The days leading to Santalune passed like a whirlwind—a blur of rustling leaves, battle commands, early morning runs, and the occasional bug-type skittering across someone's sleeping bag.

  “Can we please stop camping near anything with legs?” Benoit groaned on day two of their journey toward the city. “I swear that Weedle from st night tried to braid my hair.”

  “You mean the one you mistook for a pinecone?” Rhea asked ftly, adjusting her pack straps as she stretched.

  “I maintain that pinecones shouldn’t move.”

  They trained every morning.

  Not casually. Systematically.

  Rhea treated their traveling hours like a portable academy—splitting time between her own team’s training and helping Benoit level up from filing newbie to functional Trainer.

  The first session had been… chaotic.

  Zigzagoon ran in circles while Skye the Fletchling tried to peck it mid-spin like a demented carnival game. Froakie perched calmly on a stump, clearly judging the entire scene.

  Benoit flopped onto the grass. “They’re… not exactly responsive.”

  “They’re not unresponsive,” Rhea corrected. “They’re untrained.”

  She pulled out a marker and a notebook page.

  “Alright. Let’s start from the top: Zigzagoon—Normal-type, known for speed and erratic movement. He’s not built for brute force. You use him to dodge, bait, then strike back when the opponent overcommits.”

  Benoit blinked. “You’ve… analyzed my Pokémon?”

  “I analyze everything.”

  She gnced at Skye, who was hopping from branch to branch overhead, agile and alert.

  “Fletchling is fast. Light. Weak to electric and rock, but great for scouting and type coverage. I need her aerial control to improve. If she can harass and draw fire in Gym battles, Froakie can sweep while opponents are distracted.”

  Benoit stared. “Do you sleep?”

  “Very little,” she muttered, rubbing under one eye.

  Each day had a purpose.

  Day 1: Speed & Control

  Skye practiced dive-bombing targets Rhea threw into the air—berries, pebbles, even socks (Benoit’s idea). Froakie worked on dodging from different angles, developing response times. Zigzagoon ran sprints between tree trunks while Benoit tried to keep pace.

  Day 2: Attack Combinations

  Froakie chained Bubble and Pound, mixing feints and bait attacks. Skye added a swooping maneuver that Rhea called “Hook Wing,” where she curved past her target then struck from the rear.

  Zigzagoon, initially hopeless, found a rhythm with Tail Whip followed by a wild dash—crude, but disruptive.

  “Use chaos,” Rhea instructed. “Your Pokémon is built for misdirection.”

  “I can do chaos,” Benoit said confidently, then tripped over a root.

  Evenings were for team bonding.

  Froakie took his meals like a warrior—silent, efficient. Skye demanded her poffin slightly warmed and only pecked at it after flying a full loop around the camp first. Zigzagoon ate like someone had told him food would vanish if he blinked.

  But over time, things shifted.

  Froakie started sparring lightly with Zigzagoon—not full attacks, just movements and positioning.

  Skye nded closer when she perched, even preening Zigzagoon’s fur once when she thought no one was watching.

  And Benoit?

  He started watching how Rhea interacted with her Pokémon—not like a boss giving orders, but like a field commander working with a team.

  “You talk to them like they understand everything,” he said once.

  “They do,” she replied. “Not every word. But the meaning, the energy, the intent. Pokémon don’t need lectures. They need connection.”

  He didn’t say anything after that, but the next day, Rhea noticed Benoit had started using words like please and nice work with Zigzagoon. The little furball practically glowed with approval.

  By the fifth morning, the trees began to thin—and the roofs of Santalune City came into view.

  Rhea felt a buzz in her chest—not nerves, exactly. Just anticipation. She adjusted her pack and scanned the skyline.

  A massive white dome marked the Gym arena, set against the backdrop of the city’s clean streets and sharp architecture. Santalune wasn’t huge, but it had presence—like a stage waiting for its stars to arrive.

  Benoit ran ahead toward the gate like a Growlithe off-leash, shouting back, “We made it! Gym town, baby! Let’s gooooooo!”

  Rhea followed at a steady pace, Froakie at her side.

  “You excited?” she asked him quietly.

  He croaked once, more amused than tense.

  She smiled. “Same.”

  The city bustled with life—trainers, vendors, cyclists darting between crosswalks. The center pza held a massive fountain with stone carvings of Bug- and Flying-type Pokémon. Trainers battled in marked side nes, showing off moves and practicing before the Gym.

  Rhea and Benoit checked into the Pokémon Center just as the sun started to dip.

  “Tomorrow’s the day,” Benoit said as they dropped their gear. “First Gym. I mean… not that I’m ready to fight it yet. I’m gonna watch you and steal strategies.”

  “Fair.”

  He flopped onto one of the lounge chairs, sighing dramatically.

  “You know, a week ago I was screaming at Caterpie. Now I’m about to watch a League-registered Trainer fight her first Gym with a ninja frog and a sky demon.”

  “Sky what?”

  “You’ve seen Skye’s dive. She’s terrifying.”

  Rhea chuckled.

  She sat back, holding her Poké Balls in one hand. Skye. Froakie.

  They weren’t perfect yet. But they were hers.

  And they were ready.

  “I’m not scared,” she said out loud.

  Benoit gnced at her. “You sure?”

  She nodded. “I’ve already lived one life. This is the one I chose. And I’m not wasting it.”

  She stood, her shadow stretched by the light of the setting sun.

  “Tomorrow,” she whispered, “we start winning for real.”