As I entered the video conference room, the wall-length screens were already lit.
Six windows glowed softly, each framed by national insignia rather than flags—an intentional choice. This meeting wasn't political. It was operational.
I took my seat at the center console, adjusted the audio feed, and gave a short nod to the technician standing behind the glass. The room sealed. Encryption indicators turned green one by one.
This conversation would not leak.
I tapped the control panel once.
"Let's begin."
The screens sharpened, faces resolving clearly as the system synchronized time zones across half the planet.
"Hello, everyone," I said evenly. "I'm glad we were able to arrange this so quickly. Given recent developments, I think we all agree that cooperative relations between nations are no longer optional."
No one interrupted.
"So let's start properly," I continued. "Introductions. Name, and the position you hold in your country's Pokémon-related authority."
I inclined my head slightly.
"I'll begin. I'm Aakash Patil, President of the Pokémon Department of India."
A brief pause followed—not awkward, but weighted. Then the first screen activated its microphone.
The man on the United States feed leaned forward slightly. His office was functional, military-adjacent, with reinforced walls and no personal decorations.
"Dr. Ethan Caldwell," he said. "Director of the Pokémon Integration and Strategic Response Agency—PISRA for short."
He adjusted his glasses.
"Our agency handles Pokémon containment, trainer accreditation, and national-level deployment coordination. We report jointly to Homeland Security and the Department of Defense."
Straightforward. Efficient. Expected.
The Russian screen came alive next.
A broad-shouldered woman sat with her hands folded on the desk, posture rigid but composed. Behind her hung a steel emblem rather than a flag.
"Irina Volkov," she said. "Supreme Coordinator of the Pokémon Security Directorate."
Her eyes didn't leave the camera.
"We oversee Pokémon militarization limits, zone enforcement across federal regions, and high-risk Pokémon suppression. Civilian trainer programs are… secondary, but expanding."
That was an understatement.
From China, the feed shifted smoothly, almost ceremonially.
A middle-aged man in a dark suit gave a polite nod.
"Zhao Ming," he introduced himself. "Executive Overseer of the Harmony Pokémon Administration Council."
The name alone spoke volumes.
"Our council focuses on balance between population stability, Pokémon ecology, and state security. All trainer licensing, breeding permissions, and zone classifications fall under our jurisdiction."
Careful words. Carefully chosen.
The Canadian representative smiled faintly as her feed activated.
"Sarah McLeod," she said. "Director of the Pokémon Conservation and Trainer Guild of Canada."
Her background showed a window overlooking snow-dusted trees.
"We emphasize coexistence, ecological preservation, and community-led trainer development. Enforcement exists," she added lightly, "but we prefer not to lead with it."
A subtle contrast to the others.
From Australia, the feed flickered briefly before stabilizing.
A rugged-looking man sat back in his chair, arms crossed, expression sharp.
"Mark Henson," he said. "Commander of the Pokémon Frontier Authority."
He snorted softly.
"Our job is keeping people alive. Outback zones, ocean sectors, and high-fatality regions don't leave much room for idealism. We authorize lethal force when necessary—human or Pokémon."
Blunt. Honest. Dangerous.
Finally, the South African screen activated.
A calm, older man adjusted the camera slightly before speaking.
"Thabo Ndlovu," he said. "High Warden of the Pokémon Coexistence and Protection Commission."
His office carried both traditional and modern elements.
"Our focus is conflict mediation—between communities, Pokémon populations, and regional powers. We've learned that force alone creates enemies faster than it solves problems."
The room settled into silence after that.
Six nations.
Six philosophies.
Six very different answers to the same question.
I folded my hands together and looked straight ahead, meeting each screen in turn.
"Thank you," I said. "Now that we know who we're dealing with—"
I paused deliberately.
"—we can talk about why this meeting couldn't wait."
I leaned forward slightly, hands resting on the table, and let my gaze move across every screen before speaking again.
"Now that introductions are complete," I said evenly, "I want all of you to pause for a moment and think—not as representatives of your individual nations, but as representatives of humanity itself."
No one interrupted.
"Because the moment we stop trying to one-up each other and actually work together," I continued, my voice steady but firm, "we will be facing dangers that most of you still cannot fully imagine. After the Suicune incident alone, it should be clear that what we decide here will not affect one country, or one alliance—but the entire human race."
I let the silence settle, making sure the message landed.
"This is not a routine meeting," I said. "And this is not just about Earth Liberation."
I straightened.
"Before we even begin discussing the benefits or risks of cooperation, there are two points that are non-negotiable. There will be no debate on them."
A few faces stiffened on the screens.
"First," I said calmly, "the abuse, trafficking, or commercial sale of Pokémon will not be permitted in any nation that wishes to be part of this alliance. I am fully aware that some countries are currently capturing and selling Pokémon openly. That practice must stop."
I raised a finger slightly.
"The only acceptable channel for Pokémon transfer is through officially regulated breeding houses—and even then, Pokémon above a defined strength threshold cannot be sold. Pokémon are not weapons, commodities, or disposable assets."
No one spoke.
"Second," I continued, "Earth Liberation—and any organization with similar ideology—will be treated as an enemy. Not an extremist group to be debated. Not a political movement to be 'managed.' An enemy."
My eyes hardened.
"Any nation found directly or indirectly supporting such organizations will be treated the same way."
I let that sit before finishing.
"If you can agree to these two conditions, we can move forward with negotiations and discuss what true cooperation looks like."
I paused, then added evenly—
"If you cannot, you are free to leave this meeting right now."
The screens remained lit.
No one disconnected.
That told me everything I needed to know.
"Alright," I said after a brief pause, letting the tension settle. "Now let's hear what each of you expects from this cooperation."
The American representative was the first to speak, leaning slightly toward his camera.
"We expect full trading rights for any Pokémon-related products your department has developed," he said. "Technology, tools, supplements—anything that gives your trainers an edge."
I nodded without comment.
The Canadian representative followed immediately. "We propose unified pricing for shared resources among allied nations," she said calmly. "No artificial inflation, no monopolies. Stability benefits everyone."
Next came Australia.
"We want access to the knowledge you'll be sharing with your students at the Pokémon Academy," their representative said. "Training methods, bonding protocols, risk management. Not secrets—but fundamentals."
Around the virtual table, other expectations surfaced as well—research collaboration, joint disaster response frameworks, shared trainer certification standards. None of it surprised me.
When the last voice fell silent, I folded my hands together.
"Most of these requests are reasonable," I said. "And since we are discussing an alliance, it's only fair that I share something fundamental—something that directly affects the long-term stability of the trainer system."
I reached into my coat and brought out a Poké Ball.
The reaction was immediate.
Eyes sharpened.
Postures shifted.
A few representatives leaned closer to their screens.
"You've all seen these, haven't you?" I asked.
Responses came quickly.
"Yes. We've recovered a few in the field."
"We've encountered them, but in limited numbers."
"No—we searched extensively and found none."
"We assumed they were naturally occurring artifacts."
I allowed myself a faint smile.
"Well," I said evenly, "here's the good news."
I turned the Poké Ball once in my palm, letting the light reflect off its surface.
"We have obtained the complete manufacturing technique for this Poké Ball. Not reverse-engineered fragments. Not partial data. The full process."
The room went dead silent.
"These will not remain exclusive to India," I continued. "As part of this alliance, we will offer Poké Balls for trade—alongside other regulated Pokémon-related products."
A few people inhaled sharply.
"But," I added immediately, "distribution will follow strict standards. No mass militarization. No uncontrolled stockpiling. These are tools for coexistence, not escalation."
I met their gazes one by one.
"If we're going to stabilize the world," I said calmly, "then everyone needs the same foundation to stand on."
And for the first time since the meeting began—
I could see something shift.
Not competition.
Not suspicion.
But the realization that the balance of this new world had just changed.
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