Four

Five Months Later

Current Age: 14

“Nicholas, wake up. It’s time for school.”

I always make it my job to wake him. Older brother duty.

He groaned and rolled over, burying his face into the pillow like that would make time pause.

I sighed. Then shoved him hard enough to knock him off the bed.

Thud.

“What the hell, Abel?!”

“How else are you supposed to wake up?” I said, crossing my arms. “You think someone’s always gonna be there to push you out of bed?”

He blinked at me, confused, rubbing his side. “What’s that supposed to mean? We’ll be together.”

I went quiet. My hands were suddenly more interesting than the conversation.

“…Just get up,” I muttered. “I’ll help Mom with breakfast.”

Hours later at school…

“Isn’t that the kid?”

“The rich one who turned down his starter.”

“Of course it’s the rich kids who get the luxury to say no.”

Those were just the whispers I could make out. The rest? Harsher.

At first, I didn’t think it would matter. I thought, So what? I chose to be alone. But things changed. Fast.

Now it’s not just me choosing solitude. it’s everyone choosing to stay away from me. Teachers, students, even old friends. I’m not just ignored; I’m avoided. Like I’m contagious.

In my highschool, A reminder that not every kid can be molded into a shining example of a trainer.

They don’t tell the stories of Arceus in class anymore, but I wonder… if the god of Pokémon could see me, would it hate me too? I went against everything those stories taught.

Chimchar lunged forward. Flames burst from its mouth in a blinding stream of white-hot fire.

The blast slammed into the dirt in front of its target, erupting in a cloud of dust and searing heat.

A Flamethrower, perfectly aimed. The training dummy was engulfed in fire.

“Excellent job,” my father said, nodding in approval.

I watched from the upstairs window as my brother beamed at the praise.

Then I turned away.

Our house wasn’t anything fancy on the inside—tight hallways and creaky stairs—but the land around it stretched far. Nearly a quarter-mile in every direction. My father made use of all of it. Training grounds. Targets. Books stacked sky-high in his office, all focused on fire-types.

He’d been investing in my brother’s journey nonstop.

I’ve read some of those books—technically off-limits. I sneak into his office at night, careful not to get caught. It’s not hard. They forget I’m even there.

According to one passage I remember:

“Young fire-types develop stronger affinities to sunlight and heat when trained in the open daylight. Exposure strengthens their evolution.”

It made sense now.

A low humming noise cut through my thoughts—steady, high-pitched, unnatural.

I glanced back out the window. “Dad… what’s happening?”

The air shimmered. Rocks floated, swirling like they were caught in a storm of invisible wind. My father stood with his arms crossed, unmoved. This wasn’t new to him.

But the Chimchar?

Its body began to glow, a bright blue energy radiating like it was burning from the inside out. My brother shielded his eyes. I did the same.

Then, in a flash, the light exploded outward.

When it cleared, Chimchar was gone.

In its place stood a taller, leaner figure—flames licking at its back, blue markings above its eyes.

“Incredible,” my father breathed. “Evolution in just six months?”

He laughed loud, proud.

Even I was surprised. According to what I’d read, first-stage evolutions usually took almost a year. But with the right training, the right care… time could bend.

The newly evolved Monferno threw a punch into the air, yelling triumphantly. It wasn’t just proud. It was alive. Full of spirit.

Almost human.

I stood there at the window, watching.

Not jealous. Not sad.

Just… wondering.

I took one last look at the sunset before I go back into the house.