Since Cynthia had left the city with her first badge nearly two months ago, Oreburgh hadn’t changed much. It still looked more like a mining outpost than a proper city. Most of the buildings were carved straight into the mountainside, and the ones that weren’t were built from the very stone dug out of it. Everything here was functional, durable, unconcerned with beauty. It was like steel in that way. Unyielding. Cold.

  Cynthia took a few slow steps forward, the crunch of gravel under her boots oddly loud in the silence. She glanced down the steep slope that led into the heart of the city.

  It felt strange, even ironic, to be back.

  Maybe it was the memories that clung to this place. The kind she hadn’t wanted to revisit. Or maybe it was that those memories seemed so small now.

  So harmless, compared to everything that had come after.

  Still, even trivial as they were, they also seemed to be quite unavoidable. Cynthia let out a quiet sigh and closed her eyes, letting the wind pull at her hair, tugging it out behind her.

  In the end, it honestly felt a bit stupid.

  …

  After the Gym, she had given herself a day off.

  One day. Just to breathe.

  She wandered Oreburgh, smiling for no reason, letting the win settle in her chest like a held breath she didn’t have to release yet. The battle had gone so cleanly it didn’t feel real. No second guesses. No awkward calls. Just Riolu slicing through Byron’s team like they were practice dummies. She’d expected resistance. A surprise, maybe. But no, it had been surgical.

  Gone just as planned.

  Then again, that was always how the first badge was supposed to go. The rules made it feel almost too easy. The only surprise had been Byron bringing out a Durant, but even that barely qualified as a speed bump.

  Honestly, maybe it would’ve caught her off guard if she hadn’t seen it before. But Cynthia wasn’t just another new trainer. She’d recognized the Bug-Steel type on sight.

  So she’d spent the rest of the day letting herself enjoy it. Really enjoy it. Not rushing to the next checkpoint or overthinking her next steps. Just walking the streets, breathing the mountain air, and allowing herself, for once, to feel proud.

  The next morning, she set off again and now, today, with the sun overhead and the road winding beneath her, she spotted three trainers up ahead on the path.

  Cynthia’s pace quickened. A grin crept onto her face. She’d met a few people on the road already, but they’d all been too rushed, too focused to talk.

  These girls?

  If they were in a rush, then she liked Oran berries.

  She raised her hand in greeting as she approached.

  “Hey!” she called out. “You guys just coming from Jubilife?”

  One of them, a girl with a heavy bag and a bandana pulled low over her forehead, looked up and nodded once she was close enough to hear.

  “Yeah,” she said, voice light. “You heading that way?”

  Cynthia shook her head, still smiling.

  “Just stopping through,” she said. “Back to Jubilife for some supplies before I head north to Eterna. Got my badge yesterday.”

  She let her grin stretch a little wider at their reactions, their eyes widening in surprise.

  Okay, maybe part of her had wanted to meet people just to say that. But there was only one moment on a journey when you could brag about having one badge, and it was right before everyone else got theirs.

  The girl with the bandana eventually gathered herself enough to let out a low whistle, looking down at her side. A Stunky blinked up at her with beady, curious eyes.

  “Damn. You are early, I guess,” the girl said. “I thought about trying to get here ahead of the pack, but I wanted to catch something new first. Not that Stunky isn’t great, but she’s not exactly well-matched against Steel-types.”

  Cynthia nodded eagerly.

  “I get that. I was lucky to have Riolu, but I can see how only having a Poison-type could make things tough.”

  The girl standing beside the one in the bandana stiffened slightly.

  “Yeah,” the bandana-girl continued with a shrug. “It’d help if there were more diverse Poison-types nearby. I was planning on specializing, but I might need to branch out if I want to take on Byron. I don’t think Stunky’s Bite is going to do much more than scratch his team.”

  Cynthia’s eyes lit up a little.

  “I was planning to just keep heading for Jubilife, but if you’ve got half a day, maybe we could train together? I’ve never used a Stunky, but I know a few tricks that might help... and I was already planning to teach Queenie a Fire-type move, Fire Fang—and—”

  “Miriam!”

  The voice cut clean through her words.

  The girl beside bandana-girl, Miriam, had snapped it out, her tone sharp.

  Miriam turned to her, blinking. “What?”

  The other girl gave a tight, awkward smile, then flicked her eyes toward the third in their group, the one quietly holding a magazine and not looking up.

  Cynthia’s smile faltered, just a little, the wind brushing strands of hair against her cheek.

  There was a moment of stillness. A shift.

  She stepped back half a pace. Just because she wanted to make friends didn’t mean she should wedge herself into someone else’s group.

  Miriam offered her a quick, uncomfortable smile, then turned and whispered something to her friends.

  Cynthia didn’t catch the words. She didn’t try to.

  She just stood there, fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve, her eyes drifting to the gravel at her feet. For what felt like almost a full minute, the girls whispered among themselves.

  Eventually though, Miriam looked up.

  This time her entire face was a lot more tense.

  “You—” she started, then stopped. Whatever she was going to say crumbled before it left her mouth.

  Cynthia’s chest tightened. They all just… stood there. Stiff. Awkward. Like no one knew what to do with the silence they'd made.

  “Eh, I mean, you were saying,” Miriam offered, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  Cynthia took a breath, pushed her own smile back into place, and tried to carry the moment forward, even if it felt like dragging a wagon uphill.

  “I was just saying… if you wanted to train together a little, I’m working on teaching one of my Pokémon a Fire-type move. I thought maybe we could figure it out together.”

  Miriam didn’t hesitate.

  “Sorry, just trying to get to Oreburgh as fast as possible,” she said quickly. “I would’ve, honestly, but Stunky’s not really suited for Fire moves. And neither are any of my friends’ teams.”

  Cynthia glanced over at the others.

  They weren’t looking at her. Just… standing there. Like her presence had upset some invisible balance, like she’d walked into the middle of a conversation she wasn’t supposed to hear.

  Some small, persistent part of her wanted to speak up. Wanted to correct them. To say that Stunky was one of the better Poison-types for fire moves. That with a little guidance, it could learn Ember easily, and its evolution was known for its powerful Flamethrower.

  But the rest of her?

  The rest of her just smiled.

  Just as awkwardly as the three girls standing across from her.

  ….

  A shoulder bumped into her side.

  Cynthia blinked and turned, startled, just in time to see Johanna already stepping past her, strolling ahead on the path as if nothing had happened.

  “Huh,” Johanna said, glancing over her shoulder. “I swear this journey usually takes more time.”

  She paused, catching the confused look on Cynthia’s face.

  “I mean,” she added with a shrug, “I just think it’s a pity, you know.”

  Cynthia blinked again, her brain scrambling to catch up. A second ago, they’d been talking about packing strategies. What did that have to do with—

  Myst, apparently unbothered by whatever she’d missed, spoke up instead.

  “Well, I guess this is where we split up, then?” he asked, casually brushing a hand through his hair.

  Johanna gave a one-shoulder shrug, lazy and deliberate. “For now. But if you want, we could meet up again later. I just need to register for the Contest.”

  She glanced at Cynthia with a gleam in her eye, then turned to Myst with a grin far too bright to be innocent.

  “And I imagine your boy—” she paused with theatrical weight, “friend, needs to sign up for the Gym, right?”

  Cynthia, just now catching up to the conversation, opened her mouth.

  Paused.

  Then sighed.

  Johanna beamed, all wide-eyed mischief and Cynthia rolled her eyes in response.

  Honestly, there were only so many times Johanna could imply something or send them one of those looks, before it stopped getting a reaction. It had been mortifying the first time she had done it to her. Back then, Cynthia had actually stammered trying to explain they weren’t together.

  But after the fifth?

  Well, she’d learned that trying to convince Johanna of anything was about as useful as trying to win a Contest with a Muk.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Myst simply shrugged.

  “Well, I think that’d be for the best, right?” he said. “Still, I hope I get the battle scheduled faster than last time. Would suck to be stuck here a whole week just because I had to take the Gym challenge.”

  Cynthia frowned a little. “You—”

  Myst cut her off with a slight raise of his hand. “Yeah, I know. It’s still faster than skipping it, since we’d have to come back eventually. Doesn’t make it suck less, though. And now you’re stuck waiting around, too.”

  Cynthia just stared.

  Myst held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop talking.”

  She shook her head, the faintest smile tugging at her lips, then turned her gaze down toward the city below.

  Myst and Johanna might have their missions, but that didn’t mean Cynthia didn’t have hers.

  She’d made a promise. Every new city, she would call her grandmother. Tell her how things were going. Talk about the road, the battles, the people she’d met. It was supposed to be easy. Just one phone call. One simple promise.

  Her hands fell to her side, fingers brushing against her belt.

  It was supposed to be easy.

  It was just… she wasn’t sure how to explain any of it.

  …

  When Cynthia pushed open the Pokémon Center doors, her whole body unconsciously braced and even after she forced herself to relax, she crossed the lobby like she was walking on ice. Each step careful. Measured. Controlled.

  At the front desk, she mustered a smile, one that felt stretched too tight across her face.

  It wasn’t that she was worried.

  Not really.

  It was just… some part of her still dreaded the idea of explaining things to her grandmother.

  Sure, she could lie.

  She was capable of it.

  It was just that she wasn’t quite stupid enough to try it.

  Maybe if it was about something else, she could’ve gotten away with it. But when it came to this? If her grandmother found out the real details, and with her connections that wasn’t impossible, well...

  Cynthia didn’t know what would happen.

  She was more or less an adult now. Most people considered trainers on their journey independent. Free to make their own choices.

  But there were limits.

  And her grandmother could make her life very difficult if she thought Cynthia wasn’t being responsible enough.

  “Yes, how can I help you?” the Joy asked and smiled warmly, her pink hair tied up in a neat double-ringed bun.

  Cynthia licked her lips, rough and dry. The skin tugged beneath her tongue.

  It was strange, really. How many times she’d walked into a Pokémon Center and ended up feeling like this.

  Pokémon Centers were supposed to be places of comfort. Of healing. Hope. They were neutral ground. Sacred ground. A place where no one ever picked a fight. Where no one tried anything.

  So the fact that she’d walked in here feeling like this, not once, but twice.

  Well, she could say that it had only happened twice, but honestly?

  It was strange that it even happened that much.

  She pried her fingers off the counter and let her eyes drift sideways. They landed on a nearby magazine.

  She stared at it.

  …

  Cynthia wasn’t going to lie: she had more or less forgotten about the encounter with the three trainers. Or, well, she had decided to forget it, at least.

  Sure, it had been awkward. But that happened sometimes.

  …Okay, to her, it happened a lot. But the point still stood. They were the ones who made it weird, she’d just been trying to help

  So, really, she hadn’t been thinking about it at all.

  And because she hadn’t been thinking about it, she’d even come up with a perfectly reasonable explanation for why they’d acted that way.

  They had seen her battle Byron.

  It made sense. If they were following the circuit, her match would’ve been one of the last things they saw before leaving Jubilife. Maybe they were intimidated. Or annoyed. Or just… awed.

  It all fit neatly in her head.

  Or it had, until she walked into the Pokémon Center.

  It took a couple of seconds, but like a wave rolling back from the shore, her arrival seemed to drain the sound from the room. Not completely. It wasn’t silent or anything, just muted. Like somebody important, somebody famous, had walked in, and nobody had dared walk up to them and ask for an autograph yet.

  She brushed her bangs aside, suddenly self-conscious. When that didn’t help, she kept walking, pretending not to notice the change. The Nurse Joy at the counter straightened too quickly, as if she’d just been caught slouching.

  “Hi!” the woman said, voice just a tad bit too bright. “Here for a check-in?”

  “Yeah,” Cynthia said, handing over her Poké Balls. “Just a quick rest.”

  Joy nodded, her hands already moving with practiced ease as she placed the Poké Balls on a tray. Then, without looking up, she reached beneath the counter and slid something across it.

  A magazine.

  One of those free ones they left out for travelers, meant to pass the time while you waited for your team to get back from a checkup.

  Cynthia stared at it.

  She recognized the icy-blue colour.

  It was the same one the girl on the Route had been holding.

  She’d seen magazines like this a thousand times.

  Had even read a few.

  She’d just never seen one with her on the cover.

  “How much is too much?”

  Her hand dropped instinctively to her side, searching for the familiar smoothness of Queenie’s Poké Ball.

  It wasn’t there.

  Instead, she continued reading. Beneath the headline, was a grainy photo, her own face, mid-smile, taken just after the win against Byron.

  And under that:

  “Prodigy or Privileged— Can you call it a journey if you start at the finish line?”

  She felt it.

  That cold pinch in her ribs.

  Her fingers tightened against the edge of the desk, gripping it like a ledge.

  Slowly, her eyes drifted across the lobby.

  Every trainer in the room was staring.

  …

  The feeling of someone touching her hand snapped her out of it.

  Cynthia blinked and flushed as the Nurse Joy gave her a gentle look.

  “Do you need any sort of help?” Joy asked. “You look a little out of it.”

  Cynthia pried her fingers off the counter, forcing a smile back into place.

  “No, just need to borrow a PC. I want to send a message… Could I use one of the private rooms? Just for half an hour?”

  Joy hesitated, eyebrows furrowing as she studied Cynthia’s face. But when Cynthia didn’t flinch or back down, the woman gave a quiet sigh, turned, and grabbed a nearby notepad. She flipped it open, scanned it, then closed it again with a tap.

  “We have one room open for half an hour, Room Four,” she said. “But the block technically started five minutes ago. Is that fine?”

  Cynthia nodded quickly.

  “Yeah. More than enough.”

  Then she turned on her heel and walked straight toward the hallway, not even waiting for directions.

  She reached Room Four, stepped inside, shut the door gently behind her, and sank into the chair in front of the PC. Her fingers flew across the keys, sending a quick message to the lab back home: Available to call. Will wait.

  Then she sat back and waited.

  It felt strange.

  Last time she’d seen a magazine like that, she’d done the same thing: rented a private room, stared into a screen, and tried to sound fine while her grandmother listened on the other end.

  Back then, it had felt like the world was ending.

  Now?

  Now she would’ve killed for the chance to be calling just to complain about a smear piece.

  She waited nearly five minutes before the screen flickered to life, lines of static coalescing into a familiar face.

  Her grandmother smiled the moment she saw her, eyes glittering with warmth and quiet worry as they scanned over Cynthia’s face, checking her, gently, carefully, the way she always did. Making sure she was okay without ever saying it out loud.

  Then her gaze drifted over the rest of the room, just a touch too casually.

  “Oh, I see your friend is nowhere to be seen, dearest granddaughter?”

  Cynthia let out a breath. Shook her head, faintly.

  “It’s not like that, Grandma,” she said, not even bothering to make it convincing.

  Her grandmother raised an eyebrow, her expression slipping into something that looked suspiciously like Johanna's had the first time she’d teased her about it.

  “Well, I won’t harp on it,” her grandmother said breezily. “But just remember, if you like him, don’t be afraid to use every advantage.” She gave her chest a proud little pat, as though there was something to boast about.

  Cynthia flushed anyway.

  “Grandma.” She complained lightly.

  “What? You know I’ve told you before, you’re a beautiful girl, darling. If you wanted to, you could have him wrapped around your little finger in an instant.”

  Then she leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial stage-whisper.

  “I only saw him once, but that was enough. He’s good-looking, you know. You might want to go on the offensive before some thieving Liepard slinks in and steals him away.”

  She gave a dramatic sigh. “Hell, that’s how I got your grandfather.”

  Cynthia rolled her eyes.

  Honestly.

  Her grandmother was internationally respected. A world-renowned researcher. Cited in academic journals in multiple regions, and this was what she was like in private?

  “Grandma.”

  The single word was drawn out, pleading. This time, it was enough to halt the teasing, though not before her grandmother waved a hand, like brushing away something trivial.

  Then, as the warmth faded from Cynthia’s cheeks, her grandmother’s smile softened.

  “You feeling a little better, hon?” she asked gently. “I could see something was bothering you. So spit it out. Do I need to come down and lay down the law on that boy, or not?”

  Cynthia felt a wry smile tug at her lips. It was so like her, to immediately sense something was wrong, then try to fix it with a bit of teasing and dramatic flair.

  And she wasn’t going to lie.

  It almost worked.

  In any other situation, it probably would’ve. But this time, it wasn’t just about her. The fight with the Hunter, with Kael... Everything that had happened. She wasn’t sure how her grandmother would take it. Not with how she felt about them.

  She licked her lips, eyes dropping to her hands.

  They were shaking, just a little.

  “Darling,” her grandmother said softly, now watching her with open concern. “It’s fine. Whatever it is, I can take it. If you need help, just tell me. We’ll figure it out.”

  Cynthia forced a smile onto her face.

  Then clenched her fist in her lap, tight enough for her nails to bite into skin.

  She opened her mouth.

  “So we were biking on Cycling Road right, and there was a storm, and—”

  And everything spilled forth.

  How they’d arrived at the inn.

  How they had fought the Hunter.

  How they had lost.

  She’d thought the words would come slowly. That she’d have to dig for them, pry them out one by one. Like with Benkara, when she could barely even help Myst explain.

  But it wasn’t like that.

  They tore out of her.

  And as she spoke, until her voice went raw, until her tongue felt heavy, her grandmother just watched.

  Seriously.

  Kindly.

  Unblinking.

  She didn’t interrupt. Didn’t flinch.

  She just listened, like a mountain in a storm.

  Like an indomitable rock.

  Like nothing Cynthia said could shake her.

  “And she died, because I couldn’t—” Cynthia’s voice caught. The words cracked in half. A ragged, broken sound escaped her throat.

  Her grandmother just let out a sigh.

  “Oh, Cynthia—” She began, but before she could get another word out, she paused.

  Her grandmother exhaled, low and steady.

  Cynthia didn’t notice.

  Couldn’t.

  She sat there, arms wrapped tight around herself, folded in.

  Still as a statue.

  She didn’t see when the air shimmered.

  Didn’t hear the quick steps across the room.

  No, she only felt strong arms suddenly wrap around her. Pulling her out of the chair. Holding her tight.

  She froze.

  Just for a second.

  Then she crumpled.

  Fell forward into her grandmother’s arms—

  —and cried again.

  …

  Her grandmother was a world-famous Pokémon professor, but before that, she’d been a Psychic-type specialist. Not one of the greats, of course, but when it came to using Teleport?

  You could find very few that were more experienced.

  Cynthia glanced toward the corner of the room, where her grandmother’s Alakazam had turned slightly away, as if the gesture could offer them privacy.

  It wasn’t needed, of course.

  The old Alakazam was powerful enough that picking up the waves of emotion rolling off her had probably been unavoidable. He might not have been a natural empath like Navi, but at some point, lines like that blurred.

  Still, she appreciated the gesture.

  “Thanks, Al,” she murmured, lifting her face slightly from the stained fabric of her grandmother’s lab coat.

  The Alakazam didn’t respond. Just hovered in place, eyes closed, meditating like the world around him didn’t exist.

  Her grandmother let out a breath and gently ran a hand through Cynthia’s hair.

  Cynthia melted into her touch.

  She was much taller than her grandmother now, had outgrown her by the time she was twelve, but that didn’t change the fact that her grandmother always felt larger.

  “Ahh, what am I going to do with you?” her grandmother groaned theatrically, drawing the words out just enough to make Cynthia’s lip twitch.

  “Give me an Eevee?” Cynthia offered, her voice muffled against fabric.

  The hand in her hair paused.

  Then resumed, rougher this time, turning the gentle strokes into a hard ruffle.

  “Hah! Do you know how expensive those stupid things are?” her grandmother scoffed. “Maybe if you wanted an Espeon. But an Umbreon?” She shook her head solemnly. “Only in another life, young lady!”

  Cynthia smiled despite the answer, just soaking in the warmth, the safety of being held. Letting herself breathe again. Letting herself exist in that old, familiar kind of quiet.

  Then her grandmother’s hand stilled.

  “You don’t want to wait another year?” she asked softly. “It’s not like we can’t afford to enter you into the circuit again, and—”

  Cynthia pulled back.

  Not roughly or angrily.

  Still enough.

  Her grandmother’s words stopped the moment their eyes met, storm grey meeting storm grey.

  “Ah,” her grandmother breathed, eyes flickering. “You know I don’t mean it like that. But I worry.”

  Her voice dropped.

  “Your mother and father both passed away because of them, even if only by proxy, and now you’re getting tangled up with their sort too?”

  She let out a sigh.

  “I worry.”

  Cynthia forced herself not to react. Not outwardly. She let the words wash over her, their shape, their weight, the fear underneath them.

  She didn’t feel like unpacking that right now.

  Maybe not ever.

  Still, she took a breath and steadied herself.

  “I don’t want to run away, Grandma,” she said. “If I stopped now, if I came back to Celestic Town with you, I think I’d never leave. That’d be it. I would probably end up a researcher, probably end up happy…”

  She glanced down at her belt, where her team rested.

  Relying on her.

  Believing in her.

  “But I don’t want to run. I want to become stronger. Strong enough that the next time we meet a Hunter, we’re not on the back foot. That instead of fighting a desperate last stand, we crush them.”

  Her hand curled into a fist.

  “So we’re going to train,” Cynthia said. “We’re going to become strong enough that we never end up in that kind of situation again. Strong enough that nobody cares if I started out as a professor’s granddaughter. Strong enough…”

  She grinned at her grandmother, teeth bared.

  “Strong enough that when people mention you, they say Cynthia Shirona’s grandmother and not the other way around.”

  Her grandmother looked at her for a long moment.

  Then smiled.

  “You got your head from your mother. But your spirit? That was all your father.”

  Cynthia paused for a moment.

  Then furrowed her brows.

  “I thought you said he was an idiot?”

  Her grandmother rolled her eyes.

  “Yes. You don’t need to repeat everything I say.”

  …

  Her grandmother lounged comfortably in the restaurant chair, grinning from ear to ear—and Cynthia wasn’t going to lie.

  Seeing Myst look like this?

  Well, it wasn’t every day she saw him weighing the odds between staying seated and wrestling an Ursaring—

  and deciding the bear might be the better option.