Before they knew it, the next morning had arrived.
The pale light of dawn crept through the window, brushing against the walls in soft hues. Ash was already awake. He sat up quietly, not wanting to disturb the stillness of the room, and reached for his hat from the bedside. For a brief moment, he paused in front of the mirror.
The boy staring back at him looked calm, but his eyes held a sharp, focused glint.
Ash adjusted the brim of his cap, exhaled once, and walked out.
The corridor of the Pokémon Center was alive in its own subdued way—the faint hum of machines, distant footsteps, and the muffled cry of a Pokémon being healed somewhere far down the hall. As Ash turned the corner, he saw the girls were already up.
Yellow stood there in her pyjamas, her hair slightly messy, the fabric clinging awkwardly as if she had been dragged out of sleep by habit alone. Her eyes looked unfocused, but when she noticed Ash, a gentle smile appeared on her face as she raised her hand in a slow wave.
"Good morning, Ash."
Misty wasn't much better off. Though she looked more put together, there was still a trace of drowsiness in her eyes. She leaned lightly against the wall, arms crossed, lips curved in a relaxed smile.
"Morning. You're up early. Already fired up for it?"
Ash almost raised his hand in a reflexive morning salute.
Almost.
His gaze flicked downward for just a fraction of a second before he forcibly suppressed the instinct. His shoulders stiffened, and his expression went blank as his mind immediately shifted gears. 'Calm. Calm. Think of training. Think of battles.' He mentally ran through every focus technique he knew, even dragging out half-remembered Buddhist mantras from somewhere in the depths of his memory.
Then his thoughts landed on one thing.
Flint.
The name alone was enough.
The moment the image of today's challenge surfaced—the gym, the battlefield, the line-up waiting for him—his restless thoughts snapped into place like soldiers falling into formation. Combat mode. Clean. Effective. Safe.
Misty noticed the sudden change.
She tilted her head slightly, watching Ash stand there at the doorway, posture oddly rigid, eyes fixed ahead as if staring at something only he could see. Yellow, still half-asleep, had unknowingly shuffled closer, her sleeve brushing against Misty's arm.
"What are you thinking about?" Misty asked, her tone casual, though curiosity flickered beneath it.
Ash didn't respond right away.
Misty let out a quiet sigh, already forming a complaint in her head. Even this early, he was like this—lost somewhere else entirely. She glanced at Yellow, who was now standing far too close, still blinking sleep from her eyes, before turning her attention back to Ash.
That was when she noticed his stance properly.
Feet planted. Back straight. Hands loosely clenched at his sides.
And then she heard him speak.
"I was just thinking," Ash said slowly, voice steady, serious in a way that didn't belong to the early morning. "Can I actually take on the Elite line-up of Flint?"
The words hit harder than Misty expected.
She blinked once. Then twice.
Her relaxed expression froze as she stared at him, disbelief flashing across her face. "…What?"
This wasn't just any battle.
Today was Ash's first real gym challenge.
And Flint wasn't some average gym leader who barely scraped by on reputation. Flint was infamous. A man who had nearly completed all twelve challenges placed before him. A gym leader who made even confident trainers hesitate before stepping onto his field.
In just the last three days of the new week alone, challengers had been coming in waves—and being sent back just as quickly. Misty didn't know the exact number, but even conservatively, it wouldn't be strange if Flint had crushed fifty trainers already.
And Ash was standing there, calmly wondering if he could face an elite lineup like it was a puzzle he hadn't quite solved yet. Misty studied him again, this time more carefully.
She had seen that look before—not reckless confidence, not blind optimism, but that quiet, internal weighing Ash always did before throwing himself into something difficult. Finally, she spoke, her tone steady and grounded. "Well, you won't know that until you try it, Ash." Ash turned his head slightly toward her, listening.
Misty crossed her arms loosely. After all, she knew him better than most. She had seen him send a Caterpie into battle against a Machop—and win. That memory alone made it hard for her to judge where his limits truly were. Was he capable of something like this? Maybe. Or maybe not. With Ash, the answer was never simple.
"Right," Ash replied after a brief pause.
He nodded once, more to himself than to her. "I'll go out and wait."
With that, he turned and headed toward the exit. As he stepped away, a quiet sigh slipped past his lips. In that same moment, he caught sight of Yellow from the corner of his eye.
She was blushing.
Just a little—but enough.
'She noticed it,' Ash thought, his gaze dropping instinctively as his steps slowed for half a beat. His mind flickered back to the awkward tension from earlier, and he couldn't help but feel unsettled. Lately, Yellow had been… different. Unpredictable. Not just her—Misty too, in her own way.
Ash scratched the back of his head lightly as he continued walking. Yellow wasn't a kid anymore. That fact had been creeping up on him for a while now. Her mannerisms were changing, her expressions softer, more aware. Even her clothing—subtle at first—had grown bolder over time.
He couldn't bring himself to look at her the same way he once did.
By the time Ash reached outside, the cool morning air washed over him, helping clear his thoughts. Sometime later, the girls emerged again, now properly dressed and more awake. To their surprise, Ash had already finished his breakfast.
"I'll grab a quick shower," he said, already turning back inside.
Not long after, the three of them were on their way.
The Pewter Gym stood ahead, solid and imposing, its stone exterior catching the early sunlight. This was it. No more planning. No more speculation.
It was time for Ash's match against Brock. "Good luck!" Yellow said suddenly, clenching her fist in front of her chest in an adorably earnest gesture.
Ash blinked, then laughed. The sound came out easier than he expected, and with it, some of the tightness in his chest finally loosened.
"Watch over me," he replied, lifting a hand in a casual wave as he walked toward the challenger entrance. He noticed there were already five people gathered nearby—trainers, staff, and a few early spectators.
"Hmm. A challenger this early in the morning." The voice came from the side.
A woman in her late twenties stood not far from the entrance, holding a tablet in one hand. Light makeup accentuated her sharp features, and her expression was attentive rather than bored. Her name was Mia—a well-known reporter, especially respected for covering rising talents.
With the World Championship underway, she had been granted permission to record gym battles, and Pewter Gym was one of her regular stops. Popular city, popular gym, constant action. This morning, she had been preparing for the expected rush when she noticed a small group approaching.
Her eyes followed them.
Specifically, the boy stepping forward on his own.
"He looks like a rookie trainer," one of her staff members commented quietly. "Challenging this early is smart, I guess. At least he won't embarrass himself in public after losing."
Mia didn't respond right away.
Her gaze lingered on Ash.
Something felt off.
If the boy were truly trying to avoid embarrassment, his expression wouldn't look like that. There was excitement there—contained, yes, but unmistakable. Anticipation. Not fear. No hesitation.
Mia's lips curved faintly. 'That's not the face of someone expecting to lose,' she thought. And suddenly, the early morning felt a lot more interesting.