For the next three weeks, Rhea lived two lives.

  One was the life her parents saw: a recovering child who still had occasional headaches but seemed mostly fine. Maybe a bit quieter. Maybe more focused. Her eyes wandered less. She didn’t ask to py with Rhyhorn or beg for sweets or throw mini tantrums like she might have before.

  The other life was the one inside her head: the slow calibration of knowledge and memory. She wrote down everything she remembered about Kalos—locations, Gym Leaders, type matchups, league rules, even elite trainer strategies. It wasn’t perfect, but it was more than most ten-year-olds could dream of.

  And with every passing day, she grew more aware of the world around her—and the things she’d missed before.

  It started with her father.

  Dr. Alder, as the vilgers called him, worked in a modest outbuilding next to their house. She’d never paid attention to it before, but one morning, she slipped out early and peeked through the half-open door.

  Inside was a clean, compact b. Nothing fancy—just a few examination tables, healing equipment, and cabinets of medical supplies. A small tank bubbled in the corner, probably for Water-types. A Skiddo with a bandaged leg napped peacefully on a mat.

  Her father stood at a bench, carefully cleaning a Poké Ball.

  He didn’t notice her at first—too focused. His brow furrowed as he adjusted a small scanning tool, then tapped something into a monitor dispying vitals and energy output.

  She finally knocked gently.

  He turned and smiled. “Rhea. Couldn’t sleep?”

  She stepped in, eyes scanning the room. “You’re… a Pokémon doctor?”

  “Mmhm.” He gestured toward the sleeping Skiddo. “Trainers from nearby towns bring their Pokémon here when they can’t reach a Center. Cuts, infections, stress injuries, sometimes even psychological issues.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You treat psychological issues?”

  He grinned. “You’d be surprised how many battles cause trauma—especially among young or overtrained Pokémon. It’s not just about healing potions and rest.”

  That stuck with her more than she expected.

  In her past life, Pokémon were data points. HP bars. Move sets. Now they were patients.

  “Can I… watch?” she asked.

  He seemed taken aback. “You want to?”

  She nodded. “I think I need to understand more than just type advantages.”

  He gave a soft chuckle and waved her over.

  For days, she shadowed him.

  She watched him talk to Pokémon like they were people. He used calm tones, offered treats, expined procedures before he did them. Most of them listened. Some didn’t, and he had to improvise. Once, she saw him calm a panicked Luxio using nothing but steady breathing and touch.

  She took notes—quietly, in her head. This wasn’t something the games taught.

  But the bigger surprise came a few days ter.

  It was te. Her mother had just returned from a delivery to a friend’s ranch. Rhea sat at the kitchen table, jotting a training outline on a scrap of napkin, when she heard the heavy whump of wings outside.

  She ran to the window.

  Charizard nded in the yard, wings folding in with precision. Her mother slid off his back, but something glittered on her wrist.

  A bracelet. Sleek, bck, inid with a round, pale pink stone that glowed faintly in the twilight.

  Rhea’s breath caught.

  A Key Stone.

  She bolted outside.

  “You have a Mega Stone?” she blurted before she could stop herself.

  Her mother raised an eyebrow, unhooking the band from her wrist. “Well. That’s not something most kids recognize on sight.”

  Rhea stared at Charizard’s neck—sure enough, embedded into the crest of his chestpte was a smooth, orange-tinted Charizardite X.

  “I thought… I thought only professionals had those.”

  Her mother smiled faintly. “I was a professional, once.”

  Rhea blinked. “You?”

  “I wasn’t always running around with groceries and Tauros feed,” her mother said dryly. “I used to travel. Trained competitively for a while. My team was small, but tight-knit.”

  She didn’t brag. Didn’t fsh the bracelet or unch into war stories. But Rhea could see it now—the way she walked, the calm confidence, the way Charizard deferred to her like a true partner.

  “Can you still Mega Evolve him?” Rhea asked quietly.

  “Want to see?”

  She could only nod.

  Her mother slid the Key Stone back into pce. Charizard growled softly, stepping forward. With a fluid motion, her mother raised her hand—and in a burst of light and heat, the transformation happened.

  Rhea watched, stunned, as orange fmes engulfed the Pokémon. The wings grew sharper, wider. The orange darkened to bck, and blue fire curled from its mouth as Mega Charizard X roared into the sky.

  It was overwhelming.

  Not just visually—but emotionally. She’d seen this in games. Animated transformations. Sound effects. But this was real. Power radiated off the Pokémon like heatwaves. Even the grass shivered.

  And her mother stood calm and proud beneath it.

  When the light faded, Rhea was silent.

  “You were a pro trainer,” she whispered.

  Her mother just smiled. “We all have our pasts.”

  The day of her birthday came fast.

  Her parents pyed it low-key. Breakfast pancakes shaped like Poké Balls, a few presents (some training gear, hiking boots, a sketchbook), and then—without much fanfare—a ride to Lumiose City.

  It was her first time seeing it in person.

  The sheer scale of it stunned her. Buildings stretched into the sky. Monorails hummed above. Pokémon and people moved in sync across the streets. She remembered this from the games—but they hadn’t done it justice.

  Professor Sycamore’s b stood in the heart of the city, just a block from Prism Tower. Sleek, silver-accented, buzzing with life.

  Inside, a young assistant led them upstairs to a wide open chamber with garden walls and battle space. Vines crawled across metal railings. Warm sunlight filtered through skylights.

  And there he was—Professor Augustine Sycamore himself. Tall, sharp-dressed, and smiling like he’d just won the lottery.

  “Ah, you must be Rhea!” he said, csping her hand like she was already someone important. “I’ve heard plenty. Your father’s medical notes helped us develop better rehab protocols for post-battle stress injuries. And your mother—well, she once wiped out half the regional circuit in a single summer.”

  Rhea blinked. “She what now?”

  Her mother just sipped her coffee.

  Sycamore gestured toward a small garden enclosure. “Come. I believe it’s time you chose your first partner.”

  Three Pokémon waited in a grassy clearing: a small, bushy Chespin nibbling a stick; a dainty Fennekin curled in the sun, and a restless, sharp-eyed Froakie, crouched like a ninja waiting to move.

  Rhea felt it immediately.

  Froakie was watching her. Alert. Calcuting.

  She stepped forward slowly.

  “I know it’s a big decision,” Sycamore said. “Many Trainers choose based on instinct. Personality. Sometimes just cuteness.”

  Rhea looked at him. “I’ve run the stats.”

  He blinked, then ughed warmly. “Well. That’s a first.”

  She knelt in front of Froakie.

  “You’re fast. You evolve early. Protean—if you have it—can shift your type with every move. You’re flexible. Versatile. You’re not the easiest to bond with, from what I remember… but I think we’ll get along.”

  Froakie blinked once.

  Then pced a single hand on her knee.

  That was it.

  She turned to Sycamore. “I’d like to register for the Kalos League. Starting today.”

  He didn’t try to talk her out of it.

  Just smiled, reached into his coat, and handed her a Pokédex.

  “Then welcome to the adventure, Rhea.”