Chapter 2: Stepping Into Battle

I trudged down the creaky wooden steps, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh pancakes drawing me like a magnet toward the kitchen. 

Sunlight poured through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. 

My stomach grumbled, but it wasn't just hunger gnawing at me today. 

I was nervous. 

I had made up my mind, but telling Dad? That was another thing altogether.

"Good morning, Mom. Dad," I said, trying to sound casual, though my voice cracked a little. 

Dad stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with the precision of someone who's seen battle far more times than flipping breakfast. 

He glanced over his shoulder, a smile creasing his face. "Morning, kid."

"Morning, sweetheart," Mom chimed in from the other side of the kitchen, stirring something that smelled heavenly in a pot.

Mom's eyes shifted to Dad for a second, something unsaid passing between them. 

Then, she spoke up again, her voice softer but firm. "Mark, talk with him."

Dad sighed, a little too dramatically for my taste. "Alright, alright. I'm doing it." He rinsed his hands under the tap, shaking them off with a flick. 

The look on his face meant only one thing—he was gearing up for something serious.

I shifted awkwardly, dragging my feet as I wandered to the living room and flopped onto the old, worn-out sofa. 

No sooner had I sat down than Growlithe padded over, his warm, furred head settling onto my lap. 

He looked up at me, his big, brown eyes steady. 

I scratched behind his ears, a small smile tugging at my lips. He always knew when something was on my mind.

Dad disappeared into his room for a moment, and when he came back, he wasn't empty-handed. 

In his broad palms, he held six Pokéballs, a shiny red Pokédex, and a credit card. 

He stood there for a beat, looking at them before holding them out toward me.

"Here," he said. No ceremony. 

Just that one word.

I took them, my heart hammering in my chest as I slid everything into my backpack. 

I could feel the weight of the journey ahead of me—the Pokéballs cold against my fingers, the Pokédex buzzing slightly with untapped information. 

But that wasn't what really got me. It was what came next.

Dad sat down beside me, the sofa groaning slightly under his weight. 

He looked at me with those warm, brown eyes that could either make me feel ten feet tall or like I was still five years old, fumbling with my first Pokéball.

"I'm proud of you," he said quietly. "Most kids go for the starter Pokémon, but not you."

I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, even though his words hit me harder than any battle loss ever could. "Growlithe and I, we've been together since… forever. He's not just my partner; he's my best friend." I glanced down at Growlithe, whose tail thumped softly against the couch. "Besides, I didn't even get the chance to get a starter from Professor Oak. I failed."

Dad raised an eyebrow. "I could've talked to Oak for you, you know. We're still friends."

"No," I said, a bit sharper than I meant to. "I gotta do this on my own."

He gave a slow nod, the kind of nod that told me he respected my choice, even if he didn't entirely agree. 

Growlithe stood up and trotted over to Dad, nudging his knee. 

Dad chuckled and gave him a gentle pat on the head, his hand resting there a moment longer than usual.

"So," Dad said, leaning back into the couch, "what's the plan now?"

I glanced toward the kitchen, where Mom was still moving around, completely absorbed in her cooking. 

I took a breath. "I'm heading to the Trainer Battleground here in Pewter City. I need the experience. I need to figure out how to command Growlithe better in battle. We're good, but we can be better."

Dad nodded again, more firmly this time. "Good. Don't rush it. Stay here, train until you're ready. You've got time before the Indigo League."

"I'm challenging Brock tomorrow," I said before I could talk myself out of it. "Even if I lose, I'll learn something new."

That made him smile, a real one, the kind that crinkled the edges of his eyes. 

He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, nearly knocking me off balance. "Now that is what makes a real Pokémon Trainer."

I grinned, the tension easing slightly in my chest. "I learned from the best."

We both laughed, and for a moment, it felt like everything was just… right. 

Even Growlithe barked, his tail wagging as if he was in on the joke too. 

Mom, from her place in the kitchen, glanced over, a soft smile spreading across her face. 

But Dad's next words brought me back to reality. "I'm not going to help you."

"I wouldn't want you to," I replied without hesitation. "If I can't learn on my own, it'll just hurt me later."

He nodded, that approving look in his eyes again. "Don't worry about money. You're our only kid, Will. Everything your mom and I earn—it's for you."

I felt my chest tighten, but I just smiled and nodded. 

His hand found the top of my head, giving my hair a light tousle. 

Just then, Mom's voice rang out from the kitchen, sharp and loud.

"Breakfast is ready!"

We both stood up, moving toward the table, the weight of the morning lifting just a little. 

As I walked to wash my hands, I couldn't help but glance back at Growlithe. 

---

Sitting at the wooden dining table, I slouched back, my legs dangling off the edge of the chair as I watched Growlithe devour his breakfast on the floor. 

The smell of Pokémon food mingled with the aroma of pancakes and bacon, filling the room. 

I could hear the sizzle of mom's skillet as she flipped another batch, her apron splattered with the evidence of a morning's work.

"Here you go, sweetheart," Mom said as she placed a plate in front of me. 

Her auburn hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and a soft smile graced her lips as she added, "We're opening the restaurant after breakfast. Are you going to come help later?"

Before I could answer, I glanced at Dad. 

He sat across from me, silent as always when he ate, fork in hand, cutting his food with precise motions. 

His sandy blond hair, speckled with a few grays, caught the morning light. 

I didn't need to look at his eyes to feel the weight of his presence.

"Dad?" I asked, hoping he'd give me a way out.

Dad barely paused. "Clara," he said, his tone even, "today's his first day as a Pokémon trainer. Let him do what he thinks. He's not a kid anymore."

I straightened up, nodding in silent agreement. 

For once, I didn't want to get caught in the middle of their back-and-forth. 

Not today.

Mom leaned on the counter, arms crossed. 

Her hazel eyes narrowed as she studied me. "Why not become a chef, Will? You've got a family restaurant right here. You'd be a natural."

"Dad—" I started, hoping he'd rescue me again.

"Clara." Dad's voice cut in like clockwork, his fork clinking lightly against his plate as he set it down. 

He wasn't even looking at her.

Mom's mouth twitched as she tilted her head, her tone sharpening. "What is this 'Dad, Dad, Dad' business? You think I fear him, or he fears me?"

Dad set down his napkin and finally looked up at me. "Son."

That one word made me freeze. 

I couldn't figure out if it was a warning or an invitation to say something smart. 

Either way, I was trapped.

I shoveled the last bit of pancake into my mouth, muttering some half-baked excuse as I stood up. 

Growlithe had finished eating too, wagging his tail beside me, eager for action. 

Before Mom could press any further, I grabbed my bag and bolted out the door, Growlithe at my heels.

Outside, the heat hit me like a wall. 

The sun baked the streets of Pewter City, shimmering off the rooftops. 

I glanced back once to make sure I wasn't being followed, then continued walking, the bag slung over my shoulder, Growlithe padding along beside me. 

His fur bristled as he picked up the scent of the city, ever alert.

As we walked, my thoughts spiraled. *How much do those Pokémon eggs cost at the special shop?*

Ariana, the voice in my head—my guide, my strange companion, my whatever-you-want-to-call-it—chimed in. 

[A hundred points. One month to hatch. You can only get one at a time. No legendary eggs.]

One hundred points? That was steep. 

Too steep. 

I'd need a good battle for that kind of reward.

 I kept walking, my sneakers crunching against the dry dirt. *How much for beating Brock?*

[Brock's a main character, special, you know the deal], Ariana replied. 

[Fifty-five points per Pokémon you defeat. But there's a one-month cooldown.]

I stopped dead in my tracks. 

Fifty-five points. That was a huge payday, but…

*"What if I lose tomorrow?* The thought lodged in my chest like a stone. Losing wasn't an option. 

Not on the first day.

[If you lose but manage to take down one of his Pokémon, you still get fifty-five points for that. The next time you fight, you'll only get five points per Pokémon though. Plus, a one-day cooldown before you can battle again.]

I exhaled slowly. 

Okay, so even if I lost, it wasn't a complete waste. 

Still, I couldn't afford to mess this up. 

I had to prove myself, not just to Dad—but to me.

I nodded to myself, shoving the doubts aside. 

Growlithe barked, sensing my resolve, and we kept walking until the familiar sight of the Pewter City battleground came into view.

The trainer's arena stood like a coliseum against the rocky landscape. 

Dust blew in light gusts, swirling around the entrance. 

The faint sound of Pokémon battles echoed from inside—trainers giving commands, Pokémon roaring or screeching in response. 

This was it.

My stomach churned, a mix of nerves and excitement. 

Growlithe growled softly, eyes fixed on the building. His fire burned bright inside him, just like it did in me.

---

The hum of the air conditioning barely masked the murmurs of trainers all around the Pewter City Battleground. 

A low growl rumbled from my right. Growlithe, always on edge. 

His golden-orange fur bristled as we walked up to the receptionist's desk. 

I gave him a quick pat on the head to settle him down, though his dark eyes stayed fixed on the other Pokémon scattered about the room.

"I'm a new trainer," I said, stepping up to the counter. My voice cracked a bit, but I pushed on. "I want to participate in a match to get some experience."

The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with a blank expression that probably hadn't changed since morning, glanced at me, then at Growlithe. "Facility's government-run, so no charge," she said flatly. "Just show me your Pokédex."

I fumbled through my pockets and pulled it out, handing it over. 

She scanned it without a word, her fingers moving swiftly over the keys of her computer. 

After a moment, she handed it back to me, her gaze finally lifting to meet mine. "How many Pokémon you got?"

"One," I said, resting a hand on Growlithe's head. His body was tense, ready.

Her eyebrow barely twitched, but I could tell she wasn't impressed. "And that's the one you're using?" she asked, pointing a pen lazily at Growlithe.

I nodded. "Yeah, Growlithe."

She scribbled something down. "So you're going to keep battling until he's defeated, or just the one fight?"

"If we win, we'll wait for another match," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. 

She shrugged, her attention already drifting back to the computer screen. "Alright. Rocky terrain. Pick a number from that box. Same process after each battle."

I reached into the box and pulled out a slip of paper. No. 6. I showed it to her.

"Will," she said, finally acknowledging me by name, "your battle's later. Remember, no sharing names with your opponent. I'd advise keeping it that way."

I nodded and walked away, Growlithe padding beside me. 

We found a chair near the edge of the room, where the air was a bit cooler. 

Growlithe curled up at my feet, but his head stayed upright, eyes scanning the room like a sentinel. 

I leaned back, trying to let the tension bleed out of me, but it wasn't easy.

My first official match. My stomach was a knot, my hands clammy. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the doors swing open. A man strode in—no, not just a man. 

A samurai. 

A real one. 

His armor clinked with each step, and the guards near the door watched him closely. 

He headed straight for the desk, his hand resting on the hilt of a katana. 

Not exactly subtle. 

Growlithe's ears perked up, a low growl vibrating through him. 

I kept my hand on his fur, rubbing between his ears to calm him, but his eyes stayed locked on the samurai.

After a few words with the receptionist, the samurai turned and scanned the room. 

His eyes found me almost immediately. 

I swallowed hard as he started walking my way, his hand still on his sword. 

Growlithe tensed, teeth bared slightly.

The samurai stopped in front of me, his face unreadable. 

Then, with one smooth motion, he drew his katana, pointing it straight at me. "Let's have a Pokémon battle."

I blinked, staring at the blade more than the man holding it. "First, put your katana down," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "Or the guards will throw you out."

He glanced around, noticing the guards moving toward him. 

With a low grunt, he sheathed the sword but didn't step back. "Brother," he said, his voice rough and full of challenge, "let's have a battle. I've got Bug-types, you've got a Fire-type. It'll be a good experience for me."

I held up the slip of paper with my number on it. "I'm already in line for a match. Number 6."

He crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at his lips. "After your battle, then. I've got three Pokémon."

"I've got one," I said, nodding down at Growlithe, who was still growling softly. "But we can battle continuously."

"You sure? It'll be tough."

I nodded. 

Tough didn't scare me. The fear in my chest was something else entirely. 

The number six flashed on the large screen at the front of the room, my heart skipping a beat. 

Time to go.

"Good luck, kid," the samurai said, leaning against the wall. "I'll be waiting."

I stood, giving a quick signal to Growlithe, and we walked toward the battle arena. 

The doors hissed open, revealing the rocky terrain inside. 

Jagged boulders jutted out of the ground like the spines of an ancient creature, and the air felt dry, electric.

As we walked in, Growlithe's body language changed. His growl deepened, more serious now, more focused. 

His eyes darted across the battlefield, searching for any sign of our opponent. 

I took a deep breath, fingers tightening around Growlithe's Pokéball at my waist. 

This was it—the moment I'd been waiting for. 

The moment to prove I wasn't just Mark Oliver's kid. I was a trainer.

"Growlithe," I whispered. He looked up at me, his tail wagging once in acknowledgment.

The screen above flickered, displaying a countdown. Ten seconds until the match began. My pulse raced in time with the ticking numbers.

This was it.

And somewhere, just beyond the arena doors, that samurai was waiting.