It was as if the Garchomp line had been cursed by some malevolent deity.
No matter the method—leveling up, inherited egg moves, TMs, or special move tutors—the standard Gible, Gabite, and Garchomp could not learn the excellent buffing move, Dragon Dance. The ultimate irony? One of the key ingredients required to craft the Dragon Dance TM was scales shed from a Gible.
Silas could only conclude that there were some serious Cynthia-haters working as game designers at Game Freak. Why else would nearly every other Dragon-type be able to learn the move, while the one Pokémon that would be perfect with it was maliciously excluded? It was one thing to simply not let it learn the move. But to require its own scales to make the TM for others? That was a level of spiteful game design that was truly impressive.
"Gib~ Gib~"
The little Gible, its eyes still full of a naive innocence, had no idea that the monumental destiny of "restoring the glory of the Garchomp line" now rested on its small shoulders. It finished its Moomoo Milk, burped with satisfaction, and promptly flopped onto the floor like an overinflated basketball, fast asleep.
After giving it a few hours to digest, Silas gently woke his partner. It was time to begin. He took Gible to the university gymnasium, ready to start its formal training. He had spent most of the previous night outlining breeding methods, move sets, and battle strategies, but he knew that what is learned from books is always shallow. The only way to truly understand was through practice.
The university was well-equipped, with numerous indoor and outdoor stadiums. Each large gymnasium was further divided into smaller, private training rooms for students in the battle-focused programs. The entire campus was a perfect ecosystem built around Pokémon, from the Battle majors to the students in Breeding Sciences and the trainee Pokémon Nurses in the Veterinary program. A great writer once said, "There are no roads in this world, but when many people walk on it, a road is made." The university was living proof of that.
This ecosystem, however, felt a world away from Silas. He was just a Business Administration major. He didn't know a single student from the Battle Department, let alone any aspiring breeders or nurses. He was a lone wolf, unable to call on friends to practice with.
Lone wolf? Please, he thought with a smirk. Call me Zacian, the Warrior Pokémon.
Zamazenta: ...And what about me? You always bring your sister up when you talk about the strong ones. Don't bully Pokémon like this.
Zacian: Enjoy the glory alone, and share the hardship with your younger brother.
Shaking off the meta-joke, Silas approached the gymnasium's front desk with Gible waddling behind him. "Excuse me, Administrator? I'd like to apply for a private training room."
The administrator looked up, bored. "Student card," he said, holding out a hand.
Silas handed it over. The admin swiped it, and the information popped up on his screen.
[Student: Silas Gray]
[Major: Department of Business Administration]
[Training Room Time Remaining: 100 hours]
"You have one hundred hours of usage time... and you haven't used a single minute," the administrator mumbled, his eyes widening slightly. "And you're not even a Battle Department student..."
He looked from the screen, to Silas, and then down to the Gible at his feet. His bored expression vanished, replaced by pure shock.
A Gible? Even the top students in the Battle program would be lucky to catch a Pokémon of that caliber. Whose kid was this? To have a pseudo-legendary as a starter, he had to be the son of some regional Dragon-type Gym Leader, at the very least. And he wasn't even a Battle major?
"What?" Silas asked. "If I'm not a Battle student, can't I use a training room?"
"No, that's not it," the administrator shook his head, his mind reeling. "It's just... this situation is rather rare."
Rare? thought Silas, a mischievous glint in his eye. Who are you calling rare? Is that a compliment, or are you trying to start something?
Inside the private training room, Silas took a deep breath, his heart pounding with anticipation.
"Gible—use Dragon Dance!" he commanded, his voice echoing in the space.
There was a theory that a trainer's "Loud Roar" could function as a move itself, intimidating opponents. After all, a creature like Primeape was a Pokémon, but who's to say a sufficiently motivated trainer wasn't a powerful creature in their own right? The louder the command, the better the result. Probably.
"Gib—!"
At the command, the dull, vacant look in Gible's eyes vanished, replaced by a sharp focus. As if on cue, the lively, upbeat disco tune of Nimbasa City's theme started playing in Silas's head.
Bum, ba-da-bum, ba-da-bum, ba-da-bum-bum...
On the training room floor, Gible began to move. It swung its stubby fins, twisted its round body, and performed the mysterious, powerful war dance of the Dragon-type. Its speed and attack were rising to a higher level!
[Dragon Dance: The user vigorously performs a mysterious, powerful dance. This boosts the user's Attack and Speed stats.]
The buffing effect was immense. New trainers often misunderstood what "boosting a stat" meant. It wasn't like gaining a level, from LV5 to LV6. In Pokémon battles, a single "stage" increase was a 1.5x multiplier to the original stat. Two stages doubled it. This could stack up to a maximum of six stages, resulting in a staggering 4x boost.
This was why Dragon Dance was so terrifying. A move that only boosted Speed could leave a Pokémon unable to finish an opponent. A move that only boosted Attack could leave it too slow to strike first. But Dragon Dance did both. It was the complete package for a physical sweeper.
An opponent would never willingly give a Pokémon the time and space to set up a Dragon Dance. Once buffed, a single Pokémon could easily sweep an entire team—a "one-on-three" or even a "one-on-six" victory.
And this was why Game Freak had seemingly targeted Garchomp. With its already sky-high base stats and perfect distribution, giving it Dragon Dance would make it too perfect. So, through multiple generations, while other Dragon-types—and even some non-Dragon-types—gained access to the move, the Garchomp line was left out in the cold. It was clear who the "god" targeting it was: the game designers at Game Freak, the true creators of the Pokémon world.
Of course, the Nimbasa City BGM wasn't really playing. It was just a soundtrack Silas had supplied in his head.
But the effects of the Dragon Dance were very, very real. Gible zipped around the room, its movements now agile and sharp, its playful nips now carrying a ferocious edge. It spun on the spot, a blur of cute, flexible power.
A Gible that could use Dragon Dance. This wasn't a dream.
Silas's eyes gleamed. In his past life, he'd had more than a little experience with Pokémon battles. To be a successful "magical modifier," he'd had to understand why players wanted these illegal hacks. Why they dreamed of a Garchomp with Dragon Dance, a Groudon that could fly, or a Gengar that still had the Levitate ability.
He knew the potential. As long as he could carefully raise this Gible, evolving it into Gabite, then Garchomp, and perhaps one day even a Mega Garchomp... its dominance would be absolute. He could practically see it now, a vision of the future granted by his own "Future Sight (EX)" ability.
He looked at his partner, who had just finished its dance and was looking at him, awaiting the next command.
"Gible, my Gible..." Silas said, a wide, determined grin spreading across his face. "It seems the duty of restoring the Garchomp line's true glory falls to you."
"Gible, use Dragon Dance!"
"Again! Now, Dragon Claw on that target!"
"Good! Follow up with Sand Tomb!"
"Kapu! Kapu! Kapu!"
In the private training room, the little Gible leaped and swung its fins with vigor. Silas, acting as a strict but thoughtful supervisor, had developed what he believed was a reasonable initial training program.
First and foremost was Dragon Dance. This was Gible's ace, the single skill that set it apart from every other member of its species. Silas needed it to master the move until it was pure muscle memory, something it could execute reflexively, even while dodging an opponent's attack—much like the Scyther from the anime that could use Sword Dance to slice through jets of fire.
Once the buffing move was perfected, it was time to focus on its main attack.
"Generally speaking, for a Pokémon in its 'baby' stage, Dragon Rage is an excellent choice..." Silas muttered to himself, rubbing his chin as he watched Gible practice.
[Dragon Rage: The user unleashes a shock wave of anger that always deals 40 HP of damage.]
The move was a monster in the early game. In newbie tournaments or the "Little Cup" format, a guaranteed 40 points of damage was devastating. It ignored resistances and type-matchups, ensuring a knockout on most starter Pokémon in two or three hits. It was a simple, effective tactic for new trainers who didn't want to think too hard.
But for this Gible, it was a trap. The damage was fixed. No matter how many Dragon Dances Gible used, no matter if its attack was boosted by three times, Dragon Rage would still only do a pitiful 40 damage. Its "shelf life" was incredibly short.
Instead, Silas decided, it was far more valuable to master Sand Tomb. Not only was it a Ground-type move, granting it a Same-Type Attack Bonus (STAB), but it also had a powerful secondary effect. As the name implied, it trapped the opponent in a vortex of sand, preventing them from switching out.
This single effect opened up a world of strategies. Silas could trap a weak opponent and attack relentlessly, or he could use the opportunity to have Gible calmly set up multiple Dragon Dances, maxing out its stats before delivering the final blow.
Since this is a 'serious battle', Silas thought with a grin, I think I'll just stack six Dragon Dance buffs before we really begin. That's not too much to ask, right?
He was learning that Pokémon battles were full of tricks and schemes. Mastering the type chart was just the introduction.
After half a day of intense special training, Gible was exhausted. It flopped onto the floor, its mouth wide open, panting heavily.
"Good work, Gible. You've earned it," Silas said with a wave, preparing a large bowl of Moomoo Milk and Pokémon feed.
He knew other trainers could probably provide better conditions for their Pokémon. But for now, a basic, nutritious diet was the best he could do. Thankfully, his goofy little land shark wasn't a picky eater. Whether it was a gourmet meal or simple feed, it was all a gift from its trainer, and Gible devoured it with gusto.
"Gib~ (burp)!"
In the blink of an eye, the food was gone. Gible's cheeks were puffed out, and after a long, satisfied burp, it stroked its round belly. It looked utterly content.
"This is going to be a problem, though," Silas murmured, observing the Gible that had eaten itself into the shape of a perfect sphere.
While he was happy it had a healthy appetite, he was also deeply worried that his living expenses couldn't support the needs of a growing pseudo-legendary. He wasn't even thinking about high-end items like Yache Berries, custom Energy Cubes, or rare evolutionary items like Dragon Scales and Dragon Fangs. Just the cost of basic feed and Moomoo Milk was draining his funds at a terrifying rate.
At this pace, he and Gible would be completely broke long before the month was over. The old saying that ordinary trainers couldn't afford to raise pseudo-legendaries was, he was discovering, a very hard truth.
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PS: The author notes that the "Toothless Dancing" meme, which features the dragon from "How to Train Your Dragon" and other characters dancing, often uses the Nimbasa City theme from Pokémon Black & White as its background music.