Mauville City, Hoenn Region.
Wally, Aspiring Trainer.
The Mauville Gym was a high-ceilinged, open-floor arena filled with glowing circuitry, metal walkways, and humming generators. It was yellow themed, fitting the whole electric type gym bill perfectly as one would expect.
Wally stepped inside, backpack slung over one shoulder, Ralts hovering beside him, quiet but attentive.
And standing just inside the main hall, tapping her foot and arms crossed?
Sparky.
"There you are," she said, grinning like she hadn't been worried at all. "Took you long enough, shiny-boy."
Wally groaned softly. "Not you, too. That nickname must be Lily's doing."
She snorted. "Well, she's not wrong. It fits. Consider it a punishment for being so late."
Wally gave a sheepish smile, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. "Sorry. My mom almost banned me from leaving Verdanturf. Had to negotiate using diplomacy. And cough drops."
Sparky looked him over, not hiding the concern in her raised brow. "You sure you're up for this?"
"No," Wally said honestly. "But I came anyway."
Her smile widened slightly. "Cool."
Behind him, Brendan finally caught up, a little winded, Grovyle jogging in behind him like a silent shadow. Brendan looked around the electric-lit gym with awe before elbowing Wally lightly.
"Guess this is where we part ways," Brendan said. "I've got a badge to chase."
"Or at least some sightseeing," Wally teased.
"Hey! It's research," Brendan said. "Besides, I want to see if Wattson really laughs like a cartoon villain."
"You'll know," Sparky muttered. "It's seismic."
They grinned, bumped fists, and parted. Brendan wandered off toward the trainer entrance, whistling. Wally turned back just as the Gym's inner doors hissed open again.
The woman from before, the one with the high ponytail and thunderbolt earrings, stepped into view.
"Wally, Sparky," she said briskly. "You're late."
Sparky grinned. "Only a little. We brought good attitudes to make up for it."
Wally laughed softly. "Sorry. We didn't mean to keep you waiting."
The woman raised a brow but didn't comment. "I'm Claire. Assistant Head of Operations. You'll be under me for the next week. Welcome to Gym work. It's not glamorous. It's not easy. But it's something that matters."
She turned on her heel. "Follow me."
They did.
The next few hours passed in a blur.
Claire led them through corridors most trainers never saw: storage rooms filled with Pokéball crates; a giant underground greenhouse for electric-types that needed specific terrain; a laundry area that apparently dealt with singed towels daily.
"Your duties," Claire said, holding out a clipboard, "will include, but are not limited to, morning feeding rotations, battlefield cleanup, Pokémon wellness checks, running the reception desk, and if Wattson gets distracted during a battle, gently shocking him back to attention. With supervision."
Sparky stared. "...That's a joke, right?"
"Mostly."
They spent the morning helping restock feeding stations, tiny, intricate puzzles of food sorting depending on type, evolution stage, and temperament. Wally carefully poured specialized pellets into a container labeled Electrike – High Fiber, Low Static, while Ralts drifted beside him, gently redirecting an overeager Joltik back into its enclosure.
Sparky, meanwhile, was arguing with a stubborn Plusle who kept stealing her stylus.
"It's like babysitting, but with the risk of electrocution," she grumbled, stuffing the stylus into a higher pocket.
Wally smiled faintly. His body still ached from the fever, but something about the work settled him. It felt… honest. Even the buzzing felt less like noise and more like rhythm.
By the end of the day, they were exhausted. Claire dismissed them with a short nod and a reminder that there would be a battle observation day.
They stepped out of the main hall, blinking into the last hour of afternoon light.
Sparky let out a long breath. "Day one down."
Wally nodded, adjusting the strap on his backpack. His shoulders were sore. His shirt clung to his back. But he didn't mind.
"I didn't expect… all of that," he said.
"Yeah. Me neither." She glanced sideways at him. "Still want the job?"
Wally thought for a moment. Then, simply: "Yeah."
He reached down to scratch behind Ralts's horn. The little Pokémon leaned into it, humming softly.
"It's hard work," Wally said, "but… it feels like the right kind of hard."
Sparky smirked. "You're such a nerd."
He shrugged. "Takes one to know one."
Claire's voice echoed faintly from deeper inside the Gym, calling someone else to report to storage. The lights overhead flickered briefly as a Raichu jogged past, tail sparking.
Wally looked around. The Gym felt a little less intimidating now.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.
"Yeah," Sparky said, stretching. "And maybe bring snacks."
Wally smiled as he turned toward the exit. He didn't know what the rest of the week would look like. But he knew one thing.
He wanted to show up for it.
And that was enough for today.
...
Tattered Scale Dreamer
Feebas.
At first, it had only known murk.
Not even water, just the stagnant hush of reeds and silt, where light never sparkled and no one ever looked twice. It had grown there, crooked and dull-scaled, flinching at every ripple. One eye always watching for predators.
Or worse, laughter.
The other Pokémon called it ugly. The trainers did, too. A joke. A mistake. A failure.
Then came the boy.
Quiet voice. Kind hands. A cloth dampened with care. He held Feebas like it wasn't already a punchline and whispered something strange:
"You don't have to be anything but yourself."
It didn't understand all the words.
But it listened.
Now it lived in a shallow indoor pond, in a room that hummed with city light and electric tiles. The tank was small, but the air was warm. Ralts sat nearby, half-asleep. Roselia perched on the sill, sharp-eyed and still.
And Wally, the boy, crouched beside the tank again.
"You don't have to change," he said one morning, voice gentle. "Not for anyone."
Feebas blinked.
"But if you want to," he added softly, "we'll do it together."
That was the moment.
The one where Feebas, awkward, chipped-scale Feebas, decided maybe… maybe it could be something more.
From that day on, everything changed.
Wally studied late into the night, poring over his Pokédex and Gym notes, muttering through berry charts and evolution guides. He traced maps outside Mauville for rare berry groves and cross-referenced soil charts.
Feebas listened from the tank, always watching. Always waiting.
"One way," Wally said one night, holding up a shining image on the screen, "is a Prism Scale. It glows like a rainbow and evolves you if you're traded while holding it."
Feebas perked up.
Wally shook his head gently. "But those are rare. Too rare. I won't make you wait on luck."
He turned the screen to a bar labeled Beauty.
"This is how Milotic used to evolve," he said. "Still does, in some places. If we raise your beauty stat… you'll reach it."
Feebas's fins twitched.
"And I think this way's better," Wally smiled. "Earned. Not found."
Every day, Wally brought berries , Kelpsy for calm, Wiki for depth, Hondew and Cornn for color. He crushed and mixed them with care, turning them into faintly sparkling Pokéblocks.
"Bitter-sour balance," he said. "Just right for Modest natures."
Roselia helped, plating the cubes on leaf-cut trays with quiet pride. Ralts floated nearby, watching with patient, steady eyes.
Feebas ate slowly at first, unsure of the new flavors, but the routine settled something inside. Wally's presence, the quiet work, the small victories, each one a step toward something better.
Feebas didn't understand it all, but it liked the attention. Even the thorny Roselia seemed to root for it.
Its strongest move was Flail , weak, desperate, flailing.
Wally never mocked it.
"Flail gets stronger the weaker you are. It's poetic," he said. "We'll build a strategy around that. Speed, timing, control. Confuse them. Surprise them."
One afternoon, while practicing splash-dodges and target tackles, Brendan appeared at the door.
"Wow," Brendan said, eyes wide. "You're serious about this fish."
Feebas flicked a fin, annoyed.
Brendan crouched beside the tank. "I'm a fan of underdogs. Or underfish, I guess."
Wally smiled. "She wants to be a Milotic."
Brendan grinned. "Ahh, so that's what all the berry charts are about."
"She's Modest," Wally said quietly. "Wants to shine in her own way."
Brendan laughed softly. "Well, she's in good hands."
That evening, after berries were mashed and Pokéblocks boxed, Wally sat cross-legged by the tank. Ralts had dozed off, nestled in the crook of Roselia's thorns.
Feebas watched the boy's face, tired but hopeful.
"You know," Wally whispered, "there's a story I like. About an ugly duckling. Everyone thought it was plain, awkward… no one believed it would ever be beautiful."
He smiled, fingers tracing the air like wings. "But it grew. It changed. And one day it looked up and found it was a swan all along."
Feebas stared, a flutter inside.
Wally tapped the glass gently.
"That story stuck with me. Maybe it'll stick with you, too. How about we make it your name?"
He paused.
"…Pearl."
Feebas, no, Pearl, fluttered a fin, rippling the water.
"Pearls don't start out shiny," Wally said softly, voice full of wonder. "They form slowly, hidden deep inside shells, rough at first… but with time and care, they become something rare and beautiful. A treasure that's been waiting to be found."
He smiled gently. "You're already beautiful, Pearl. But if you want to become more, I'll be right here, every step."
Feebas didn't cry, it was a fish, after all, but something flickered inside, scales catching a faint light.
And for the first time, it truly believed.
That it wasn't a joke.
It was beautiful.
And that it could become something greater.
...
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