Arthur took Ethan’s theory seriously.
That didn’t mean he believed it.
It meant that Tuesday afternoon, when Ethan returned from school, Grandpa had already prepared two identical training areas — one in the orchard, the other inside the Secret Realm.
Ethan stared at the equipment laid out near the house.
“You did this while I was at school?”
Arthur checked his stopwatch.
“I had time.”
“You told me not to get ahead of myself.”
“I told you not to jump to conclusions.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Measurements.”
Ethan looked down at Houndour.
“He’s becoming a scientist.”
“Hound.”
“Don’t encourage him.”
Arthur pointed toward the training field.
“Warm him up.”
Ethan grinned.
They kept the test simple — no complicated equipment, no trying to determine exactly how much stronger Ember became or inventing numbers they couldn’t properly measure.
Arthur wanted to answer three questions: how long could Houndour train comfortably, how quickly did he become tired, and how quickly did he recover afterward.
They began with movement drills — run between markers, stop, turn, return — then Bite against a padded training target, finally Ember.
Ethan gave the commands; Arthur recorded.
Houndour performed well, better than he had two weeks ago, but there was nothing unusual.
After a while, his breathing became heavier and his movements slowed.
Arthur stopped the session.
“Enough.”
Houndour immediately lay down.
Ethan crouched beside him.
“You okay?”
“Hound.”
Arthur checked the time.
“Water.”
Ethan filled Houndour’s bowl.
The Pokémon drank.
“How long?”
Arthur showed him.
“So now the Realm.”
“After he recovers.”
Ethan sighed.
“That’s going to take forever.”
“That’s the point.”
They didn’t enter the Secret Realm until nearly an hour later, once Houndour had recovered enough that Arthur was satisfied.
The routine had become familiar — check the cave, check the portal, environmental detector.
Arthur crossed first, Stoutland came out, then Ethan and Houndour followed.
Machoke stayed in his Poké Ball; they weren’t mapping, and they weren’t going far.
The moment Houndour entered, Ethan watched him.
Nothing dramatic happened — no glow, no sudden burst of power.
He simply seemed happier.
His ears lifted, he sniffed deeply, his tail rose.
Arthur noticed too.
“Give him ten minutes.”
Ethan groaned.
“More waiting?”
“Yes.”
“Training is mostly waiting.”
“Good Trainers spend a great deal of time doing boring things correctly.”
“That should be on a poster.”
Arthur ignored him.
They walked several hundred meters into the Realm along their established route, and as before, Houndour seemed increasingly comfortable.
By the time they reached the area Arthur had chosen for the second test, the difference was obvious enough that Ethan didn’t need Appraisal.
Houndour wanted to move.
“Ready?”
“Hound!”
“Let’s see.”
Same markers, same distances, same commands — Arthur had even brought the same padded target through the portal.
“Go!”
Houndour ran.
“Turn!”
He changed direction.
“Back!”
Houndour returned.
“Again!”
They repeated the exercise, then Bite, then Ember.
Arthur watched.
Ethan watched.
At first there wasn’t much difference.
Then the minutes passed, and Houndour kept going.
His breathing eventually became heavier, but not as quickly; his attention remained sharper.
Even Ember seemed easier for him to use repeatedly — not dramatically stronger, just easier.
“Again.”
Houndour fired.
Flames struck the stone target.
Arthur checked his stopwatch.
“Well?”
“Keep training.”
Ethan grinned.
He already knew.
The second session lasted noticeably longer.
When Arthur finally called stop, Houndour walked toward Ethan rather than collapsing onto the grass.
He was tired, but not nearly as tired as he’d been outside.
Ethan crouched.
“I knew it.”
Arthur checked Houndour — breathing, eyes, gums, general condition — then looked around.
“One test proves very little.”
“Grandpa.”
“But.” Arthur looked at Houndour.
“There’s enough difference to keep testing.”
“Which means I’m right.”
“It means you might be right.”
“That’s Grandpa language for I’m right.”
“No.”
Houndour drank from his water bowl.
Ethan rubbed his back.
“What if Dark-types recover faster here?”
“Possible.”
“Or train better?”
“Possible.”
“Or get stronger faster?”
Arthur closed the notebook.
“That’s the one we don’t know.”
Ethan’s excitement settled slightly.
Right — feeling better wasn’t the same as developing faster.
That would take weeks or months to determine.
Still, this mattered.
A lot.
They didn’t explore farther that day.
Instead, Arthur returned to the Lansat clearing, this time with Machoke joining them and Stoutland walking ahead, Houndour staying with Ethan.
When they approached the clearing, Arthur raised a hand.
Everyone stopped.
The Arbok was still there, partly coiled around the Lansat tree.
Ethan Appraised it — no change, Advanced Grade, Blue Potential.
Arthur studied the clearing, then the surrounding trees.
They waited five minutes, ten.
Arthur walked the perimeter — no Ekans, no second Arbok, no obvious nest.
Finally Ethan whispered, “Can we catch it now?”
“Why are you so excited about catching a Pokémon you don’t want?”
“Money.”
Arthur stared.
Ethan smiled.
“You taught me.”
“I may have made a mistake.” Arthur looked toward Arbok.
“We’re not catching it today.”
“Why?”
“Because I made some calls.”
That got Ethan’s attention.
“What calls?”
“People I know.”
“What people?”
“People.”
“That’s suspicious.”
“It’s business.” Arthur began walking away from the clearing, Ethan following.
“An Advanced Arbok is sellable.”
“Blue Potential?”
“I didn’t mention that.”
“Why?”
Arthur stopped.
“Think.”
Ethan did, then understood.
“Because how would you know?”
“Exactly.” Potential evaluations weren’t something Arthur could casually claim to perform — not accurately, not without equipment or records.
If he started advertising wild Pokémon with conveniently precise Potential grades, eventually somebody would ask how.
“So we sell it as an Advanced Arbok?”
“If we sell it.”
“Then the buyer gets lucky.”
“And we lose money.”
“Privacy costs money.”
Ethan didn’t like that.
But he understood.
“What about the black market?”
Arthur gave him a look.
“You’ve become very interested in that phrase.”
“You didn’t answer yesterday.”
“There’s a reason.”
“So you do know people.”
Arthur kept walking.
Ethan grinned.
“Grandpa.”
“Stop.”
“You definitely know people.”
“I’m sixty-two, Ethan.
I’ve met people.”
“Criminal people?”
Arthur stopped.
Ethan almost walked into him.
“Listen carefully.” Ethan’s smile faded.
Arthur’s voice remained calm.
“The black market isn’t a magical shop where you sell things without consequences.
There are thieves.
Smugglers.
Dishonest breeders.
Illegal collectors.
People selling stolen Pokémon.
People who will decide robbing you is cheaper than paying you.” He looked directly at Ethan.
“And people much stronger than you.”
Ethan nodded.
“If I ever use those channels, you don’t go.”
“But—”
“No.”
“I’m the one who can Appraise.”
“And you’re twelve.” Arthur started walking again.
“That’s exactly why you don’t go.”
Ethan couldn’t really argue with that.
“Have you used it before?”
Arthur didn’t answer.
Which Ethan decided was an answer.
They took a different route back — Arthur wanted to inspect several berry patches they’d marked previously, Houndour moving happily beside Ethan.
Then Stoutland stopped.
Arthur raised his hand.
Everyone froze.
Movement came from ahead.
Not one Pokémon.
Several.
Dark shapes moved between the trees.
Ethan focused.
Poochyena — five of them.
Then a larger Pokémon stepped from behind a tree.
Gray body, black fur, sharp eyes.
“Mightyena.”
Houndour became excited, not afraid, tail rising as he took a step forward.
“Stay.”
Houndour stopped.
Ethan Appraised the larger Pokémon.
Species: Mightyena Type: Dark Grade: Advanced Potential: Green Ability: Intimidate Moves: Tackle, Howl, Sand Attack, Bite, Odor Sleuth, Roar, Swagger
“Grade?”
“Advanced.”
“Potential?”
“Green.”
Arthur nodded.
The Mightyena watched them.
Stoutland stepped forward, and the two canine Pokémon stared at each other.
Mightyena growled; Stoutland answered, the sound deeper.
The Poochyena moved closer together.
Mightyena hesitated, then backed away, and one by one the pack disappeared into the trees.
Houndour watched them go, then whined.
“What?”
Houndour stared after the pack.
“You want to go with them?”
“Hound!”
“No.” Houndour looked at him.
“Absolutely not.”
Arthur chuckled.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing.”
“He’s my Pokémon.”
“I know.”
“He likes me.”
“I didn’t say otherwise.”
Ethan narrowed his eyes.
Houndour continued staring into the trees.
Arthur looked around.
“Another Dark-type.”
“Yeah.” They had now seen Murkrow, Poochyena, Mightyena — and Houndour continued thriving.
Ethan looked deeper into the forest.
“Do Secret Realms have types?”
“Some environments favor particular Pokémon.”
“Like Fire-types around volcanoes.”
“Exactly.”
“Water-types in ocean Realms.”
Arthur nodded.
Ethan looked at Houndour.
“So maybe…”
“Maybe.” Arthur didn’t finish the thought.
Neither did Ethan.
Not yet.
On Wednesday, Arthur made his first sale.
Ethan didn’t know about it until dinner.
“How much?”
Arthur continued eating.
“Eat your vegetables.”
“Grandpa.”
“Vegetables first.”
Ethan stabbed a piece of broccoli.
“This is extortion.”
“Your mother said that too.”
Ethan ate it.
“Now?”
Arthur took a drink.
“I sold three berry samples.”
“Samples?”
“Not the Lansat.”
“What berries?”
“Two varieties we found in the outer forest.
Both exist outside the Realm.”
Ethan’s excitement faded.
“So they’re not rare.”
“I didn’t say that.” Arthur named the amount.
Ethan stopped chewing.
“Seriously?”
Arthur nodded.
“For berries?”
“For high-quality berries.”
“That’s…” Ethan calculated.
“That’s more than—”
“Don’t.”
“Than my allowance for—”
“Ethan.”
“Fine.” He grinned.
“So it works.”
Arthur’s expression remained more cautious.
“Small quantities work.”
“Nobody asked?”
“They came from Bennett Orchards.”
“But they didn’t.”
“No.”
Ethan blinked.
“Grandpa.
You lied.”
“I sold berries.”
“From another dimension.”
“From property accessed through Bennett Orchards.”
Ethan started laughing.
“That’s definitely lying.”
“It’s called not volunteering unnecessary information.”
Arthur returned to dinner.
Ethan couldn’t stop smiling.
Their first money from the Secret Realm — not a fortune, not even enough to dramatically change the orchard, but it proved something.
Resources from the Realm could become real money.
“Where does it go?”
“What?”
“The money.”
“The orchard.”
“All of it?”
“For now.”
“What about me?”
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“What about you?”
“I found the Realm.”
“On my property.”
“With my Houndour.”
“Who eats food I buy.”
Ethan pointed his fork.
“I deserve a percentage.”
Arthur actually smiled.
“Finish school.”
“That’s unrelated.”
“It’s extremely related.”
Ethan looked at Delcatty.
“Did Mom have to deal with this?”
“Every day.”
Delcatty continued eating.
No help.
Later that night, Ethan sat on the porch, Houndour lying beside him.
The orchard stretched into darkness.
Somewhere beneath the northern fields was another world.
Ethan thought about the money, the berries, the Pokémon — the Blue Caterpie, the Blue Arbok, potentially hundreds or thousands of others.
Then he looked at Houndour.
The money was useful — very useful.
Professional training was expensive: food, medicine, equipment, evolution resources, travel, tournament fees, specialized training facilities.
Maybe the Realm could help pay for all of it.
But something else mattered more.
Houndour felt better there.
They’d proven at least part of it.
Not enough to understand why.
But enough to know it was real.
Ethan scratched Houndour behind the ear.
“What if it’s because you’re Dark-type?” Houndour’s ear moved.
“Maybe the whole place is for Pokémon like you.”
“Hound.”
Ethan smiled.
“Very scientific.”
He looked toward the northern orchard.
If they were right, then the Realm wasn’t just a source of money.
It was a training ground.
A habitat.
Maybe even a place where Dark-type Pokémon could develop better than they could outside.
And if Ethan eventually owned more Dark-types—
He stopped.
More Dark-types.
The thought remained.
Houndour was Dark/Fire.
He’d seen Murkrow, Poochyena, Mightyena — and he remembered the Blue Poochyena.
For the first time, Ethan wondered what a team built around Pokémon like Houndour might look like.
Not that he was about to become some Dark-type specialist — he was twelve, and he barely had one Pokémon.
But the idea was there now, small and stubborn, the kind that doesn’t go away just because you’re not ready for it yet.
Ethan looked down.
Houndour had fallen asleep against his leg.
He smiled.
“Don’t worry.” Houndour didn’t move.
“You’re still number one.”
From inside the house, Arthur shouted, “Ethan!”
“What?”
“School tomorrow!”
Ethan looked at the time.
“Five more minutes!”
“Now!”
Ethan sighed and stood, Houndour waking to follow him toward the door.
He glanced once toward the dark orchard, thinking about everything still waiting under it — Pokémon he hadn’t Appraised yet, soil they hadn’t tested, whatever was farther in than they’d gone.
Whatever it was, it could wait until tomorrow.
Right now there was homework.