The forest pressed tighter as Ren moved westward.

  Branches clawed at his jacket. Roots twisted underfoot.

  The scent of sweat, dirt, and crushed leaves filled the air.

  Somewhere beyond the trees, the checkpoint waited — and with it, survival.

  But so did others.

  Ren could feel it — a change in the rhythm of the woods.

  No more the random chaos of students scrambling blindly.

  Now, the smart ones were converging.

  Those who had survived the first culling.

  A faint rustle to the left.

  A low grunt of effort to the right.

  Ren froze behind a fallen trunk, crouching low.

  Ahead, the terrain funneled into a narrow canyon — rocky walls climbing sharply on either side.

  The perfect natural choke point.

  And the perfect place for an ambush.

  Two figures stood blocking the canyon mouth — both wearing smug expressions, arms folded.

  Older students — both clearly experienced, likely sponsored by minor clans or guilds.

  Ren narrowed his eyes.

  Their Pokémon were already out:

  A bruised but tough-looking Machoke, flexing its thick arms, and a lean Kadabra twirling its spoon lazily.

  A bad combination — brute force and psychic precision.

  Behind them, a small line of weary cadets was already forming — kids too battered to fight their way through alone.

  The Machoke pair was demanding battles — one-on-one — letting only victors pass.

  A bottleneck by design.

  Ren considered his options.

  He could backtrack.

  Risk getting jumped by wilds or worse, a sneak attack from a desperate cadet.

  Or he could fight here.

  Face them head-on.

  He smiled slightly.

  There wasn’t really a choice, was there?

  Stepping into the clearing without hesitation, Ren drew Charmander’s Pokéball.

  The pair at the canyon entrance turned — amused.

  The bigger of the two, a boy with a jagged scar along his jaw, sneered.

  "Fresh meat. You know the drill, newbie. Win, and you pass. Lose — and you're stuck begging like the rest."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Ren’s black eyes stayed cold.

  He pressed the Pokéball release.

  A flash of light — and Charmander materialized, crouched and ready, tail flame burning low and fierce.

  The Machoke trainer cracked his knuckles.

  "Fine. I'll flatten you fast. Go, Machoke!"

  The bulky fighter stomped forward, flexing its muscles.

  "Charmander," Ren said quietly, "this isn’t about looking good.

  It's about ending it fast."

  Charmander growled low in agreement.

  No theatrics.

  No drama.

  Victory. Clean and ruthless.

  The Machoke charged — powerful legs pounding the ground.

  "Bulk Up!" the trainer barked.

  Machoke's muscles swelled, body gleaming faintly.

  Ren didn’t flinch.

  "Smoke Screen."

  Charmander blasted a thick black cloud straight at Machoke’s face.

  The larger Pokémon staggered, coughing and blinking.

  "Now — circle left!"

  Charmander darted wide, moving fast.

  Machoke turned clumsily toward the sound — too slow.

  "Ember — legs!"

  A precise burst of flame struck Machoke’s shin, making it stumble.

  Ren struck again immediately.

  "Scratch! Target the joints!"

  Charmander blurred forward — claws raking at Machoke’s knee.

  A sharp howl tore from the bulky Pokémon as it collapsed, clutching its leg.

  The trainer cursed, stepping forward.

  "Low Kick!"

  Machoke lashed out desperately — but Charmander danced away, light on his feet.

  Ren didn’t waste time.

  "Final blow — full Ember, chest!"

  Charmander inhaled deeply — and fired a sharp, concentrated bolt straight into Machoke’s center mass.

  The impact knocked the air out of the larger Pokémon.

  Machoke swayed once — then hit the dirt, groaning.

  KO.

  The canyon clearing fell silent.

  The Machoke’s trainer stared, stunned.

  Kadabra’s trainer narrowed his eyes, clearly considering whether to intervene.

  Ren stepped forward, voice cool.

  "One-on-one, you said."

  He jerked his chin at the unconscious Machoke.

  "I won."

  The crowd of students watched with bated breath.

  After a tense beat, the Kadabra’s trainer gave a lazy shrug.

  "Fair enough. Move along, hotshot."

  Ren didn’t wait for a second invitation.

  He recalled Charmander — the little lizard giving a proud chirp — and passed through the canyon without looking back.

  The checkpoint lay just beyond — a large, open clearing where League instructors waited beside glowing teleport pads.

  Ren slowed slightly as he approached.

  Other cadets were already arriving — battered, exhausted, but alive.

  Some limped.

  Some were carried by friends.

  Some wore grim expressions — having seen the darker side of the wild, even under controlled conditions.

  And watching from the trees, nearly invisible, were the hidden guardians — instructors, psychics, emergency medics.

  They had been there all along.

  Ensuring no one truly died.

  But letting the lessons cut deep all the same.

  As Ren crossed the boundary into the checkpoint, a soft chime sounded from his wristband.

  "Candidate Ren Oak — status: Pass."

  He allowed himself a small breath of relief.

  Not outwardly.

  Inwardly.

  One test survived.

  A thousand more to come.

  He turned, scanning the faces arriving behind him.

  And among them — slipping through the checkpoint with barely a scratch — he saw her.

  Golden hair gleaming faintly under the setting sun.

  Grey-blue eyes flickering with cold fire.

  Cynthia.

  Their gazes met — a flicker of silent recognition.

  And then passed without a word.

  There would be time enough later.

  For now, Ren moved to the side, sitting on a flat stone, resting quietly.

  Once he caught his breath, Ren unclipped Charmander’s Pokéball again, releasing his partner into the cool evening air.

  Charmander materialized in a burst of light, blinking up at him.

  For a moment, they simply stared at each other — the exhaustion of the day weighing on both of them.

  Then, without hesitation, Charmander climbed into Ren’s lap, curling his small body against his chest.

  Ren huffed a soft breath — not quite a laugh — and leaned back, letting the little lizard settle.

  "You did good today," he murmured.

  Charmander gave a quiet, pleased trill — tail flame flickering low and steady in contentment.

  Around them, more cadets gathered, some tending to injuries, some collapsing beside their Pokémon.

  Ren noticed the trend immediately: outside the Academy’s main buildings, almost every student had their partner out.

  Inside, Pokémon would be strictly regulated — confined to Pokéballs unless in designated battle arenas.

  But here, in the open air,

  among comrades and competitors,

  Trainer and Pokémon could exist side-by-side,

  free and proud.

  As it should be.

  Ren scratched gently behind Charmander’s frilled jaw, feeling the steady warmth seep into his fingertips.

  This bond they were forging —

  not flashy.

  Not born overnight.

  But strong.

  Real.

  The kind that would carry them through storms yet to come.