The Hunt

The air was crisp as Tyrunt and I made our way out of Oreburgh's limits and into the surrounding wilds. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, and the dew still clung to the blades of grass, sparkling faintly in the dim light. I could feel the weight of the few coins I had left rattling in my pocket. If I wanted to avoid another night of roughing it on the outskirts of town, I had to make some money—enough for a decent bed, maybe even a warm meal. And that meant hunting Pokémon to trade for cash or supplies.

The plan was simple: find weaker wild Pokémon that could be captured easily, sell them, and use the money to survive. It wasn't glamorous, but it was what I had to do. I needed money to stay somewhere with four walls and a roof—somewhere that didn't come with a constant draft, a rock as a pillow, or the risk of waking up to a curious wild Zubat nibbling on my foot.

Tyrunt was stomping along beside me, its eyes darting around, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air. It was always so aware of its surroundings, so connected to the world around it. It was one of the reasons I didn't like putting it in its Poké Ball unless I had to. The truth was, Tyrunt hated the Poké Ball, and I didn't blame it. I'd only been inside it for a few seconds when I recalled it to stop the battle, and even that short time had felt strange—disorienting, detached. It was probably worse for Tyrunt, especially being a Pokémon that was used to roaming freely, even millions of years ago.

There was something else, too. I needed Tyrunt out here with me to learn. It needed to see the world, understand how things worked, and develop its instincts beyond just "hunt and destroy." Putting it in a ball and keeping it there would only make it harder for us to understand each other. If we were going to get stronger, Tyrunt needed to experience things in real time—interact with the world around us, deal with different Pokémon, and understand the difference between a threat and just another creature going about its business.

"Alright, Tyrunt," I said, glancing at my prehistoric companion. "Today, we're hunting—but not for dinner, okay? We're looking for Pokémon that'll get us some cash. Think you can handle that?"

Tyrunt looked up at me, tilting its head, and then huffed, as if to say, I don't really care, but sure, why not?

I smiled. It was hard to tell if Tyrunt really understood the concept of "hunting for money," but I hoped it was catching on. We needed this—if I had to sleep outside again, I'd lose my mind.

The air was crisp as Tyrunt and I made our way out of Oreburgh's limits and into the surrounding wilds. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, and the dew still clung to the blades of grass, sparkling faintly in the dim light. I could feel the weight of the few coins I had left rattling in my pocket. If I wanted to avoid another night of roughing it on the outskirts of town, I had to make some money—enough for a decent bed, maybe even a warm meal. And that meant hunting Pokémon to trade for cash or supplies.

The plan was simple: find weaker wild Pokémon that could be captured easily, sell them, and use the money to survive. It wasn't glamorous, but it was what I had to do. I needed money to stay somewhere with four walls and a roof—somewhere that didn't come with a constant draft, a rock as a pillow, or the risk of waking up to a curious wild Zubat nibbling on my foot.

Tyrunt was stomping along beside me, its eyes darting around, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air. It was always so aware of its surroundings, so connected to the world around it. It was one of the reasons I didn't like putting it in its Poké Ball unless I had to. The truth was, Tyrunt hated the Poké Ball, and I didn't blame it. I'd only been inside it for a few seconds when I recalled it to stop the battle, and even that short time had felt strange—disorienting, detached. It was probably worse for Tyrunt, especially being a Pokémon that was used to roaming freely, even millions of years ago.

There was something else, too. I needed Tyrunt out here with me to learn. It needed to see the world, understand how things worked, and develop its instincts beyond just "hunt and destroy." Putting it in a ball and keeping it there would only make it harder for us to understand each other. If we were going to get stronger, Tyrunt needed to experience things in real time—interact with the world around us, deal with different Pokémon, and understand the difference between a threat and just another creature going about its business.

"Alright, Tyrunt," I said, glancing at my prehistoric companion. "Today, we're hunting—but not for dinner, okay? We're looking for Pokémon that'll get us some cash. Think you can handle that?"

Tyrunt looked up at me, tilting its head, and then huffed, as if to say, I don't really care, but sure, why not?

I smiled. It was hard to tell if Tyrunt really understood the concept of "hunting for money," but I hoped it was catching on. We needed this—if I had to sleep outside again, I'd lose my mind.

By midday, we'd managed to catch a couple of more wild Pokémon—another Bidoof, a wild Starly, and a surprisingly aggressive Kricketot that Tyrunt had almost stomped flat before I managed to call it off. Each time, I made sure to remind Tyrunt—no biting, no killing. It was hard to say whether it was fully grasping the concept, but it was trying, and that was enough for now.

We made our way back towards Oreburgh with three Poké Balls in my bag, each containing a captured Pokémon that could be sold or traded. My stomach growled, and I glanced at Tyrunt, who was happily munching on a branch it had found along the way. At least one of us was content.

"Alright, let's get these sold and see if we can afford a real meal and a bed tonight," I said, patting Tyrunt's side. "And maybe, if we get lucky, I'll grab you something better to chew on."

Tyrunt gave me a sideways look, as if it was questioning the idea of anything being better than the current stick. I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. You like your sticks."

We finally made it back into Oreburgh, the city bustling with workers and trainers moving about, the clanking of mining equipment echoing in the distance. I headed straight for the Pokémon Center—there were always trainers or collectors there willing to pay for an easy catch. I walked up to the counter where Nurse Joy usually stood, but today there was a guy in his early twenties, looking over some papers.

He glanced up at me, raising an eyebrow. "You selling?" he asked, his eyes shifting to the Poké Balls in my hand.

"Yeah," I replied. "Three Pokémon—two Bidoof and one Starly. They're in decent condition, caught today."

He nodded, taking the Poké Balls from me and examining them briefly before setting them on a small machine behind the counter. The machine blinked, processing the Pokémon inside, and then chimed. He looked back at me. "Three hundred Pokédollars for the lot. A hundred each. Sound fair?"

I tried to keep my face neutral, even though inside I was a bit disappointed. Three hundred was far less than I had hoped for, but it was still something. Enough to at least get us a proper meal, maybe even a night indoors if I played it right. I nodded. "Yeah, that works."

He handed me the cash, and I slipped it into my pocket, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease slightly. I turned back to Tyrunt, who was busy scaring a poor Pidgey that had wandered too close.

"Hey, come on," I said, nudging Tyrunt with my foot. "Let's go find somewhere to rest up."

I wandered the streets of Oreburgh, the three hundred Pokédollars feeling light in my pocket. It wasn't much, and the inns I passed were either too expensive or too full for someone like me. Eventually, I found a small place—more of a hostel than an inn. The guy at the front desk looked at me, then at Tyrunt, and shrugged.

"One night, two hundred," he said. "No food included, and your Pokémon sleeps outside."

I frowned. The thought of Tyrunt sleeping outside, separated from me, didn't sit right. I shook my head. "Forget it."

Instead, I used part of the money to buy some bread, a couple of dried sausages, and a bottle of water. The guy at the counter gave me a funny look when I asked for an extra one of those tough chewing sticks that were meant for Growlithes. Tyrunt's eyes lit up when I tossed it over, and it immediately began gnawing on it like it was the best thing in the world.

We ended up back on the edge of Oreburgh, setting up near an old mining cart that provided at least some shelter from the wind. I wrapped my thin blanket around myself, nibbling on the bread as Tyrunt sat beside me, chewing on its new stick. It wasn't glamorous, but it was something.

"Not exactly what I had in mind," I muttered, glancing at Tyrunt. "But we made some progress today. Tomorrow, we try again—maybe even find a better target."

Tyrunt looked at me, its eyes reflecting the dim light of the nearby streetlamp, then went back to its chewing. I sighed, leaning my head back against the mining cart.

Three hundred Pokédollars wouldn't get me far, but it was a start. One step at a time, one catch at a time. Eventually, we'd get there.

And maybe, one day, we'd even get a bed that didn't come with a side of rocks