"It is one of the basic truths of this world: a Pokemon is the mirror image of his Trainer, and a Trainer is the mirror image of his Pokemon. At every step, the connection makes it truth."

  - renowned Pokemon rights activist Nigel Wintergreen, speaking at the First Global Convention on the Rights of Trainer and Pokemon, 194X

  Ilima Ma'amau, eighteen years old; every part of him perfectly wound, the embodiment of every ideal, virtue, and fortune coveted by the denizens of Alola. His eyes gleamed blueish gray, like pebbles in a stream, and betrayed no trace of emotion. The flower-shaped hair clip dangling from a lock of pastel-pink hair beside his right ear denoted his status as the sole trial captain of Melemele.

  Unlike Hala, he did not carry any innate aura of authority or strength. None had ever known him to anger, and his Pokemon of choice, the simple Smeargle, did not possess the notoriety of the kahuna's Crabominable. But Ilima employed a different tactic: to him, the best way to gain another's respect was to prove with his own actions, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he deserved it.

  And prove it he did: when he wasn't aiding young Trainers or fighting off Team Skull ruffians, he was devoting his hours to volunteer work, whether it be hands-on work clearing the Routes or helping out at homeless shelters. To Ilima, cans stacked in the Hau'oli community pantry kept the less fortunate hoping, the same way blown kisses to his rabid pack of fans kept them in line.

  Upon his return to Alola three years ago he'd been hailed a returning prodigal son. His studies abroad had forced him to mature, and his family, elated to see his safe return, had easily forgiven and forgotten the sins of his past self. Even the newly vacant position of Trial Captain had been offered to him, as he was one of the few his age on the island with both the strength and maturity to handle such a responsibility.

  In these past months, however, he had found it more and more difficult to repress his tendency towards cynicism. He knew it was wrong - it was the same philosophy underlying the nihilism of the Team Skull gang - and yet this streak tempted him still. As he stood at the head of Classroom 202, sizing up the group of twenty eleven- and twelve-year-olds who had pledged to undergo the island challenge, he made his own vow:

  I'll never do this again.

  Ilima recognized one key face among them: Mizuki Kazakami, the daughter of the head of the Children of Starlight. As Ilima's family were members of their church, the two had chanced upon each other many times. Beside her sat Hau Leokū, Hala's grandson, as well as the other boy Mizuki had told him of: the one whose mother had passed this year. Ilima bowed his head.

  His assistant, the beloved Miss Emily, was but a shadow in the corner of the room as she scrawled on her clipboard, taking attendance. She had a certain habit of fiddling with her half-moon glasses every few seconds, perpetually unsatisfied with the way they sat on the bridge of her nose. What Ilima had once found endearing now vexed him: he wanted to tell her her brain would have an easier time blocking out the sensation of their presence if she stopped touching them. But he watched her, and he smiled.

  Every child's attention was on the pile of amulets on the front table. Each one counting down the minutes to the moment Ilima would allow them to reach out and take one, to feel it in their hands, to understand the time to realize their dreams had finally arrived. On one hand, Ilima sympathized, remembering the way he, too, had once trembled with anticipation; on the other, they were untested. They had yet to be born, really, and this had been his mistake with the last two years' worth of challengers: no one had ever made them prove themselves, and they had been the ones to suffer the consequences.

  "Everyone's here," Miss Emily said, nodding to Ilima. The captain smiled.

  "In that case, let us begin. It's best we start as soon as possible, because I have a feeling you are all going to be very interested in what I have to say."

  His gaze swept over the room - some of them were tuning him out. This didn't deter him at all; in fact, it only emboldened him.

  "Now, some of you may be aware that in past years, the opportunity to take on the island challenge would be provided to anyone who applied. However, this year, due to a markèd decrease in the quality of applicants" - he couldn't repress a gleeful snicker - "it has been decided only those who are able to pass a preliminary trial will receive their island challenge amulets. Those who fail this preliminary will be permanently barred from challenging any island trials in Alola for as long as they live."

  It took several moments for the children to process the full implications of this. Mizuki leapt to her feet, her eyes wild with righteous fury. She bent her knees and arched her back, as if intending to engage him in a fistfight. "That's not fair at all. We've hardly had any time at all to bond with our Pokemon, and we already have to go through some BS extra trial?"

  "You can't just spring that on us out of nowhere," another boy agreed.

  Unfazed by the murmurs of discontent circulating through the classroom, Ilima took a hunk of chalk from the slat beneath the blackboard and began to scratch out a paragraph.

  "In 2000, the last year the preliminary trial was held, 50% of those who attempted their first Trial failed. Of those, just 32% failed three or more times. Last year, over 95% failed, with 70% failing at least thrice. There are twenty of you in this room. Let this be clear: if I allowed you to take my Trial right now, according to this statistic, all but one of you would fail. This is not a joke. This is not somewhere you can just show up to and expect to receive participation credit. The island challenge was created to separate the wheat from the chaff. It has stood for almost four hundred years, and while the challengers may have gotten weaker, it has not, and never will, become any easier."

  A blonde-haired girl near the front of the class raised her hand. She stammered as Ilima motioned for her to speak, clearly unused to being called on. An intrusive thought stole into his mind: another weakling, destined for the slaughter. "Um, sir, Ilima, sir - when's this trial going to happen?"

  "It will be…" Ilima paused to write the information on the board. "Next Sunday night, eight days from now. I will meet you in the cemetery on Route Two, and you will receive further instruction then. Of course," he added, his stare once again cutting through them like a reaper's scythe, "if you would like to drop out now, you may do so without judgement. If that is what you choose, you will be afforded a chance next year to take the trial."

  "I'd never drop out," Mizuki proclaimed, and the rest of the class echoed her sentiment. "If there's one Trainer who'll never give up, that's me. Just you wait, Ilima. Just you wait."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Beside her, the black-haired boy held his face in his hands.

  The cemetery.

  Of all the places the preliminary trial could have been held, it had to be the one place on the whole island Sun never wanted to return to.

  He took another bite of his malasada, his tongue tingling at the perverse sweetness of the Mago Berry cream inside. Kukui often complained this location made its pastries much too sweet; the ones on Akala and Ula'ula, he claimed, had mastered that wonderfully delicate balance between flavors. Sun wouldn't know: to him, this shop seemed like something from the beginning of time itself. As long as humans had occupied the earth, they had sat here on these cheap foam cushions in these cramped booths and eaten of malasadas.

  Yet something had disturbed this ancient place: the group's view of the marina was obscured by a large amorphous mass splashed across the parallel window. Yes, Team Skull had grown brazen enough to vandalize public property on a Saturday morning, and nobody - not his friends, not the shop owners, not the line of customers now leading out the door - seemed to care.

  "I think I'm in heaven," Hau gushed as he munched on his fifth or sixth malasada. His Rowlet, whom he'd christened "Lālā", perched on his shoulder, eyes closed in peaceful meditation.

  Mizuki chewed slowly; deliberately. She had not spoken a word since they'd sat down, instead leering at the girl across from her. While Lillie might not have come to the meeting, Hau's explanation more than sufficed as an introduction to the complex nature of Alola's island challenge. She had given half of her own malasada to him, despite him already having more than enough. The boy had ordered a dozen for himself, and Sun wondered how in the hell he could possibly fit so many in his stomach. It didn't help Sun's mood that malasadas were not cheap, especially in such large quantities, and Hau had once again "forgotten" his wallet.

  As for Frostfire, he had recoiled at the taste of Sun's malasada and spat it back out at him with a hiss. Not a fan of sweet flavors, he supposed. As much as he would have liked to have him out and about, he had had to recall him after he had responded to Harmony's wave of greeting by unsheathing his claws.

  Battle-hunger is common in Fire-Types, his booklet had read, especially juveniles. The only cure for a Pokemon’s undue aggression is maturation. Until then, keep a battle-hungry Pokemon away from other Pokemon whenever possible until they learn better.

  The last bite of his malasada didn't go down easily; he swallowed hard, wishing he had a sip of water to wash it down with. "So, um," he started, hoping to break the silence, "what do you think about-"

  "You know exactly what I think," Mizuki snapped. "I'll tell my father what that idiot's done, and he'll have him stripped of his title."

  "That's a bit extreme," Sun said. "I mean, we all get an equal chance, don't we? Maybe Ilima's right. Maybe we do need to take this more seriously. You hear about these horrible accidents, with kids going missing on their journeys... Maybe awful stuff like that wouldn't happen if there were a higher barrier of entry."

  "Don't you dare play devil's advocate," Mizuki retorted, her fists curling into balls. "You, with your super special Litten just draped into your lap. If I hadn't been so set on getting a Popplio, one of you'd be stuck with-" With Harmony in earshot, she censored herself. "Whatever. I'm going to spend the whole week training, and I'm not going to let either one of you steal my strategies."

  "Wasn't planning on it."

  Another silence descended - upon the four of them, anyway. The noise level of the other patrons had risen to ear-splitting levels, mostly the fault of a rowdy troop of summer day campers who had settled themselves in the adjacent booths. By the looks and behavior of them they seemed about eight or nine, and Sun, in all his eleven-year-old wisdom, allowed a sense of superiority to swell in his chest. Their barbaric shrieks were almost loud enough to mask the sound of Lillie clearing her throat beside him.

  "What I don't understand is," she said, "if you're so worried about it, why don't you just accept his offer and try it next year instead?"

  "It's a little more complicated than that," Sun said. "If you're still in school and you want to go on a journey, you've got to apply for a Trainer's bye, so they can waive the time you're gone. But in Alola, they'll only give it out either when you turn eleven or when you complete fifth grade. Whichever happens last."

  Mizuki crumpled her malasada wrapper. "They'll say that, but that's not really why people care. It's just not as impressive if you do it when you're older. It's all performative."

  Sun prepared to retort of course you would know a thing or two about performativity. But she stood up in the booth, preparing to leave, and he held his hand out to her.

  "Don't leave yet. There's still one more thing I need to ask you."

  Mizuki gave him the stink-eye. "What is it."

  For an imperceptible sliver of a second, Sun glanced over to Lillie beside him. "Do you have any konpeitō at your house?"

  "Kon-pei-tō? You mean star candy?" Mizuki cocked her head. "Why? Was that malasada not enough sugar for you?"

  "I don't need it right this second, I just want to know if you have any." It's only fair you give us some after leaving us to die, Sun thought, but negotiating with Mizuki was a delicate process, and vocalizing such a thought would only ensure he wouldn't receive anything.

  Mizuki rested her chin in her hand - then pulled back, turning away to the wider group of customers. "You're just trying to distract me from thinking about the real problem," she declared. "We've only got a week to train for what could be the most important battle of our lives, and all you care about is star candy. This is why no one will ever take you seriously," she yammered, "the both of you. Who do you think Ilima sees as a potential rising star? The kid who practices seriously and reads strategy guides, or the MORONS who sit around on their asses all day and night and only see battling as a dumb hobby?!"

  By the time she stopped for breath, she'd attracted the attention of every single person in the malasada shop, including the lady at the cash register. Mizuki, unfortunately, had never been the spatially aware type, and she didn't lower her voice. "What I'm trying to say is I'm not going to help you guys out anymore. If you don't care, then fine. You can fail all you want. But don't drag me down with you." She shoved Hau out of her way and stormed out of the shop.

  The three children left behind looked at each other in silence. Harmony dragged herself out from under the table, chittering in alarm at her Trainer's abandonment.

  "She forgot Harmony," Lillie remarked. "Somebody ought to go return her."

  "Some Trainer she is, forgetting her own Pokemon," Sun grumbled. Why did she always, always, have to pull shit like this? She needed an anger management class or... something. "You can go after her, if you really want to. You couldn't pay me enough to risk bothering her when she's in one of her rages."

  Lillie nodded gravely, and Sun slipped out of the booth to let her pass. Harmony animated at her touch, and she didn't resist as Lillie whisked her away.

  "I don't sit around all day," Hau muttered. His remaining malasadas sat within arm’s length, growing cold. "Just because I don't stay up all night meticulously studying strategy doesn't mean I'm lazy."

  "Ignore her," Sun said. He looked to the pile, then back to Hau; before he knew it, he had palmed another malasada, and stuck two fingers inside, swiping out a blob of custard. "She says things like that because she wants a reaction out of us. She thinks we're" - he sniggered - "like lab Rattata, and she's some sick scientist conducting an experiment. Her whole family's like that."

  He reclined back into the booth, taking advantage of his newfound space. Suddenly genial, he clicked the Poke Ball he kept on his belt, releasing Frostfire. The Litten wound his tail around Sun's hand and settled into the crook of his arm, sniffing his shoulder and his custard-covered fingers.

  "I'll show her," he resolved, holding the now-empty capsule a few inches from his face. A devious grin overtook him. "Just you wait, Mizuki."