The next two battles weren’t nearly as exciting.

  First, a Lillipup tried to catch a faster Rattata but couldn’t land a hit with its limited moves. It wore itself out chasing in circles until Rattata finally finished things with a clean Tackle.

  Then a Yungoos squared off against a Buneary. The rabbit danced around it, used Baby-Doll Eyes to lower its guard, and followed up with a flurry of Pound attacks. Another decisive win.

  Jerry gave quick feedback after each match—pointing out where the trainers rushed, where they hesitated, and what better choices they could’ve made. Watching him teach, I couldn’t help but be impressed. He hadn’t even been top of his class, but the way he analyzed every move showed how high the standards were here. It was clear: the Academy didn’t just create good trainers—it shaped professionals.

  Then he called my name.

  “Gabriel Santos and Ruben DuPont—onto the field.”

  I stood, exhaled, and stepped forward.

  Ruben was already walking out. He was tall—taller than me by at least a head—and broad-shouldered with a calm but intense presence. When we faced each other, I caught a glimpse of burn scars running across his hands. Faded, but still visible.

  There’s a story there.

  He glanced at me with that familiar look most kids gave me here—legacy brat. I didn’t take it personally anymore. After hearing what the third exam was like, I understood why some of them felt like I hadn’t earned my place.

  That’s fine.

  I’ll prove them wrong.

  Jerry stepped into the center of the field. “Standard one-on-one. Send out your Pokémon.”

  I tapped Zigzagoon’s Poké Ball. The little guy popped out with a cheerful yip, tail wagging, tongue lolling.

  “It’s time, buddy.” I crouched, looking him in the eye. “I don’t know what he’s going to do. But I trust you. Watch him with me, yeah?”

  Zigzagoon gave a little bark, then nudged his head into my hand.

  We weren’t polished. But we were in this together.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  He barked, then spun in a tight circle, clearly excited.

  Across the field, Ruben sent out a Sentret. It rose up on its tail, eyes sharp, scanning the arena. No hesitation. No fear.

  I’d seen plenty of Sentret back home. They were usually timid, quick to run. But this one? Composed. Focused.

  Jerry raised a hand. “Begin!”

  “Sand Attack!” I shouted. Zigzagoon darted forward and kicked up a burst of dust.

  “Quick Attack, dodge and close the gap,” Ruben responded immediately—his voice clipped and exact.

  Sentret blurred forward, dodging the sand and slashing Zigzagoon with a sharp Scratch. My partner stumbled back, shaking his head.

  Fast and clean. Ruben didn’t waste words, and his Pokémon didn’t waste motion.

  Zigzagoon circled back to my side, panting lightly. I scanned through our options. Tackle wouldn’t do enough. Growl and Tail Whip were too indirect. Sand Attack was risky now that Ruben had adapted. That left Covet.

  “Tighten up and use Covet!”

  Zigzagoon crouched, tilted his head, and flashed a wide-eyed, playful look.

  Just like Teddy used to do.

  Sentret hesitated—just for a second.

  And that was enough.

  Zigzagoon lunged, slamming into his opponent with surprising force. Sentret let out a cry and tumbled backward.

  “Quick Attack, now!” Ruben barked. Sentret rolled back onto its feet and launched forward again. No time to counter.

  Zigzagoon shifted back into Covet instinctively, trying to bait another hesitation—but this time, they collided mid-air. Both were thrown back from the impact. Zigzagoon tumbled to his feet, tail twitching. Sentret landed hard and didn’t rise immediately.

  They were both getting tired. The next exchange could decide it.

  “Quick Attack again,” Ruben ordered, more forceful this time.

  Sentret pushed up, clearly slower now, but still determined.

  I took a breath.

  “Covet into Sand Attack,” I called. Just like we practiced—wait, no.

  We hadn’t practiced combos.

  Not really.

  But Zigzagoon hesitated for only half a second—and I knew. He trusted me.

  And I trusted him to pull it off.

  Sentret leapt. Zigzagoon dropped low, pulling the same wide-eyed expression as before. Sentret twitched—hesitated—and Zigzagoon kicked up another burst of dirt right into its face.

  “Defense Curl!” Ruben snapped, reacting instantly.

  “Now, finish with Tackle!”

  Sentret curled into a tight ball just as Zigzagoon charged, slamming into the rolling form with everything he had. The impact knocked Sentret across the field like a bowling ball. It spun once, twice—then stopped.

  No movement.

  Jerry raised his hand.

  “Sentret is unable to battle. Zigzagoon and Gabriel Santos win.”

  For a second, I just stood there, blinking.

  We won.

  And it wasn’t because I gave better commands or used some brilliant strategy.

  We won because Zigzagoon listened—not just to my words, but to me.

  And I listened to him.

  That trust… it made all the difference.

  Zigzagoon barked and trotted toward me, tail wagging wildly. I crouched down and scooped him into a hug.

  “You were amazing,” I whispered, and he nuzzled into my chest, happy and panting.

  The crowd was quiet, maybe surprised. Maybe annoyed. I didn’t care.

  “Not bad,” Jerry said as I returned to the sidelines. “Not every trainer can make a Pokémon they just met fight like that.”

  He gave a half-smile. “You didn’t just control him—you worked with him. Remember that.”