The walk to Vermilion City felt like a trek through a never-ending green void. My boots were caked in mud, my hair felt like a nest of Tangela, and my internal "Pokedollar Stress Meter" was pinging a violent red. We had been on Route 6 for what felt like an eternity, and the salt-spray scent of the ocean was still nowhere to be found.
"If I have to climb one more hill just to see another hill, I am going to scream," Misty groaned, ringing out her ponytail. "My internal compass says we should have hit the docks three hours ago."
"I'm with you, Misty," I muttered, adjusting my rucksack. "At this point, I'd pay a thousand Pokedollars just for a paved road. My legs are officially on strike."
Brock squinted at the paper map, his brow furrowed in a way that usually meant bad news. He let out a heavy, defeated sigh. "According to the topology, we're on the right path, but the landmarks aren't lining up. We should have passed the old windmill by now."
Gary adjusted the strap of his designer rucksack, casting a sharp, sideways glance at the back of Ash's head. "It's not that the town moved, Brock. It's just that Ashy-boy here has the navigational instincts of a Magikarp out of water. Every time we hit a fork in the road, he picks the path that looks 'more heroic,' which usually translates to 'the long way around.'"
Ash spun around, his face turning a bright, indignant red. "What did you say, Gary?! I'm following my gut! My gut says this is a shortcut! It's basic survival logic!"
"It's basic nonsense," Gary countered, crossing his arms. "You don't have a shortcut; you have a short circuit in your brain."
The two of them began to bicker with a manic energy that only comes from extreme exhaustion. Ash was waving his arms, Gary was rolling his eyes with orbital force, and Misty was just about to shove them both into a bush when the world suddenly vanished beneath our feet.
*CRUNCH.*
"WHOA!"
The ground didn't just give way; it disintegrated. We tumbled into a deep, perfectly vertical pit. I hit the dirt floor with a dull thud, Gary landing gracefully on one knee (of course), and Ash landing flat on his face with Misty and Brock piling on top of him.
"Ugh... my spine," I groaned, dusting off my jacket.
I looked up, and that's when I saw them. Five pairs of tinted, pointed sunglasses reflected the afternoon sun from the edge of the pit. Five small, blue heads peered down at us with expressions of pure, mischievous smugness.
A quintet of Squirtle. The Squirtle Squad.
My irritation vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a surge of "Canon-Agnostic" adrenaline. I knew this scene. I remembered the anime episodes from my past life—the abandoned Squirtle who turned into a gang of pranksters because they felt rejected by the world.
"Squirtle!" I whispered, my eyes widening. "One of the Royal Starters!"
The leader of the pack, sporting a pair of impressive pointed shades, let out a mocking "Squirtle-Squirt!" and crossed its arms. It looked down at us like we were just another batch of suckers caught in its trap.
"I want a Blastoise so bad," I said, my voice trembling with a mix of greed and genuine species-appreciation. "A heavy-artillery defensive wall with hydro-cannons? That is the dream core for any tactical team."
Gary looked at me, letting out a weary sigh, but his own Wartortle—who had popped out of its ball during the fall—puffed out its chest, looking incredibly proud to hear me praising its evolutionary line.
"I have to agree with the researcher for once," Gary muttered. "The Shell-line is the gold standard for Water-type stability."
"Wait, hey! I want one too!" Ash yelled, scrambling to his feet and shaking his fist at the sunglasses-wearing turtles. "A Squirtle would be the perfect addition! We could be the ultimate 'Starter Trio' team!"
"Back off, Ash!" Misty snapped, her 'Water Specialist' switch flipping into high gear. "These are my specialty! A squad of rogue Water-types? They clearly need the guidance of a Cerulean sister!"
Brock, ever the voice of reason, sighed as he brushed dirt off his vest. "Guys, there are five of them. But more importantly, we are in a six-foot pit. If we don't get out fast, they aren't just going to escape—they're going to find more rocks to throw at us."
Brock looked at the sheer vertical walls of the pit and then at the five Squirtle who were beginning to snicker at our predicament. "Guys, there are five of them. But more importantly, we are currently at the bottom of a ten-foot hole. If we don't get out in the next ten seconds, they're going to vanish into the brush and we'll never see them again."
I didn't need to be told twice. "Nelly, Scan! Give me the breakdown!"
[Data Scan: Squirtle Squad]
Leader (Pointy Glasses): Pseudo-Champion Class. Nature: Adamant.
Tactician (Round Glasses): Elite Class. Nature: Bold.
Enforcer A: Elite Class.
Enforcer B: Elite class.
The Rookie: Gym Class.
*Bold.* My heart skipped a beat. For a Blastoise, a Bold nature—increasing physical defense—was the holy grail of builds. I didn't need the "Pseudo-Champion" leader; Ash's destiny was practically written in the stars for that one anyway. But that Bold one? That was the defensive anchor I needed to protect my glass cannons like Torchic and Abra.
"Nelly, prep the capture protocol," I whispered.
"Host, I suggest you focus on exiting the hole first," Nelly's voice droned.
"Right. Tactics first." I grabbed two Pokéballs from my belt. "Zubat! Butterfree! Center stage!"
The bat and the butterfly materialized in the cramped space. "Zubat, use your feet! Butterfree, help him out! Get me out of here!"
Zubat latched onto my shoulders while Butterfree fluttered above, providing the extra lift. They hauled me out of the pit like a vertical cargo lift. Once I hit the surface, the Squirtle Squad's eyes went wide. They hadn't expected a quick exit.
"Pidgeotto, pull us up!" Gary shouted from below. His bird dived into the pit, hauling Gary and his Wartortle up, while Brock grabbed onto Gary's boots to hitch a ride.
Ash and Misty weren't far behind, using Ash's Pidgeotto to soar out of the trap. Within seconds, we were back on level ground, surrounding the startled squad.
Sparky blurred across the grass, a golden streak of electricity that cut off the squad's escape route. Ash's Pikachu dived in right beside him, his cheeks sparking with a protective, "big brother" energy. He wasn't about to let his adopted little brother face a quintet of hoodlums alone.
"Chinchou, go!" Misty shouted, releasing her newest capture. The glowing lanterns of the small Water/Electric type flickered as it slid into a flanking position.
Misty stepped up, her eyes flashing. "Chinchou, let's show them some real Water-type power!" The small, glowing fish-Pokémon appeared, its lures flickering with electric potential.
The Squirtle Squad began to back away, their sunglasses slipping slightly as they realized they were outnumbered by trainers who actually knew what they were doing. They hissed, their little tails twitching as they prepared for a coordinated retreat into the brush.
"Leaving so soon?"
A new voice cut through the air—cool, confident, and dangerously familiar.
We all turned. Standing on the path leading toward the town were two girls. One had long, flowing hair and an aura of effortless grace that made Misty freeze in her tracks.
"Lily?" Misty gasped. "What are you doing here? I thought you went to Pewter City!"
Lily, the strongest of the Cerulean sisters—the one who had hidden her true power until our battle at the gym—chuckled. She looked carefree, her traveling cloak fluttering in the breeze, but her eyes were sharp and predatory.
"I did go to Pewter, little sister," Lily said, holding up a shimmering Boulder Badge. "I won it two days ago. I'm already on my way to Vermilion for the next one. But then I saw these beauties..." She eyed the Squirtle Squad with a hungry grin. "A wild squad of Starters? I can't let a prize like that just walk away."
Beside her was a girl I didn't recognize. She was shorter, with a mess of green hair and a nervous, stuttering energy. She was clutching her rucksack like it was a lifebuoy, but her eyes were fixed on the Squirtle Squad with a quiet, desperate desire.
"I-I... I need... a sturdy... water-type," the girl whispered, her voice barely audible.
Lily patted her on the shoulder. "Don't be shy, Sarah. If you want one, you have to fight for it."
Lily reached for a Pokéball, her expression shifting from carefree traveler to serious trainer in a heartbeat. "Milotic, let's show them the beauty of the sea!"
The massive, glittering serpent materialized, its scales reflecting a rainbow of colors. The green-haired girl, Sarah, took a deep breath and released her own partner. "L-Leafeon... please... help me."
A sleek, verdant Pokémon with leaf-like ears appeared, its tail twitching with sharp, grassy energy.
The Squirtle Squad was now truly trapped. To the left: Regina, Gary, Ash, and Brock. To the right: Lily and Sarah.
"Five Squirtles," I said, my voice dropping into a clinical battle-tone. "Five challengers. This isn't a gang fight anymore. This is an audition."
The leader of the Squirtle Squad stepped forward, adjusted its glasses, and let out a defiant roar. It wasn't running anymore. It was going to fight for its pride.
"Alright," I said, my Pichu's cheeks glowing bright yellow. "Let's see who's actually 'Royal' material."