The sun crept through the thin curtains of the Pokémon Centre room, spilling pale gold light across the floor. Cyrus woke with his usual discipline, sitting up without hesitation. He pulled on his jacket, tightened the straps on his boots, and glanced at the floor where Lairon lay resting. The newly evolved Pokémon's steel plates reflected the morning light, and his eyes opened just as Cyrus stood.
"Morning, partner," Cyrus said, voice low but steady.
Lairon rumbled in reply and pushed himself upright, shaking off the stiffness in his heavy frame. The sound echoed faintly in the quiet room, almost like a yawn in his own way. Cyrus smirked. "Let's get moving. A warm-up before breakfast."
Outside, the air was cool and crisp. Cyrus started his stretches, then moved into push-ups and squats, his breath steady and controlled. Lairon copied in his own way, stamping the ground in rhythm, shifting his weight as if trying to mirror Cyrus's flow. The sight made Cyrus pause, a small flicker of amusement crossing his face.
"You're still adjusting, huh? Heavier frame, but more power. Let's make that body match your spirit."
Lairon snorted, puffing air through his nostrils as if to say he was already more than capable. He crouched low and then sprang forward in a short burst of speed, landing heavily with a thud that shook the ground. He looked back at Cyrus with a proud glint in his eyes.
"Show-off," Cyrus muttered, though his lips curved faintly upward.
After breakfast at the Centre, Cyrus mounted his bike and set off toward Celadon's heart, Lairon safely in his Poké Ball. The streets were alive with morning bustle, vendors opening stalls, children running with their Pokémon, the hum of everyday life filling the city.
The Game Corner loomed ahead, its flashing neon lights clashing against the calm elegance of the rest of Celadon. Cyrus parked his bike, stepped inside, and was immediately met with the clamour of slot machines, coins rattling, and excited voices. He moved through the aisles slowly, eyes sharp, scanning for anything out of place.
Players sat glued to their machines, faces shifting between excitement and frustration. Clerks in tidy uniforms wandered between rows, exchanging tokens and encouraging customers. Near the prize counter, bright-eyed trainers showed off their winnings.
But there was nothing else. No uniformed grunts, no shadowy figures in black coats, no hidden hostility in the air. Just the hum of gambling and entertainment.
Cyrus lingered at the counter, observing silently, but the longer he stood there the more obvious it became. This was just a game hall. Nothing more.
He exhaled quietly through his nose. 'So the Rocket base doesn't exist here. Either it never did… or it hasn't yet.' He frowned slightly but shook his head. 'Doesn't matter. Can't waste time on ghosts.'
By noon, he had left the Game Corner behind, pedalling through the streets until the city finally gave way to open road. The air grew fresher as the sound of neon faded, and he rode in silence for a time, letting his thoughts settle. Around midday, he stopped near a grove of trees, dismounted, and released Lairon.
"Alright, partner. Speed work today."
Lairon emerged in a flash of light, stomping heavily onto the ground. He gave a low, eager growl as Cyrus strapped weighted bands across his legs and back.
"Rock Polish. Build speed and hold it."
Lairon's armour glowed faintly as his body became sleeker in motion, his movements sharper. He lunged forward, dirt scattering in his wake as he pushed himself into a sprint. The ground shuddered beneath each step, but Lairon moved with surprising quickness despite the added weight.
"Again," Cyrus ordered, his voice calm but firm.
Lairon roared, turned on his heel, and thundered back. Dust billowed behind him, the air vibrating with the power of his stride. He stopped in front of Cyrus, chest heaving, then let out a short grunt that sounded almost like a demand for praise.
"You're getting faster," Cyrus acknowledged, giving a small nod.
Lairon tilted his head, unimpressed, as if expecting more. His eyes narrowed slightly, a huff of air escaping through his nose.
"Not enough for you, huh?" Cyrus said, raising an eyebrow. "Fine. You want more credit, then earn it. Run it again. Push past what you just did."
The steel Pokémon let out a sharp bark and surged forward without hesitation, determined to outdo himself.
They trained until the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, with short rests in between sprints. At one point, when Cyrus offered water, Lairon deliberately nudged the canteen aside with his head and stomped as if to say he wasn't tired yet. Cyrus just shook his head.
"You're stubborn," he muttered. "Just like me."
By early evening, the distant lights of Cerulean finally shimmered across the horizon. Cyrus returned Lairon to his Poké Ball, mounted his bike, and pedalled the final stretch. The city was quieter than Celadon, the evening air carrying the sound of running water from the nearby river.
At the Pokémon Centre, he checked Lairon in for a quick inspection before settling down for dinner. His own meal was plain, rice and curry, while Lairon devoured a mineral blend prepared by the staff. Halfway through, Lairon glanced at Cyrus, eyes lingering in a way that felt almost expectant.
Cyrus gave him a flat look. "Eat. Don't give me that face."
Lairon let out a noise that was half-snort, half-chuckle, before returning to his food with renewed gusto. Cyrus shook his head but allowed himself a faint smile.
Later that night, he lay on the bed in their room, Lairon curled on the floor nearby. The soft hum of the Center filled the silence as Cyrus's thoughts drifted.
'No Rocket base. Maybe the games aren't relevant here after all. Still… I can't close that door completely. If they move in the shadows, I'll find them.'
He closed his eyes, his mind already focused on tomorrow's training and the battles still to come. With Lairon's steady breathing filling the room, sleep came quickly.