Minutes later, the urban sprawl gives way to the rugged, sun-drenched trailhead of Route 3. The path narrows here, winding upward into the foothills where the rock is bleached white by the early light. I stop at the first rise, my heavy boots crunching on the loose shale, and look ahead. The 'Narrows' lie just beyond the first bend—a tactical choke point I recognize from the maps.
A movement on the ridge catches my eye. Two figures—young, athletic women in coordinated training gear—are positioned near the embankment, their gazes locked on the trail below. They don't see me yet, but I can feel the shift in the atmosphere. The wild Pidgey in the brush go silent as I step fully into the trailhead's shadow.
The two girls on the ridge shift. Leah, the older of the Nakamura pair, adjusts the strap of her gear as she whispers to her sister. They're leaning into the height advantage, their postures tense with the anticipation of a hunt. Below them, the trail squeezes into a single-file passage between steep rock walls—a perfect cage.
I reach for the Ultra Ball at my belt. With a flick of my wrist, I release the lock. Fearow manifests with a piercing, predatory shriek that bounces off the rock walls, its massive, rust-colored wings beating the air into a localized gale. I don't wait for it to settle; I step forward, moving directly into the center of the sisters' kill zone.
[POV: Leah]
That sound—it isn't right. No wild Fearow screams with that much weight. My heart is slamming against my ribs; the height advantage feels like a trap now. I can't breathe with that bird hovering over us. I have to do something, but my hands won't move to my belt.
Leah freezes on the ridge, her hand white-knuckled on her pack strap. Her eyes are blown wide, tracked onto the Fearow circling above her. I see the tremor in her knees even from here; the coordinated hunter has become the prey in a heartbeat.
"You're late with the ambush," I call out, my voice low and resonant. I keep walking, eyes locked on the sisters. "I expected more from the Nakamura pair. Are you going to throw, or are you going to stay up there until the fear chokes you?"
Fearow banks low, its shadow sweeping over them like a blade, the wind ruffling their hair as it lets out a second, shorter rasp of dominance.
[POV: Airi]
Leah? Why isn't she signaling? Everything is silent. Even the Pidgey ran away. He's looking right at us—it feels like he's reaching up and gripping my throat. I want to hide. I want to be anywhere but under that shadow.
The younger one, Airi, stumbles back a step, her boot scuffing the rock. She looks at her sister, her mouth trembling, searching for a lead that isn't coming. She's shrinking, her shoulders hunching as if she's trying to make herself a smaller target.
I stop ten paces from the narrowest point, adjusting my gloves. Leah finally moves. She doesn't draw a Pokéball. Instead, she sags, her weight shifting as she looks down at the path. She slides down the steep embankment, her hiking boots dragging through the loose shale and brush until she hits the floor of the trail.
She stays in the dirt, her breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches as she looks up at me from her knees.
"Wait—please," she gasps, her voice cracking. She's trembling so violently I can hear the rattle of her gear. She bows her head, her neck exposed. "We didn't... we didn't know it was you. We yield. Please, don't let it strike."
Leah and Airi Nakamura images attached