The transition from the emerald canopy of the forest to the stark, granite-colored streets of Pewter City was jarring. Pewter wasn't a city of neon and chrome; it was a city of stone. The buildings were heavy, the air smelled of mineral dust, and the Gym—a massive, windowless bunker of gray rock—loomed over the town like a resting Golem.
I rolled through the city gates on my board, the rhythmic *clack-clack* of the wheels echoing off the stone walls. On my shoulder, Nugget was practically radiating heat, her Pseudo-Champion status making her feel like a localized sun. Tucked into my hood was Eevee, her tail now possessing a distinct, metallic weight that she occasionally tested by thumping against my back.
And hovering above us, wings shimmering with a soft, iridescent pink, was Sakura. My Butterfree had finally emerged from her shell that morning. She wasn't just a Bug-type anymore; she was a tactical nightmare draped in silk.
Spite, as it turns out, is the greatest PED in the Pokémon world. Spearow's obsession with the "Electric Rat" had pushed his **Steel Wing** to a point where his feathers actually hummed with a metallic ring. Not to be outdone, Eevee had ground her **Iron Tail** into a reliable finisher, driven by a stubborn refusal to let the bird have the spotlight.
"Alright, team," I whispered as I approached the heavy double doors of the Gym. "First badge. This isn't for the 'gram, and it's not for the cheering crowds. This is for the sponsorship, the G-Pro credentials, and the sheer satisfaction of proving that 'Type Disadvantage' is just a suggestion for people without a plan."
The Pre-Battle Ritual
I didn't head straight for the Gym. Rule number one of the G-Pro handbook: A stressed trainer is a losing trainer.
I headed to the Pewter Pokémon Center first. The building was made of heavy, locally quarreled stone, giving it the vibe of a sturdy fortress. I registered for the League—feeling that surge of adrenaline as my digital ID flashed on the big screen: Regina (Viridian) – 0 Badges.
"Your slot is booked for tomorrow morning, 10:00 AM," Nurse Joy said, her voice a soothing contrast to the heavy-metal training we'd been doing.
I spent the rest of the day in a state of luxury. I hit the Pewter Mart to restock. My banking app was looking healthy thanks to the "Samurai Tax" and my G-Pro stipend, so I didn't skimp. Potions, Antidotes, high-grade kibble—the usual "how to keep your monsters from dying" shopping list.
While browsing, I saw a fashion magazine called The Urban Scout. One of the articles mentioned a local haunt called 'Rocks Lover.' "What's the point of being on a journey if you don't enjoy the local flavor?" I muttered, adjusting my cap. "Right, guys?"
Eevee chirped from my shoulder, already smelling the potential for gourmet snacks.
The Yellow Streak of Pewter
I was on my way to a restaurant I'd seen in Trainer's Monthly called "Rock Lovers"—because apparently, in this town, if you don't eat at a place named after a stone, you don't eat at all—when the peace was shattered.
"Stop! Thief! Someone catch that yellow menace!"
I turned, my skateboard already halfway under my arm, to see a blur of yellow electricity zig-zagging through the market stalls. It wasn't a Pikachu. It was smaller, rounder, and looked like it had been designed specifically to test the patience of every living soul in a five-mile radius.
A Pichu.
It was currently perched atop a fruit stand, juggling three Oran berries while the stall owner tried to swat it with a broom. The little monster just laughed—a high-pitched, mocking giggle—and unleashed a tiny Thundershock that sent the owner twitching into a pile of cabbages.
I pulled out my Pokedex, the screen flickering as the static in the air intensified.
[Data Scan: Wild Pichu]
Class: Elite
Gender: Male
Nature: Timid (+Speed, -Attack)
Abilities: Static / Lightning Rod (Hidden Ability)
Note: Extremely high electrical capacity for its developmental stage.
Timid? I stared at the screen, then at the Pichu, which was currently mooning a group of angry citizens. Timid my left sneaker. This thing is a pint-sized anarchist. But the "Lightning Rod" ability combined with Elite-tier potential? That was a diamond in the rough. This was exactly how Red met his Pikachu in the old Manga archives—a wild, untameable force of nature that just needed the right hand to guide it.
"This is literally the 'Red' origin story from the manga," I whispered, a smirk playing on my lips. "Except I'm not as nice as Red."
"Alright, citizens, step back," I called out, my voice carrying that "Officer-in-training" authority. "G-Pro business. I'll handle the pest."
The crowd parted. The Pichu looked at me, its ears twitching. It held up an apple, took a deliberate, crunchy bite, and then threw the core at my head.
I ducked. The core hit a statue of a Geodude behind me with a wet thwack.
"Oh, you want to play, Sparky?" I smirked, my hand going to my belt. "Nugget, let's show this baby how real fire feels."
Torchic hit the pavement with a sharp Chic-tor! She didn't look impressed. She was a Pseudo-Champion now; fighting a baby mouse felt beneath her.
"Don't underestimate it, Nugget. It has Lightning Rod. Use Quick Attack to close the distance, then Growl to break its focus!"
The Pichu wasn't just fast; it was erratic. It used Agility to blur around the marketplace, its cheeks sparking. It tried to trap Torchic in a corner, but Nugget was faster. She blurred through a gap in the fruit crates, her feathers glowing with the speed of her charge.
CRACK.
They collided in a burst of sparks and feathers. The Pichu tumbled backward, but instead of crying, it let out a frustrated growl and tried to use Thunderbolt.
"Now! Ember to the ground!"
The burst of flame kicked up a cloud of dust and soot, blinding the tiny mouse. Before it could recover, I stepped forward, an empty Pokéball in my hand.
"You're too good for this alleyway, Sparky," I said, my voice low and steady. "You want to prank the world? Come with me. We'll prank the Elite Four."
I tossed the ball. It hit the Pichu square on its forehead.
One shake.
Two shakes.
Three.
CLICK.
The marketplace went silent. Then, a cheer erupted from the townspeople. A shopkeeper ran up to me, his face red from exertion, and pressed a handful of bills into my hand.
"Thank you, young lady! That little terror has been raiding our stores for a week! Here—take this. A reward from the Merchants' Association!"
One hundred Poké-dollars. Not a bad haul for a five-minute scuffle.
I tucked the money away and looked at the ball. Timid nature, but acting like a Naughty prankster? Maybe it was a defense mechanism. Or maybe, like me, it just had a lot of spite to work through.
"Welcome to the squad, Sparky," I whispered, feeling the weight of my fifth Pokémon.
I looked up at the looming silhouette of the Pewter Gym. Tomorrow, the "Girl on the Skateboard" wasn't just going to battle. She was going to make a statement.
I headed toward the restaurant, my heart light. I had a pink butterfly, a metallic bird, a heavy-tailed scout, a champion-tier fire-chick, and now a high-voltage prankster.
Pewter City wasn't ready. Brock wasn't ready.
But I? I was just getting started.