The fog was gone. But the cold stayed.
Misty stood at the edge of the gym's central platform, her boots damp, her arms crossed, eyes fixed on the water.
It was still rippling.
Not from Gyarados's last thrash, or from Seadra's collapse, or even from Nyx—the Gastly that had grinned like it knew a secret she'd never learn.
No.
The water was moving because she couldn't stop remembering.
The cursed glow on Seadra's chest.
The sound of silence filling the audience.
The look in Cael's eyes—blank, not cruel. Just… disengaged.
Like the battle hadn't mattered.
Like she hadn't.
She exhaled slowly and sat on the edge of the platform, letting her legs dangle over the side. The water brushed against the stone like whispers.
Behind her, the gym lights were still dimmed. The crowd had long since gone. The music had been shut off.
She hadn't even dried off.
A door creaked.
"Misty?" a familiar voice called. "You want me to make you tea or throw you in a dryer?"
Daisy's voice. Half-concern, half-eye-roll.
"I'm fine."
"You've been down here for over an hour."
"I said I'm fine."
A pause.
Then: "He wasn't normal, y'know. That boy. He wasn't like the others."
Misty didn't turn around.
"That's not why I lost."
"No," Daisy said quietly. "It's why you're shaken."
The door clicked shut.
Alone again.
Misty closed her eyes and leaned back slightly, palms against the cold tile.
She could still hear the curse activating. That awful sigil burning into her Seadra's aura. The way the shadows had followed Cael out of the building.
She hated that she hadn't even seen it coming.
It wasn't just that she'd lost.
It was how effortless it had felt on his part.
How surgical.
She didn't feel like a trainer who got outplayed. She felt like a trainer who'd walked into an exam in the wrong language.
What was he even doing in the League?
He wasn't chasing fame. Wasn't chasing strength.
He wasn't chasing anything.
He moved like someone being pulled.
She stood.
The gym was quiet now, except for the soft, steady slap of water against the edge of the pool.
She should go upstairs.
Should eat something.
Should change out of her half-wet uniform.
Instead, she walked to the center platform again, right to the place Nyx had hovered when he'd dropped the second illusion—the one that had distracted her just long enough to lose the match.
She knelt.
Stared at the water.
Her reflection rippled back up at her.
But something about it looked older. Or maybe just… more tired.
She didn't hear the doors open behind her again.
She didn't hear the footsteps right away.
Not until a loud voice broke the stillness like a boulder through glass:
"I'm here to battle for a badge, and I'm not leaving 'til I win!"
Misty blinked.
The echo of the shout was still bouncing off the walls when the boy ran in—wide-eyed, wild-haired, capped and determined.
Ash Ketchum.
She didn't know his name yet, but everything else about him introduced itself loud and clear: the way he skidded to a stop too close to the edge, the way his Pikachu trailed behind him nervously, sniffing at the chlorine in the air.
She straightened slowly. "Do you always kick down gym doors like that?"
Ash grinned. "Only when I'm ready to win."
"You're soaked."
Ash looked down. "Oh. Uh… yeah. Fell in the canal. Twice."
Misty raised an eyebrow. "Impressive."
"Thanks! I think."
There was a beat of silence.
She folded her arms. "You do realize this is an official League gym, right? Not a playground."
Ash nodded, stepping forward. "I've got my Trainer ID. Just started yesterday."
"Let me guess," she said, stepping down off the platform slowly. "Pallet Town?"
"Yeah!" he beamed. "You've heard of me already?"
"No," she said dryly. "But I just got stomped by a weird ghost kid from the same place, so I'm developing a theory."
Ash blinked. "Ghost kid?"
Misty didn't elaborate. She didn't want to think about him right now.
Ash reached into his jacket and pulled out his Pokédex. It was still sealed in its protective plastic.
She blinked at the thing like it was a baby bird someone handed to her in a thunderstorm.
"…You don't even know how to use that yet, do you?"
Ash grinned again. "Nope!"
She should've turned him away.
He was too green.
Too loud.
Too unguarded.
But something about him—it wasn't just enthusiasm. It was undamaged. He didn't carry the weight most new trainers had: fear, arrogance, desperation.
He walked like someone who hadn't lost yet.
Not a single real battle.
Not a friend.
Not a Pokémon.
Not innocence.
Misty gestured to the platform.
"Alright. One badge match. You lose, you wait a week to reapply."
Ash pumped a fist. "Let's go, Pikachu!"
The yellow mouse flinched at the echo, then followed him nervously to the platform.
Misty sighed and walked to her end of the pool, her boots still damp from before.
She called out, her voice calm, professional:
"Battle type: one-on-one. Standard field. No special conditions."
Ash nodded.
She selected a Poké Ball without looking. Her hand moved by muscle memory.
"Goldeen. Let's keep this simple."
She tossed the ball.
With a flash and a splash, the orange-and-white fish dove into the pool, circling once.
Ash looked down at Pikachu.
"…You swim?"
Pikachu gave him a very flat look.
Misty almost laughed. Almost.
The buzzer rang.
Ash pointed forward with all the confidence of a ten-year-old god.
"Pikachu! Thunderbolt! Uh—Thunder Shock! Uh—just zap it!"
Pikachu sparked half-heartedly and launched a burst of electricity… that stopped short of the water's surface.
Misty raised her eyebrows. "Not enough voltage. And Goldeen's submerged."
Ash blinked. "Wait, electricity doesn't just… go in the water?"
"Not if it's not strong enough."
"Oh."
Pikachu squeaked in protest.
"Okay, okay!" Ash said quickly. "Let's, uh… run along the edge and distract it!"
Pikachu gave him a reluctant nod and began jogging the length of the platform, sparks flying randomly off its cheeks.
Misty watched, torn between confusion and some growing, unfamiliar sense of… affection?
Ash had no idea what he was doing.
But he cared.
With everything he had.
And somehow…
Somehow, it was working.
Goldeen moved like poetry.
Pikachu moved like a sock full of static electricity and panic.
It wasn't going well.
Ash shouted, "Quick Attack!" but forgot to say where, and Pikachu darted forward, tripped on a puddle, and skidded face-first across the platform with a tiny thump.
Misty winced.
Goldeen watched the spectacle from below, doing a lazy circle beneath the surface like a bored lifeguard.
Ash scrambled over. "You okay, buddy?!"
Pikachu sat up, cheeks sparking irritably.
Misty crossed her arms and called across the water, "You sure you want to keep going?"
Ash stood up, straightening his hat. "Absolutely."
He didn't even hesitate.
And Misty felt it again—that strange tug behind her ribs.
He wasn't embarrassed.
He wasn't angry.
He was just… trying.
Trying like it was worth it. Like every second mattered.
Misty rolled her eyes and called out, "Goldeen, Peck attack!"
The sleek water-type burst from the surface, horn gleaming, and flew at Pikachu in a low arc.
Ash panicked—"Dodge! Left! Wait, YOUR left!"
Pikachu jumped—but not in time.
Goldeen clipped it midair, sending it tumbling backward with a squeak.
It hit the platform hard, rolled once, and landed near the edge.
The audience (small today, mostly regulars and tourists) made a soft "oooh" sound.
Ash ran over again. "You alright?! You want to stop?"
Pikachu shook its head. Fierce. Angry. A spark lit behind its eyes.
Ash nodded, his tone dropping into something steadier. "Alright. No more slipping. Let's use the whole field."
He pointed—not at Goldeen, but at the shallow beams running along the edge of the platform.
"Run the rim. Make her chase you."
Misty blinked. That's actually smart.
Pikachu darted forward, hopping from beam to beam, quick and nimble. Goldeen tried to track it, surfacing in bursts to aim—but Pikachu was already past each time.
Misty narrowed her eyes. "Double back—use Water Gun!"
Goldeen surfaced, aimed—fired.
Ash grinned. "Jump it."
Pikachu leapt, the Water Gun passing just underneath—and midair, it twisted with a spin that sent sparks trailing behind like comet tails.
Then—
Thunder Shock.
Point-blank.
It wasn't strong enough to knock Goldeen out, not alone.
But it dazed her.
Goldeen crashed back into the pool, stunned.
Ash didn't miss a beat. "Do it again!"
Pikachu ran, leapt, spun, fired.
A second jolt.
Goldeen twitched and rolled belly-up in the water, tail flicking once… then going still.
The buzzer sounded.
Ash blinked. "Wait. Did we win?"
Pikachu's ears perked.
Misty stood silently at her platform for a long second.
Then she slowly held up Goldeen's ball. "Return."
Red light pulled the Pokémon back into safety.
Ash ran to Pikachu and scooped it up, spinning once with a whoop. "We did it! We actually did it!"
Pikachu squeaked, then bit his arm gently.
"OW—okay, okay! I'm excited, not stupid!"
Misty couldn't help it.
She laughed.
Really laughed.
Not politely. Not forced.
A real laugh.
She crossed the pool, stopping in front of Ash, who was still grinning like a maniac.
She studied him for a second.
And then said, "You're a disaster."
Ash scratched the back of his head. "Thanks! I think."
She rolled her eyes—and for the first time in what felt like forever, her shoulders relaxed.
The official post-battle protocol was simple.
Shake hands.
Exchange brief words of respect.
Log the result in the League's record system.
Hand over the badge.
Smile for the camera.
But Misty didn't reach for the terminal.
Didn't call over the assistant to photograph the moment.
Didn't even ask Ash for his registration number.
She just stared at him—messy-haired, half-dripping, holding his Pikachu like a slightly electrocuted child holds a cat that tolerates them.
"You really didn't have a plan, did you?" she asked.
Ash tilted his head. "Not really. I figured… I'd figure it out."
Misty smirked. "And you did."
"Sort of."
She turned her back to him and walked toward the gym's badge display case. Her fingers brushed over the line of Cascades—neat, precise, perfect. She popped one loose and stared at it in her palm.
Blue crystal. Cool. Clean. Cut to a mathematical symmetry.
Everything Cael's battle had been.
Her grip tightened.
Cael hadn't looked at her once unless he had to. He hadn't smiled. Hadn't winced. Hadn't hesitated.
She still remembered how it felt—like being read, not met.
The moment she'd lost wasn't when the Curse took hold.
It was when she realized he was never really there with her in the first place.
She turned back toward Ash.
He was feeding Pikachu something vaguely shaped like a Poké Puff, which Pikachu immediately rejected by shocking his hand.
"Ow—okay, no snacks yet, I get it!"
Misty laughed.
The sound startled even herself.
She stepped forward and held out the badge.
Ash blinked. "Wait—seriously? That's it?"
She shrugged. "That's it."
He took it carefully, like he might drop it.
"Thanks," he said, softer now. "I'll… take care of it."
"Good."
She turned away again, pretending to check the terminal—though it wasn't even turned on.
Ash hesitated.
"Hey, uh… do you ever leave the gym?"
Misty paused.
"Not really."
"You should," he said.
She turned her head slightly.
"Why?"
Ash shrugged. "I dunno. You just seem like someone who'd be cooler not in one spot all the time."
He scratched his neck, suddenly unsure if he was saying too much.
Misty didn't respond.
Not yet.
But something cracked.
Small. Clean. Quiet.
A ripple in the glassy surface she'd been trying so hard to keep still.
She watched Ash walk out the door, holding his badge like treasure, his Pikachu perched on his shoulder again.
And something in her chest finally moved.
The gym was quiet again.
Evening light crept through the glass ceiling, casting long shadows across the empty water. The ripples had long since faded, but the air still smelled of ozone and something warmer.
Misty stood at the edge of the pool one last time.
Two battles. One after the other.
Both left marks.
But only one left her smiling.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out two coins—thin tokens meant to represent the badges she'd given that week. She flicked them into the pool.
Two soft splashes.
Two very different memories.
Behind her, the gym door creaked open.
"Misty," said Lily, her tone teasing, "we saw him."
Misty didn't turn.
"The Pallet boy?" Daisy added. "He's… not subtle."
"And not your usual type," Lily smirked.
Misty sighed. "He's ten."
"So are you, emotionally," Daisy shot back.
The sisters laughed.
But they quieted when Misty finally turned around.
Something in her face was different now. Lighter. Not quite happy—but less… locked.
"I'm leaving," she said.
The words weren't loud.
But they rang like a bell.
The sisters blinked.
Daisy stepped forward, eyebrows raised. "You mean, like… for a trip?"
"No. I mean I'm stepping down."
A pause.
Then Lily crossed her arms. "You're serious."
Misty nodded once. "You can handle it without me. You already do."
Daisy didn't argue.
She only asked, "Is it because of him?"
Misty didn't have to ask which one.
"No," she said. "It's because of me."
She turned and walked toward the upstairs hallway. Her sisters didn't follow.
She packed lightly.
A travel kit, two Poké Balls, her old raincoat.
At the very last moment, she hesitated by her desk, then scribbled a note on the back of a receipt.
Don't wait up. I needed to feel something again.
–M
She left through the side entrance.
Less dramatic that way.
Outside, the moon had started to rise, and the streets of Cerulean were quiet except for the occasional flicker of neon from the tourist strip.
She looked down the road.
The same one Ash had taken.
He'd probably already gotten lost by now. Maybe arguing with a tree. Maybe trying to teach Pikachu how to high-five. Maybe walking into his next loss with the same ridiculous, relentless grin.
Misty smiled.
And followed.
Not chasing.
Just walking in the direction of something she almost forgot she had—
Hope.
But no one said the word aloud.