"Phew…"
Steven leaned back against a tree in the backyard, catching his breath. Across from him, Metagross sat perfectly still, fixing him with an intense, unblinking stare.
"Metagross, that look isn't going to help," Steven said with a tired smile, reaching up to rest his hand gently against the side of Metagross's face.
"Metagross?"
That didn't seem right. Metagross pulled back slightly, brow furrowed — or at least, it gave that impression.
Ever since it had gone to Diancie asking about Telepathy, it hadn't made a single bit of progress. Diancie had explained, as gently as she could, that Telepathy came naturally to her and that she could only give Metagross and Victini a vague sense of how it felt — the rest, she said, they would have to find on their own. Since then, the moment Metagross finished its daily training, it would make its way over to Steven and stare at him for long, earnest stretches of time, willing something to happen.
Nothing had.
Steven, for his part, wasn't convinced Metagross actually needed to learn Telepathy. Most Legendary Pokémon could communicate that way on their own. And if that weren't an option, Steven still had his Viridian Power — as long as the other Pokémon was willing to connect, that was enough. The only reason he had needed Diancie to translate Victini's words was because his hands had been occupied, and he couldn't make direct contact with Victini to use Viridian Power properly.
But Metagross had decided this wasn't good enough, and once Metagross decided something, it committed fully.
The thing was, Telepathy wasn't an unreachable goal. When skilled Psychic-type Trainers commanded their Pokémon in battle, they often transmitted instructions through Psychic abilities rather than spoken words. Any Psychic-type Pokémon could, in theory, reach that level. It simply required the right approach — and nobody was born already knowing how.
Metagross fell quiet, turning inward. Steven let it think and shifted his gaze to the rest of the backyard.
Over near the far wall, Aggron was steadily working through a pile of ore. Beside it, Pupitar lay flat on the ground, watching every bite with wide, shining eyes. A faint glimmer of tears caught the light, and though Pupitar made no sound, the longing on its face was unmistakable.
Steven let out a soft sigh. Pupitar had a long way to go before its body would be ready to process that kind of dense mineral energy. For now, it could only watch.
Empoleon came waddling over with another armful of ore and dropped it in front of Aggron with a satisfied flip of its beak, giving its friend a hearty pat on the shoulder.
"Ka-ow!"
Aggron let out a low, rumbling call and patted its belly contentedly, eyes crinkling as it looked at Empoleon. The bond between those two hadn't dimmed even slightly. Empoleon was the only one who didn't actually eat ore — a fact it seemed to take in good humor — but it still made a point of bringing more for Aggron whenever it could. At night, the two of them could be found curled up beside each other without fail.
"Pupi…"
The world was bright and full and busy. But for Pupitar, in this moment, everything had gone gray.
Two quiet tears traced their way down its rigid shell. It shut its eyes and turned inward, retreating from the sounds around it. The feast of the world is not mine to share, it seemed to be thinking, in its own small, melodramatic way.
A short distance away, Honedge was running its ribbon along a smooth steel gem, its dark red blade catching a faint metallic gleam as it moved. Then it swung — clang — against one of the large pink diamonds that Diancie had shaped earlier.
Not a single mark.
The surface was completely undamaged. The diamonds Diancie produced were extraordinarily hard — almost ideally suited, as it turned out, for Steven's Pokémon to use as training targets.
Across the yard, Lucario had finished its individual exercises and moved into a light sparring session with Scizor. Scizor was a demanding training partner — precise, unforgiving, and deeply serious about form. Their battle styles had a natural overlap, particularly in the way both relied on Extreme Speed to build momentum before unleashing rapid, relentless combinations. Watching Lucario move, you could see Scizor's influence clearly.
Of all Steven's Pokémon, Scizor kept the most distance from him. It wasn't hostility — just personality. Reserved, self-contained, focused. And yet the fact that they could Mega Evolve together said more than words could. There was trust there, even if it ran quiet.
What puzzled Steven more was Lucario. The two of them hadn't managed to achieve Mega Evolution yet, and he wasn't sure why. He wasn't worried about it. These things had their own timing. When the bond was ready, it would happen on its own.
On the other side of the yard, Sandslash was doing what it did every spare moment — carving.
An ice pillar stood in the open space, already half-shaped, chips and flakes scattered across the ground around it. Sandslash moved steadily, drawing its sharp claws across the surface with practiced calm. It had never been particularly driven by battle strength. Ice sculpture was what it cared about. Every so often, mid-carve, it seemed to drift into thought — probably wondering whether the Pokémon it had left in charge back at the Ice Castle had actually finished the project by now.
Skarmory, meanwhile, was drilling long-range attacks on the far end of the yard. Rock Tomb hadn't been cutting it — the power output simply wasn't enough given Skarmory's naturally low Special Attack. So it had switched its focus to Rock Slide, working on accuracy and coverage instead. At least landing multiple solid hits on a target was something it could rely on.
The frustration was real, though. Skarmory trained hard. It always had. And yet in actual battles, it often found itself sidelined — contributing less than it felt it should. It was a bit like spending weeks preparing for an exam, only to find that none of the questions matched what you studied. Worse grades despite more effort. That was a difficult feeling for a Pokémon that prided itself on its discipline.
"Hold on—"
Steven straightened up. Something was off.
He looked around the yard. Aggron, Pupitar, Empoleon, Honedge, Lucario, Scizor, Sandslash, Skarmory — all accounted for.
But where were Diancie and Victini?
Cynthia had stayed in Hoenn for a few days after Steven's discharge before heading back to Sinnoh. She had ruin research waiting — ancient texts to work through — and that was really where most of her focus went. Her administrative duties as Champion were, honestly, fairly light. The bulk of the League's day-to-day work had always landed on Gomatsu's desk, and handing Cynthia's portion to him as well hadn't changed much. He was used to it.
According to Cynthia, Gomatsu kept a calendar on his desk. He was quietly marking off the days to his retirement.
"Where did those two get off to?"
Steven took out his phone and, while he scanned the yard with a glance, pulled up the latest report.
Pokémon: Gem had been officially out for exactly one day. It had already sold sixteen million copies.
Steven paused on that number. Over the course of his Trainer career, he had spent considerable money on Pokémon-related expenses. This had more than covered all of it.
Online, players were already sharing their progress and team builds. A community forum had sprung up almost immediately. If the momentum kept up, it wouldn't be long before the game was a household name across the entire world.
The Trainer population in this world was relatively small, and an even smaller portion of those Trainers were focused on seriously developing their strength. That made the market for Pokémon games wide open. Fighting games and simple dungeon-crawlers existed, but a full adventure game — one where you traveled, built your team, and grew alongside your Pokémon — that niche had been completely empty before Pokémon: Gem. The surge in popularity wasn't surprising. It had been coming from the moment the game launched.
The endorsement from Hoenn's Champion, the Elite Four, and others hadn't hurt either.
Steven pocketed his phone and stood up. He'd go find the two of them.
He walked into the living room — and found them immediately.
Diancie and Victini were side by side on the sofa, each holding a game console, eyes fixed on the screen with complete concentration.
Pokémon: Gem. Of course.
Pokémon had become Trainers in a Pokémon game. Steven wasn't sure what to do with that thought.
Diancie had been playing for over a month at this point and had built up a team of Pokémon between level fifty and sixty. She was currently using them to methodically demolish Victini's level-ten Torchic. Victini's actual ability — Victory Star — didn't carry over into the game through the console, so its usual invincibility was nowhere to be found.
Steven quietly unhooked the computer monitor, connected both their consoles to the TV, and took a step back.
"I should add a co-op mode at some point," he said to himself. "Something that lets newer players get a feel for the game with some guidance."
He watched the two of them for a moment, genuinely amused. Seeing Pokémon this absorbed in the game told him everything he needed to know. The game worked.
"I should also set up a giveaway — get copies to kids in orphanages."
The thought had been floating around in his head for a while. The game wasn't expensive — roughly the price of a few Poké Balls — but for children who didn't have means of their own, even that was out of reach. They deserved to play it too.
He pulled out his phone and sent a message to his father, Joseph.
The goal was simple: every child should be able to play Pokémon.
Joseph's reply came back quickly — approved without hesitation. A gesture like that from a developer would build goodwill, generate positive attention, and leave a lasting impression on players. There was no downside.
It was a sure win, in every sense.