The screen on my Holo-caster flickered to life, illuminating the dim forest path with the digitized face of Professor Oak. He looked like he'd just finished a marathon of grading research papers—hair slightly more chaotic than usual and a coffee mug the size of a Voltorb in his hand.
"Ah, Gary! And Regina! Splendid to see you both," the Professor beamed. Then, his eyes traveled from me to Gary, and then to the fact that we were standing remarkably close together while looking at a single map.
A slow, knowing smirk spread across Oak's face. It wasn't the look of a scientist discovering a new species; it was the look of a grandfather who had just won a bet he hadn't told anyone about.
Beside me, Gary turned a shade of crimson that rivaled a Magmar's hide. He stiffened, his hand flying to the back of his neck. "Gramps! Wipe that look off your face! It's not like that. We just... ran into each other. Geographically. By accident. Total coincidence."
I blinked, looking at Gary's flustered expression. *Was he having an allergic reaction to the pollen out here?* "Yeah, Professor, it was a practical decision. Gary's car is in the shop and my bank account is currently a tragedy. Strength in numbers, right?"
Oak's chuckle was deep and mischievous. "Of course, Regina. Purely practical. Gary, I'm glad to see your... *geographic luck* is holding up."
"Gramps! Get to the point or I'm cutting the signal!" Gary barked, his voice an octave higher than usual. He was internally screaming, thanking every deity from Arceus to Mew that I was apparently born without the 'romance-detection' software installed in my brain. To me, Oak was just being a weirdly supportive boss.
"Alright, alright," Oak laughed, regaining his composure. "Linda and I have a task for you. Since you're both in the vicinity of Route 6, we'd like you to stop at the Pokémon Technical Institute. The principal there has reported an 'ecological curiosity' regarding a specific breeding line of Pokémon they use for their simulation battles. Linda was going to call you separately, Regina, but seeing as you're already part of a... *dynamic duo*, this saves us the airtime."
"Pokémon Tech?" I rubbed my chin. "The place that charges a liver and a kidney for tuition? I've seen the brochures. They claim to bypass the Badge system entirely."
"Precisely," Oak nodded. "Go see what they've found. It might be relevant to your research on regional variants and potential caps. Consider it a G-Pro field assignment."
"Understood," I said, giving a sharp salute. "We're on it."
Gary hung up the call before his grandfather could get another word in. He let out a long, shaky breath, looking at me with a mix of relief and lingering dread. "Let's just get to this school, Regina. Before my grandfather decides to call back and start talking about 'legacy' again."
"Sure," I said, kicking my board. "But you're still buying lunch."
---
### The Third-Party Perspective: A Storm in a Vest
As the duo rounded the final bend toward the sprawling, ivy-covered campus of Pokémon Tech, they stumbled upon a scene of pure, unadulterated chaos.
Ash Ketchum was currently mid-shout, his face red and his fists clenched. Beside him, Brock was reading a brochure with a look of profound moral disapproval, and Misty was trying—and failing—to stop Pikachu from accidentally launching himself off a high-speed treadmill.
Then, Ash turned. He saw the skateboard. He saw the spiked hair. And then he saw how close Gary and Regina were standing.
In Ash's mind, a storm cloud didn't just form; it triggered a localized hurricane. He didn't know *why* his stomach felt like he'd swallowed a Bag of Everstones, but seeing Gary Oak—the guy who'd been his rival since diapers—walking side-by-side with Regina felt like a personal affront to the universe.
"Gary?! Regina?!" Ash stomped forward, his eyes darting between them. "What are you guys doing? Together?! Since when?!"
Regina looked up, her expression as calm as a Slowpoke in a spa. "Oh, hey Ash. We met on the way from Cerulean. Gary's car broke down because his suspension couldn't handle the 'Elite' weight of his ego, and his cheerleaders are off at a competition. We decided to travel together to Vermilion. Saves on resources."
Gary, however, caught the look in Ash's eyes. He saw the frown, the clenched jaw, and the inexplicable jealousy radiating off the Pallet Town rookie. A wicked, devious thought crossed Gary's mind. If Ash was going to be a petulant brat about it, Gary might as well lean into it.
"Yeah, Ashy-boy," Gary said, his voice dropping into a casual, intimate drawl. He reached out and draped a heavy arm over Regina's shoulder, pulling her slightly closer. "We've had a *lot* of adventures since we left the Garden. Real bonding time, you know? It's amazing what you can learn about someone when it's just the two of you and the wilderness."
Regina nodded, completely oblivious to the fact that Gary was using her as a human taunt. "It's true. Gary's actually a decent cook when he's not complaining about the lack of five-star room service. We found a great spot for training the new Bulbasaur."
Ash's brain practically short-circuited. *Adventures? Bonding? Just the two of them?!* "BUT—BUT REGINA! HE'S GARY! He's... he's annoying! He has a car! He has cheerleaders!"
"Not right now he doesn't," Regina pointed out. "Now he just has a very expensive repair bill and a decent Sandslash. Why are you shouting, Ash? Did Pikachu jump on the treadmill again?"
Pikachu, as if on cue, went flying off the back of the machine at twenty miles per hour, landing with a soft *thud* in Brock's arms.
"It's this school!" Ash redirected his fury, pointing at a small, shivering boy in a school uniform. "They're bullies! They're making Joe here run on a treadmill while they quiz him on Pokémon stats! If he misses a question, they kick him out! It's not training; it's a sweatshop!"
Gary smirked, thinking to himself: Arceus, how come we become rivals in every way? Even the ones I wasn't looking for?
---
### Regina's POV: The Logic of the Lab vs. The Reality of the Field
I looked at the kid, Joe. He looked like he'd been through a blender. His uniform was rumpled, his glasses were fogged, and he was clutching a Weepinbell's Pokéball like it was a life preserver.
"They were just... helping me study," Joe stammered, his eyes darting toward the massive, imposing buildings of the Institute. "The questions get so much harder in the higher levels. If I can't keep up with the simulation speeds, I'll never be a Fog graduate."
I walked over to the treadmill, inspecting the digital readout. "simulation speeds? You're trying to learn type-advantages while maintaining a six-minute mile? That's not training; that's just bad multitasking. Your brain can't facilitate deep-memory recall when your body is in a high-cortisol survival state. It's biologically inefficient."
Brock nodded, his face solemn. "And expensive. This school guarantees entry into the League without a single badge, but look at the cost. It's a playground for rich kids who think they can buy a victory."
"The League allows this?" I asked, my G-Pro instincts prickling. "Bypassing the Badge system via a private board of education? That sounds like a massive loophole for corporate lobbying."
"It's a disgrace!" Ash yelled. "I'm going to find whoever's in charge and show them that real battles aren't fought on treadmills!"
Joe shook his head, a look of awe crossing his face. "You don't understand. The person in charge of our level... she's different. She's the best trainer I've ever seen. She's beautiful, smart, and her battle record is flawless."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph. It was a high-gloss, professional-grade shot of a girl with long, flowing brown hair, an expensive-looking school blazer, and a gaze that was cool, calculating, and undeniably regal.
"That's Gisele," Joe whispered.
Ash, Brock, and even Gary leaned in to look at the photo. I saw their expressions shift. Brock's eyes turned into little hearts (as per usual), Gary's smirk widened with a 'Challenge Accepted' gleam, and even Ash stopped scowling for a second to blink at the sheer aesthetic of the girl.
I rolled my eyes so hard I thought I might see my own brain. "Great. She's a model. Fantastic. We've established she has good hair and access to a high-end tailor. But the real question is: can she actually fight, or is her 'flawless record' just a result of her beating up kids on treadmills?"
Joe looked at me, shocked. "She's amazing! Her Starmie is legendary!"
"A Starmie, huh?" I felt a familiar itch in my palms. The G-Pro manual for high-level Special Attackers had a whole chapter on the Starmie line—their core rotation and the difficulty of predicting their move-coverage. "A Water/Psychic type with high base speed and access to Thunderbolt and Ice Beam. A classic glass-cannon build."
I checked my belt. Glaceon was humming with a cold, predatory energy in her ball. Goldie was itching for a real fight after the AJ warm-up. And my new Bulbasaur? She was practically vibrating with 'Battle Enthusiast' spite.
"Well," I said, kicking my board up and catching it with a sharp *clack*. "What are we waiting for? I didn't come here to look at pictures or watch kids run in place. If this Gisele is the peak of this 'Corrupt Practice' academy, then she's exactly the kind of data point I need."
I looked at Joe, my eyes narrowing. "Lead the way, Joe. I'm itching for a good battle anyway, and I've got a 'Winter Queen' who really wants to see if a Starmie's core can freeze."
Ash gripped his hat, his rivalry with Gary momentarily forgotten in the face of a new challenge. "Yeah! Lead the way! We're going to shut this 'Tech' nonsense down!"
Gary stepped up beside me, his usual smirk returning as he looked at the sprawling campus. "A high-society battle? Sounds like my kind of party. Let's go see if the 'Beauty of Pokémon Tech' lives up to the hype, or if she's just another simulation-bred amateur."
As we started up the hill toward the main arena, I could practically feel the storm clouds brewing between Ash and Gary, but I couldn't care less. I had a Pseudo-Champion Glaceon, a bank account that needed a win, and a very strong desire to see if "High-Society" logic could stand up to "Slum-Survivor" grit.
"Lead the way, Joe," I repeated, my voice dropping into the cold, sharp tone of a girl who was about to break a school's win-streak. "Let's see what a 'guaranteed League entry' actually looks like on the field."