Croagunk was back on its feet by the following morning.
The Pokémon Center had treated the bruising from its battle with Machop in less than an hour, but Adrian had refused to train afterward.
Croagunk had already fought a wild Rattata, completed several hours outside the base, and battled another trainer in the same day.
Pushing it further wouldn’t have been training.
It would have been stupidity.
Now, after a full night’s rest and a large breakfast, Croagunk practically bounced beside him as they entered the artificial swamp.
The training zone was larger than Adrian had realized during his first visit.
Pools of murky water separated islands of damp earth, reeds grew beneath artificial sunlight, and several sections contained thick trees whose roots disappeared beneath the water.
Paths divided the environment into individual training areas, allowing multiple trainers to use the swamp without constantly interfering with one another.
Only four other people were present this early.
Perfect.
Adrian claimed an empty section and set his backpack beside a tree.
“Before we take another mission, we’re fixing yesterday.”
Croagunk tilted its head.
Adrian stepped into the clearing.
“Cross Chop.”
Croagunk understood.
It planted its feet, crossed its arms over its chest, and lunged toward a training post.
Both arms came down.
Crack!
The wooden post shook violently.
A deep fracture appeared across its surface.
Adrian stared at the damage.
There was nothing wrong with the attack’s power.
The problem came afterward.
Croagunk landed awkwardly, its upper body leaning too far forward, and needed two quick steps to recover its balance.
“Again.”
Croagunk returned to its position.
The second attempt produced nearly identical results.
Powerful strike.
Bad recovery.
“That’s what Mason saw.” Croagunk glanced at him.
“Cross Chop leaves you open.”
Adrian walked toward the damaged post.
The games had represented attacks with numbers, accuracy percentages, and animations.
None of that properly translated to a real fight.
A move wasn’t simply learned or unlearned.
How Croagunk performed it mattered.
Cross Chop required it to commit both arms to the attack.
When used with maximum power, its entire body followed the strike.
If the opponent survived, dodged, or blocked properly, Croagunk was vulnerable.
They needed control before they needed more power.
“Again, but don’t hit it as hard.”
Croagunk stared at him.
“Half strength.”
That earned an unimpressed croak.
“Humor me.”
Croagunk crossed its arms and struck.
The post shook, but Croagunk recovered almost immediately.
“Again.” Another strike.
“Again.”
By the tenth repetition, Croagunk understood what Adrian wanted.
Not every attack needed everything it had.
Cross Chop could be adjusted.
Twenty percent.
Half strength.
Full strength.
The move was still Cross Chop, but the commitment behind it could change depending on the opponent.
Adrian wrote that down.
Croagunk watched him.
“What?”
“Croa.”
“Yes, I’m taking notes.”
Croagunk stared at the notebook for another moment before turning away.
Adrian was beginning to recognize that expression.
Judgment.
“You’re surprisingly opinionated for something that barely talks.”
Croagunk ignored him.
Adrian smiled and turned the page.
Next came Fake Out.
Unlike Cross Chop, Fake Out wasn’t about raw damage.
Its greatest advantage was the sudden burst of movement and the moment of hesitation it created.
Yesterday, Croagunk had used that opening to transition directly into another attack.
That gave Adrian an idea.
“Fake Out.”
Croagunk surged toward the post, its palm striking the wood.
“Back!”
Croagunk jumped away.
“Again.
Poison Sting afterward.”
Fake Out.
Croagunk landed, its head snapping forward as poisonous needles struck the target.
Better.
“Again.
Mud-Slap.”
The next combination was uglier.
Croagunk completed Fake Out, landed, then had to reposition before kicking dirt toward the target.
Too slow.
If the enemy recovered quickly, the opportunity would disappear.
They repeated it.
Then again.
Again.
By the twentieth attempt, Croagunk’s movements were becoming smoother.
Fake Out.
Pivot.
Mud-Slap.
The attacks began flowing together instead of functioning as separate commands.
Adrian understood what they were building.
Combinations.
That was something the games couldn’t properly represent.
A Pokémon might know twenty attacks, but throwing moves randomly wouldn’t make it strong.
A trainer needed to understand how those techniques interacted.
Fake Out created an opening.
Mud-Slap disrupted vision.
Poison Sting maintained distance.
Cross Chop punished an opponent that allowed Croagunk into close range.
Four moves, already dozens of possibilities.
Adrian didn’t need another TM yet.
He needed to master what they already possessed.
They trained for nearly two hours before Croagunk’s movements began slowing.
“Enough.”
Croagunk stopped.
That alone made Adrian pause.
Three days ago, Croagunk hadn’t known him.
Now it understood several commands and was willing to follow them without hesitation.
Not perfectly.
But progress was progress.
Adrian tossed it a bottle of water.
Croagunk caught it awkwardly against its chest.
“Break.”
This time the approving croak sounded much clearer.
Adrian sat beneath the tree and removed his Rocket ID.
TRP: 29
He needed more.
Training Croagunk was important, but training alone wouldn’t buy resources.
He opened the Mission Hall database through a terminal built into the edge of the training area.
F-Rank missions filled the screen.
Most were ordinary work: deliveries, gathering, captures, cleaning, security.
Then one caught his attention.
Warehouse Pest Removal
Location: Eastern Cerulean Industrial District Objective: Remove wild Pokémon occupying Warehouse 46.
Confirmed Pokémon: Rattata Estimated Number: 6–12 Reward: 30 TRP Bonus: +3 TRP per captured Pokémon delivered alive Requirements: Recruit Rank or Higher
Adrian read it twice.
Thirty guaranteed points.
Potentially much more.
More importantly, it involved combat against opponents Croagunk could reasonably handle.
He accepted.
Warehouse 46 stood near the eastern edge of Cerulean’s industrial district.
Adrian arrived shortly after noon wearing ordinary clothes over his Rocket uniform.
An older man waited outside.
“You the exterminator?”
Adrian nearly looked behind himself.
Then he remembered what he was doing.
“Yeah.”
The man looked him up and down.
“You’re a kid.”
“Do you want the Rattata gone?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“Then I’m the exterminator.”
The man grunted and unlocked the warehouse.
“The damn things got into a shipment three days ago.
Chewed through food containers, wiring, everything.
I counted eight.
Probably more.”
“Anything besides Rattata?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
Adrian released Croagunk.
The warehouse owner looked more comfortable.
Possessing a Pokémon made fifteen-year-olds qualified exterminators.
Adrian entered.
The door closed behind them.
The interior smelled of wood, dust, and spoiled food.
Stacks of crates created narrow passages throughout the building.
Croagunk crouched.
“Don’t rush.”
They moved slowly.
Adrian listened.
Scratching, to the left.
He pointed.
Croagunk moved ahead.
A Rattata burst from beneath a crate.
Adrian was ready.
“Mud-Slap!”
Croagunk kicked dirt directly into its path.
The Rattata recoiled.
“Fake Out!”
Croagunk closed the distance.
Smack!
The Rattata stumbled backward.
“Poison Sting!”
Three needles struck, and the wild Pokémon collapsed.
Adrian waited.
Still conscious.
Good.
He removed one of the basic Poké Balls Rocket had supplied recruits for missions like this and threw it.
Red light consumed it.
One shake.
Two.
Three.
Click.
Adrian stared.
His first capture.
It felt strangely anticlimactic.
Croagunk walked over and poked the Poké Ball.
“Don’t.”
Croagunk poked it again.
“Seriously?”
Croagunk looked at him.
Adrian sighed and picked it up.
“One.” Three bonus TRP.
They continued.
The second Rattata appeared with another.
Adrian changed tactics.
“Back up.”
Croagunk obeyed.
Both Rattata charged.
“Poison Sting.
Left one!”
The needles forced one aside.
The other continued.
“Fake Out!”
Croagunk intercepted it.
But the first Rattata recovered faster than Adrian expected.
“Quick Attack!”
It slammed into Croagunk’s back.
Croagunk stumbled.
Adrian’s mind accelerated.
Two opponents changed everything.
“Keep moving!”
Croagunk jumped aside as both Rattata converged.
They nearly collided.
Adrian saw it.
“Mud-Slap!”
Dirt exploded between them.
Both Rattata recoiled.
“Cross Chop!
Half strength!”
Croagunk attacked the closer one.
Its arms slammed down.
The Rattata hit the ground.
Croagunk recovered.
Better.
Much better.
“Fake Out on the second!”
Croagunk pivoted and surged forward.
The Rattata tried retreating.
Too slow.
Fake Out struck.
“Poison Sting!”
The battle ended seconds later.
Adrian captured both.
Three Rattata.
Nine bonus points.
Croagunk stood in the center of the warehouse breathing slightly harder than before.
Adrian smiled.
The morning’s training had already paid off.
They continued hunting.
By the time they reached the back of the warehouse, they’d defeated six.
Then Croagunk froze.
Adrian stopped.
Anticipation.
He’d seen the Ability activate subtly before, but this reaction was stronger.
Croagunk’s entire body had stiffened.
Something dangerous was nearby.
A scraping sound came from behind the largest stack of crates.
Not the light scratching of a Rattata.
Something heavier.
Adrian stepped backward.
The crates shifted.
A large purple head emerged.
Long ears, a sharp horn, a heavy body.
Adrian recognized it.
“Nidorino.”
The Pokémon stepped into the open, significantly larger than Croagunk, angry red eyes fixed on them.
The system appeared.
Pokémon Scan
Species: Nidorino ♂ Level: 12.
Rank: Low Beginner Potential: Orange Ability: Poison Point Moves: Peck · Focus Energy · Double Kick · Poison Sting · Fury Attack Status: Agitated Evaluation: Above Average Individual
Adrian’s expression changed.
Level twelve.
Croagunk was level six.
For the first time since receiving his partner, Adrian found himself facing something stronger.
Nidorino scraped one foot against the concrete.
Croagunk lowered its stance.
Adrian didn’t tell it to attack.
Thirty TRP wasn’t worth getting Croagunk seriously injured.
But before he could order a retreat, Nidorino lowered its horn.
Then charged.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
Leaving wasn’t going to be that simple.