Ethan woke up because something was breathing on his face.
He opened his eyes.
Houndour was staring at him.
For several seconds, neither moved.
“Hound.”
Ethan blinked.
“Why are you on my bed?”
Houndour tilted his head.
“You weren’t here when I went to sleep.”
Grandpa had prepared a bed for Houndour downstairs.
Apparently Houndour had decided Ethan’s bed was better.
At the foot of the bed, Delcatty opened one eye.
She looked at Houndour.
Then at Ethan.
Then closed her eye again.
“Did you let him in?”
Delcatty’s tail moved once.
“Great.”
Ethan pushed himself upright.
Morning sunlight entered through the curtains.
For a few seconds, he didn’t remember where he was.
Then he saw the old wooden desk.
The bookshelf.
The faded Lapras poster.
Mom’s old room.
His chest tightened.
Yesterday had been his first night at the Bennett Estate.
He had expected to lie awake for hours.
Instead, he’d slept almost immediately.
That made him feel strangely guilty.
Houndour suddenly stepped onto his stomach.
“Oof!”
Ethan pushed him aside.
“Get off.”
Houndour jumped down.
Delcatty’s tail moved again.
Ethan stared at her.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Del.”
He got dressed.
By the time he reached the kitchen, he could smell breakfast.
Arthur stood over the stove frying eggs.
Stoutland lay beside the back door.
Delcatty immediately claimed one of the chairs.
Houndour followed Ethan to the table.
“Morning,” Arthur said.
“Morning.”
“Sleep well?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
Grandpa placed eggs, toast, and sausages on the table.
Ethan stared at the eggs for a second.
His last breakfast with Mom flashed through his mind — burned eggs, his forgotten lunch, try remembering your own head tomorrow.
Arthur noticed him staring.
He didn’t say anything.
Ethan sat.
Houndour sat beside his chair.
His eyes immediately locked onto the sausages.
“No.”
Houndour looked at Ethan.
“Those are mine.”
“Hound.”
“You have your own food.”
Houndour continued staring.
Ethan moved his plate farther away.
Arthur sat across from him with his coffee.
“You planning to train him today?”
Ethan looked up.
“Can I?”
“He’s your Pokémon.”
That still sounded strange.
His Pokémon.
“Where do I start?”
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“You’re asking me?”
“You’re a Trainer.”
“Used to be.”
“You still have an Elite Stoutland.”
At the mention of his name, Stoutland raised his head.
Arthur glanced at his old partner.
“Getting one Pokémon to Elite Grade doesn’t make me some famous Trainer.”
“Still better than me.”
“That’s not difficult.”
Ethan frowned.
Grandpa took a drink of coffee.
“So what do I do?”
“First?”
Arthur pointed toward Houndour.
“Figure out what he can actually do.”
The training field behind the house wasn’t impressive.
There were several wooden targets, old training posts, and a large stretch of grass enclosed by fencing.
Some of the equipment looked older than Ethan.
Arthur leaned against the fence.
Stoutland lay beside him.
Delcatty had followed them but quickly found a patch of sunlight and stretched out in the grass.
Ethan stood across from Houndour.
He suddenly realized he had no idea what to do.
He had watched hundreds of Pokémon battles — professional battles were one of the biggest sports in Columbia.
On television, Trainers shouted commands while their Pokémon moved across huge arenas, dodging attacks and launching moves at exactly the right moment.
It always looked easy.
Now Houndour was waiting for him.
“So…”
“Hound?”
Ethan looked toward Grandpa.
Arthur said nothing.
“What moves does he know?”
“You tell me.”
“Grandpa.”
“What?”
“You bought him.”
“And you’re his Trainer.”
Ethan sighed.
He looked back at Houndour.
He knew the basic moves common to young Houndour.
“Bite?”
Houndour’s ears lifted.
“Can you use Bite?”
Houndour opened his mouth.
Dark energy gathered faintly around his teeth.
Ethan smiled.
“Okay.”
He pointed toward a wooden training post.
“Use Bite on that.”
Houndour ran forward.
His jaws closed around the wood.
Crack!
Small splinters flew.
Ethan’s eyes widened.
“Again.”
Houndour bit down a second time.
Another crack appeared.
“Good!”
Houndour released the post and looked back.
His tail moved slightly.
Ethan grinned.
This wasn’t difficult.
“Ember.”
Houndour opened his mouth.
A burst of small flames struck the wooden post.
The surface blackened.
“Again.”
Another Ember hit.
“Again.”
More flames.
The wood began smoking.
Arthur finally spoke.
“If you’re planning to burn down my field, tell me now.”
Ethan looked at the smoke.
“Oh.”
Several stone targets stood farther away.
He pointed.
“Ember on the stone.”
Houndour fired.
The flames struck the target and disappeared.
“Again.”
Another Ember.
“Again.”
Houndour fired a third.
“Again.”
Houndour opened his mouth.
Only a small puff of smoke came out.
Ethan frowned.
“Again.”
Nothing.
Houndour was panting now.
“What’s wrong?”
Arthur sighed.
Ethan looked at him.
“What?”
“You’ve been a Trainer for about fifteen minutes and you’re already trying to exhaust your Pokémon.”
“I only had him use Ember a few times.”
“Exactly.”
“So?”
“So he’s a Beginner-grade Pokémon.”
Arthur walked onto the field.
“Houndour is young.
His body hasn’t developed yet.
His energy reserves aren’t large.”
Ethan looked at Houndour.
Now that Grandpa mentioned it, his breathing was noticeably heavier.
“Oh.”
Arthur crouched and checked Houndour.
“Moves aren’t free, Ethan.”
“I know.”
Arthur looked up at him.
“Do you?”
Ethan frowned.
“I do now.”
“Good.”
Grandpa stood up slowly.
“First lesson.”
“What?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“That’s your lesson?”
“It’s a useful one.”
Ethan rolled his eyes.
Arthur pointed toward Houndour.
“Training is supposed to make your Pokémon stronger.
Exhausting him every morning isn’t training.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Let him rest.”
Ethan sat in the grass.
Houndour immediately came over and dropped beside him.
Ethan scratched behind his ear.
“Sorry.”
“Hound.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Houndour looked at him.
“Don’t agree that quickly.”
Arthur tossed Ethan a bottle of water.
Then he placed a bowl down for Houndour.
The Pokémon immediately drank.
Ethan watched him.
“How long before he gets stronger?”
Arthur laughed.
“What?”
“You’ve owned him for one day.”
“I know.”
“And you’re already asking when he’ll get stronger.”
“Isn’t that why Trainers train Pokémon?”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“So you’re going to have to learn patience.”
Ethan wasn’t particularly excited about that answer.
“How much time?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Species.
Age.
Food.
Training.
Health.
Battles.
Resources.
Experience.”
Arthur paused.
“And Potential.”
Ethan knew about Potential.
Everyone did.
Breeders advertised it.
Trainer schools taught it.
Professional commentators talked about it constantly.
A Pokémon with greater Potential generally had better prospects for growth.
“What’s Houndour’s Potential?”
“Yellow.”
Ethan looked down at his Pokémon.
“Yellow is good, right?”
“Yes.”
“But Blue is better.”
“Yes.”
“And Purple is better than Blue.”
Arthur nodded.
“So Houndour isn’t particularly special.”
Grandpa looked at him.
“Did I say that?”
“No.”
“You asked about his Potential.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“No.”
Arthur pointed toward Stoutland.
“What’s his Grade?”
“Elite.”
“And his Potential?”
Ethan shrugged, unsure of the answer.
“I don’t know.”
“Yellow.”
Ethan turned sharply.
“Stoutland is Yellow?”
The old Pokémon raised his head.
“Yes.”
“But he’s Elite Grade.”
“Correct.”
Ethan stared at Stoutland.
He had always assumed Grandpa’s strongest Pokémon must have unusually high Potential.
“How?”
“Twenty-six years.”
“What?”
“That’s how long we’ve been partners.”
Arthur walked over and scratched beneath Stoutland’s chin.
“Twenty-six years of eating, training, battling, recovering, getting injured, training again and getting stronger.”
Ethan looked between them.
“Potential matters,” Arthur continued.
“Anyone who tells you it doesn’t is lying.”
“Then—”
“But Potential isn’t current strength.”
Arthur pointed at Houndour.
“Your Houndour is Yellow Potential and Beginner Grade.”
Then toward Stoutland.
“Stoutland is Yellow Potential and Elite Grade.”
Ethan understood.
Same Potential.
Completely different strength.
“So Houndour can reach Elite.”
Arthur shrugged.
“Possibly.”
“Expert?”
“Maybe.”
“King?”
Grandpa laughed.
Ethan frowned.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Because yesterday you didn’t own a Pokémon.”
“So?”
“And today you’re asking me when he’ll become King Grade.”
“I asked if he could.”
“Teach him to use Ember properly first.”
Ethan looked at Houndour.
That was probably fair.
After Houndour recovered, training continued.
This time Grandpa stopped Ethan from doing anything complicated — no trying to learn new moves, no elaborate battle combinations.
They started with basic commands.
“Come.”
Houndour ran toward Ethan.
“Stop.”
Houndour stopped.
“Turn.”
Houndour looked confused.
Ethan pointed.
“That way.”
Houndour turned.
“Good.”
They practiced running between markers, changing direction, stopping when commanded, returning to Ethan.
Then Bite.
Rest.
Ember.
Rest again.
It wasn’t exciting.
There were no huge attacks, no battles, no sudden breakthroughs.
But after nearly an hour, Ethan began noticing things about his Pokémon.
Houndour learned quickly when food was involved.
He was better with Bite than Ember.
He didn’t like standing still.
And anything moving near the training field immediately caught his attention.
“Stay.”
Houndour sat.
Ethan backed away.
“Stay.”
Houndour stood.
“No.
Stay.”
Houndour sat again.
Ethan backed away another step.
“Good.”
Another.
Houndour remained still.
Another.
Still there.
Ethan smiled.
“Good boy.”
A Murkrow landed on the fence.
Houndour immediately took off.
“Hey!”
Houndour raced across the field.
The Murkrow stared down at him.
“Murk.”
Houndour barked.
“Houndour!
Come back!”
Nothing.
“Houndour!”
The Pokémon continued barking at Murkrow.
Arthur started laughing.
Ethan glared at him.
“This isn’t funny.”
“It is from here.”
Ethan ran across the field.
“Houndour!”
The Murkrow flapped onto another fence post.
Houndour followed.
Ethan finally caught him.
He picked the Pokémon up.
Houndour squirmed in his arms.
“No.”
“Hound!”
“You don’t chase everything you see.”
The Murkrow made another sound.
Ethan looked at it.
“You aren’t helping.”
“Murk.”
It flew away.
Houndour tried following it with his eyes.
Ethan carried him back.
Grandpa was still smiling.
“Very impressive.”
“Shut up.”
“Excellent command.”
“I said shut up.”
“Future Champion.”
“Grandpa.”
Arthur laughed.
Ethan put Houndour down.
He pointed toward the original spot.
“Stay.”
Houndour sat.
This time he lasted fourteen seconds.
Ethan counted.
By lunchtime, Ethan was exhausted.
He hadn’t expected training a Pokémon to involve so much running.
Houndour was tired too, although apparently not tired enough to leave Delcatty alone.
He chased her across the porch.
Delcatty tolerated him for approximately half a minute.
Then she jumped onto the railing.
Houndour attempted to follow.
He missed.
The small Pokémon fell backward into the grass.
Ethan laughed.
Houndour immediately stood and looked around.
“I saw that.”
“Hound!”
“Everyone saw that.”
Delcatty looked down from the railing.
“Del.”
Houndour barked at her.
Arthur came outside carrying two glasses of iced tea.
He handed one to Ethan.
“How was your first morning as a Trainer?”
Ethan sat on the porch steps.
“Harder than it looks.”
“Most things are.”
Houndour eventually came over and collapsed beside him.
Ethan rubbed his head.
“School starts again Monday.”
Arthur nodded.
“You ready?”
“I don’t know.”
His classmates knew what happened.
His teachers knew.
Everyone would probably look at him differently.
Ethan wasn’t looking forward to that.
But there was something he did want.
“Will they teach us actual Pokémon training this year?”
“Yes.”
“Battling?”
“Eventually.”
Ethan looked down at Houndour.
He’d always liked Pokémon.
Every kid did.
But owning one was different.
Yesterday Houndour had simply been a species Ethan recognized.
Today Ethan already knew he was impatient, easily distracted, liked sausages, preferred Bite over Ember, and hated being told to stay still.
He wondered what Houndour would be like in a year.
Then two years.
What he would look like after evolving into Houndoom.
How strong they could become together.
“Grandpa.”
“Hmm?”
“How strong do you think I can become?”
Arthur took a drink.
“No idea.”
Ethan looked at him.
“That’s encouraging.”
“You want me to lie?”
“No.”
“Then I have no idea.”
Arthur leaned against the porch.
“You haven’t even had your first battle.”
“Maybe I’ll be good.”
“Maybe.”
“Really good.”
“Maybe.”
Ethan narrowed his eyes.
“You could sound slightly more impressed.”
“You taught Houndour to stay still for fourteen seconds.”
Ethan stared.
“You were counting?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Fourteen is better than eleven.”
“A future Champion indeed.”
Ethan rolled his eyes.
For a while, they simply sat there.
The Bennett orchard stretched across the land ahead.
Workers and Pokémon moved between the berry rows.
A light wind carried the smell of grass and fruit toward the house.
Delcatty jumped down from the railing and settled beside Ethan.
Houndour looked at her.
Delcatty looked back.
Apparently remembering what happened last time, Houndour decided not to chase her.
Instead, he rested his head on Ethan’s shoe.
Yesterday Ethan had arrived at the Bennett Estate because he didn’t know where else he wanted to be.
Today he’d spent the morning training his first Pokémon.
On Monday, he’d return to school.
After that?
He didn’t know.
For once, that didn’t bother him.
Arthur finished his drink and stood.
“Come on.”
Ethan looked up.
“Where?”
“Orchard.”
“Why?”
“Work.”
Ethan stared at him.
“I’ve been training all morning.”
“And?”
“I’m tired.”
Arthur started walking.
“Very tragic.”
“Grandpa.”
“Berry crates won’t move themselves.”
“You have a Machoke!”
“Machoke has other work.”
“This is child labor.”
Arthur stopped.
For a second, Ethan thought Grandpa might actually be annoyed.
Instead, Arthur looked back at him.
“Your mother used to say exactly the same thing.”
Ethan went quiet.
Then he smiled.
“Did it work?”
“Never.”
“Then why would you tell me?”
“So you don’t waste your time.”
Arthur continued toward the orchard.
Ethan stood.
“Come on, Houndour.”
Houndour immediately jumped up.
Delcatty remained exactly where she was.
Ethan looked back.
“You’re not coming?”
Delcatty closed her eyes.
“Traitor.”
“Ethan!”
“Coming!”
He ran after Grandpa.
Houndour raced alongside him.
And for the first time since his mother died, Ethan didn’t spend the afternoon wondering what he was supposed to do next.
Grandpa had already decided for him.
Apparently, he was moving berry crates.