Rain fell hard over Route 4, soaking the petals of the golden flowers that lined the path. The rolling meadows that had shimmered in morning sun now trembled under heavy droplets. The wind whipped sideways, fttening grass and pushing water into their faces.

  Rhea hunched her shoulders, jacket clinging to her arms, hair pstered to her cheeks. Froakie kept low, bounding ahead on all fours, droplets beading and rolling off his slick skin.

  Benoit ran behind her, soaked to the bone, yelling over the wind. “I thought Kalos was supposed to be sunny!”

  “I checked the forecast!” Rhea shouted back. “It said clear skies!”

  “Next time let me check!”

  “No thanks—you once brought an umbrel during a heatwave!”

  “That one time—!”

  Thunder cracked above them, cutting off the debate.

  They crested a small hill—mud spshing underfoot—and spotted the faint shape of a building down the trail.

  “The Center!” Rhea pointed. “We’re close!”

  But just as they moved to sprint, Froakie stopped cold, throwing up an arm.

  Rhea slid to a halt.

  Froakie was staring off the path, toward a small incline where a lone figure sat motionless in the storm.

  Rhea narrowed her eyes. “What is that—?”

  Then the figure moved. Slightly. Just enough to show the curve of a paw. A spike. A blue-gray coat, soaked through.

  Riolu.

  It sat on a stone like a statue, shivering but upright. One arm was clearly cut, bleeding into the mud. Its chest rose and fell in short, pained breaths.

  But its eyes burned—not with fear, but something worse. Emptiness. Anger. Abandonment.

  “Oh no,” Benoit whispered.

  He took a cautious step forward. “Hey, buddy…”

  Riolu’s head jerked toward him. Its good paw flexed—and a glowing white Ssh attack whipped forward.

  Benoit flinched—

  But Froakie leapt, intercepting the strike with a Pound. The two attacks met mid-air with a burst of impact and crackling tension.

  Riolu fell back, eyes wide now, breathing faster. But it didn’t run. It didn’t speak. It just stared.

  “Back off,” Rhea said sharply, grabbing Benoit’s arm. “We need to get to the Center.”

  “But—”

  “He’s injured and aggressive. That’s unstable. You can’t help him if he sshes your face open.”

  Benoit’s jaw clenched.

  “Come on,” Rhea said. “We’ll come back.”

  The Pokémon Center loomed ahead—tall, bright-lit against the rain. Warm light spilled from its entrance, and the auto-doors whooshed open as they burst inside.

  They stood dripping in the lobby, Froakie shaking himself dry.

  Nurse Joy looked up from the desk. “Rough storm?”

  “We’ve seen worse,” Rhea muttered, wringing out her hair.

  But Benoit wasn’t listening. He was pacing near the window, biting his lip.

  Rhea frowned. “You’re thinking about him.”

  “He didn’t run,” Benoit said. “He didn’t hide. He was just… sitting there. Like he was waiting for something. Or someone.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Or maybe he was hoping someone would come back.”

  Rhea hesitated.

  Then she saw them.

  Across the lobby, three Trainers stood in the hallway leading to the battle rooms. All of them wore bck, raincoats still dripping, matching symbols stitched on their right sleeves: a silver triangle with a vertical line down the center.

  Order of Apex.

  They spoke in low voices—but the Center was quiet, and Rhea’s ears picked it up clearly.

  “…told you he wouldn’t make it.”

  “Yeah, you did. Little thing couldn’t even finish a dodge drill.”

  “He flinched twice during sparring. No focus. No discipline.”

  “Good call leaving him. Weak links slow the chain.”

  “We’re not here to py friends with Pokémon. We’re here to build power.”

  Rhea felt the heat rise in her chest.

  Benoit stepped forward, eyes wide.

  “Hey—” he started.

  She caught him by the arm. “Stop.”

  “But they left him there. Injured.”

  “I know.”

  “They hurt him.”

  “I know.”

  “So let me—!”

  She stepped in front of him, voice low and firm. “You want to scream? Or do you want to help him?”

  Benoit froze.

  “The one thing Riolu doesn’t need,” she said, “is more people yelling. Or fighting. Or proving who’s strongest.”

  He looked down at his soaked shoes.

  Then he nodded.

  They turned and left the lobby, pushing through the storm again, straight back into the wild.

  The hill hadn’t changed. The rain hadn’t let up.

  But Riolu was still there.

  Still on that stone.

  Still bleeding.

  But still upright.

  He looked up as they approached again. His paw twitched.

  But he didn’t raise it this time.

  Benoit stopped a few feet away and dropped to his knees.

  He said nothing.

  He just sat.

  Let the rain hit him.

  Waited.

  Rhea hung back, Froakie beside her.

  Riolu stared at Benoit, confused now.

  Then, slowly—like someone waking from a bad dream—he moved. Just an inch at first. Then slid forward.

  Then colpsed.

  Benoit caught him.

  Rhea was already at his side with the emergency kit.

  “We need to move,” she said. “Now.”

  Back at the Center, Nurse Joy worked quickly. The cuts were deep but not life-threatening. The issue was trauma—fighting while injured, sitting in rain, severe exposure.

  “Physically,” she said, “he’ll recover with rest and care.”

  “But emotionally?” Benoit asked.

  She sighed. “That takes time. And trust.”

  Rhea was already dialing the comm station.

  The screen flickered.

  Her father’s face appeared, tired but alert.

  “Rhea?”

  “I need help,” she said without preamble. “Psych support. It’s urgent.”

  He leaned forward. “What happened?”

  She expined in clipped, clinical terms—found Riolu, attacked, traced the Trainers, Order of Apex, abandonment, rescue, Center, trauma.

  Her father exhaled. “He won’t trust easily. Not again.”

  “But he can, right?” Benoit asked, stepping into frame. “He can come back from this?”

  “Yes,” her father said gently. “But he’ll need someone willing to walk with him. Slowly. Quietly.”

  Benoit nodded.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Rhea’s father looked at him for a long moment. Then he nodded back.

  “Then you’re already on the right path.”

  Later that night, Rhea stood at the window, rain finally easing outside. Froakie rested on the couch. Skye was curled in her Poké Ball, wings sore from the sprint.

  Benoit sat beside the healing tank, Riolu inside it now—dry, bandaged, breathing easy.

  “He’s gonna be okay,” Benoit whispered.

  “He will,” Rhea said.

  He gnced at her.

  “Thanks for stopping me. Back there.”

  Rhea shrugged. “You would’ve gotten kicked out. Or worse.”

  “No,” he said. “Thanks for choosing him over revenge.”

  Rhea nodded once.

  Then sat beside him.

  And together, they watched the rain stop falling.