The following day.
Sunlight spilled through Fuchsia City's air — thick with a faint, ever-present ocean humidity — and scattered across streets alive with noise and movement.
It wasn't as glittering as Saffron City or Celadon City. But Fuchsia had its own particular kind of bustle.
Not the commercial, marketplace variety, though.
How to describe it...?
The whole city breathed with the atmosphere of a fighting arena. Or rather — more precisely — the essence of what people called ninja.
Fuchsia City had always been under the watch of the Fuchsia Gym. And the Fuchsia Gym had always been rooted in the ninja tradition.
You could even say that for as long as the city had existed, it had been the domain of Koga's ninja clan — their home, their fortress, their stage.
This was a city shaped to its bones by ninja culture.
Of course, that said — it was the modern era, not the ancient one. So "ninja" here was a culture, not a creed. A tradition to be inherited, not a law to be obeyed.
Still, where the culture flowed, people followed. And those who wanted to walk the ninja path needed a body to match. That was precisely why Fuchsia City had become a hub for Trainers looking to sharpen their own physical foundations.
— Important clarification: The ninja spoken of here are the normal kind. Not the variety that fires laser beams or pilots giant mechs.
— Ninja clans may possess secret arts and hidden techniques passed down through the generations.
— But no matter how esoteric those arts, they are built on the core principles of steal, conceal, and deceive. Direct frontal combat is rarely in the picture.
Ash, Misty, and Brock threaded their way through the crowd, their eyes sweeping across the dojos lining both sides of the street — each one hanging a sign bearing characters like "Endurance," "Secrets," or "Shadow."
"Its reputation is completely earned," Brock said, watching the steady stream of Trainers going in and out, most of them dusted with grime or gleaming with sweat. He couldn't help but feel a wave of nostalgia mixed with something that tasted faintly like old suffering. "This place is practically a concentration camp for physical conditioning."
"Exactly!" Ash agreed with the same fervor. "Before we challenge the Fuchsia Gym, we need to be absolutely prepared!"
"At the very least, we need to get familiar with how ninja traps work," he added, his voice practical. "Otherwise, we won't even make it to Mr. Koga's front door — and that would just be embarrassing."
He wasn't dismissing any of this just because he'd trained at the Fighting Spirit Dojo. Different disciplines demanded different skills. The fighters at the Dojo were all about head-on, face-to-face combat. Ninja were something else entirely.
They settled on a mid-sized dojo with a strong reputation — the Shadow Swiftness Dojo — recommended personally by Nurse Joy.
The moment they stepped through the entrance, Misty's eyes went wide.
A course list hung at the front desk. She read it aloud, her voice growing quieter with each item:
"Identification of a hundred common toxic plants and their antidotes. Advanced sound-based spatial location. Cliff-climbing without equipment. Extreme-environment swimming. Jungle survival — seventy-two hours..."
She trailed off.
Then, unable to help herself: "Is... is this really a curriculum for Trainers? Because it feels like special forces selection training to me!"
Misty could tell just from looking that every single item on that list was absolute misery.
Brock, reading those familiar course titles, wore an expression that blended wistfulness with a faint ghost of old pain. "Ah... these courses... they bring back memories." He paused. "Back when I was preparing to inherit the Pewter Gym, I went through something very similar."
As the heir to the Will of Stone, Brock naturally had no glaring weaknesses. Rock-types excelled at wide-open, hard-hitting battles — but they struggled in confined spaces. Of course the gap had to be filled.
"You went through this, Brock?!" Misty turned to stare at him in surprise.
"Wilderness survival isn't a required course for every Trainer," Brock explained, his tone growing serious. "But if you want to go further down this road — to climb higher — then your own capabilities can never become the weak link that drags your partners down."
"A truly strong Trainer should, by definition, be the most reliable support on the team."
He didn't say much more than that. Getting to that level was genuinely difficult, and there was no universal standard — everyone found their own path. What mattered was results. If you achieved the goal, the method was your own business.
There were Trainers who specialized purely in competitive battles and exhibitions. But that type rarely climbed to the very top. If the Trainer themselves was the team's weak point, one hit in a high-level battle could shatter everything.
A dead Trainer can't do much of anything.
So far, the only person who had broken through to the top from the performance circuit was Wallace, the Artist of Water.
Ash nodded along, deeply in agreement.
When you were actually trading blows at the level of Legendary Pokémon, a Trainer whose fundamentals were too weak simply couldn't hold on. If you couldn't even adapt to the basic environment of a fight, the shockwaves from the battle itself would finish you off.
— Thinking back to Giovanni's Mega Beedrill...
— If Ho-Oh hadn't been there, Ash didn't even want to think about how that would have gone.
Ash pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the vitality coursing through him — a vitality honed by the Gym Badges and blessed by Ho-Oh, far beyond what any ordinary human could claim. His eyes lit up as he looked back at the course list.
"That settles it! We're signing up here!"
He turned to Misty. "Misty, want to join in too?"
You had to take it one step at a time. Ash had no intentions of skipping any steps. A journey of a thousand miles began with a single footfall, after all.
So — train, step by step! Let's go!
Misty's first instinct was to refuse. Training that sounded like sheer torture had absolutely nothing to do with her image as a graceful Water-type Master.
Then Brock helpfully poured gasoline on the fire.
"Come on, Misty, a little training never hurt anyone~" he said, smooth as silk. "It might even make your control over water currents more precise, don't you think?"
He let the pause breathe, then added the killing blow:
"Besides — look how motivated Ash is."
Brock had strategically invoked Ash to needle Misty.
As for why?
Because if Brock had to suffer back in his day, there was absolutely no reason these two should get to escape it.
...Brock. You absolute villain.
Well. In all honesty, the real reason was simpler: during their time in Gringey City, Brock had quietly noted that Misty's stamina was lacking. And that was genuinely not acceptable.
If a real crisis hit and sheer willpower was the only thing standing between the team and disaster — but the body gave out before the will did — that was the kind of joke that ended badly for everyone.
Brock wasn't expecting anyone to train to the level of the fighters at the Fighting-type Dojo. But basic physical fitness? That was non-negotiable.
Stung by Brock's needling, and looking at Ash's barely-contained eagerness — something in Misty's head just... snapped.
In a moment of heat, the words flew out before she could catch them: "Fine! Bring it on! Who's afraid of who?!"
Unfortunately, a moment of impulse led directly to a session in what could only be described as the gates of hell.
Half an hour later.
Misty, now changed into workout clothes and deeply regretting every choice she'd ever made, was paying the full price for her momentary bravado.
"UWAAAGH——!"
"This is NOT 'a little training'!!"
"This is ABSOLUTE HELL!!"
Her cries of anguish echoed across the training grounds.
As dramatic as she sounded, the other participants barely glanced over. This was completely normal. Most people bit down and powered through it anyway.
Because this terrible dojo had two terrible rules.
Rule ①: Once enrolled, no refunds on tuition fees.
Rule ②: The deposit is returned proportionally by days attended. The more days you complete, the more you get back. If you bolt after signing up, you lose the deposit entirely.
Admittedly, those terms were borderline predatory. But that was Fuchsia City's way — tempering the will of its Trainers. Definitely not because anyone here enjoyed watching people suffer. Definitely.
Ash and Misty had both enrolled in a comprehensive Gym Challenge Prep Course Package.
The very first exercise: weighted shuttle runs across a course littered with irregular obstacles.
Speed was only part of it. You also had to stay constantly aware of the soft posts that could spring up underfoot without warning, and the vine whips that could sweep in from the sides — all designed to simulate the sudden, unpredictable nature of traps on a mountain path.
The one silver lining: the vine whips were purpose-built not to cause serious injury.
After just three sets, Misty already felt like her legs were filled with concrete. Sweat soaked her bangs flat against her forehead, and she was gasping like a fish yanked from the water.
"I can't... I really can't anymore..."
She braced her hands on her knees, panting hard enough to feel her lungs threatening to rupture.
But just as the words of surrender rose to her lips, she looked up — and saw Ash.
He was in the higher-difficulty zone. More obstacles, denser interference. His section even included simulated toxic fog — an irritating but harmless smoke — that he had to hold his breath and push through without breaking pace.
The simulated toxic fog was odious but harmless — designed purely to heighten training intensity. Absolutely not designed to destroy the customers. Absolutely.
His weight load was also nearly several times heavier than Misty's.
And yet — he was drenched in sweat, his workout clothes clinging to a frame where muscle definition was beginning to show, every dodge and lunge executed with pure, grinding effort. His face was smeared with dust, honestly kind of a mess.
But his eyes burned steady and bright. Teeth set. Hitting his limits, again and again, and getting back up every time.
— Damn.
— Ash realized he'd badly miscalculated.
— The difficulty of weighted obstacle running scaled exponentially.
— He'd assumed: double the weight, double the training intensity, therefore roughly four times the difficulty. That seemed like a fair calculation.
— But now he was discovering... this thing might have multiplied six, seven times over.
Fast, slow, jump, crawl, advance, retreat — all of it, with a weight strapped to your back. The difficulty was rocketing toward infinity.
"Is... is this guy even human...?" Misty muttered under her breath.
And in that instant — something stubborn and furious surged up inside her.
She dragged her arm roughly across her face, smearing sweat and, regrettably, a small amount of dirt along with it.
"Damn it! I am not going down before you, you idiot!"
Misty could see perfectly well that Ash's difficulty level was miles above hers. That was exactly the point — if the gap was this big, she couldn't possibly be the one to collapse first.
She hauled herself back upright, drew a deep breath, and threw herself back into the obstacle course.
This time, her steps were still heavy — but her eyes had gone razor-sharp.
She began actively using her observation skills to anticipate the patterns behind the traps, reading the course instead of just reacting to it.
Brock, watching them both push themselves ragged, quietly threw himself into the strength training section as well. The fees here were steep — but the facilities, the expert guidance, and the simulated environments were absolutely worth every coin.
Meanwhile.
In a corner of the dojo.
Two pairs of sharp, watchful eyes were observing them in silence.
"So that's the one Brother is keeping such a close eye on... he's training pretty hard."
The speaker was a young girl in a black ninja outfit, with clean-cut purple hair that framed a face holding quiet curiosity — Janine. Koga's daughter.
She had a grass stem dangling from the corner of her mouth, eyes curious but calm.
"Mm. The effort isn't really the point, Janine." The one who replied wore a crimson ninja outfit that traced her figure flatteringly, her long green hair pulled back behind her. A beautiful woman — this was Aya. Koga's younger sister. Janine's aunt.
Aya's gaze kept returning to Ash, especially in those moments when he pulled off evasive maneuvers that pushed well past the limits of ordinary human reflexes. Each time, her pupils contracted slightly.
"Brother's orders: observe from the shadows, record their general movements. Under absolutely no circumstances are we to be detected — and even more importantly, we must not engage."
Janine still remembered their mission's purpose.
She had her suspicions about Koga's true motives, but kept them to herself.
...Ninja didn't need to be too curious about things like that.
"I know, Auntie." Janine waved her hand dismissively. "But just watching is so boring. Can't we do something? Like... probe a little?"
Janine knew considerably less about the situation than Aya did. And as the younger, livelier one, the urge to act was considerably stronger in her.
"No." Aya shut it down immediately, tone firm. "Rules are rules. And besides—" she dropped her voice further, "—the situation is more complicated than you think. Don't create extra problems."
That was what she said.
But as Aya's eyes drifted back to the three sweating figures on the training ground — Brock in particular — a quiet idea began to take shape in her mind.
Directly approaching the boy under "special watch" was far too risky. But that Gym Leader from Pewter City...
...Perhaps he was a better opening.
A softer angle. Indirect questioning. Find out what this group is really here for.
What the law does not forbid is permitted.
Koga had only forbidden direct contact with Ash.
Brock was not in that prohibition~~
"You stay here and keep watching. I'm going to try a different approach to gather some intelligence," Aya told Janine quietly — and with a subtle shift, she melted into the shadows and simply vanished.
"...Auntie... you're going to have fun and you're not bringing me with you."
Janine couldn't help the thought. She really couldn't.
But there was nothing to be done — that old woman was just older than her.
Internal complaints aside, Janine kept her face neutral as always — the lower half covered by her mask, expression perfectly blank.
Shortly afterward, in the rest area beside the training ground.
Brock had just finished a set of strength training and was sitting down to drink water and towel off. Then something caught his eye — and he lit up.
A tall, strikingly beautiful woman approached, dressed in a fashionable sundress, her long, smooth chestnut hair flowing freely. Her expression carried a hint of charming bewilderment.
"Excuse me, sorry to bother you," she said, her voice melodious and warm, "but do you happen to know how to get to the nearest Pokémon Center? I think I've gotten a little lost."
In an instant, every trace of Brock's training fatigue simply ceased to exist.
A beautiful older sister!!
He was on his feet immediately, his face arranging itself into what he believed to be his most dashing smile.
"Of course! It is my absolute honor to guide such a lovely lady! Take a right when you exit, then go through two intersections..."
Brock gave detailed directions, weaving in humor and wit along the way, drawing a delighted, hand-covered laugh from the "lost" beauty — who was, in fact, Aya in disguise.
"You really are a helpful and charming Trainer," Aya said, smoothly taking the seat beside Brock, adopting a curious tone. "I couldn't help noticing how seriously you and your friends are training. Are you here to challenge the Fuchsia Gym?"
Steering the conversation naturally toward her real target was standard practice. A question you already knew the answer to usually got you the answer you wanted. And really — who came here for intensive training if not for the Gym challenge?
"Ha! That's right!" Brock was in an even more talkative mood now that a beautiful woman was involved. "I'm Brock, from Pewter City. Those two over there are my traveling companions, Ash and Misty. The Fuchsia Gym's challenge format is one of a kind, so we're here to prepare ourselves properly beforehand."
He was off and running — sharing travel stories, thoughts on the Trainer's path, the philosophy of Pokémon raising.
Brock spoke with substance and confidence, giving full display to the depth and maturity of a Gym Leader — or at least, from his own admittedly biased perspective.
Aya played the role of attentive listener to perfection, offering well-timed, innocuous questions to keep the conversation flowing.
And yet — for all appearances of being "dazzled" by a beautiful woman — Brock kept his words carefully measured.
He talked freely about the kind of travel experiences and Pokémon-raising philosophy anyone could discuss openly. But on anything truly significant — Ash's unique nature, their encounters with Legendary Pokémon — Brock said absolutely nothing. Not a single word.
Even his bragging stayed within bounds: his cooking and his knowledge of Rock-type Pokémon. Nothing more.
Brock's looseness was a performance. Underneath it, he was never actually loose.
Aya's internal assessment: — Tight-lipped. A man of real principles.
— No wonder they call him the man with a will like rock.
As for Brock apparently having a bit of a weakness for women — that wasn't a problem. Not really.
After a few more minutes of pleasant small talk, Aya judged the timing was right. Staying any longer would start to seem suspicious.
At just that moment, Ash and Misty staggered back to the rest area together, leaning slightly on each other, legs unsteady and breath heaving — each one coated in dust and radiating exhaustion, looking as if they'd been dredged up from a swamp.
Training was always genuinely brutal.
Though it was worth noting: Ash had completed significantly more training sets than Misty. With Ho-Oh's blessing, his stamina recovery rate was in a completely different class. Every time Misty finished one set, Ash could already be finishing his second.
"Ah, your friends are back — they look absolutely exhausted." Aya rose at the perfect moment, offering a warm, precisely calibrated smile.
"I won't take up any more of your time. Thank you so much for the directions and the wonderful conversation."
She had no intention of approaching Ash — Koga had forbidden it. What the law does not forbid is permitted — but the reverse was equally true: what was forbidden was absolutely forbidden.
That was what it meant to be a ninja.
Toward your employer: you kept the rules.
Toward your enemies: you kept nothing at all.
"It was my absolute pleasure!" Brock stood at once, his gaze trailing after her with unmistakable reluctance.
— She really was beautiful, that older sister. Although... the makeup was just a touch heavy.
Aya was a professional ninja. Brock could pick up on part of it, but not all of it.
...Still, miles more professional than that crowd of Ghost-type Pokémon back at Maiden's Peak.
Aya turned and left with elegant grace. Once outside the dojo, she moved swiftly, vanishing around a street corner to regroup with Janine, who had been waiting.
"How did it go, Auntie? Find anything?" Janine asked, barely able to contain her eagerness.
Aya shook her head, dropping the warmth she'd worn in disguise and returning to her usual composed calm.
"That Brock is careful. Nothing of real intelligence value."
"But we can confirm: they're here specifically for the Gym challenge. No signs of hostile intent at this point."
Aya glanced back in the direction of the Shadow Swiftness Dojo. Her gaze settled one final time on Ash — worn out, yes, but already laughing and swapping jokes with Pikachu and Misdreavus as he caught his breath.
The only Gym challenger of the three is Ash. Brock and Misty are just support training alongside him.
"Continue long-range observation per the plan. Pass the word — every pair of eyes stays sharp. Not a single slip until they've left Fuchsia City."
Aya's voice was grave, untouched by the fact that their probe had come back empty. During an active mission, not one ounce of complacency was acceptable.
A ninja must keep their emotions steady.
A ninja endures what ordinary people cannot endure.
Back in the rest area.
Brock was still floating somewhere in the pleasant afterglow of his encounter with the "beautiful woman" — until Misty's voice, thin and barely alive, yanked him back to reality.
"Brock... I'm dying... If you ever dare to encourage me to sign up for something like this again, I will have Starmie fire a Hydro Pump at you..."
Misty was genuinely regretting every decision she'd made today. But the trap was sprung — there was nothing left to do but grit her teeth and see it through.
Ash, meanwhile, dropped directly onto the ground and grabbed the water bottle Misdreavus had floated over with her psychic power, chugging several deep gulps.
He was exhausted — but he could already feel it working.
"Phew... hah... It's really effective, isn't it? I think my reaction speed actually got a little faster!"
His extraordinary physical constitution meant that after every brutal session of training and recovery, the growth was tangible — something he could genuinely feel.
Put simply: agility ↑, reaction speed ↑.
Not a raw power increase, but valuable all the same.
Pikachu let out a cheerful "Pika!" — a clear vote of agreement.
____
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