The morning didn't greet Orion.
It just shoved another day onto his shoulders.
Same motion.
Same checklist.
Same sharp, mechanical pace.
Gear? Secured.
Poké Balls? Tight to the belt.
He didn't linger.
Downstairs, the cafeteria buzzed low with trainers too tired to argue and Pokémon half-drowsing under long tables.
Orion grabbed a ration square and a protein pack without slowing.
At a corner booth, he and Luxio ate mechanically—Orion choking down another square designed by someone who clearly hated taste, Luxio tearing through his protein packet like it had personally offended him.
Orion didn't think about the flavor.
He thought about today's schedule.
Move Tutor session.
Luxio.
Fire Fang.
He crushed the last of his ration square into a swallow and rose, tray tossed without a second glance.
Luxio snapped upright beside him, falling into step without command.
The city streets cut past them, filled with the familiar friction of trainer life.
Bikes weaving too fast through foot traffic.
Vendors barking about discount battle gear.
Sparring matches bleeding into open courts.
Orion moved through it like a ghost.
The Move Assistance Center hunched against the skyline like it wanted to disappear.
Perfect.
He pushed through the door.
Inside smelled the same—sweat, old chalk, faint oil from the practice mats.
The clerk behind the battered counter barely looked up.
"Name?"
"Orion. Luxio. Fire Fang."
"Mat Three."
No welcome. No good lucks.
Orion liked it better that way.
The tutor waiting for them on Mat Three was heavyset, thick arms, burn scars laced up the left forearm, jacket fraying at the seams.
He didn't introduce himself.
Just jabbed a thumb at the practice mat.
"Let's see what you got."
Orion sent Luxio forward with a flick of his fingers.
The tutor dropped a battered training dummy onto the mat and tapped a small switch at its base.
A faint spark jumped from the surface, smoke curling up lazy and thin.
He slammed a knuckle against the dummy's side, making it rock.
"Both hurt like hell. Fire'll burn a grass down. Electric'll fry anything wet. Know when to pick."
He jerked his chin toward Luxio.
"Channel it through the bite. No scatter. No waste."
The first attempts were chaos.
Luxio tried to Spark through his jaws—wild static, no fire, no ignition.
The tutor didn't even flinch.
"You didn't teach him Thunder Fang first?" he barked across the mat.
Orion shook his head once, clipped.
"No."
"Figures." The man spat off to the side. "Can't throw fire if you don't know how to bite electricity first."
Change of plans.
Orion crouched by Luxio's side, tapping two fingers under his jaw.
"Forget Fire Fang. Thunder Fang first. Boil it inside. No leaking."
Luxio's fur bristled, sparks flaring uncontrolled along his neck.
Good.
The next half-hour was ugly.
Luxio tried to blast Spark outward again, wide and wild.
Wrong.
The tutor shoved his stance tighter. Adjusted his angle. Forced the charge inward.
Orion matched him, snapping corrections at every stumble.
"Shorter!"
"Jaw first, not shoulders!"
"Teeth, not tail!"
Luxio slipped once, sending a Spark blast into the mat and sliding sideways.
Orion grabbed him by the scruff, dragged him upright hard enough to snap the last of the hesitation out of him.
"Again."
Slowly, painfully, Luxio compressed the energy.
It coiled.
Tightened.
When he bit down again, a sharp crack jolted through the dummy—electric arcs lacing tight across the impact point.
Thunder Fang.
Not clean yet. Not elegant.
But real.
The tutor didn't slow.
"Now heat it."
He slapped the dummy's shoulder hard enough to make it shudder.
"You've got the pressure. Now turn it into fire."
Orion crouched again, voice low and sharp.
"Same path. Different fuel."
Luxio exhaled through his nose, tail lashing once.
Another charge.
Another bite.
The first Fire Fang attempts sputtered.
Heat leaked off too early.
Ignition flared and died halfway through the clamp.
Orion stayed low, adjusting Luxio's pressure, forcing the ignition to spark inside the bite, not before it.
Luxio adjusted faster than most.
The next time he lunged, real flames snapped from his teeth, licking across the dummy's side, blackening the fabric.
Primitive.
Brutal.
Exactly what they needed.
The tutor nodded once and keyed in the session complete log.
"Good enough to burn what needs burning. Drill it until you don't even have to think about it."
Orion transferred the 10,000₽ combo fee without a word.
The cost of staying alive wasn't cheap.
Luxio padded back to Orion's side, fur still sparking faint static, a thin haze of heat clinging around him.
No smiles.
No high fives.
Just another weapon carved out of stubbornness and blood.
Outside, Eterna's streets hammered against each other like a battlefield without rules.
Brawling trainers.
Shouting vendors.
The stale burn of fried food riding the humid air.
Orion adjusted his pack, feeling how light it was getting.
Enough cash left for one more shot—Tyrunt's training.
After that, nothing.
Moves won battles.
Money bought moves.
Everything else was just noise.