The clearing was silent as five fingers hovered over five release buttons. The clicks were simultaneous, a synchronized mechanical chirp that signaled the end of the Squad's incarceration.
Five streaks of white light materialized in the grass. The Squirtle didn't come out cheering; they came out in a phalanx. Pointy, the Leader, immediately tucked into a low stance, his eyes scanning the perimeter for threats. Round, my Tactician, retreated toward a thicket, his gaze darting between Sparky and my Pokéball belt. The others followed suit, their sunglasses acting as mirrored shields against a world that had already proven it couldn't be trusted.
"Hey," Ash said softly, kneeling. He didn't reach out; he just stayed still. "It's over. No more traps. No more running."
The Leader let out a sharp, skeptical hiss. He didn't move toward Ash; he moved *away*. It was a punch to the gut for Ash, he felt sad at how little trust the squirtle had. But these weren't wild Pokémon fascinated by a human; these were victims.
Misty and Lily were trying a different approach, using the 'Water Specialist' scent to bridge the gap. Lily's Milotic loomed behind her, not as a threat, but as a silent testament of what a Water-type could become under the right care. Sarah's Leafeon sat protectively by her side, its leaves rustling with a calming, grassy aroma.
I looked at my Squirtle—the Tactician. He was staring at me, his little arms crossed. He wasn't scared; he was calculating. He was looking for the 'catch.'
I reached into my bag and pulled out a small, airtight container of G-Pro 'Hydra-Gel'—a high-moisture nutrient paste designed for shell health. I didn't walk toward him. I slid the container across the grass and sat down cross-legged, leaning against a tree.
"I'm not going to tell you I'm your friend," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "Friends are earned, and I haven't done the work yet. But I am your partner. You have the best defensive instincts I've ever seen in a Squirtle, and I have the data to make those instincts legendary. That gel? It's for the micro-fractures in your shell from that last tackle. Take it or leave it."
The Tactician looked at the gel, then at me. He didn't eat it. But he didn't run away either. He sat down, maintaining a five-foot "Suspicion Zone." It was a start.
---
### The Midday Interlude
We spent the next few hours in a state of tentative peace. We weren't training; we were just *existing* in the same space as them. Brock was moving between the groups, preparing a massive pot of "Restorative Stew," the scent of slow-cooked Berries and high-protein grains filling the air.
"They're watching our hands," Brock whispered to me as he stirred the pot. "Every time someone moves too fast, their heart rates spike. It's classic post-traumatic stress."
"We just have to show them the routine," I replied, watching my Squirtle finally—*finally*—open the Hydra-Gel. He took a small lick, his eyes widening at the quality. "Consistency is the only cure for abandonment."
Sarah, who had been sitting quietly with her "Rookie" Squirtle, looked up. The nervous energy she'd shown during the battle had smoothed out into a professional focus. "You're very good with their diet, Brock. Your ratios are perfect for rehabilitation."
Brock beamed, his eyes crinkling. "It's the least I can do. I've been studying to be a Pokémon Breeder since I could walk. My family's gym relies on the health of our Geodudes."
Sarah's eyes lit up. "A Breeder? Oh! Are you planning to take part in the **Breeder Olympics**?"
The world seemed to stop spinning for Brock. He froze, a wooden spoon halfway to his mouth. He slowly turned his head toward Sarah, his expression shifting from calm to a frantic, wide-eyed intensity that bordered on the terrifying.
He lunged forward, grabbing Sarah by the shoulders. "Breeder Olympics?!" he shouted, shaking the poor girl like a maraca. "What is this Breeder Olympics?! What is it?! What is it?! Tell me everything!"
Sarah let out a squeak of terror, her glasses nearly sliding off her face. Her newly captured Squirtle, seeing its trainer being 'attacked' by a crazed cook, didn't hesitate. It launched a high-speed **Tackle** that sent Brock sprawling into the mud.
"Ugh... that hurt," Brock groaned from the dirt.
"Deserved it," Misty added, not even looking up from brushing her Chinchou.
---
### The Laura Fellet Legacy
Once Sarah had been calmed down with a cup of tea and Brock had been extracted from the mud, she explained the stakes.
"The Breeder Olympics is a new initiative, Brock," Sarah said, her voice gaining confidence as she spoke about her passion. "It started two years ago to give independent breeders—those of us without big family names or corporate backing—a chance to prove ourselves. To qualify, you have to win three Medallions from **Breeder Conquests** held throughout the region."
Brock was leaning in so far he was practically in Sarah's lap. "And the prize?"
"One full sub-year of internship under a Master Breeder," Sarah said, her voice dropping into a tone of pure awe. "This year, the internship is under **Laura Fellet**."
"LAURA FELLET!" Brock screamed, clutching his face.
"Uhh... who is she?" Misty asked, blinking. "Is she a movie star?"
"She's better than a movie star, Misty!" Brock cried, tears of joy streaming down his face. "She's the architect of the Elite Four's teams! She's the one who developed the 'Aegis-Pattern' diet for Bruno's Machamp and the 'Mental-Fortress' conditioning for Lorelei's Dewgong. She's one of the top two Breeders in the entire Kanto region!"
"The next Conquest starts in one week," I said, checking my G-Pro terminal. The "Breeder Guild Blog" was lighting up with the update. "And guess where it's being held? **Vermilion City**."
The silence lasted for exactly half a second.
"Ash! We need to leave! Now!" Brock grabbed Ash by the collar, his face a mask of panicked ambition. "We have to be there! I need to register! I need to prep! I need to study the humidity charts for the Vermilion coast!"
"Calm down, brooo—" Ash started, but his Pikachu, who had been resting on his head and absolutely *hated* being shaken, had finally had enough.
**ZZZZZZZT!**
A massive surge of yellow electricity cooked both Ash and Brock where they stood. They slumped over, smoke curling from their hair, their expressions frozen in a dazed, electrocuted grin.
We all erupted in laughter. Even the Squirtle Squad, watching from the sidelines, seemed to relax. Seeing their "captors" being humbled by a ten-pound mouse was the best ice-breaker we could have asked for.
---
### The Farewell at Sunset
As evening fell, the shadows of the trees lengthened across the road to Vermilion. Lily and Sarah stood ready to depart; they had a detour to make at a specialized training camp before hitting the city.
The goodbye was surprisingly poignant. Lily's Squirtle and Sarah's "Rookie" walked over to our trio of turtles. They exchanged a series of sharp barks and nods—a "Squad" farewell. They were no longer a gang of hoodlums, but they were still brothers.
"See you in Vermilion, little sister," Lily said, giving Misty a rare, genuine smile. "Try not to get too far behind."
"I won't!" Misty shouted back, her hand gripped tight on her Chinchou's ball.
Sarah waved shyly, her Leafeon trotting beside her. "Good luck with the Conquest, Brock. I'll see you at the registration desk!"
And then, they were gone, vanishing into the twilight.
Brock didn't waste a second. He grabbed Ash's backpack and started dragging the dazed boy down the road. "Breeder Conquest, here I come! Move it, Ash! Every second we waste is a second Laura Fellet isn't teaching me her secrets!"
"Wait! My shoes!" Ash yelled, stumbling after him.
I walked behind them, Sparky—now a Pikachu—sitting on my shoulder. He was meticulously grooming his new, longer tail, his attitude as prickly as ever. Beside me, my new Squirtle—the Tactician—walked in perfect, silent step. He wasn't hugging my leg, and he wasn't looking for a kiss. But he was there.
I looked at the road ahead. Vermilion City was a hub of commerce, electricity, and now, the Breeder Olympics. My 42 Pokedollars were screaming for an upgrade, and with the "Researcher Guild" likely to pay for my data on the Squirtle Squad's rehabilitation, I was finally ready to play the game for real.
"Let's go, Tactician," I whispered. "We have a city to take over."
The Squirtle adjusted his sunglasses, let out a sharp "Squirt," and followed me into the dark. .