The ring of Houndour settled the alpha's pup, then lined up behind the Houndoom, showing a united front to Ethan's Houndour.
Their eyes were encouraging, expectant—an honest welcome to a new blood of their lineage.
Houndour packs are fiercely united. They don't fear new blood upsetting rank; they want a powerful Houndour—or a Houndoom—to lead them.
Strength is supreme. Only a strong leader can push the pack deeper into the mountains, win territory, and bring down bigger prey.
Seeing that unity, Furret went from calm to anxious. It narrowed its eyes at Ethan's Houndour, tiny heart thumping.
"Doom?"
With no answer, the Houndoom prodded again.
Tempted by the pack's invitation, Houndour thought of the old grassland home, then of the short month with Ethan—and a blissful smile crept onto its face.
oh no, dog, pick a lane!
That sudden smile nearly stopped Furret's heart.
"Doom! Doom! (No need. I'm used to going it alone!)"
In the pack, he'd be one more Houndour. To Ethan, he was the only one.
The collar at his neck was warm—the Seed of the Sun humming—and it felt like Ethan stood right behind him.
Stay away long enough and you forget your house—but wherever he is, that's home.
"Doom… doom… (The pack is where Houndour belong. With us you'll grow stronger—maybe rule this forest. You can still reconsider!)"
"Houn! Even alone, I'm still a hero!"
Houndour refused flatly and, swaying, pushed to its feet.
Under the moonlight, Furret fell in beside him and saw him home.
—
By night three of cup noodles, the Sentrets officially missed Houndour.
Joy came easy to the five of them: lined up like ducklings, facing the direction their boss had left, one paw gripping crispy noodles, the other a cola, slurping happily.
Ethan, meanwhile, was over it. Note to self: always pack a lighter. Otherwise it's dry biscuits, bread, and crunchy noodle bricks forever. And when thirsty? Warm cola. He didn't have Sentret guts; no way was he drinking straight from the river.
"The exam's tomorrow. Am I really going to end up Lana's junior…?"
Round one results were out; both he and Lana had passed the written and were queued for the practicals. Everything was set—except Ethan didn't have his partner back.
Then—two figures, stepping the river rocks in the sun. Ethan rubbed his eyes.
They were back.
"Sentrettt!"
Boss was back. Cola and noodles instantly lost all allure; the Sentrets tossed them aside and barreled in for a hug. One even dragged the entire snack-and-soda box along, presenting it like tribute.
Houndour launched at Ethan. Ethan caught him, rolled with the momentum, and came up laughing, both hands squishing Houndour's chubby cheeks.
"Dog rocket—did you learn Hammer Arm while you were out?"
Joking, he flicked open his wrist Dex and scanned Houndour nose to tail.
No serious injuries; just a scatter of half-healed scrapes. Growth: excellent.
Most of the power Houndour had banked recently had already converted—he was Level 9 now. With the last of that reserve, he'd hit 10 for sure.
In just a few days, not only had his level risen—his moveset had grown visibly.
Ethan didn't know the details, but Houndour had unlocked the hereditary Reversal he'd been stuck on forever—and learned Protect. A haul and a half.
"Furret, seriously—thank you."
Ethan ruffled Furret's head.
Furret tucked its forepaws together under Ethan's palm in a polite little "fist-salute," then padded back. The five Sentrets fell in behind it.
"Sentret!" They bowed in unison, just like the day they'd thanked him for dinner.
…It was a goodbye.
Ethan's face pinched with reluctance that he quickly smoothed away. He fussed over them one more time:
"Be careful in the hills. If you want people food, come by my house—my family will set you up."
Nagging, he split the nutrition pills he'd bought into six little bags and handed them to Furret and the five Sentrets.
Travel poor, part rich—go safe, and eat well out there.
In the morning sun, Ethan waved them off, a little heartsore.
He'd thought about catching them. But willing blossoms, drifting waters… he never said the words.
Maybe the Sentrets simply belong to the mountains.
Houndour cocked his head at Ethan's back, confused.
What was with the melancholy?
They'd said they'd come visit after their business. Why act like this was forever?
Ethan looked down into that puzzled face, rubbed his head, and sighed.
"Don't mind me. Human joys and sorrows don't sync up. The ancients were right."
Houndour: ???
—
Next morning, Lana arrived at Ethan's without even stopping for breakfast.
"Brother Sheng—Ethan—is Houndour back?"
Houndour poked his head out of Ethan's room, food bowl in mouth. Someone looking for Lord Dog?
After breakfast, they caught the earliest bus to the test sites, just like last time.
Liao Province's First Trainer High School is in the first-tier city of Bin City. Only Bin City kids test on campus; other cities host their own centers.
Ethan's was Zhaoyang No. 1 Junior High; Lana's was No. 8. They wished each other luck and split.
Ethan hopped from the cab a little early—traffic had clogged up—and hoofed it.
Both sidewalks were jammed: whole families escorting a kid, many clutching their Pokémon.
Ethan prefers quiet and his own company. Crowds weren't his scene, but he only frowned and kept moving. He wasn't about to gripe that other kids had parents in tow just because his weren't here.
Still… some of these pale, pampered candidates made him worry for the Alliance.
If these kids get into Trainer High, the graders must be… generous.
He glanced at the partners in their arms. Average level… five, being kind.
Soft, glossy coats. Probably never battled a day in their lives.
In his backpack, Houndour's Poké Ball twitched. Through the window, he squinted at the puffballs. Could any of them take even a single Ember?
Yesterday, after Ethan patched him up, he'd spent 20 Ancient Energy to snag a Lum Berry via Exchange. With that boost, Houndour converted all his stored power—and woke up this morning at Level 10.
Ethan reached the police line; beyond it was candidates only, by ticket. Inside the cordon, the air felt instantly lighter. He stretched, loosening the road-stiff joints—
—and the predictable heckling arrived.
"Look at this bumpkin. He should go farm fields, not test for Trainer High."
"Son, see? He won't even release a Pokémon. Probably some cheap Rattata. If he can test, you're a lock. We paid a lot for a good partner—you'd better pass!"
A bejeweled, heavyset woman sneered while fussing with her kid's collar, trying to pump him up.
A few plainly dressed candidates near Ethan edged away, afraid of being lumped with "the rustic."
Ethan looked down at himself: neat buzzcut; plain white tee; gray floral shorts; old runners; the schoolbag that had made it through three years.
Casual, sure—not a crime.
"Mom, you shouldn't talk about people like that. There's no high or low," the kid mumbled—timid, but clearly mustering courage.
"Heh. Whatever. We spent a fortune to get you that Pokémon. If you fail, don't come home!"
The boy's pushback turned her tone icy.
Ethan rolled his neck till it popped, then glanced over—interested more in the boy than the mom.
Round glasses thick as a teacup base; stick-thin; a wisp in the wind. A bookworm, timid, parent-driven, not used to deciding things for himself.
"What are you staring at? You're polluting the air!"
The woman's lip curled.
"Heh. Auntie, we're kindred spirits: you're a scenic pollution hill of meat, and I'm a fresh-air mud ghost. Equals—no need to look down on each other."
"You—y-you—!"
She went tomato-red and shook a carrot finger at him.
Ethan had already clocked the boy's partner and turned toward the gate.
The timid kid's Pokémon made his mouth water: a righteous police hound, the opposite of its trainer—Growlithe.
When Ethan moved away, the boy didn't stay to soothe his mother. He gave a quick goodbye and trotted after Ethan with Growlithe in tow.
Rebellion already budding. He knew right from wrong, at least.
The boy lasted only a few steps before wheezing. Ethan heard him and slowed to wait.
"S-sorry—really, I'm sorry. I apologize for my mother."
He was short as well as thin; fifteen or sixteen, barely 1.6 meters—shoulder height on Ethan. He bowed, head ducked.
"It's fine. I'm not mad."
Ethan kept it simple, then stepped into the gate office to collect his mag-card.
A sapphire crystal slab—basically a smart answer card.
Staff had already loaded his info. He'd follow the posted track, present the card at each arena, and the proctor's video and result would attach to it for final tally.
"Don't lose it. Don't tamper with it," the staffer insisted. "It syncs live. Any local edits flag you, and the school bans you for life."
Card in hand, Ethan skimmed his schedule text:
Morning (starts 09:00):
General — Arena 2
Flying — Arena 1
Afternoon (starts 14:00):
Poison — Arena 4
Bug — Arena 3
Ghost — Arena 1
Note: Lum Berry (the "Mu Zi" you mentioned) still cures all status conditions here, and it's also used for recuperation and correcting minor deficiencies in training diets.