Jason woke to the sound of waves and the distant cry of Wingull.

  For a moment he lay still, letting the unfamiliar sounds wash over him. Dewford was different from anywhere he'd stayed before—the salt air that seeped through the window, the rhythmic crash of surf against sand, the general sense of being surrounded by water on all sides. It was peaceful in a way that felt almost foreign after the tension of the mainland.

  Sprigatito was already awake, sitting at the window with her tail curled around her paws, watching the street below with predatory focus. A Taillow had landed on a lamppost across the way, and she was tracking its movements with the intense concentration of a hunter denied her prey.

  Ralts stirred against his shoulder, her psychic awareness slowly expanding as she woke. A wash of impressions came through their bond—comfort, safety, curiosity about the new place.

  "Morning," Jason said softly. "Ready to work?"

  Sprigatito's ear flicked toward him, acknowledging his voice without breaking her surveillance of the Taillow. Ralts sent a pulse of assent, still drowsy but willing.

  "Good. We've got a gym to prepare for."

  Breakfast in the Pokémon Center cafeteria was a quick affair—eggs, toast, fresh fruit that tasted of the tropics. The room was quieter than it had been the night before, the tension of the Team Aqua incident having settled into a low background hum rather than active panic.

  Jason reviewed what he knew about Brawly while he ate.

  Fighting-type specialist. Aggressive style—overwhelming offense, constant pressure, no room to breathe. His gym team for low-tier challengers typically included Machop and Makuhita, both pure Fighting-types. Higher-tier challenges brought out Hariyama and his signature Pokémon—Jason couldn't quite remember if it was a Blaziken or something else.

  Type matchups, he thought, running through the calculations. Brawly uses Fighting-types. They're fast, they're strong, and they don't stop attacking. Our strategy is speed and precision—hit them before they hit us. Ralts has the opposite problem—Psychic beats Fighting offensively, but she's fragile. One solid hit could take her out.

  The smart play was to lead with Sprigatito, use her quickness to weather Brawly's assault while dealing super-effective damage with... wait. Did Sprigatito have any Psychic moves? No. Grass, Dark, Normal, and bug and fairy type move. Nothing super-effective against Fighting.

  So we're relying on quickness and attrition rather than type advantage offense. That means the battle goes longer. More chances for things to go wrong.

  He needed to train smarter, not just harder.

  The beach south of Dewford Town was perfect for training.

  Wide stretches of sand provided room to maneuver. Rocky outcrops offered obstacles to navigate. The morning sun was warm but not yet oppressive, and a steady breeze off the ocean kept things comfortable. A few other trainers had the same idea—Jason spotted a girl working with a Shroomish near the water's edge, and an older man putting a Machoke through what looked like martial arts forms further down the beach.

  "Okay," Jason said, setting down his pack near a cluster of palm trees. "Here's what we're working on today."

  Sprigatito sat attentively, her ears perked forward. Ralts watched from his shoulder, her attention focused despite her lingering fatigue.

  "Brawly uses Fighting-types. They're fast, they're strong, and they don't stop attacking. Our strategy is survival and counter-punching." He looked at Sprigatito. "You're our main fighter for this one. No resistances, so we need to work on your evasion—the less damage you take, the longer you last."

  She made a sound of acknowledgment, her body already shifting into a ready stance.

  "Ralts." He turned to his Psychic-type. "You're backup. If Sprig goes down, you come in to finish. Psychic beats Fighting on offense, but you can't take many hits. We need to work on your Double Team—make yourself impossible to target."

  A pulse of understanding came through their bond, tinged with nervousness. She remembered the Rustboro gym, how she'd gone down to Magnitude. The fear of being hit, of failing.

  "You've gotten stronger since then," Jason said gently. "And this time, the type matchup is in your favor. Trust your speed, trust your copies, and trust me to call the right moves."

  She pressed closer against his neck. Not confidence exactly, but determination. She wouldn't let fear stop her.

  "Good. Let's start."

  The morning passed in a blur of drills and exercises.

  Jason worked with Sprigatito on lateral movement—dodging side to side rather than backward, staying in range to counterattack while avoiding incoming strikes. He used a stick to simulate attacks, swinging at her from different angles while she practiced reading his movements and slipping out of the way.

  At first she relied on pure speed, just being faster than the stick. But speed alone wouldn't be enough against a trained Fighting-type. Jason pushed her to read his intentions—the shift of his weight before a swing, the angle of his shoulders, the subtle tells that gave away his target.

  "Don't watch the stick," he coached. "Watch me. I'll tell you where it's going before it moves."

  She struggled with the concept initially, her predatory instincts focused on the immediate threat rather than its source. But gradually, something clicked. Her dodges started coming earlier, smoother. She was anticipating rather than reacting.

  "Better. Much better."

  She preened slightly at the praise, her tail swishing with satisfaction.

  For Ralts, the focus was on Double Team consistency. She could create afterimages—they'd proven that in Rustboro—but the copies were unstable, flickering in and out of existence unpredictably. Against Roxanne's Rock-types, that had been enough. Against Brawly's Fighting-types, with their superior speed and accuracy, she needed to be better.

  "More copies," Jason encouraged. "And hold them longer. Make them solid."

  Ralts concentrated, her small horns glowing faintly. One afterimage appeared. Then two. Then three, four, five—six copies surrounding her original position, all of them reasonably distinct.

  "Now move. Keep them with you."

  She took a step forward, and the copies wavered. Two of them dissolved entirely. The remaining three lagged behind, their movements jerky and uncoordinated.

  "It's okay. Again."

  They repeated the exercise a dozen times, then two dozen. By the end, Ralts could maintain four copies while moving slowly, three while moving at normal speed. It wasn't perfect, but it was progress.

  Tired, she sent through their bond. Head hurts.

  "We'll take a break. You did good."

  Midday brought heat and hunger.

  Jason found a small café near the beach—a weathered wooden structure with an open-air seating area and a menu focused on seafood and tropical fruit. He ordered a fish sandwich and fresh juice for himself, plus Pokémon food for his team.

  The café was busier than he'd expected, filled with trainers and locals alike. Conversations drifted around him as he ate, fragments of island life mixing with trainer gossip.

  "—heard Brawly's been training extra hard since the Aqua thing—"

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  "—my cousin caught a Sableye in the deep caves, can you believe it—"

  "—ferry to Slateport's been delayed, something about rough seas—"

  "—kid's still asking about his Wingull, breaks my heart—"

  That last one made Jason pause. The stolen Wingull. Leo—the boy who'd lost his Pokémon to Team Aqua just yesterday. The wound was still fresh, still bleeding.

  He looked at Sprigatito, contentedly eating her lunch beside him, and at Ralts, who had claimed a spot of shade under the table to rest her tired mind. His team. His responsibility. The thought of losing either of them—

  No. He pushed the fear away. Fear was useful in the right doses, but dwelling on it wouldn't help anyone.

  Instead, he focused on what he could control. Training. Preparation. Getting stronger so that if Team Aqua ever came for his Pokémon, he could fight back.

  After lunch, Jason decided to explore more of Dewford before the afternoon training session.

  The town was larger than it first appeared, sprawling across the island's western shore in a maze of narrow streets and weathered buildings. Most structures were built from local materials—volcanic stone, palm wood, thatched roofs that seemed impractical but apparently handled the island's weather well enough.

  The commercial district clustered around the harbor, where shops sold everything from fishing supplies to trainer gear to tourist souvenirs. Jason browsed without buying, getting a feel for local prices and availability. Pokéballs were slightly more expensive here than on the mainland—import costs, presumably—but healing items were comparable.

  A Pokémart occupied prime real estate near the Pokémon Center, its blue roof a familiar landmark. Next door, a specialty shop called "Brawly's Gear" sold Fighting-type accessories—training weights, focus mitts, something labeled "Bulk Up Supplements" that Jason suspected were more marketing than medicine.

  The residential areas spread up the hillside behind the commercial district, small houses with colorful paint and gardens full of tropical flowers. Children played in the streets, their Pokémon companions running alongside them—Zigzagoon and Poochyena mostly, with the occasional Wingull or Taillow. An elderly woman sat on her porch with a Slakoth dozing in her lap, watching the world go by with patient contentment.

  Near the northern edge of town, Jason found the gym.

  It wasn't what he'd expected. Instead of a traditional building, Brawly's gym was built into the base of a cliff—a natural cave that had been expanded and modified into a training facility. The entrance was marked by carved stone pillars depicting Fighting-types in various martial poses: Machamp mid-punch, Medicham in meditation, Hariyama preparing a palm strike.

  A sign near the entrance read:

  DEWFORD GYM Leader: Brawly "A big wave in fighting!"

  Challenge Hours: 1:00 PM - 6:00 PM Closed: Sundays and Storm Days

  Below that, a smaller notice had been added recently:

  ADVISORY: Due to recent incidents, all challengers must register at the front desk and present valid trainer ID. Groups of three or more trainers may be asked to wait. Thank you for your patience.

  Team Aqua's influence, even here. The gym was taking precautions.

  Jason checked the time on his Pokégear—just past one in the afternoon. Challenge hours had just begun.

  Not today, he decided. One more training session, sleep on it, challenge tomorrow.

  But he lingered near the entrance anyway, watching trainers come and go. A boy about fourteen emerged looking dejected, his Machop limping beside him—a loss, clearly. A few minutes later, a young woman came out practically glowing, a new badge case clutched in her hands.

  That'll be me tomorrow. One way or another.

  The afternoon training session focused on battle simulation.

  Jason found a quiet stretch of beach away from other trainers and set up a practice arena using driftwood and stones as markers. Then he put both Pokémon through mock battles, calling out attacks and movements as if they were facing real opponents.

  "Incoming from the left—dodge right, Leafage!"

  Sprigatito flowed sideways and launched her attack at an imaginary target, the glowing leaves cutting through empty air.

  "Now they're closing—Scratch, retreat, Leafage again!"

  She adapted well to the rhythm of call-and-response, her movements growing more fluid as she internalized the patterns. By the end of the session, she was anticipating his commands, starting to move before he finished speaking.

  Good instincts, Jason noted. She's learning to read the battle flow, not just react to individual moments.

  They'd been drilling Leafage accuracy for nearly an hour when it happened.

  Jason had set up a series of targets—coconuts balanced on driftwood posts at varying distances. Sprigatito was firing volleys at them, trying to hit specific targets in sequence rather than just spraying leaves in a general direction.

  "Third one, then first, then fifth!"

  She launched her attack, leaves glowing as they cut through the air. The third coconut exploded. The first one tumbled off its post. But the fifth—the furthest one, maybe thirty feet away—the leaves curved wide, missing entirely.

  Sprigatito hissed in frustration, her tail lashing.

  "It's okay. Distance is hard. The leaves lose cohesion the further they travel."

  But she wasn't satisfied with "okay." She was staring at the missed target with intense focus, her body rigid with concentration. Something was building in her—Jason could see it in the way her fur seemed to shimmer slightly, the way the air around her felt charged.

  She fired again, without his command.

  These leaves were different.

  They glowed brighter—not just green but edged with something almost iridescent, like light refracting through crystal. And when they flew toward the distant coconut, they didn't follow a straight path. They curved. Adjusted. Homed in on their target like guided missiles.

  The coconut didn't just fall. It shattered.

  Sprigatito sat back, looking almost surprised at what she'd done. Then her expression shifted to smug satisfaction, her tail curling with pride.

  "Sprig." See? I did it.

  Jason stared at the destroyed coconut, then at his Pokémon, then back at the debris scattered across the sand.

  "That was Magical Leaf," he said slowly. "Sprig, you just learned Magical Leaf."

  She preened, clearly pleased with herself.

  Magical Leaf was a step up from Leafage—more power, more precision, and most importantly, it couldn't miss. The leaves tracked their target, adjusting course mid-flight. Against Brawly's pokemon, that could be a game-changer.

  "Can you do it again?"

  She focused, that same shimmer building around her. Another volley of iridescent leaves, another perfect hit on a target she'd missed moments before.

  "Okay, that's... that's really good." Jason knelt beside her, scratching behind her ears. "But it's new. Don't rely on it too heavily tomorrow—save it for when you really need it. Leafage is still your bread and butter."

  She made a sound that suggested she understood, though her smugness didn't diminish.

  Show-off, Ralts sent through their bond, but there was warmth underneath it. Pride in her teammate’s achievement.

  "Alright," Jason said, standing. "New move in the arsenal. Let's see what else you've got in you."

  Ralts practiced positioning—staying at range, using Double Team to create confusion, firing Confusion attacks at targets Jason designated. Her accuracy was improving, and her stamina was better than it had been that morning.

  "You're both doing great," Jason said as the sun began its descent toward the horizon. "One more day of this, and we'll be ready."

  Sprigatito made a sound that might have been agreement or might have been impatience. She was eager to fight—the training was useful, but she wanted the real thing.

  Want to battle, Ralts sent. Nervous, but want to.

  "Soon," Jason promised. "Tomorrow afternoon, if everything goes well."

  Evening found Jason at the harbor, sitting on a wooden pier with his legs dangling over the water.

  The sunset was spectacular—the western sky ablaze with color, the ocean reflecting it back in rippling bands of orange and gold and purple. Fishing boats were returning to port, their running lights twinkling as twilight deepened. Wingull circled overhead, their cries blending with the splash of waves against the pier's supports.

  Sprigatito sat beside him, watching the water with wary fascination. She still didn't like the ocean, but she was learning to appreciate it from a safe distance.

  Ralts was in his lap, exhausted from the day's training but unwilling to miss the sunset. Through their bond, he felt her wonder at the colors, the way the sky seemed to be on fire without burning.

  Pretty, she sent. Like the music.

  "The music?"

  The sad-pretty music. From your thing. She meant his phone, the songs he played sometimes. The ones that made her feel things she couldn't name.

  "Yeah," Jason said softly. "I guess it is like that."

  They sat in comfortable silence as the colors slowly faded to darkness. Stars emerged one by one, different constellations than Jason had grown up with but no less beautiful. The harbor lamps flickered on, casting warm pools of light across the water.

  "Tomorrow," Jason said eventually. "Tomorrow we challenge the gym."

  Neither Pokémon responded, but he felt their readiness through their respective bonds—Sprigatito's eager confidence, Ralts's nervous determination.

  Whatever happened, they'd face it together.

  A familiar figure appeared at the end of the pier—Marcus, his silhouette recognizable even in the dim light.

  "Thought I might find you here," the sailor said, settling down beside Jason. "Dewford does good sunsets."

  "Best I've seen."

  "Wait till you see a sunrise from the eastern cliffs. Even better." Marcus was quiet for a moment, watching the last traces of color fade from the sky. "Challenging tomorrow?"

  "That's the plan."

  "You ready?"

  "As ready as I can be."

  Marcus nodded slowly. "Brawly's tough, but fair. He won't throw anything at you that you can't handle—at your level, at least. Just remember: Fighting-types are about momentum. If they get rolling, they're almost impossible to stop. Your job is to disrupt that momentum before it builds."

  "Hit first, hit hard, don't let them settle into a rhythm."

  "Exactly." Marcus glanced at Sprigatito, who was eyeing him with her usual wariness. "She's fast. Use that. Brawly's Pokémon are strong, but they're not quick. Make him chase you."

  "Thanks. For the advice, and... for yesterday. Talking me through the Aqua situation."

  "Nothing to thank me for. We're both stuck on this island until the ferries sort themselves out—might as well help each other." Marcus stood, stretching. "I'll be at the gym tomorrow. Watching. Try not to embarrass yourself."

  "No pressure."

  Marcus laughed and headed off down the pier, disappearing into the lamp-lit streets of Dewford Town.

  Jason stayed a while longer, watching the stars multiply overhead. Tomorrow would bring challenges—the gym battle, whatever was happening with Team Aqua, the continuing mystery of his own situation. But tonight, with his Pokémon beside him and the ocean spread out before him, he let himself simply exist.

  One day at a time, he thought. That's how you build something that lasts.

  The waves whispered against the pier supports, and somewhere in the distance, a Pokémon cried out into the night.

  Tomorrow would come soon enough.