The day after Ren's visit, the gym felt strangely quiet. Not peaceful—just… waiting. It was the kind of quiet that made you think something was about to happen, and not the good kind.
Latina was perched at the counter, tinkering with what looked like a cross between a toaster and a Poké Ball incubator. Sparks flew every few seconds, and she didn't seem remotely concerned. Squirtle, meanwhile, was sprawled on the couch, head propped on a toolbox, flipping idly through a book of Pokémon dietary plans as if he were studying for a chef's license.
I leaned against the doorway, sipping tea. "Feels like the calm before the storm."
Latina glanced up. "Then we should use it to prepare. You've been pushing Squirtle pretty hard—what about your own training?"
I choked slightly on my drink. "My training? I'm the gym owner. I coordinate, strategize, keep everything running—"
She smirked. "And when a challenger decides to take you on instead of Squirtle?"
I waved a hand dismissively. "That's not how—"
The system chimed.
[New Daily Task: Complete Personal Combat Training]Reward: Random mid-tier item ×1Failure: Reduction in gym reputation
I stared at the floating text. "…Traitor."
Thirty minutes later, I was standing in the arena, wearing protective pads that felt two sizes too small, facing Latina and a clearly amused Squirtle.
"Don't hold back," Latina said cheerfully. "We'll start with evasion drills. You dodge. Squirtle attacks."
"Define 'don't hold back,'" I asked warily.
Squirtle answered with a rapid Water Gun that smacked me square in the chest, knocking me back a step. The cold soaked instantly through my shirt.
I gritted my teeth. "Alright. I see how it is."
We fell into a rhythm—Squirtle firing controlled bursts, me sidestepping or ducking, occasionally managing to spin out of the way with some dignity. The MK-II trundled along the sidelines, acting as a moving obstacle, forcing me to adjust my footwork.
Latina called out instructions like a drill sergeant. "Lower your stance! Watch your left—no, your left!"
By the tenth minute, my arms were burning, my shirt was plastered to my back, and my lungs felt like they were about to file for resignation. Squirtle, of course, looked like he was just warming up.
The second phase was hand-to-hand training. Latina tossed me a padded staff and stepped into the ring herself.
"You sure about this?" I asked.
Her smile was the kind that made you realize you'd already lost.
The sparring started slow—her testing my reach, me trying not to swing like I was swatting flies. But she had an uncanny knack for reading my movements. Every time I thought I had an opening, she'd pivot, hook my staff with hers, and send me stumbling.
"You're overcommitting," she said lightly. "You fight like someone who's used to ordering others around."
I tightened my grip. "And you fight like someone who enjoys making me look bad."
She laughed and swept my legs. I hit the mat with a thud that rattled my teeth.
By the time we wrapped up, I was sore in places I didn't even know existed. The system chimed again.
[Task Complete: Personal Combat Training]Reward: Mid-tier Agility Enhancer ×1
I eyed the small vial in my hand. "Worth it? Not sure yet."
Latina clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to make me wince. "Not bad for a first day. But you're gonna need a lot more than this if you want to survive whatever's coming."
We didn't have to wait long to find out what "whatever's coming" meant.
That evening, just as I was considering collapsing on the couch and not moving for the next decade, the system flashed another alert.
[Special Event Triggered: Joint Battle Simulation]Participants: Gym Staff]Time Limit: 30 minutesObjective: Defeat incoming waves of opponents
Latina's grin was instant. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
The arena transformed around us. The walls shimmered with holographic projections, morphing into a canyon landscape under a blazing sun. Jagged rock formations rose from the floor, creating cover points.
The first wave materialized—three Machop, flexing and stomping as they approached. Squirtle moved first, darting between rocks to fire Water Guns that splashed against their chests. I flanked left, keeping their attention split, while Latina—of course—ran straight at them with a wrench in each hand.
We worked surprisingly well as a team. Squirtle's ranged pressure kept them off-balance, my dodges and feints disrupted their formations, and Latina's reckless charges forced mistakes. Within minutes, the first wave was down.
The second wave was trickier—two Graveler and a Hitmonchan. The Graveler rolled in from opposite sides, forcing us to scatter, while Hitmonchan darted between them with lightning-fast jabs.
"Keep moving!" Latina shouted, vaulting over a boulder.
Squirtle switched to Water Pulse, slowing the Graveler with well-placed hits. I managed to bait Hitmonchan into overextending, giving Latina the opening to slam her wrench into its side with a satisfying clang.
By the time the third wave hit—five assorted opponents including a Kadabra—we were breathing hard but grinning like maniacs. Squirtle had a nick on his shell, I had a bruise forming along my ribs, and Latina's hair was plastered to her forehead, but none of us were slowing down.
The final seconds ticked down as Squirtle landed a decisive Skull Bash on Kadabra, sending it sprawling.
[Event Complete: Joint Battle Simulation Success]Rewards: Mid-tier Recovery Kit ×1, Bonus XP for all participants
We collapsed on the floor, laughing and panting.
Latina rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "We make a pretty good team, Boss."
I smirked, still catching my breath. "Don't get used to me doing the heavy lifting."
Squirtle just gave a satisfied nod, his shell gleaming under the arena lights.
For the first time in days, I felt like maybe—just maybe—we were getting somewhere.