Pidgeot touched down smoothly.
The moment her talons met the stage, the camp responded—not with noise, but with discipline. Five hundred students straightened instinctively, posture aligning without a single shouted command.
Good.
I dismounted, resting my hand briefly against Pidgeot's neck. She remained still behind me, wings folded, eyes alert. Her presence alone was enough.
I stepped forward.
"Good morning," I said.
No amplification.
No theatrics.
Still, every word carried.
"I can see that all of you are ready for your Pokémon," I continued calmly. "You've waited a month. You've trained without them. You've endured separation."
I let the silence stretch for a second.
"But before any Pokémon is returned or assigned," I said, "it is my duty—as Head of the Pokémon Department—to remind you of the law."
The atmosphere shifted.
Sharper.
Heavier.
"Pokémon abuse," I said evenly, "in any form—physical, psychological, or negligent—will bring serious consequences."
I looked across the formation.
"Immediate confiscation. Permanent trainer disqualification. Criminal charges, where applicable."
A few students stiffened.
"Your family's influence will not protect you," I added. "Your wealth will not protect you. Your connections will not protect you."
I turned slightly and gestured backward—just enough.
Pidgeot lifted her head.
Her eyes locked onto the crowd.
"See if they dare argue with her," I said flatly.
No one moved.
Good.
"Now," I continued, "procedures."
I raised one finger.
"Those bringing their own Pokémon—pre-bonded or family-arranged—will complete registration today."
Another finger.
"Those who selected eggs during intake: your eggs are expected to hatch within one to two days."
A murmur rippled—quickly suppressed.
"You are required to register your Pokémon within five days of hatching," I said. "If you fail to do so, the Pokémon will be removed from your care."
No anger.
No threat.
Just fact.
"This is not negotiable."
I paused.
Then continued.
"Before you disperse to select or receive your Pokémon," I said, "I have two announcements."
The instructors behind me shifted slightly. Imran adjusted his glasses. Kavya tapped her tablet once.
"First," I said, "on the final day of this camp, there will be a tournament."
That got them.
Not cheers—but focus.
"A structured evaluation tournament," I clarified. "No lethal intent. No reckless behavior. Strategy, control, coordination."
I let that settle.
"The winners," I added, "will receive a special prize from me personally."
Interest sharpened across the clearing.
Then—
"The second announcement."
I turned slightly and nodded.
The screen behind me lit up.
A large display flared to life, projecting clean white text against a dark background.
AAREY CAMP — INTERNAL RANKINGS
A collective inhale swept the students.
I watched their reactions carefully.
Names.
Scores.
Performance brackets.
Physical endurance.
Academic comprehension.
Discipline assessments.
Psychological stability.
Instructor evaluations.
Every category weighted.
Every metric accounted for.
This wasn't a popularity list.
It was a mirror.
Some students searched frantically.
Some went still.
Some relaxed—just a little.
Others clenched their fists.
"This ranking," I said, "does not define your worth."
I let the next sentence land harder.
"But it does define your readiness."
I gestured lightly toward the screen.
"These rankings will determine:
– Pokémon assignment priority
– Tournament seeding
– Advanced course recommendations
– Future pokemon academy recommendation eligibility"
The murmurs didn't return.
They were thinking now.
"This list will update daily," I continued. "Improvement matters. Consistency matters more."
I turned back to face them fully.
"One month ago," I said, "you came here as students."
I paused.
"By the end of this week, most of you will leave as Trainers."
Emphasis on most.
"Not because you received a Pokémon," I finished.
"But because you proved you deserve one."
Silence held for several seconds after my last words.
Heavy.
Focused.
Right.
Just as the instructors began moving, I raised my hand once more.
"That is not all," I said.
Every motion in the clearing froze again.
"I have prepared rewards for the top ten performers of this camp."
The screen behind me shifted.
The rankings minimized.
A new panel expanded.
TOP 10 — AAREY INTENSIVE CAMP
Names appeared one by one.
Whispers stirred—muted, disbelieving.
Then the list settled.
1. Rakesh Malhotra
2. Apoorv More
3. —
4. —
5. Neha
6. Arpit
The rest followed.
But the attention had already locked onto the top.
I watched reactions carefully.
The boy in first place stood stiffly.
Skinny.
Sun-darkened.
A kid from the Mumbai slums.
No political backing.
No corporate sponsorship.
Just endurance.
And kindness.
He'd managed to form a bond with a stray Meowth during a sanitation rotation—shared food, cleaned wounds, protected it from other stray Pokémon despite having none of his own.
That mattered.
I gestured.
From the side of the stage, attendants stepped forward carrying reinforced cases.
They placed them carefully in front of me.
Three insulated containers.
Beside them—medical-grade crates filled with potions, status heals, and sealed boxes of high-quality Pokémon food.
I turned back to the students.
"The top three," I said, "may choose one of these eggs."
A ripple went through the crowd.
"The remaining top ten," I continued, "may choose freely between advanced potions or a month's supply of Pokémon food."
No applause.
Just focused breathing.
"Top three," I finished, "step forward."
The boy in first place moved first.
Slowly.
Nervously.
He stopped in front of the eggs—each faintly warm, pulsing with life.
One pale with orange-red markings.
One blue-speckled.
One green-patterned, vines faintly visible beneath the shell.
His eyes flicked—not to the eggs—but to the stacked food crates.
Again.
And again.
I understood immediately.
He was thinking about Meowth.
I spoke before doubt could take root.
"While you remain in this camp," I said calmly, "every student ranked in the top thirty will receive Pokémon food support."
His shoulders loosened slightly.
"And," I added, "if you maintain a top-five position by the end of this course, the Pokémon Department will cover your Pokémon's food supply for the next year."
The boy swallowed hard.
Relief crossed his face—raw, unguarded.
Only then did he reach for an egg.
His hand hovered… then settled on the one with orange-red spots.
A murmur spread—quickly silenced.
I already knew what it was.
A Charmander egg.
I had personally collected it from the volcanic island near Mumbai—where Captain Sethi trained relentlessly. A month earlier, his squad had brought down a raging Charizard that had refused all negotiation.
This egg was its legacy.
Fire born from restraint.
The boy cradled it like it might vanish.
"Take care of it," I said simply.
He nodded so hard it was almost a bow.
Apoorv stepped forward next.
Unlike the first boy, he didn't hesitate.
His eyes went straight to the blue-speckled egg.
Of course.
Destiny had a sense of humor.
That egg had cost me more effort than any other—deep marsh negotiations, territorial crocodilian packs, and a near-failed relocation attempt.
A Totodile egg.
Water-type.
Aggressive.
Loyal.
Unforgiving to weak leadership.
Perfect for him.
He picked it up with a grin he couldn't quite suppress.
I shook my head faintly.
"Looks like you're building a water team whether you planned it or not."
Apoorv laughed quietly. "Guess I don't get a choice anymore."
The third student chose the remaining egg.
A Grookey.
Simple.
Balanced.
Reliable.
The rest of the top ten followed—choosing carefully.
Some took potions.
Some took food.
All took their rewards seriously.
No greed.
No drama.
Good.
When it was done, I stepped forward once more.
"Remember this," I said evenly. "These rewards are not gifts."
I met their eyes.
"They are investments."
The screen behind me faded.
"Break that trust," I finished, "and the system will reclaim what it gave you."
I turned away.
Behind me, Pidgeot shifted—ready.
As the camp erupted into controlled movement, instructors guiding students toward the next phase, I felt something settle.
Not pride.
Not relief.
Momentum.
This generation wouldn't be perfect.
But they were being built correctly.
And that—more than power—was how a future survived.
__________________________
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