Route 207 doesn't ease you into anything. It rises immediately, the path narrowing as stone pushes in from both sides, wind scraping across exposed rock faces hard enough to carry grit into your teeth if you're not careful. A few days have passed since the battle on Route 211, just enough time for bruises to fade and confidence to change shape, and Kai walks beside me now with less bounce in his step and more awareness in where he puts his feet.
Shinx stays closer than he used to. Not cowering, not hesitant, just… checking back more often, glancing up at Kai before darting ahead instead of assuming the world will make room for him.
Kai notices it too. "He's not scared," he says after a while, like he's defending the thought before I can say it. "Just thinking more."
"That's usually what happens," I reply, and I don't keep it short because this isn't a moment that deserves to be brushed aside. "Losing doesn't make you weaker unless you pretend it didn't happen, and Shinx learned something before you did, which is honestly pretty impressive."
Kai snorts. "Wow. Encouraging. I feel very supported."
"You are supported," I say easily. "I just refuse to lie to you while I'm doing it."
That gets a real laugh out of him, the kind that loosens his shoulders instead of tightening them, and for a few minutes we walk without talking, boots crunching against loose stone while the city disappears behind us for real this time.
The route bends upward again, and that's when I notice the disturbance ahead, not dramatic or loud but wrong in a quieter way, the way the wind shifts direction around a shape that shouldn't be there. Shinx stiffens before either of us speaks, tail flicking once, ears angling forward.
Kai slows. "You feel that too?"
"Yeah," I say, already stepping slightly ahead of him without thinking about it. "Something's been moving through here recently, and it wasn't small."
"That's comforting," he mutters.
We round the bend and find the evidence immediately: loose rocks scattered off the path, claw marks scraped into stone where something lost its footing and dug in, and a shallow depression near the edge where the ground has been disturbed enough to expose darker soil beneath. Whatever passed through here didn't linger, but it didn't leave calmly either.
Shinx pads forward, sniffing, electricity crackling faintly along his fur before settling again, and Kai opens his mouth, probably to tell him to stop, then closes it, visibly choosing not to repeat past mistakes.
"Good call," I say quietly.
He exhales. "I'm learning."
"That's all anyone can do."
The sound comes without warning, a sharp scrape followed by a low, irritated growl that echoes off the rocks and turns the air heavy all at once. Shinx freezes. Kai's hand tightens instinctively at his side.
From behind a jut of stone, something shifts, and then a Pokémon hauls itself into view with an annoyed snort, small but dense, rock plates grinding against each other as it plants its feet like it's daring the world to move it.
Geodude.
Not the calm, idle kind that drifts lazily near cliffs, but one with scuffed stone and a chip missing from one arm, eyes narrowed like it's already decided it doesn't like us.
Kai swallows. "Okay. That's… familiar."
I don't look away. "Different situation."
"How is that different?" he asks, voice tight.
"For starters," I say, "this one isn't being commanded by anyone who knows what they're doing."
The Geodude lets out another sound, louder now, arms flexing as it shifts its weight, clearly agitated by our presence but not charging, not yet. It's territorial, not confident, and there's a difference that matters if you're paying attention.
Shinx takes a cautious step back, eyes on Kai this time.
Kai notices, nods once to himself, then looks at me. "I'm not doing it," he says before I can open my mouth. "Not like last time."
"Good," I reply. "Because you don't need to."
He blinks. "What?"
"You don't need me," I say, keeping my tone light even as I watch Geodude's arms tense again. "You need to do the boring part: stay calm, don't panic, and don't throw electricity at a rock just because it's the first thing that pops into your head."
Kai's mouth twitches. "Wow. It's like you know me."
"I've met you," I say. "That's enough."
Geodude lunges suddenly, not at Shinx but at the space between us, a warning charge meant to shove us back and make the path feel smaller, and Kai reacts like he's been waiting for permission to do the sensible thing.
"Shinx, back!" he snaps, then immediately, "Circle, keep space!"
Shinx darts sideways instead of forward, paws skidding on loose stone before he finds traction, and Geodude's charge carries it past where Shinx was a second ago. The wild Pokémon grinds to a stop, turns hard, and growls again, louder now, annoyed that the intimidation didn't land cleanly.
Kai's shoulders rise, then drop, like he's forcing the adrenaline down instead of letting it drive. "Okay," he mutters, mostly to himself. "Okay. Not head-on."
Shinx looks at him again, waiting.
Kai points two fingers forward, sharp and clear. "Leer."
Shinx's eyes narrow, and the air around him shifts with that strange, prickling tension he gets when he's focused, not sparking, not flaring, just locking in. Geodude hesitates for half a heartbeat, thrown off by something it doesn't understand, and that half heartbeat is exactly what Kai needs.
"Now Tackle!"
Shinx lunges. Not with electricity, not with bravado, just with speed and weight, shoulder-first into Geodude's side. Rock grinds, both of them sliding a fraction over the uneven path, and Geodude snarls as it shoves back, arms braced, trying to turn it into a strength contest.
Kai doesn't let it become one. "Off!" he snaps. "Move!"
Shinx slips away the moment the pressure spikes, darting back and to the side, forcing Geodude to pivot again and again until its movements get rougher, more frustrated than controlled.
Geodude scoops up a jagged chunk of stone and hurls it, not precise, not practiced, but dangerous anyway. The rock clips Shinx's shoulder as he turns, and he stumbles, claws scraping, sparks flickering in reflex before he forces them down.
Kai flinches hard, then clamps it shut. He drops his voice instead of raising it. "You're fine," he says, fast but steady. "You're fine. Look at me. One step at a time."
Shinx shakes once, plants his feet, and lifts his head again.
Geodude charges, angry now, trying to crash the distance and end the problem the way wild Pokémon always try to end problems.
Kai's hand tightens into a fist. "Shinx sidestep, then Tackle again, don't stop!"
Shinx moves. Quick and clean, not perfect, but smart, slipping just out of the line of the charge and slamming into Geodude's flank as it overcommits. The impact knocks Geodude off-balance this time, stone plates grinding as it skids, claws hands scrabbling for purchase on loose gravel.
It doesn't go down, but it pauses, breathing harder, posture shifting from territorial confidence to something closer to survival.
Kai sees it. He doesn't celebrate. He doesn't rush. He just makes the decision.
"Again," he says, low. "Finish it."
Shinx hits once more, shoulder driving in, and Geodude finally loses its footing, sliding into the shallow depression near the edge where the soil is darker and softer. It lands with a hard thud, arms braced, growl turning into a strained, angry sound that doesn't have the energy behind it anymore.
Kai doesn't wait for it to get back up and decide the next thing to break. He's already reaching for a Poké Ball.
"Now," he says, and there's no swagger in it, just certainty.
He throws.
The ball strikes Geodude's chest and bursts open in a flash of red light, pulling the wild Pokémon into it mid-growl. It hits the ground with a solid bounce, rocks once, twice, and then stills.
For a second, neither of us moves. Even the wind feels quieter, like it's waiting to see if the decision sticks.
The ball clicks.
Kai stares at it like he's not sure he's allowed to believe it yet. Then he exhales in one long, shaky breath, drops into a crouch, and picks it up carefully, like it might change its mind if he grips it too hard.
Shinx pads closer, eyes bright, tail flicking, looking proud and slightly offended that nobody is clapping.
Kai lets out a short laugh that sounds like relief more than anything else. "Okay," he says, and his voice cracks just a little on the word. "Okay. That… that counts, right?"
"It counts," I say, and I don't soften it into a joke, because he needs to hear it straight. "You didn't panic, you didn't push him past the point where he could think, and you didn't try to brute-force a problem that wasn't meant to be brute-forced."
Kai looks down at the ball again, then at Shinx, then back at me. "So this is what you meant earlier."
"Yeah," I say, and I let the satisfaction show, because I'm not made of stone. "This is what I meant."
Shinx chirps, then bumps Kai's shin like he's claiming credit for the entire concept of learning.
Kai snorts, rubbing a hand over his face, then straightens with the ball in his hand and a different kind of steadiness in his posture. "Alright," he says, glancing down the route like the path looks slightly less unbeatable now. "One more for me later, two for you, and then we walk into that gym like we actually belong there."
I tilt my head. "You're still dramatic."
"I'm motivated," he corrects, and Shinx sparks faintly in agreement.
"Fine," I say, starting forward again. "Motivated. Just don't confuse it with being done."
Kai grins, smaller but real. "Yeah," he says. "I'm learning." We don't talk for a while after that.
The path winds higher, the stone underfoot sharper now, the air thinner in a way that makes every sound carry farther than it should. Kai walks a little ahead with Shinx, quieter than before but not closed off, like something finally clicked instead of broke. I let him have that space. Some lessons need room to settle.
It's the scrape that makes me stop.
Not loud. Not sudden. Just wrong stone shifting where it shouldn't, too deliberate to be the wind. Fraxure lifts his head inside the ball at my hip, a familiar pressure I don't answer yet.
"Hold up," I say, raising a hand.
Kai freezes instantly this time. No argument. No joke.
The rocks ahead part slightly, and something crawls into view, low and angular, claws clicking softly as it tests the ground before committing its weight. Purple carapace, segmented and scarred, eyes sharp and watching instead of charging.
Skorupi.
Not wild in the frantic sense. Not aggressive for the sake of it. This one is alert, guarding something it's decided matters.
Kai glances at me. "Yours?"
"Yeah," I say, and I don't hesitate, because hesitation would be a lie. "Stay back. I've got this."
I release Fraxure, but I don't send him forward.
He lands beside me, solid and still, presence alone enough to make Skorupi pause and reassess. Its tail flicks once, stinger catching the light.
Skorupi moves first.
Not straight at us, not reckless, but low and fast, cutting sideways in a feint meant to draw Fraxure out of position. It's smart. Smarter than most wild encounters.
"Stay," I say calmly.
Fraxure doesn't chase. Skorupi's stinger snaps up, misses by inches as Fraxure shifts just enough for momentum to betray it.
"Slash."
The strike is clean and controlled, carving across Skorupi's armor without shattering it, enough to knock it back and make the point without ending the fight. Skorupi skids, clicks in frustration, and launches again, this time low, aiming for Fraxure's legs.
"Block."
Fraxure pins the stinger to stone, not crushing, not escalating, just stopping it cold. Skorupi thrashes, claws scraping, panic starting to edge into its movements now that the situation isn't going its way.
"Release," I say softly.
Fraxure steps back.
Skorupi doesn't flee. It doesn't charge either. It hesitates, breathing hard, weighing pride against survival, and that's when I know.
This one isn't here to win. It's here because it refuses to leave.
"Last chance," I murmur, not threatening, just honest.
Skorupi lunges anyway.
"Finish it," I say.
Fraxure moves once, fast and precise, knocking Skorupi aside and pinning it long enough for the fight to leave its body. When he steps away, Skorupi stays down, breathing steady but spent, eyes still sharp even in defeat.
I don't rush.
I step forward only when I'm sure it's done choosing.
The Poké Ball clicks in my hand, arcs cleanly, and strikes true.
One shake.
Two.
Then stillness.
The lock chimes softly.
I pick it up and hold it for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the weight settle into something real.
Behind me, Kai exhales. "That," he says quietly, "looked… very different from how I fight."
I glance back at him. "It wasn't about winning. It was about understanding why it wouldn't leave."
He nods slowly. Shinx watches the ball in my hand, curious but calm.
I clip the Poké Ball to my belt.
"We've both got work to do," I say, not as a warning, but as a promise.
And for the first time since leaving the city, Route 207 feels like it's finally started giving something back.