By morning, Mark Rivers was awake. He was still swollen, sore-backed, and headachey, but on his feet. With a few days' rest, he figured he'd be back in the orchard.
Over lunch, Ethan introduced Houndour to his parents. As for its origin—well, Zack Zhao made a convenient scapegoat.
Ethan explained that Zack had "gifted" him the Houndour; Ethan didn't accept it, but Zack had shrunk the Ball and slipped it into his bag. Ethan only found it yesterday morning when he'd unpacked after Mark headed into the hills.Good thing he had it—Houndour helped him reach the cave in time to save his dad.
So Ethan had decided not to return Houndour. He'd find a way to compensate Zack later.
Mark recounted his side: chased by an Ekans, rescued by Shadow the Poochyena, then tumbling into a Spinarak hollow. A Cottonee saved him, letting him hide in a freshly-dug cave.
At the mention of the cave, Mark brightened. That egg had been extraordinary. The Spinarak were desperate for it yet afraid, refusing to enter. Only that pressure kept him alive.
Mrs. Rivers dabbed her eyes; they'd almost been split by life and death.
When she'd calmed, Mark asked whether Ethan had seen the egg when he found him. If it hatched, it would be a perfect starter—and they could return Houndour; a gift that large was hard to accept for nothing.
Ethan only said the Volcarona egg had been taken by "officials," and the officer left them an Antidote on his way out. Without it, Mark might not have made it.
"What a good man," Mark said softly. "Ethan, make sure you repay him when you can."
Ethan shrugged. After "Young Master Zhao," "Young Master Ward" had picked up the halo. Good men everywhere, apparently.
"Why not let this fellow be your starter?" Mark asked, gently pinching the fluffy Cottonee that had floated home with them and now hovered protectively around him. Mrs. Rivers had already called it a little homewrecker—half-jealous, half-teasing.
From the living room came a strained, muffled "grrrrr…" Houndour lay on the tiles, jaw clenched, tail thumping the floor. Every so often it cut a sideways glare at Mark's back—just enough to chill him.
Rotten old man. Try giving me away and see what happens, Houndour's eyes seemed to say.
Mark turned, met the hot, golden stare, and chuckled awkwardly. "Houndour's… pretty good as a starter, actually. Once I'm better, we'll let Cottonee go."
"Miah—miah!"Cottonee squeaked in panic, leaf-hands fluttering in front of Mark's chest as if petitioning to stay.
Houndour snorted behind him. Know your place. Then, disdainfully toward Cottonee: Cuteness is cheap. Only the strong stay.
"Dad," Ethan said, gentler, "Cottonee isn't a great starter for me. It needs a Sun Stone to evolve—and stones are rare."
Cottonee spun, pouting at Ethan, panic edging higher. It really didn't want to leave Mark.
"But…" Ethan added, "let's keep it. Grass types are easy to feed. It won't strain the pantry. It also knows growth and similar nurturing moves; with its help, our Oran trees should thrive."
He glanced at Houndour—who looked personally offended—and went on, "If it gets stronger, it might even help us cultivate Pecha trees."
Mark's eyes lit. Pecha Berries fetched far more than Oran. If they could raise Pecha on their land, they could give Ethan more support. The trainer road would be smoother.
The problem was conditions—only Mr. Grant's place had an old Pecha, kept alive by his Gloom.
"Alright," Mark said at last. "We'll keep it. I just don't want to force it into life with people if it can't adjust."
"Miah!"Cottonee shook its head vigorously. It would absolutely adjust.
And so Houndour and Cottonee officially joined the Rivers household. With Shadow, they became the orchard's "Three Little Helpers." Ethan announced the title while studiously ignoring Houndour's offended stare.
…
Back in his room, Ethan replayed Houndour's three battles in his head, cataloguing details. A trainer has to spot and fix problems.
First: type matchups. Against Aron, they'd won because steel conducts heat—but swap in a rock-bodied foe like Geodude, and that same plan might stall. Houndour's weaknesses—Fighting, Ground, Rock, Water—needed counterplay.
"Forget Fighting—no silver bullets there. If we inflict Burn, we can trade with fire pressure. For Ground/Rock/Water, Grass coverage would be huge. Houndour can learn Solar Beam… but ultimate moves aren't exactly taught to freshmen."
He scratched his head and tabled it.
Second: diet. Houndour couldn't live on Oran forever. Leveling isn't just battles; it's control and body—seventy percent nutrition, thirty percent training.
He thought of the tech-path from fiction: Energy Cubes. This world's tree had forked—Aurelia (East Asia) had alchemy-style nutrient pills; Europa brewed nutritional broths; the Liberty Union pushed genetic tonics; plenty of niche items from smaller leagues. All expensive. Every trainer bled money on food.
"Wonder if the golden finger can get me Energy Cubes…"
He opened [Swap]. "Energy Cubes."
A catalog appeared—not Cubes themselves, but hardware and formulas:
Energy Cube Maker (Home) — 500 energy
Energy Cube Maker (Mid) — 1000
Energy Cube Maker (Large) — 2000
Formulas… each with different effects, each with a price that made his wallet cry. The cheapest was an all-purpose 'Generalist' recipe (flavor adjustable), 1000.
His balance could just cover one formula and a home unit… but he hesitated. Instead, he checked the Spirit Hall storefront online and bought a ten-day supply of high-grade Fire-type starter nutrient pills for 5,000 credits—about 1/30 of everything he owned.
Better to spend money until he learned how to earn energy.
"Alright, how does the energy meter refill…"
He rewound the activation sequence. The pendant had clearly mattered; sixteen years of silence broken in a snap.
"Unknown stone… unknown energy… old object… or—an ancient relic with stored energy?"
He rummaged through the sheds until he found a string of old cash coins—round with square holes.
The birthmark on his wrist tingled faintly. Weak, but there.
He pressed one coin to the mark. Warmth soaked in; the coin's gleam dulled like any rusted copper.
His HUD ticked up: 1598 → 1600.
Two points… for a 200-year-old coin?
The pendant had been 2000. That didn't scale by age alone. Other factors mattered—material, stored power, history.
Still, a path was a path. He "offered" the whole string. Net gain: +91. One Kaiyuan Tongbao—over 1,300 years old—gave only +13.
At this rate, he'd never afford the really good stuff.
He christened the meter's source "Ancient Energy." Then eyed the pile of scrap copper with a sigh.
Antique → Ancient Energy. Am I destined to be a… grave robber?
Later problem. He had more immediate concerns.
…
That afternoon, Ethan logged into Liao Provincial No. 1 Trainer High's official site. He'd already tapped Confirm on the invite a few days back; now he finished his profile and waited for a test center assignment.
The rules were posted. The entrance had two parts: written and practical.
The written was mid-range. City key-school kids coasted with average prep; county-school kids found it tougher, but the top 40% usually passed. Ethan wasn't worried; he could clear it without cramming.
The practical made his head pound. They were using the notorious "Pinnacle Trial." High failure rate.
You had to battle against all types except the ones that specifically counter your starter, and post a 70% win rate.
For Houndour (Fire/Dark), the counters were Ground, Fighting, Rock, Water. So Ethan would face opponents from the other fourteen types—and needed ten wins out of fourteen to pass.
It wouldn't be back-to-back; you had three days to complete the set, so partners could rest.
"Fourteen rounds… I'm gonna hurl."
Complaining wouldn't change the rules. He flipped to the last page of the notes—and his eyes caught on a red box. He read it twice… and made up his mind.