Sunlight knifed through the thick canopy of Viridian Forest, splintering into gold flecks along the winding dirt path.
The air smelled of grass and damp earth, sometimes threaded with the distant cooing of Pidgey.
Ash walked at the front of their little group, the Boulder Badge pinned to the inside of his shirt, warmth seeping from it into his chest.
His steps were light, almost springy, like he was walking on clouds—Pikachu, riding on his shoulder, swayed lazily with each step, eyes half-closed in comfort.
The badge had strengthened Ash directly.
He felt ridiculously good.
Like: "absolutely amazing" levels of good.
The three of them walked and chatted, getting a better read on one another and smoothing out the rhythm of their newly formed party.
"So, Brock," Ash said suddenly, spreading his hand in front of him like he was about to give a speech.
"You said before you wanted to become a Pokémon Breeder?"
He curled that hand into a fist.
"I'm telling you, there isn't a single person in the world who understands how to raise Pokémon better than I do."
He jabbed his thumb at himself.
"No one understands them better than me."
Time for Ash's regularly scheduled bragging session.
In a weird way, it counted as "visualizing the future."
It boosted his own confidence—and everyone else's.
In other words: drawing big, tasty pies with his words~
Misty pedaled beside them on her bike. Her orange ponytail flicked as she rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle she didn't fall over.
Unable to endure the start of Ash's nonsense, Pikachu hopped off his shoulder and onto Misty's handlebars. Its ears twitched, shiny black eyes blinking in mute resignation as a faint "Pika…" slipped out.
Pikachu, internally: I've already eaten too many of these promises. I'm full.
After spending this much time together, Pikachu had a pretty good grasp of Ash's personality.
How to put it…
He left you speechless—but you couldn't help trusting him.
Daring to think, daring to fight, daring to speak—that was what people called "leadership charisma."
On the surface, Brock's steps were steady, his expression politely attentive, the perfect "good listener" mask carved onto his stone-like face.
But sweat was starting to bead at his temple.
He'd originally assumed Ash would be the serious type.
He had not expected this level of chaos.
His composure was starting to crack.
Brock opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but Ash's "river of knowledge" had already burst its banks.
"First of all, you need to understand the foundation."
Ash raised one finger, eyes alight.
"A Pokémon's base stats are its groundwork. Even within the same species, individual variation can be huge."
"It's just like building a house. If your foundations are shaky, no matter how fancy the upper floors are, they'll still collapse."
"Trying to fix early weaknesses in the late game is incredibly hard."
The more Ash talked, the more fired up he got.
Gestures came naturally with it.
Used well, they made your points more persuasive.
Relaxed, confident hand movements conveyed calm and conviction, helping your audience trust you more—especially in speeches or debates.
Of course, right now, Ash was mostly just enjoying the performance.
"A Pokémon's effort-based potential is limitless!"
"But turning that limitless potential into real results takes method—and a lot of time."
"Both Trainers and Pokémon only have a limited peak window."
"And not every Pokémon even likes battling in the first place."
"For a Trainer challenging the League, walking the Champion's Road is basically a mutual-selection process between you and your team."
He got even more animated.
"As a Trainer, you need to filter for the ones who actually enjoy fighting."
"A classic example would be my Gyarados!"
Generally speaking, the more hot-blooded a Pokémon's temperament, the more it enjoyed a brawl.
"As a Breeder, on the other hand, you focus on communication—on understanding what your Pokémon need."
"For rookie Breeders, the smarter your partner is, the easier that communication gets."
"Just look at my Pikachu!" Ash suddenly pointed at the innocent yellow scapegoat lounging in Misty's arms.
"Pika?!" Pikachu jolted.
Talk all you want—but why am I getting tagged into this?! Don't use me as a prop!
Pikachu had started out with a very simple heart.
After a few days with Ash, its internal monologue had become way too complex.
"See how quickly Pikachu reacts?" Ash flashed a big smile like he was waiting for applause.
Misty finally couldn't take it and hit the brakes.
She hugged Pikachu, let out a long, heartfelt sigh, the sound soaked in "here we go again" resignation and "this guy is hopeless" helplessness.
She buried her face in Pikachu's fluffy fur and rubbed her cheek against it.
"Mmm… Pikachu, you've got it rough. Having to listen to this every day…"
"Pika pi…" Pikachu patted her arm with a tiny paw in shared suffering.
Lately it felt like it was the one more mature than Ash.
Wait… was it supposed to be looking after its own Trainer?
Pikachu drifted into existential doubt.
Did their roles get reversed somewhere?
On top of that, it had been learning from Brock these past two days—moves like Protect, Foresight, Haze, and so on.
Moves that didn't need perfect mastery yet, but absolutely had to be in its toolkit.
Brock's head was starting to ache.
How to put this…
He'd introduced himself very humbly as a "rookie Breeder."
But in terms of actually caring for Rock-type Pokémon, he was very knowledgeable.
He'd just never gone through formal certification because being a Gym Trainer had always taken priority.
"…You actually make a lot of sense," Brock admitted before he could stop himself, fingers drifting toward the well-worn notebook he always carried—packed with notes on raising Rock-types.
"Especially about lifespan."
"Long-lived Pokémon really do suit Gym families like ours for inheritance."
His experience with Onix and Graveler came from understanding the nature of rock, long-term observation of their habits, and the bonds he'd forged with them.
That included things like environmental adaptation and lifespan.
Most Rock-types didn't need much oxygen and could operate in brutal environments.
And their theoretical lifespans were extremely long.
The downside was that most Rock-types were stubborn to the point of being blockheads.
Especially since so many of them learned Self-Destruct or Explosion by default.
If they got too stuck in their own heads, they might just… blow themselves up.
Explosion was a very dangerous move. It didn't always mean certain death—
But it absolutely could.
Emm… Pokémon ecology really was a huge field of study.
Long-lived, high-floor Rock-types… so why didn't more Trainers use them as mainstays?
Because sometimes they got upset, spiraled into a dead-end thought loop—
And then literally exploded.
Brock opened his mouth to ask about applying "ecological niches" to Rock-field battles—
Only to realize Ash had already pivoted smoothly into the next topic.
"Oh, right! Then there's Pokéblock mixing! The way different Berries synergize or clash… I've seen Professor Oak's lab data. It shows you have to balance Berry natures while adding trace amounts of—"
Listening to Ash drag out "Professor Oak's research database" again, Misty couldn't help it—her eyes rolled so hard they nearly left orbit.
She started pedaling faster, purely to get some distance from this self-proclaimed "know-it-all."
Pikachu lay sprawled on her shoulder, chin on his paws.
It looked back at Ash, still talking a mile a minute, then sideways at Brock.
Then it shook its head slowly and let out a weary, world-wise:
"Pii… ka… chu…"
"Um… They're already gone," Brock finally cut in, forced to derail Ash's runaway train of thought.
A lot of what Ash had just said genuinely made sense—but Brock would need time to sit down and sort through it all.
"Ah… seriously… Misty." Ash watched her receding back. "Let's catch up."
He broke into a run.
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