POV Rakesh
I woke to the familiar buzz of my alarm, the faint grey light leaking through the gaps in the curtains telling me it was still early. The time glowed on my phone screen—5:30 AM—and for a few seconds I simply lay there, letting the reality of the day sink in. I had returned late last night from the Battle Arena, my body sore and my mind restless, and even though I knew I should have taken a break the day before the exams, neither I nor my partners had wanted to stop. Training and battling had become more than preparation; they were proof that we belonged here.
I turned my head slightly and saw Meowth curled up beside me, her breathing slow and steady, paws twitching every now and then as if she were chasing something in her dreams. The last few weeks had been hard on her, harder than I liked to admit, and I could see it even in her sleep. I decided not to wake her. Instead, I quietly took out her Poké Ball and returned her inside, the soft red light fading without a sound. Today would be long, and conserving strength mattered.
The theory exams had taken place five days ago, though I'd been exempted because of my performance during the training camp, something that still felt strange whenever I thought about it. Two days ago, all one thousand qualified candidates had received their official emails containing gathering points, entrant numbers, and a list of required equipment. Sleeping bags were mandatory, as were basic survival supplies. My own gathering point was close by, with a reporting time of 7:00 AM, while the email clearly stated that the exam itself would officially begin at 10:00 AM. Based on that, I'd assumed the practical exam would be held somewhere in or around Mumbai, an assumption that felt reasonable at the time, even if it now seemed a little naïve.
I made sure to eat a proper breakfast, knowing full well that once the exam began, comfort would be a luxury we couldn't count on. Three days in the field meant preparation mattered more than optimism. After eating, I packed my bag carefully: a flashlight with spare batteries, a compact fire starter kit, dry fruits, a metal water canteen, a worn second-hand sleeping bag I'd bought cheap, and Pokémon food sufficient as it was sponsored by Pokemon department. Nothing extra, nothing wasteful.
When I stepped outside, the cool morning air hit my face, and that's when I noticed Charmander. He was already awake, standing near the small garbage dumping area beside our building, the only place I could use for training since I couldn't afford a proper facility. His tail flame flickered steadily as he practiced controlled Ember attacks, carefully burning the garbage away in small, deliberate bursts. It wasn't ideal, but it worked, and the neighbors didn't complain anymore. In fact, most of them were grateful that the garbage no longer sat there rotting for days. There had been one early incident where the fire spread too quickly, flames licking dangerously close to nearby walls and houses, but the fire prevention team had intervened in time. Instead of scolding me, they'd given practical advice—divide the garbage into smaller piles instead of burning everything at once—and Charmander had adapted surprisingly fast.
His control improved day by day. The fire at the tip of his tail burned brighter now, steadier, and when he practiced Scratch against the nearby dilapidated wall, the marks left behind were deeper and more defined than before. Two distinct sets of claw marks covered the stone—one belonging to Charmander and the other to Meowth. Meowth's scratches were cleaner, sharper, and more precise, a reminder of just how skilled she'd become.
Charmander noticed me then and immediately stopped his practice, running toward me with barely contained excitement. He skidded to a halt in front of me, standing a little straighter than usual, tail flame flickering brightly as if demanding recognition. I crouched slightly and placed a hand on his head, feeling the warmth beneath my palm.
"Good work," I said quietly.
He chirped happily, pride written all over his posture.
As I straightened up, bag slung over my shoulder and the morning sun beginning to rise behind the buildings, I returned Charmander to his Poké Ball, securing it properly on my belt before heading out toward my gathering point a little earlier than required. I'd learned the hard way that arriving early was never a mistake, especially when the military was involved. When I reached the location, my suspicion was confirmed—it was a military base. Tall fencing, armed guards, and a controlled sense of urgency filled the air, and even at this hour, a line had already formed outside the entrance.
I joined the queue quietly, eyes forward, posture steady. By the time I reached the front, the sun had risen just enough to cast long shadows across the concrete. A soldier seated behind a simple desk motioned for me to step closer and asked for my details and identification. His movements were efficient, his expression unreadable as he cross-checked everything on his tablet. After a brief nod, he directed me toward the next checkpoint without a word.
The second area was stricter.
Bags were being inspected thoroughly, and anything deemed unnecessary—or excessive—was immediately confiscated. Standing in front of me was a well-dressed boy who clearly hadn't understood the meaning of "minimal equipment." He'd brought both a large backpack and a full-sized travel bag, and the soldier inspecting his things looked increasingly annoyed as item after item was pulled out and placed aside. Extra clothes were removed until only a single change remained. Packaged food disappeared into a sealed crate. A lighter was confiscated without discussion.
By the time the inspection ended, the boy was left with only a tent, one change of clothes, a sleeping bag, and a water bottle. Interestingly, the soldier handed him a standard fire starter kit in exchange for the lighter, noting it down on his clipboard. The boy didn't protest—not once. It seemed the training camp had taught him at least one valuable lesson: you don't argue with soldiers.
I also noticed something else.
The participant before him hadn't been given a fire starter kit at all, simply because he hadn't brought even a matchstick to demonstrate basic preparation. The rule was clear—help was given only if you showed intent and forethought.
When it was my turn, the inspection went smoothly until the soldier reached my dry fruits and Pokémon food. He paused, clearly about to confiscate them, so I spoke up calmly and asked if I could feed my Pokémon before we entered. He studied me for a moment, then pointed toward a nearby door and told me to be quick, adding a firm warning that any attempt to smuggle supplies through Pokémon would result in immediate elimination.
I nodded and didn't waste time.
Charmander emerged first, alert but disciplined, followed by a still-sleepy Meowth who barely opened her eyes as she ate. I fed them both properly, making sure neither rushed, then returned them to their Poké Balls and walked back to the desk without lingering.
The soldier checked my bag again, found nothing else, and directed me to Group Seven.
When I reached the designated waiting area, only five people had arrived so far. We exchanged brief introductions, nothing more than names and nods, but the atmosphere shifted subtly the moment I mentioned where I was from—Dharavi. No one stepped away from me physically, but I could feel the distance form all the same. Their smiles became polite, their eyes guarded. I didn't take it personally. I was used to that kind of reaction.
More entrants arrived gradually, filling the group, and that was when I noticed a familiar face.
"Arpit," I said, surprised.
He grinned and greeted me easily, and for a few minutes, we talked like the world hadn't just narrowed down to an exam that could change everything. From him, I learned that Apoorv and Neha had been assigned to different gathering points altogether, which only reinforced the sense that this exam was designed to separate, test, and observe us under varied conditions.
At exactly seven o'clock, we were instructed to move.
Group Seven was escorted toward a military transport helicopter, rotors already spinning, the sound vibrating through my chest as we climbed aboard. Eighteen entrants in total sat strapped in, none of us speaking much as the doors slid shut.
At 7:10 AM, the helicopter lifted off.
As we rose, I glanced down through the open side window and saw a few late students still arguing at the gate, gestures frantic, voices unheard over the roar of the blades. None of them were allowed inside.
The exam had already begun.
I leaned back against my seat, hands resting on my bag, and stared out at the receding base below. Whatever awaited us next, there would be no second chances.