treatments we used for little scratches stung that much, I didn’t want to imagine how the medicines for worse injuries tasted.

I yawned as he put me down in his bedroom. There were posters of all kinds of famous Capmon Trainers. There were framed portraits of every champion going back more than a hundred years. Most of them were in black and white, but my eyes stopped on the picture of me. Instead of the single clean photograph he had for everyone else, my portrait was surrounded by posters and magazine covers. There was even a picture from that one beach photo shoot I’d done. Most of it was all from before I’d become a champion. I’d already been a favorite to become one, so I had all the attention of a proper champion.

My face glared down over me. That picture was from four months ago. My two long twin tails dangled straight down. My wide, circular glasses were pushed up on my big forehead. Another poster was from two months ago. I was dressed more formally- not in a swimsuit- and I’d cut my hair. The portrait of me as a champion had a straight, sharp look from top to bottom. I was wearing a dress more fit for an office building than a trek through forests or caves. The flash of the camera reflected back off my glasses. I’d gotten a haircut by then. Even for a picture just after I became champion, and before I lost it, I wasn’t smiling. Seeing it now, I almost looked disappointed.

I knew that wasn’t right. The first thing I did after winning was step out of the arena and cry. Breathless, overwhelmed, delighted. Nobody could have been allowed to see that. I went to the restroom and cleaned myself up. The sticky tears were erased before the pictures, before the next match. That wasn’t me. I’d always made myself look cool, blasé, and even a little bratty. The last part was less intentional, and I only started realizing it after I lost. It didn’t bother me.

A champion was dignity. She was perfection. Intention. The little mirror on Zane’s nightstand offered a different portrait of me. Undignified, imperfect. I had no idea why I’d become like this.

Of course, the only picture that was smiling at all was Fire. He gave his cheesy grin to the camera, and didn’t even look into the lens properly. His baseball cap sat sideways, bobbling halfway off his head. He wore a loose-fitting shirt, and he held his fist up like a winning boxer. The line of champions photographed before him looked stoic or cautious or determined. None of them like they were heading to a classmate’s birthday party. That part was easier for him. Before us, the youngest champion had been in his twenties. I was ten and he was eleven, a record he’d never be able to claim from me.

Zane followed my eyes up to the images, “These are the Capmon Champions,” he pointed up, his fingernail clicking against the poster of me on the beach, “The greatest trainers ever. I’m gonna be one of them, you know!” He stopped himself, “Well, you’d better know, ‘cause you’re gonna be there, right?”

I hopped up onto his bed. Diminutive as I was, I really could run and jump. Landing on my feet was easy, and I zipped over to the wall. I pressed my body up against it, trying to snatch at the beach poster with my claws. “H-hey, stop!” He rubbed his hand against the fur on my belly, “That’s really important you know. She’s my favorite.”

He went on, “I look younger than I am, but I’m actually her age. Well, she’s my favorite, so I can tell you her birthday is February 17, and I was born on February 16 that same year.” He sped up, “Really cool, right? Well, my Mom took me to one of her matches back before she even became a champion. Eifie evolved into a super cool Ummerfron in the middle of the most important matchup, and she won because of it.” I remembered that. I definitely remembered it better than he did. Zane beamed, “I wanted to become a trainer after that.”

He reached over and flicked out the light, “You can sleep up here if you want, but it’ll be a big day tomorrow.” Zane lay back and pulled his blanket over himself. He rolled back and forth, then his eyes shot wide open. I was surprised how clearly I could see him in the dark. He started chattering about all kinds of random things. His favorite battles he’d watched, how he always wanted a rare Dravanigh, his friend who found a Capmon with a weird fur color. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to keep me up all night, or if he actually thought this was some kind of sleepover. When I turned back to normal, I was going to rub it in this kid’s face that he’d made me sleep in his bed with him. Kid… He was a day older than me.

The sun dripping through his blinds woke me up. I was always an early riser, so I pressed my paws softly against Zanes neck to get him up. When I was a trainer, I’d have been disgraced to be woken up by anybody else. He murmured, “Did the alarm go off yet?” I looked at the little digital clock. He’d set it for half past ten in the morning, so I stepped over onto his nightstand and I kicked the clock onto the floor. It slammed into the carpet with a loud crash, bits of wiring popping out of its back.

“Hey!” He jolted awake, “Come on, my mom got that for me.”

I stomped my foot, then hopped down onto the ground, racing toward the door. “Just lemme get my shirt on…” He slowly dragged his pajamas off. He lay halfway back down, nearly falling asleep again before he was even done. I felt a pressure building in my chest as I grew more frustrated with him, it pinched, shaking through my fur, and finally sparks of electricity flashed out of my cheeks, lighting up the room. Small shocks caught Zane, jerking him fully awake. Long, black marks charred through his carpet.

“Owww…” Zane moaned. He finally pulled his clothes on and marched over to me, “What was that for? Why are you being all mean this morning?” I snorted and looked away from him.

Zane set me on his shoulder and as he went downstairs. He slowly pushed open the front door. “Ah-hem?” His mother’s voice cut through the parlor. She walked over, “You’re trying to leave without saying goodbye? Oh, I remember being your age.”

“Well, I thought…”

“You might want this,” she shoved his backpack into his arms. Its weight pulled him down as soon as he grabbed it. A number of useful things could be seen through its open pouch. Half a dozen Capture Balls. Berries which could be used for food or their medicinal properties. Salves and potions that could treat injuries. He hadn’t packed these himself, and she must have been up all night preparing it. This was far nicer than the little care package my grandfather had given me when I started, and he was one of the greatest experts on Capmon the world had ever known.

“T-thanks…” He pressed it tightly to his chest. Zane wasn’t sure what to do, he took a step toward the exit, then leaned forward, trying to awkwardly hug his mother with one arm while holding the bag in his other.

She squeezed him, then pulled one more thing out of her pocket, “And, this too.” The little Capture Ball had a greater weight in her hand than any empty one would. She slowly fastened it onto his belt, “Pengli was always one of my favorite Capmon to read about as a kid, but I retired right after I finally found one. He’s been in a Capture Ball since before you were born, so he might be a bit testy when you let him out.”

“You’re giving me a Capmon for free?”

“It’s better he gets out of his ball finally,” She gently shoved Zane’s shoulder, “and I want you to have an extra with you so you don’t get hurt! Now go on. Be careful.”

“Pengli… Pengli…” He strolled out of the door, “A earth-type? Magic-type?” Sea… I rolled my eyes. Blastix was also a sea-type, and he mentioned his mother had been a badge trainer before. It should have been obvious to him. She must have told him once that she specialized in sea-types.