The list went up Monday morning.
Ethan found out because Marcus nearly tackled him in the hallway.
“You made it!”
Ethan caught himself against a locker.
“What?”
“The team!”
“What team?”
Marcus stared at him.
“The team you tried out for?”
“Oh.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Ethan ignored that and started walking faster, Marcus following.
“It’s outside the training wing.”
Students were already gathered around the board when they arrived.
Ethan pushed closer.
There it was.
GRAYHAVEN SECONDARY ACADEMY JUNIOR BATTLE TEAM — PRIMARY ROSTER
Twelve names.
Ethan started from the top — Maya Chen, Oliver Grant, Hannah Brooks, several names he recognized from Foundations, Lucas Whitmore, Chloe Mercer.
Then—
Ethan Crowe.
He stared.
Marcus leaned over his shoulder.
“Yep.”
Ethan kept staring.
“You can stop checking.”
“I wasn’t checking.”
“You’ve read it three times.”
Ethan looked again.
Still there.
Ethan Crowe.
He smiled.
“Made it.”
Marcus punched his shoulder.
“Obviously.”
“You didn’t say obviously before tryouts.”
“I was protecting your feelings.”
“From what?”
“Reality.”
Ethan shoved him, and Marcus laughed.
Lucas arrived a few minutes later.
He didn’t push through the crowd — he waited until people moved, then checked the list.
His name was there, of course.
Ethan hadn’t really expected otherwise.
“Congratulations.”
Ethan nodded.
“You too.”
Chloe appeared behind them, looked at the board, found her name, and stepped away.
“That’s it?”
“What?”
“You made the team.”
“Yes.”
“No celebration?”
“I knew I had a good chance.”
Lucas smiled.
“She celebrated internally.”
“No.”
Ethan laughed.
The excitement lasted until afternoon practice.
Then Reyes ruined it.
All twelve primary roster members stood inside the training hall with four reserves — sixteen students, returning competitors mixed with rookies.
Maya stood near the front with Furret’s Poké Ball, Oliver had Wartortle, Hannah had Flaaffy.
Ethan suddenly noticed something — these weren’t just students who had passed tryouts.
Some of them had already represented Grayhaven.
Reyes stood before the group.
“Congratulations.” Ethan smiled.
“Now forget about it.”
His smile disappeared.
Marcus would have enjoyed that.
“Making the primary roster means you have earned the opportunity to compete for Grayhaven.” She tapped the board behind her.
“It does not guarantee you a battle.”
Several rookies straightened.
Ethan frowned, and Reyes noticed.
“Every opponent is different.
Every matchup is different.
I choose the lineup based on who gives Grayhaven the best chance to win.
That means strength matters.
Control matters.
Reliability matters.
Matchups matter.” Her eyes moved across the rookies.
“And team utility matters.”
Ethan frowned slightly, and Reyes noticed that too.
“A strong battler can still be a poor choice for a particular matchup.”
That made more sense.
“Team utility means how useful you are across different matchups and assignments.
Maybe your Pokémon has a favorable type matchup.
Maybe your battle style is particularly effective against an opponent.
Maybe you’re more reliable under pressure.” She paused.
“Being one of the twelve does not make you the center of the team.”
Noah raised a hand.
“What if I’m clearly the best?”
Hannah laughed.
Reyes stared at him.
“Then demonstrate it.”
Noah lowered his hand.
“Fair.”
“You earn your assignments,” Reyes continued.
“Every week.”
Ethan looked around the room — Maya, Oliver, Hannah, Lucas, Chloe, the others.
Making the team really had only been the beginning.
Reyes divided them into groups, not by age, friendship, or even Grade — she mixed rookies with returning students.
Ethan ended up with Maya, Ryan, and another Grade 8 student named Tyler.
Lucas was sent across the room, Chloe somewhere else.
Maya looked at Ethan.
“Again.”
Ethan sighed.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I’ve already fought you.”
“And won.”
“Yes.”
“That sounded unnecessarily confident.”
“It was accurate.”
Ethan liked Maya slightly less now.
Their first drill wasn’t a battle.
Movement, again — Reyes had placed markers across the field, and the Pokémon had to respond to directional commands while staying aware of their Trainer and the other obstacles.
Maya’s Furret moved smoothly, Ryan’s Lillipup was good too, and Houndour was improving.
“Left!”
Houndour turned.
“Forward!”
Accelerated.
“Right!”
Turned, too wide.
Ethan frowned.
Again.
“Left!”
Better.
“Back!”
Houndour stopped, then moved backward.
“Good!”
Maya watched.
“He hesitates on reverse commands.”
“I know.”
“You say too much.” She pointed toward Houndour.
“You tell him what to do after he’s already started doing something else.”
Ethan thought about it.
That was irritatingly possible.
“So?”
“Give the command earlier.”
Ethan tried.
“Right!”
Houndour turned before reaching the marker.
Cleaner.
Ethan looked at Maya, who shrugged.
“Better.”
He hated experienced people.
Across the room, Lucas was working with Growlithe, and Ethan watched briefly — of course Growlithe moved well, after a year of good facilities, professional guidance, and plenty of resources, on top of Lucas actually working hard.
That combination mattered.
Ethan looked back at Houndour.
“Again.”
“Hound!”
They continued into the next drill — controlled power, moving targets, accuracy.
Houndour’s Ember was getting better, not perfect.
“Ember!”
Fire crossed the field.
Hit.
“Again!”
Another target.
Miss.
Ethan frowned.
“You rushed,” Maya said.
“The target moved.”
“They tend to do that.”
“Do you enjoy this?”
“Yes.”
At least she was honest.
After two hours, Ethan understood what Reyes meant.
The returning students weren’t overwhelmingly stronger in every way — some had stronger Pokémon, some didn’t — but they were cleaner.
Commands came earlier, movement wasted less energy, and they recovered from mistakes faster, understanding drills without needing Reyes to explain everything twice.
Experience.
Again.
Ethan was getting tired of that word.
Unfortunately, it kept being true.
At the end of practice, Reyes gathered everyone.
“First district meet is six weeks away.”
The room changed.
Ethan immediately paid attention.
“Opponent?” Noah asked.
“Not confirmed.”
Disappointment.
“You will know when I know.” She looked around.
“Until then, assume whoever we face is better prepared than you.”
Lucas smiled slightly, and Ethan understood why.
That wasn’t discouraging.
It was a target.
Six weeks — not much, but enough to improve.
After practice, Ethan and Lucas walked toward the school exit, Chloe following several steps behind.
Marcus waited near the gate.
“You’re all alive.”
“Barely,” Ethan said.
Lucas looked fine.
Ethan disliked that.
“What did Reyes do?”
“Movement drills.”
Marcus looked disappointed.
“That’s it?”
“Try them.”
“No.”
“Then shut up.”
Marcus smiled.
Chloe passed them.
“Tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Training.”
“I know.”
“You looked like you forgot.”
“I didn’t.”
“You forget things.”
“He does,” Marcus agreed.
“Why are you friends with me?”
Chloe kept walking.
Marcus considered it.
“Habit.”
Arthur picked Ethan up from school, Houndour’s Poké Ball resting on his belt — public area, rules were rules.
Once they reached Bennett Orchards, Ethan released him, and Houndour stretched, then ran straight for the house.
Delcatty watched from the porch.
“Mrow.”
Houndour slowed.
Apparently even Pokémon understood when Laura’s Delcatty was judging them.
Arthur parked the truck.
“How was practice?”
“Terrible.”
“Good.”
“Why does everyone say that?”
“Because easy practice usually isn’t useful.”
“That sounds fake.”
“Most useful advice does.”
After dinner, Ethan opened his notebook.
Six weeks.
He wrote DISTRICT MEET, and underneath, HOUNDOUR: movement, accuracy, stamina, commands, recovery.
He paused, then added experience, and stared at the word.
Couldn’t train that directly, not exactly.
But he could battle, practice, make mistakes, fix them, repeat.
That was probably what experience actually was — lots of mistakes that eventually stopped being mistakes.
He closed the notebook.
The next morning, Arthur woke him before sunrise.
Ethan stared at the ceiling.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“School.”
“Later.”
“Training yesterday.”
“Good.”
Ethan glared at the doorway.
“Child abuse.”
“Get dressed.”
Arthur left, and Ethan considered going back to sleep.
Then Houndour jumped onto the bed.
“HOUND!”
Ethan groaned.
“Traitor.”
Twenty minutes later they were outside in the cool morning air, rows of berry trees, the eastern sky beginning to brighten.
Arthur stood with Stoutland.
“Run.”
“Where?”
Arthur pointed down the orchard road.
“End marker and back.”
Ethan looked at Houndour, who looked excited, of course.
“Why am I running?”
“You want Houndour conditioned?”
“Yes.”
“Then learn what conditioning feels like.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Run.”
Ethan ran.
Houndour passed him almost immediately.
“Show-off!”
“Hound!”
Arthur laughed behind them.
By the time Ethan returned, he was dying — not literally, probably.
He bent over, hands on knees, while Houndour breathed harder too but looked significantly happier.
Arthur checked his watch.
“Slow.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Currently.”
Arthur handed him water.
Ethan drank, then sat on the ground, Houndour lying beside him.
“Again tomorrow.”
Ethan nearly choked.
School, training, homework, morning runs, Realm exploration — his schedule became full very quickly.
He liked it.
Mostly.
Three days after the roster announcement, Reyes posted individual training priorities.
Ethan found his.
CROWE — HOUNDOUR PRIMARY DEVELOPMENT AREAS Movement efficiency.
Attack accuracy while moving.
Command timing.
Stamina management.
Battlefield awareness.
Ethan stared.
Marcus looked over his shoulder.
“That’s a lot.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean, like, a lot.”
“I understood.”
Marcus smiled.
“Reyes thinks you suck.”
Ethan folded the paper.
“She put you on the team?”
Marcus stopped smiling.
“I don’t have a Pokémon.”
“Exactly.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Still hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Friday afternoon brought another controlled battle — not official, training.
Ethan faced one of the reserves, a boy named Aaron with a Nidoran.
Reyes gave them three minutes.
Ethan lost, barely — Nidoran caught Houndour with Poison Sting early, and though it wasn’t severe, it was enough that Ethan spent too long trying to force an attack afterward while Aaron stayed patient.
Three minutes ended, and Reyes awarded him the round.
Ethan was annoyed.
“What did you do wrong?”
“Got poisoned.”
“No.”
“That was bad.”
“It was.”
“Then?”
“You panicked because you got poisoned.”
Ethan opened his mouth, closed it.
Oh.
“You treated a disadvantage like an emergency.” Ethan looked at Houndour — the school nurse had already treated the poison, and he was fine.
“Battle isn’t over because something goes wrong.” Reyes looked at Aaron.
“And you’re not safe because something goes right.
Your positioning after landing Poison Sting was poor.
Crowe nearly caught you twice.”
Aaron’s smile disappeared.
Ethan’s returned.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
That evening, Ethan thought about the battle — not dramatically.
He’d lost.
Fine.
But Reyes was right, again, annoyingly.
He had panicked, not visibly, but his decisions had: attack, attack, fix it now, instead of adapting.
He wrote another line in the notebook.
Don’t rush because something goes wrong.
Then stared.
That sounded obvious.
Apparently obvious things were harder during battles.
Sunday came.
No school, no team practice.
Realm day.
Ethan was awake before Arthur, which surprised both of them.
“You’re sick.”
“No.”
“You’re awake.”
“Realm.”
Arthur nodded.
“Ah.”
Houndour waited near the back door, equipment already packed — water, food, first aid, Poké Balls, emergency supplies.
Arthur checked everything twice, and then they went underground, past the concealed entrance, down the tunnel, toward the stone arch.
The portal waited — quiet, impossible, familiar now.
Ethan still felt something when he looked at it.
Excitement.
Curiosity.
A little fear.
Good fear, the kind that reminded him not to be stupid.
“Rules?”
“Stay with you.”
“Good.”
“Don’t push deeper without checking.”
“Good.”
“Retreat if Stoutland reacts.”
“Good.”
“Don’t touch unknown plants.”
“Good.”
“Don’t catch anything unless we agree.”
“Good.”
“You forgot one.” Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“Have fun.”
“No.”
Ethan laughed, and they stepped through.
The Dark Realm welcomed them with cool air, and Houndour changed immediately — Ethan noticed it every time now, his posture, his energy, the way he moved.
More comfortable.
More alive.
Arthur noticed too.
Neither said anything.
They had six weeks before the district meet — six weeks of school training, morning runs, controlled battles, and, when it was safe, six weeks of this.
Ethan looked toward the dark forest.
The Realm stretched farther than they had mapped, farther than they could see.
Somewhere beyond their routes were stronger Pokémon, better resources, things they didn’t understand.
They weren’t ready for most of it.
Fine.
Ethan looked at Houndour.
“Hound.”
They didn’t need everything.
Not yet.
They needed six weeks, a lot of drills, and Houndour actually listening when it mattered.
Everything else could wait its turn.