Every living creature in the world exists for a purpose.
Humans have theirs. Pokémon do too.
When that purpose is lost, life becomes… hollow. You drift without direction, going through the motions like a walking shadow.
That was the state Charmander was in now.
From a psychological standpoint, Ethan knew the solution had to start with giving him a goal again. A reason to get up, to fight, to care.
So—what could that goal be?
Ethan sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, absently tapping his temple with his pen. He stared at Charmander's small, curled-up form, his mind running through the possibilities.
The answer, when it came, was simple.
For Pokémon, the most basic and instinctive goal was to battle. When no predators or rivals threatened them, they fought each other for dominance and strength. When partnered with a trainer, that instinct was honed and directed—step by step, becoming stronger together.
It was in their very nature.
And yet, in Charmander, that fire had gone out.
It wasn't an accident. It was the result of betrayal. Abandoned to the underground arenas, used, beaten, punished—it was no wonder he wanted nothing more to do with fighting or with humans.
Ethan set his pen to paper. "Two steps," he murmured. "Both equally important."
Step one: Restore Charmander's will to fight.
How? By creating a need—a situation in which fighting was the only way to protect something valuable. In human terms, social psychology called it the threat to self-interest principle: people fought hardest when something precious to them was at risk.
Pokémon, Ethan reasoned, would be no different.
Right now, the only "right" Charmander had was his stable, if lonely, life here at the Pokémon House. To reignite that spark, Ethan would have to threaten that stability—without actually harming him.
He smiled faintly as the idea took shape.
Step two: Rebuild Charmander's trust in humans.
That meant doing something his former trainer would never have done.
Ethan thought back to Charmander's past. His old trainer had gambled away his dignity—and Charmander's safety—for money. That kind of person wouldn't protect their Pokémon. They wouldn't risk themselves. They certainly wouldn't put their own body between a Pokémon and danger.
"So," Ethan said to himself, "I'll do exactly that."
As if on cue, Mr. Fuji's warm voice carried across the room.
"Everyone, mealtime's almost over. Any Pokémon who hasn't finished should be taken out back to the park. It's Snorlax's turn to eat."
The mention of Snorlax drew a few uneasy glances from the volunteers. Most began guiding their Pokémon toward the door.
Ethan stayed where he was, watching Charmander remain perfectly still, his head resting on the floor.
Moments later, a rounded, blue-grey blur bounded into view. The little Snorlax charged forward like an overexcited Tauros.
"Ka~!"
He made a beeline for the row of six enormous rice buckets beside Mr. Fuji. Without hesitation, he grabbed one in both stubby arms, tipped it back, and emptied it into his mouth in one massive gulp.
"Slow down, now," Mr. Fuji chided gently, patting Snorlax's head. "There's no need to rush. It's all yours."
Snorlax ignored him, already reaching for the second bucket. Ethan couldn't help but stare.
No wonder they call him the Glutton Pokémon…
In another life, Snorlax might have been Ethan's first choice for a partner—adorable yet immensely powerful. In his final form, his stats ranked among the best in the Normal-type category. But feeding him? That was a financial death sentence for a new trainer. Reluctantly, Ethan had crossed him off the list.
In under a minute, all six buckets were gone.
"Ka~!" Snorlax rumbled, still not satisfied.
"That's all for today," Mr. Fuji said fondly.
But Snorlax's eyes narrowed mischievously. He sniffed the air like a hunting Growlithe.
"No, the others have eaten already," Mr. Fuji warned.
Snorlax wasn't listening. His gaze sharpened—and then lit up with predatory glee.
"Card!"
He bolted toward the far corner—straight toward Charmander, whose untouched lunch sat innocently at his feet.
Snorlax launched himself, mouth wide open, ready to engulf the bowl in one gulp.
Ethan moved without thinking. His hands shot out, yanking the bowl away just as Snorlax's bulk crashed to the floor.
For a moment, all Snorlax could do was glare up at him, his beady eyes dark with offense. Ethan's system display flickered into view:
Snorlax (Baby) — Intimacy: –21 (↓ 1)
He'd just made an enemy.
Ethan ignored him, focusing instead on the plan. He drew a deep breath.
If he wanted to break through to Charmander, he had to act out a scene so over-the-top, so ridiculous, that even a jaded Pokémon would remember it. Something like… Ash Ketchum's reckless, melodramatic moments in the anime.
"Snorlax!" Ethan barked, pointing firmly at Charmander. "This is his lunch. You can't eat it!"
Charmander actually lifted his head, blinking at the sudden noise.
Snorlax snarled and lunged again. Ethan sidestepped, crouched low, and slid the bowl back in front of Charmander.
"Eat it before he takes it!" Ethan urged, meeting Charmander's eyes.
Charmander didn't touch the food—but he didn't look away, either.
Mr. Fuji hurried over. "Ethan, I told you Snorlax was coming out! Get Charmander outside, now, before someone gets hurt!"
"No," Ethan said firmly. "This is Charmander's lunch. I'm responsible for him, and I'll protect it—even if it costs me my life."
The room went still.
To most of the volunteers, this was insanity. Charmander barely reacted to kindness. Why risk injury over a bowl of food he probably wouldn't eat?
Snorlax didn't hesitate. With a burst of strength, he slammed into Ethan's back, sending him sprawling several meters across the floor. Pain shot up his spine, white-hot and immediate.
"Ka~!" Snorlax declared triumphantly.
He turned back toward Charmander, looming over the bowl. His mouth opened wide.
Charmander's gaze flickered again—this time, tracking Ethan as he pushed himself upright, breathless but unshaken.
"Put. That. Down." Ethan's voice was raw, defiant. "It belongs to Charmander."
Snorlax paused for half a second, then grinned wickedly and tipped the food into his mouth.
A smug burp followed.
That was enough for Ethan. He lunged forward again, intent on… well, he wasn't entirely sure. Wrestling it out of Snorlax's mouth, maybe.
Chaos erupted.
"Stop him! Get him outside!" Mr. Fuji ordered.
Several volunteers rushed in, hauling Ethan backward. He thrashed in their grip. "Let me go! I'm going to make him spit it back out!"
One volunteer gaped at him. "It's just lunch! There's more food—Charmander won't starve!"
Ethan didn't stop shouting until they had dragged him nearly thirty meters from the building.
Then, abruptly, he went still. His face smoothed into calm.
"All right. You can let go now. I'm not going to fight Snorlax again."
The volunteers froze, confused.
"Seriously," Ethan said. "I'm fine. That was on purpose."
A few exchanged bewildered looks before releasing him.
"On purpose?" one asked.
"Yes. Why is… a secret for now. I'll explain it to Grandpa Fuji later." Ethan smiled faintly.
Another shook his head. "Look, man, don't waste your time on Charmander just because he's shiny. You'll regret it. He's a lost cause."
Ethan didn't bother replying. He just turned back toward the building, rubbing his sore lower back.
That hit was no joke, he thought wryly. Might as well have been hit by a truck.
"Here's hoping it was worth it."
Through the window, he spotted Charmander still in the same spot. But now… now there was the faintest trace of curiosity in his eyes.
A notification blinked in Ethan's vision:
Charmander — Intimacy: –23 (↑ 2)
Ethan grinned.
"Worth it," he whispered. "At least he knows I wasn't faking it."