Arthur Bennett had a problem with Ethan’s experiment.
“It isn’t an experiment.”
Ethan looked down at the notebook in his hands.
There were numbers.
There were columns.
There was even a title.
HOUNDOUR REALM TRAINING TEST
That seemed fairly experimental to him.
“What do you mean?”
Arthur stood at the edge of the orchard training field with a stopwatch.
“You already decided what the answer is.”
“Because we know the answer.”
“Then why are we testing it?”
“To prove I’m right.”
Arthur stared.
“That’s not how this works.”
Ethan sighed.
Grandpa had been irritating since breakfast.
First Ethan couldn’t simply time Houndour running around the house.
Then apparently throwing a ball and seeing how quickly Houndour brought it back wasn’t scientifically useful.
Now his entire experiment was wrong.
“What should I do?”
Arthur pointed toward the field.
“Measure the same thing under similar conditions.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“No.
Yesterday you timed him running through the Realm forest.”
“Yeah.”
“Today you’re timing him on flat grass.”
Ethan looked around.
“Running is running.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“No.”
Houndour sat beside Ethan.
“Hound.”
“See?
He agrees with me.”
“He wants breakfast.”
Houndour immediately looked toward Arthur.
Traitor.
The idea had seemed simple the night before.
If the Dark Realm really was making Houndour develop faster, Ethan wanted proof.
Not Federation equipment.
Not laboratories.
Not anything that created records.
Just numbers.
Arthur had eventually agreed.
With conditions.
They weren’t going to push Houndour until he collapsed.
They weren’t going to suddenly double his training.
And Ethan wasn’t allowed to interpret every good result as evidence that the Dark Realm was magical.
Ethan had agreed.
Mostly.
Their first test was endurance.
Arthur measured a route through Bennett Orchards, five hundred meters, flat enough to repeat.
Houndour ran it.
Not a sprint — a steady pace.
Arthur timed him.
Then again after a rest, then one final time.
Ethan recorded everything.
Afterward Houndour drank.
Arthur checked his breathing.
“How long until we do it in the Realm?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Why tomorrow?”
“Because he’s already trained today.”
Ethan groaned.
“This is going to take forever.”
“Good experiments often do.”
“That’s terrible.”
Arthur smiled.
School made waiting worse.
Especially because Reyes had apparently decided Ethan’s loss against Maya wasn’t enough.
“Houndour, Ember!”
The target moved.
Houndour fired.
Miss.
“Again!”
“Stop.”
Ethan looked toward Reyes.
“What?”
“Why did he miss?”
“The target moved.”
Reyes stared.
“Outstanding analysis.”
Several students laughed.
Ethan frowned.
The Junior Team was working move accuracy while exhausted.
First running, then movement drills, then attacks.
Reyes explained that accuracy at the beginning of a battle was less useful if it disappeared once a Pokémon became tired.
Houndour’s first five Embers had been good.
Then worse — by the tenth, terrible.
“You’re rushing the command,” Reyes said.
“I’m not firing it.”
“You’re setting his rhythm.”
Ethan looked at Houndour.
Panting.
Waiting.
“Again.”
This time Ethan didn’t immediately call the target.
He watched it.
Left, right, left.
“Wait.”
Houndour waited.
The target crossed center.
“Now!”
Ember.
Hit.
Reyes nodded.
“Better.”
Ethan smiled.
Then he remembered yesterday.
Maya.
Nine minutes.
Furret.
Houndour continuing far longer than Ethan would have expected several weeks ago.
He looked at Houndour differently now.
Had the Realm done that?
Or had they simply been training every day?
How could he tell?
Marcus had opinions.
Marcus always had opinions.
“So the magic dimension is making Houndour stronger?”
Ethan nearly dropped his lunch.
“What?”
Marcus bit into his sandwich.
“The training thing.”
Ethan stared.
“Don’t say things like that.”
“What things?”
“Magic dimension.”
Marcus frowned.
“I didn’t say magic dimension.”
Ethan blinked.
“You just—”
“No.”
Marcus stared at him.
Ethan slowly realized.
Marcus had said: “So the extra training is making Houndour stronger?” His brain had apparently supplied the rest.
That was bad.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You look guilty.”
“I’m eating.”
“People can eat guilty.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Marcus accepted that.
“So?”
“So what?”
“Is the extra training working?”
Ethan looked toward the windows.
Houndour was inside his Poké Ball.
Public school.
Rules.
“Reyes thinks he’s improving fast.”
Marcus shrugged.
“You train him constantly.”
“So does Lucas.”
“Lucas’s Growlithe is already Normal Grade.”
“Exactly.”
Marcus looked confused.
Ethan stopped himself.
He couldn’t explain the real question.
Lucas had excellent food, professional instruction, years of preparation, private facilities — and Growlithe had developed well.
That made sense.
Ethan had Grandpa, a farm, school training — and an enormous Dark-aligned Realm nobody else knew existed.
He needed to understand how much that mattered.
The next morning, they repeated the running test inside the Realm.
Not deep — Arthur chose a relatively safe route they’d already mapped.
Same distance, five hundred meters.
Terrain wasn’t identical to the orchard, but Arthur found a section that was relatively flat.
“Ready?”
Ethan crouched beside Houndour.
“Hound?”
“Don’t go crazy.”
Houndour’s tail moved.
Inside the Realm he already looked different.
More alert, ears up, body loose, happy.
Arthur raised the stopwatch.
“Go.”
“Houndour!”
Houndour ran.
Ethan watched.
Fast — not sprinting, just smooth and natural.
He disappeared around the marked bend.
Arthur watched the time.
Then Houndour returned.
Ethan looked immediately.
“How much?”
Arthur showed him.
Ethan smiled.
“Faster.”
“Yes.”
“By a lot.”
“Some.”
“Grandpa.”
“Record it.”
Ethan did.
They rested Houndour, then repeated.
Second run — still strong.
Third, slower.
But—
Ethan compared the numbers.
His smile widened.
“He’s slowing down less.”
Arthur was already looking.
“Seems that way.”
“So I’m right.”
“We have one morning.”
“Still right.”
Arthur ignored him.
They added recovery.
After each run, they timed how long it took Houndour’s breathing to return near normal.
Outside: longer.
Inside: shorter.
Not dramatically, but consistently.
Then Ember repetitions — not maximum power, same target, same distance.
They counted how many controlled Embers Houndour could produce before accuracy clearly deteriorated.
Again, inside won.
Ethan wrote the numbers twice because he liked them.
Arthur noticed.
“Writing them bigger doesn’t make them more scientific.”
“It makes them easier to read.”
“You circled them.”
“Important data.”
Arthur shook his head.
The most interesting part happened when they stopped.
Houndour had completed three runs, accuracy drills, movement work.
Ethan expected him to lie down.
Instead Houndour wandered toward a patch of Nightbloom.
Sniffed, then started walking around again — not training, just exploring.
Ethan watched.
“He still has energy.”
Arthur nodded.
“Some.”
“Outside he’d be sleeping.”
“Probably.”
That word again.
Ethan looked at Houndour.
“How long have you known?”
Arthur frowned.
“Known what?”
“That the Realm was doing more than making him feel good.”
“I didn’t.”
“But you suspected.”
Arthur took his time answering.
“I suspected the environment was helping him.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No.”
Arthur sat on a fallen log.
Ethan joined him.
Stoutland was nearby, watching the forest.
“Think about an athlete,” Arthur said.
Ethan smiled.
“Any athlete.”
“Okay.”
“If one athlete can train hard three times a week and another can train hard five times a week without hurting himself—”
“The second improves faster.”
“Usually.”
“And if he recovers faster?”
“More training.”
“And if the environment itself seems to make exercise easier for his body?”
Ethan looked toward Houndour.
There it was.
Houndour wasn’t suddenly stronger the moment he crossed the portal — his Potential hadn’t jumped from Yellow to Blue, his Grade hadn’t ticked up overnight.
He could just do more here: more running before he slowed, faster recovery after, more Embers before his aim went sloppy.
Then he got to do it again tomorrow, week after week.
“What happens after a year?”
Arthur looked at him.
“That’s the question.”
Ethan smiled.
They didn’t stop with one day.
Over the next week, they repeated smaller versions of the tests.
Not every day — Arthur refused.
Rest days stayed rest days.
But enough.
Ethan started seeing patterns.
Realm sessions consistently went better.
Houndour could run farther before his pace declined.
His accuracy held longer.
He recovered faster.
And more importantly, the outside numbers kept improving too.
That was what convinced Ethan.
If Houndour only performed better inside the Realm, maybe the Realm simply gave him a temporary boost.
But after weeks of training inside, Houndour was becoming better outside too.
His orchard running times improved.
His recovery outside improved.
His Ember accuracy when tired improved.
His body had changed.
Slightly taller, broader chest, strong legs — still Houndour, just better.
Arthur saw Ethan staring one afternoon.
“What?”
“He’s getting big.”
Houndour was wrestling with an old training tire.
He bit the rope and pulled backward.
Muscles shifted along his shoulders.
Arthur watched.
“He is.”
“How big do Houndour normally get?”
“Depends.”
“Helpful.”
“Age.
Genetics.
Diet.
Activity.
Sex.”
Ethan looked back.
“He’s bigger than when we got him.”
“Obviously.”
“More than normal?”
Arthur considered.
“Probably somewhat.”
Ethan smiled.
There was that word.
“I’ll take probably.”
Arthur laughed.
Then Ethan remembered the second test subject: Poochyena.
The Blue-Potential Pokémon was being kept in one of the secure Pokémon enclosures on Bennett property.
It had stopped trying to bite Arthur.
Mostly.
Ethan stood outside the enclosure.
Poochyena watched him.
Its ears were back.
“Hate me?”
“Pooch.”
“Fair.”
Arthur joined him.
“No training.”
Ethan looked over.
“Why?”
“We’re selling him.”
“Not yet.”
“Still not turning him into a project.”
“We just need to see if he likes the Realm.”
Arthur considered.
That was different.
They weren’t going to push him — just observe.
They took Poochyena through the portal the next day, inside his Poké Ball first, then released in a controlled clearing.
Stoutland stood between the wild-caught Pokémon and Ethan.
Poochyena appeared.
Immediately crouched, confused.
Then its nose lifted.
It sniffed — once, then again.
Its posture changed.
Ethan saw it.
Arthur saw it.
Poochyena walked forward.
Sniffed the soil, then the air.
Its ears rose.
“He’s doing it.”
Arthur didn’t answer.
Poochyena moved toward the edge of the clearing.
Not trying to escape — exploring, interested, alive.
Houndour approached.
Poochyena growled.
Houndour growled back.
“Guys.”
Both ignored Ethan.
Stoutland barked once, very loud.
Both young Dark Pokémon immediately remembered manners.
Ethan laughed, then looked at Arthur.
“Same reaction.”
“Similar.”
“Grandpa.”
“Similar.”
Good enough.
Two Dark Pokémon, both noticeably more comfortable inside.
Still not proof that every Dark type would develop faster.
But Ethan no longer cared about every Dark type.
He cared about Houndour.
And Houndour was working.
That evening, Ethan opened his notebook.
Several pages of numbers by now: running, recovery, Ember accuracy, training duration, notes.
He wrote one sentence beneath them.
Houndour grows faster when he trains regularly in the Dark Realm.
Arthur looked over his shoulder.
“You can’t prove that sentence yet.”
Ethan added: Probably.
Arthur smiled.
“Better.”
Ethan underlined it.
Then he added another line.
Keep Realm training consistent.
Do not overtrain.
Arthur nodded.
“Very good.”
Ethan looked up.
“That’s it?”
“That’s the important part.”
Ethan understood.
The Realm gave Houndour an advantage.
That didn’t mean Ethan should abuse it.
If faster recovery meant Ethan simply worked Houndour until he broke, then the advantage meant nothing.
They needed consistency.
Months.
Years.
Ethan looked at Houndour sleeping near Delcatty.
Five weeks had already changed him enough for Reyes to notice.
What would six months do?
A year?
Five years?
Ethan smiled.
Then something else occurred to him.
“What happens when he reaches Normal Grade?”
Arthur looked up from his coffee.
“Then he’s Normal Grade.”
“No.” Ethan shook his head.
“I mean the Realm.”
“If it keeps helping?”
“Yeah.”
Arthur considered.
“We keep training.”
“And when he’s Advanced?”
“If we’re still alive and hiding a Secret Realm beneath the orchard?”
“Yeah.”
Arthur sighed.
“We keep training.”
Ethan’s smile widened.
There was no reason the advantage had to stop at Beginner Grade — Houndour wouldn’t suddenly stop being Dark-type after growing stronger, and the Realm wouldn’t stop being Dark-aligned either.
Maybe the effect got smaller as he grew.
Maybe stronger Pokémon needed more of it.
They didn’t know.
But that was years away.
For now, Houndour was Beginner Grade, Yellow Potential — and developing faster than Reyes expected.
Ethan closed the notebook.
The Blue Caterpie had made them money.
The Poochyena might make them more.
Nightbloom might eventually become useful.
Somewhere deeper inside were Pokémon and resources Ethan couldn’t even imagine yet.
But none of those things felt as important anymore.
Money could buy Pokémon, food, trainers — Lucas Whitmore’s family had already proven that.
It couldn’t buy an entire world built for Houndour to thrive in.
That part, they already owned.
Ethan looked toward the orchard floor.
Far beneath it, the portal waited — patient, the way it always was, whether or not anyone went through it today.
He didn’t especially want the treasure anymore.
Not first, anyway.
What he wanted was more days like this one: Houndour running the same five hundred meters a little faster, recovering a little quicker, getting to do it all again tomorrow.
Ethan tucked the notebook under his arm and went to find Houndour.
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