Jason didn't argue; he just smiled.
"What if I told you I could help you recover?"
He put the earlier offer back on the table.
Miraidon said nothing. It just stared hard at Jason with its dimming electronic eyes, trying to read something—anything—from that blank Ditto face. It wanted to know whether Jason was being sincerely earnest or just joking.
After a long pause, looking into Jason's clear, beady eyes, Miraidon's resolve wavered.
"So," it said slowly, "what's your condition? I don't suppose you're helping me out of the goodness of your heart."
It didn't believe in free lunches. Especially for a legendary Pokémon like itself, anyone who got close inevitably had an agenda.
"Of course," Jason admitted without hesitation. "There are conditions."
Oddly, that steadied Miraidon a bit. Conditions were better than none—meant this was a deal, not a hollow handout.
"Go on, what are they?" it asked. "You want me to do something?"
"It's simple," Jason said. "Come adventure with me."
Miraidon froze, confusion flashing in its eyes. Just… that simple?
It had imagined countless possibilities—submission, surrendering some treasure, even more outrageous demands. It had never expected the condition to be merely: travel together.
What did that even mean? Be his muscle? In this state it would be lucky not to drag the team down.
It couldn't figure out Jason's aim.
"That's it?" it blurted.
"Mm-hm. That's it," Jason confirmed—then paused, remembering something important. "Oh, right—be my mount once in a while."
Miraidon's electronic eyes flickered and its brow tightened.
A mount? The word grated on it.
Who was it? A Paradox Pokémon from the future, the legend that reigned over the Great Crater of Paldea! In its era it was the symbol of speed and power—the apex others looked up to.
And now this Ditto wanted it as a mount? A surge of resistance rose inside. That wasn't a simple bargain anymore; it trampled on its dignity.
But it glanced at Jason again. His gaze stayed sincere, with no hint of insult, as if the request were perfectly normal.
Miraidon's thoughts raced. The "adventure together" bit didn't bother it much. It had already decided to leave Area Zero and see this era, learn the world. Traveling alone while badly injured was inconvenient. This Ditto and its companions weren't weak—nowhere near its own prime, but decent. Adventuring together might even be fun.
But being a mount… that was hard to swallow.
Seeing it sink into long silence, Jason decided to nudge harder.
"Don't hesitate," he coaxed. "Your injuries won't wait. This desert's remote, not safe. If a few more like the last bunch show up, you don't want to get wiped out in a ditch, do you?"
Bullseye.
It knew how bad off it was. That lightning dash earlier had burned through days of stored energy. Fighting was out; even switching to Drive Mode for speed was impossible. If danger came again, it would be helpless.
"Besides," Jason went on, as casually as chatting about the weather, "it's not shameful. Even Terapagos has carried me."
That hit harder than everything else combined.
Miraidon's eyes went wide, disbelief blinking across them. Was it hallucinating from the damage?
Terapagos? The legend of legends in Paldea—being a Ditto's mount?
"Are you serious?" it blurted, shock sneaking into its voice. "You're not lying? Terapagos carried you? I don't buy it."
That was beyond its frame of reference. In its mind, Terapagos ranked above it, not beneath. Even a being like that would…? Impossible.
One look at Miraidon's "you must think I'm stupid" face told Jason words wouldn't cut it. Luckily, he had proof. He simply spat out a Rotom Phone.
The phone twirled happily in the air and zipped to Miraidon. The sentient gadget drew another flash of surprise—then the footage on its screen seized Miraidon's gaze: Jason, transformed into a Charcadet, charging into battle on Terapagos's back. The clip ended there, but the impact was immense.
Miraidon went blank, staring at the frozen frame as if its brain had blue-screened. Again and again it checked: the Pokémon in the video was unmistakably Terapagos, and the Charcadet riding it was undeniably this Ditto. No edits; the aura couldn't be faked.
"You… really rode Terapagos?" its voice drifted.
Jason recalled the Rotom Phone and nodded calmly, as if it were nothing.
It still felt surreal. Miraidon leaned in, sniffing the pink body closely. A trace of energy emanated from Jason—the same lineage as Terapagos's. Now it believed. It couldn't not.
A peculiar thought bubbled up: if even a being as great as Terapagos had served as this Ditto's mount… maybe it wasn't so unacceptable. At least it wouldn't be the first. With a precedent set, pride mattered less.
Once that clicked, the idea didn't feel so unbearable. After a last moment of inner struggle, it met those earnest beady eyes and nodded solemnly. It agreed.
Seeing the nod, Jason finally exhaled. Done! Hoodwin—no, successfully recruited a legendary to the team! His smile grew brighter.
"That's more like it," he said, opening his mouth again. The five Herba Mystica, exuding their strange aromas, floated out and hung in the air. This time Miraidon showed no wariness—only pure hunger and hope.
Jason didn't keep it waiting. He deftly produced ingredients—fresh bread, crisp lettuce, and a few unnameable sauces—and, in front of Miraidon, Sandy Shocks, Gast, and Iron Valiant, started assembling sandwiches on the spot.
He shaved a little powder from the Sweet Herba onto two slices of bread. Then the Spicy—mixed into a red sauce and spread thin. Salty, Sour, Bitter—he folded a touch of each into the build in different ways. His hands moved with practiced ease—less like a Ditto, more like a veteran chef.
Soon five sandwiches, each with its own alluring aroma, were done. Each glowed faintly with the herbs' energy, the rich vitality making every Pokémon present swallow hard.
He divided them up, reserving the biggest share for the patient of honor—Miraidon.
"Try them," Jason said, sliding the five flavors before it.
Miraidon eyed the plain, even crude-looking fare, hesitating. Could this really heal injuries even it couldn't treat?
But the vital energy wafting from them tugged at its body like a siren. In the end, the hunger to recover beat out doubt. It lowered its head, delicately took the sweet-scented sandwich, and chewed.
The instant the food touched its tongue, an indescribable savor blended with surging vitality burst across its mouth, slid down its throat, pooled in its belly, and spread as a warm torrent through its limbs.
Miraidon's eyes flashed. Delicious! A sublime taste it had never known since birth. Hesitation vanished; it devoured the rest. Sweet, salty, sour, bitter, spicy—five flavors danced on its tongue, each tethered to a different energy, precisely mending a different part of its body.
Meanwhile Jason didn't forget his own. He handed a portion to the ever-loyal Sandy Shocks, who glanced between Miraidon and Jason, hesitated, then tucked in. The rest went to Iron Valiant and Gast.
"Whoa—Chef Jason never misses!" Gast took a bite, eyes squinting with bliss as bubbles of joy rose off its ethereal body. Iron Valiant said nothing, but the speed of its eating made its approval obvious.
For a moment, the hostile desert turned into a pop-up picnic.
Soon Miraidon had cleared its share, even licking its lips for more.
"How do you feel?" Jason asked.
The question made Miraidon blank again—right, the point wasn't the food, it was healing. It focused and checked itself carefully.
What it found left it stunned. The food had already refined into pure currents of energy coursing through it. Hidden injuries, battle-torn muscle fibers—everything was knitting, healing, becoming whole at an unbelievable pace. The bone-deep pain and lingering weakness were gone without a trace, replaced by an unprecedented ease and lightness.
"Feels… like it's working," Miraidon said, uncertain, a note of surprise creeping into its voice. "I'm not back to full power, but… the injuries are definitely gone."
It rolled its shoulders; the strain of even moving had vanished. It felt like it could lap the desert ten times. Jason's method worked—and beyond imagination. A swell of elation rose in its chest.
But soon the delight froze into a strange look. Something was off. As it had said, the wounds were gone and its systems were back online, yet the core of its energy hadn't returned to its peak.
Its combat strength felt maybe thirty percent of its prime; big, energy-hungry moves were still out of reach. Odd—if the injuries were healed, shouldn't the energy be topped off too? Puzzled, Miraidon probed deeper into its body—then found the crux of the problem.
~~~
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