The lunch break after the theoretical examination passed in a blur.
For many candidates, it was a frantic hour spent hunched over food they barely tasted, whispering predictions about what questions might come in the practical portion, or nervously comparing answers with friends.
For Albert, it was quiet. He ate calmly in the Lilycove University cafeteria, savoring a simple plate of roasted fish and greens.
He had finished the theoretical portion in less than half the allotted time, his essay flowing so naturally that he hadn't once second-guessed himself.
The others around him darted nervous glances at the clock, chatter rising in uneven bursts. Albert only listened, absorbing the tension as if it were background noise.
He wasn't oblivious—no, he knew perfectly well the weight this day carried for everyone here—but the calm he exuded was genuine.
For years, he had been preparing for this very moment, not only with books and research but with a discipline that reached deeper.
Still, as he set down his fork and drained his glass of water, his amethyst eyes flickered with something sharper.
Theoretical mastery was one thing, but the practical exam was deliberately shrouded in secrecy by the Evergreen Island Government. No amount of studying could have revealed what awaited, but he could still make an educated guess.
When the call came after a few hours of review and rest, Albert walked to the south wing of Lilycove University, where the Practical Examination Halls were located.
Candidates were separated into groups of twenty, each escorted into a different arena.
Hall 5 was assigned to Albert's group.
As he entered, the hall that greeted him was vast, looking like it had half part stadium, half part laboratory.
At the far end stood a table with six Poké Balls. Each was marked with a neutral insignia, indicating randomization.
A proctor in a white coat and black armband addressed the group.
"Candidates," he said, voice carrying through the speakers, "welcome to the practical portion of the Pokémon Trainer Licensure Exam. You will each receive one Pokémon at random. You will be given a short period to acquaint yourselves. You will then face a battle trial with a proctor Pokémon. Following the battle, you must attend to your Pokémon's condition. Remember: this exam is not only about combat strength, but about your capacity to bond, adapt, and care."
A murmur ran through the crowd. Some looked eager, others pale.
Albert's expression remained serene.
"Candidate 127—Albert Hugo," the proctor called. "Step forward."
Albert walked steadily to the table. He reached out, fingers brushing briefly over each Poké Ball as though listening for a whisper.
Finally, he selected the third from the left.
The ball expanded in his palm, and with a soft click, released a burst of light.
The Poké Ball clicked open, and a Meowth appeared.
A small, feline shape emerged, fur glossy and tail swaying. It bristled with unease, golden coin glinting on its forehead.
Meowth crouched low, its tail twitching as its eyes blinked up at him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, eyes narrowed warily at Albert.
"Meowth," the proctor announced.
The Pokémon hissed softly, turning its head away in aloof disdain.
Albert smiled faintly. "So that's how it is."
Many candidates would have fumbled here, pressing too quickly, but Albert simply knelt, lowering himself to the Meowth's level.
He didn't speak at first. Instead, he reached out with his psychic presence, a subtle tendril of thought brushing against the Pokémon's consciousness.
I'm not here to hurt you.
The words weren't voiced, but carried directly into Meowth's mind, soft as a whisper. Alongside them flowed a pulse of calm reassurance, the steady warmth of someone trustworthy.
Meowth froze, ears flicking. Its eyes widened slightly, confusion mingling with curiosity. It didn't retreat.
Albert smiled faintly, letting the connection deepen. He sent another wave—not words this time, but emotions: safety, focus, respect.
He let the Meowth feel his sincerity.
The Pokémon's bristling fur settled. It blinked slowly, testing the link, then padded closer until its whiskers nearly brushed Albert's hand.
When it finally nuzzled his fingers, the bond was sealed.
"Good," Albert murmured aloud, voice low but warm. "We'll do this together."
Albert then proceeded to ask Meowth about its current move pool, while also investigating its ability and characteristic trait.
Technician, good. He thought.
He was quite lucky, as it was a strong ability that had already awakened, and he discovered its nature was Adamant.
Hmm…increased attack, decreased special attack. Maintaining the highest speed stat, not bad at all.
"Candidate 127," the proctor said after a few minutes had passed. "Your bonding period is complete. Prepare for your trial battle."
Albert stood, brushing invisible dust from his trousers, with Meowth circling around his feet.
The opposite gate opened, and another proctor stepped in.
The proctor threw a Poké Ball. As it opened, a muscular Fighting-type flexed, rolling its shoulders with a growl. The Superpower Pokémon's eyes gleamed with raw determination.
Albert's jaw tightened. Machop…What rotten luck!
He took a deep breath to calm himself. The type disadvantage is real—but not insurmountable.
"Standard rules," the referee called. "One battle, until one Pokémon is unable to continue. Begin."
Albert's mind sharpened instantly.
He didn't intend to simply react—this was no place for passivity.
Already, he calculated probabilities: Machop's likely opening move, its reliance on physical strength, the clash of types. On the other hand, Meowth was quick, sharp, and opportunistic.
If they were to win, it would not be through brute force, but precision.
Stay light on your feet, he sent through the telepathic link, watch its shoulders, not its fists.
The whistle blew.
"Meowth," Albert called, his voice steady, "start with Fake Out."
The feline darted forward with surprising speed, clapping its paws sharply against Machop's chest.
The Fighting-type flinched, staggering back, buying precious seconds for Meowth to position itself.
"Machop, Low Kick!"
Albert was already a step ahead. Dodge left—strike back with another Scratch!
Meowth blurred aside, claws flashing. The strike landed not shallowly, but not quite deep either. Still, the feline was able to use the force to distance itself.
Before the opponent could recover, Albert's command lashed out. "Use Growl."
Meowth crouched low, fur bristling, and let out a sharp, guttural Growl; the sound reverberated across the hall, making Machop flinch, with its movements losing a fraction of their edge
It grunted but held steady, muscles absorbing the blow.
The proctor attempted to regain their rhythm.
"Karate Chop!"
Albert was already ahead. "Jump—counter with Bite!"
Meowth vaulted upward, teeth sinking into Machop's shoulder.
The Fighting-type roared, jerking back.
The examiner's eyebrows lifted slightly at the precision of Albert's timing.
This time, Albert didn't wait for the command.
He had been watching, judging the subtle tension in the proctor's voice, the timing of Machop's breath.
He saw it before it came.
But Albert knew half-measures wouldn't secure victory. Machop was durable; trading blows wasn't sustainable. He needed something decisive.
"Machop, Focus Energy!" the proctor called. The fighter's aura flared.
"Meowth, use Taunt." Albert quickly followed.
The cat smirked, letting out a sharp, mocking cry. Machop roared in frustration as its move was interrupted, compelled to attack recklessly.
"Perfect. Now—Fury Swipes!"
Meowth darted in, claws flashing in a blur of strikes, each one fueled by precision. Machop stumbled under the feline's barrage.
While the fighting Pokémon was still affected by the last move, Albert felt it was time.
Meowth has used all its current abilities; the key to this battle had finally turned.
"Meowth. Use Last Resort!"
Meowth landed lightly, body glowing with sudden, violent energy.
It shot forward like a silver comet, claws extended, aura blazing brighter than its small frame should allow.
The slam connected squarely with Machop's chest, who attempted to dodge but for naught.
The Fighting-type staggered, eyes swirly, then toppled backward with a thunderous crash.
Silence hung in the hall for a few seconds as the proctor stared in shock.
I'm a Bonafide Veteran Trainer, and I lost to a….Rookie Trainer?
Eventually, he regained his bearings as he raised his hand.
"Winner: Candidate Hugo."
Albert exhaled slowly.
His lips curved into the barest of smiles as he knelt to Meowth, who was panting, one paw still aching faintly.
"You did beautifully," he murmured.
"Not damaged," he concluded as he inspected Meowth's paw, more to the Meowth than to himself. "But sore."
He pulled from the provided kit—disinfectant, a mild healing salve, and bandages. But more than the tools, he used his connection.
His psychic aura flowed alongside his touch, soothing pain with gratitude and pride. You fought with everything you had. Thank you.
Meowth's ears flicked, and it relaxed, leaning into his touch despite the sting of the salve.
The ache dulled, eased not just by the treatment but by the bond itself.
When Albert finished wrapping the paw, Meowth gave a soft purr, pressing its forehead coin gently against his hand—an unusually affectionate gesture for such a prideful species.
The proctor observed silently, then made a final note on the clipboard. "Candidate Hugo, you may return your Pokémon."
Albert rose, offering Meowth a final stroke along its back. "Rest well. You've earned it."
The Poké Ball recalled the Pokémon in a flash of light, and the bond slipped away, leaving Albert with a strange hollow pang.
He exhaled quietly, steadying himself.
As he left, the proctor looked at him carefully, memorizing his face.
He's probably going to be big in the future, I can just…feel it.
The proctor sighed. Geniuses like Albert are far away from the life of a common government employee like him.
When Albert stepped out of the hall, the corridor was already filling with other candidates.
Some wore triumphant grins, others pale defeat.
Albert blended in seamlessly, just another sixteen-year-old emerging from the crucible of the practical exam.
Yet beneath the surface, something had shifted.
He had revealed nothing of his true identity, but those who watched had seen what mattered: a boy who could meet a Pokémon with understanding before command, a trainer who fought not with desperation but with foresight.
As the sun dipped lower beyond the tall windows of Lilycove University, Albert allowed himself one small smile.
The hardest part of the day was behind him.
The Pokémon Trainer Exam was finally over.