This world had no shortage of renowned Pokémon Professors — Oak out of Kanto, Sycamore in Kalos, Dr. Kukui over in Alola. Between them, Mega Evolution, Z-Moves, and even Gigantamax had all eventually gone public. Sure, Luke had missed out on any personal "researcher shocks the world" moment, but he'd never had ambitions in that direction anyway.
Besides — better these things got discovered sooner rather than later. Luke had been dying to see a genuine Mega Evolution vs. Gigantamax showdown for a while now. Current limitations kept Gigantamax largely confined to Galar, tied to Eternatus's energy constraints — but who really knew what the future held? Professor Oak had once insisted there were only 151 known Pokémon species. Professor Sycamore had once claimed Mega Evolution was exclusive to Kalos. Both had ended up publicly walking that back eventually. Maybe, with the right energy infrastructure built elsewhere, Gigantamax would spread too, someday.
"This Master League's actually shaping up to be pretty exciting," Luke murmured. Not a Trainer himself, sure, but watching genuine top-tier competitors go at it still got him a little fired up. From the chat's discussion, this year's event was reportedly landing at Metro City University itself.
"Guess I can just go watch in person when it happens."
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Night settled in. Haunter, having wiped down every surface, surveyed the spotless apartment with quiet satisfaction.
"Kojie!"
Eevee yawned, wobbled off the running wheel, rubbed its eyes, and curled up in its cat bed. Luke, already in bed, reached over and gave it one last affectionate ruffle before drifting off — snoring almost instantly.
"Vee! (#｀dish)" Eevee huffed, mildly offended at the abandonment.
Haunter neatly tucked the corner of Luke's blanket into place, yawned, squinted, and floated up to the ceiling like a slow balloon, drifting off soon after.
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At midnight, a Houndoom's long howl carried in from the construction site, sharp with intent.
Haunter and Eevee's eyes snapped open in unison. A glance passed between them. Both nodded.
Time to move under cover of darkness.
According to on-scene witness testimony from a Rattata: "La da!" — roughly translating to: the sound of that bell alone was terrifying enough to strip away every instinct to flee.
The local Meowth and Raticate had, over time, actually learned to distinguish Eevee's footsteps by sound and avoid them. The Soothe Bell, though, had dulled their guard completely — the chime read as harmless, and they'd let it get far too close before realizing the mistake.
With its new accessory in play, Eevee fought like an absolute war god that night. Its Danger Sense-boosted perception turned it into a self-guided threat-seeking missile.
By the time the sky began to lighten, Haunter drifted home to the sixth floor, carrying a thoroughly smug Eevee back from the "battlefield" it had just cleared out entirely.
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Thursday, July 9th.
Luke woke, glanced over at his two still-sleeping Pokémon, and smiled. "Look at them. Perfectly behaved."
He headed to the kitchen to start breakfast. As oil started sizzling in the pan, he checked the progress bar hovering in his vision.
[Cooking Lv2 (67/100)]
Progress was ticking up steadily, roughly a point a day — far more convenient than actually practicing on purpose. Fresh Berry salad, butter pan-seared fish, soft onsen eggs. Since Eevee still couldn't handle milk, Luke had orange juice waiting for it instead.
Both Pokémon shuffled to the table half-asleep, rubbing their eyes, settling into breakfast with contented crunching.
Eevee & Haunter: (￣～￣) chomp
"Use your hands properly, Haunter, don't just grab it—"
"Kojie? (⊙~⊙)"*
"...Never mind. Happiness first."
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Early that morning, Luke's father called from the countryside — word of the Piplup Cup win had apparently reached even Leonard, prompting an immediate check-in.
"If you're serious about the Trainer path, your dad's backing you a hundred percent!"
"Dad, honestly, there's no need—"
"Nonsense! A father knows his son. Already smoothed things over with your mother, don't worry about a thing!"
Luke hung up and silently downed half a glass of milk. Old man, I am NOT reimbursing you for those potted plants, drop that dream.
The phone rang again almost immediately. Luke checked the caller ID, hesitated, then answered.
"Coach Whitman?"
"Luke — first, congratulations on the win." Whitman cut straight past the pleasantries, smiling audibly. "Third time asking, and since you've already made clear you're not interested in the team, I won't push that again. This is a different offer."
"...What kind?"
"I'd like to bring you on as an assistant coach for the school team."
Metro City University's Pokémon Battling team consistently ranked near the top nationally — a genuine honor for any Fighting Department student to make the roster, let alone earn an assistant coach slot, which typically went to third-years exclusively. Extending that offer to a rising sophomore was, frankly, unheard of.
"Let's talk compensation first," Whitman continued. "Base monthly stipend's $1,400. A bit modest, sure, but keep the team's ranking up and that number climbs. There's also next semester's team bonus — $4,200, if I recall — assistant coaches qualify for that too."
He kept going, warming up. "With your track record and instincts, hitting that bonus wouldn't even be a stretch."
Whitman had watched the entire Piplup Cup final personally. A coach's eye picked up on things casual viewers missed — and Luke's command precision had been genuinely extraordinary, even accounting for his Pokémon still lagging behind third-year benchmarks in raw power. On pure adaptability and in-the-moment decision-making alone, Luke was, without question, the single best candidate available for the role.
"Heard people are calling you Teacher Luke these days, huh?" Whitman said, amused. "Give the offer some real thought?"
Luke scratched his head. "That's the whole offer?"
"...Hm?"
"The compensation. That's all of it?"
Whitman cleared his throat loudly. "Of course not! Next semester, the Breeding House gets a fresh batch of Pokémon — I'll personally reserve you a slot."
Even Luke, thick-skinned as he was, felt a small flicker of genuine surprise at that. Pokémon bred through Metro City's program routinely sold for six figures on the open market. Whitman was clearly going all-in here, sincerity on full display.
"Don't need the Pokémon," Luke said, smiling. "Just give me the cash instead."
Whitman blinked, caught off guard. He's turning down a Breeding House Pokémon? Even as head coach, my own allocation for those is razor thin — those pedigrees are essentially priceless.
Wait. Is he... looking out for me here?
Something warm bloomed in Whitman's chest, and he laughed heartily. "No need to be modest about it — leave the Pokémon selection to me, seriously."
He'd been mildly reluctant going in, if he was honest, but this kid's personality genuinely worked for him. Building a real connection through a gifted Pokémon wasn't a bad investment at all.
"I genuinely don't need it!" Luke said, half-laughing, half-exasperated. I've already got two I can barely keep up with. A THIRD one?
Whitman just laughed harder. "Don't worry about it. Once summer wraps up—"
"—I guarantee I'll personally hand-pick you the best-pedigree Pokémon available."