A dull ringing echoed in Ashen's ears as consciousness finally began to return.
He opened his eyes. The world looked hazy, blurry at the edges. Slowly, his senses started to come back.
He tried to sit up but winced immediately from the pain. His entire body ached—bruises and burn marks scattered across his skin.
His right arm was heavily bandaged, still pulsing from the heat.
His mind was blank. Then suddenly—it all came rushing back.
The horrifying scene.
His house burning.
The Charizard.
His mom—
He shot upright, tossing the blanket away, the sharp pain nearly making him faint.
Breathing heavily, he looked around slowly.
A clean room. A computer humming softly in the corner. A glass of untouched water on the side table.
And in the far corner, asleep in a chair, was Professor Oak.
Ignoring everything else, he tried to go outside.
'Please tell me it was all a dream.'
Deep down, Ashen knew it was real. But that desperate thought was the only hope he could cling to.
Every step was agony. His legs trembled under his weight, each movement draining all his strength. He stumbled forward, barely catching himself on the edge of a desk.
Then—
Crash!
He bumped into a nearby bookshelf, knocking it over with a loud clatter. A few books fell to the floor, and the noise startled Professor Oak awake.
The old man blinked groggily, then shot to his feet the moment he saw Ashen.
"So, you are awake. I wouldn't be moving that much if I were you. You're pretty badly injured, and I'm a Pokémon Professor, not a doctor, so the treatment I gave you..."
He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "...might not hold up if you keep throwing yourself around like that."
Ashen, ignoring his words, kept moving, using the desk for support, trying to get outside.
Professor Oak sighed, rubbing his temples. "What are you even going to see? There's nothing left there."
Ashen stopped in his tracks, looking back at Oak. His face was tense, genuinely filled with pain and confusion.
"I... I don't know. It's not like I have anything left," Ashen said, sitting down on the floor, his voice worn out.
"Well, you're still alive, and that's a pretty good start." Oak came to his side, placing a hand gently on his shoulder.
"Some days, the only reason to keep living is because you haven't seen how your story ends yet. And maybe… just maybe, there's still something worth seeing."
Ashen looked him in the eyes. Oak smiled at him, trying to cheer him up, but Ashen quickly looked away.
"How would you know anything about me? You don't even know my name."
"Well, you can tell me that right now."
Hearing Oak's words was the kind of comfort Ashen needed to finally begin thinking clearly.
'Mom... I won't be able to see you again.'
Tears dropped from his eyes as he remembered her again.
Oak gently rubbed his back, trying to calm him down.
He said nothing. He knew Ashen needed comfort, not wisdom, right now—so he just stood by his side, letting him pour his heart out.
After fifteen minutes, Ashen finally stopped crying. He was grateful to Oak, but the question still lingered in his mind: Why is this person helping me?
Oak noticed Ashen deep in thought, so he asked him directly, "What's the matter? Something bothering you?"
Ashen hesitated for a moment. His lips twitched, but Oak's reassuring smile was more than enough for him to let it out.
"Not trying to be rude… Professor, but… why are you helping a stranger like me?"
Oak chuckled at Ashen's question and replied without missing a beat.
"Do adults need a reason to help kids in trouble?"
A tiny laugh slipped out of Ashen before he could stop it. It was full on laugh, barely there—but real.
Oak smiled, satisfied.
"There we go," he said. "Still some fight left in you."
Ashen's eyes drifted toward the window, where the sun was just starting to rise, painting soft orange hues across the sky.
A new day.
"What's your name, kid?"
"…Ashen."
"Well, Ashen," Oak nodded, "you've got a long road ahead of you. But you're not walking it alone."
Ashen tried to stand again. Oak quickly stepped in, offering his shoulder to help him settle back into bed.
As he was being seated, Ashen spoke.
"I don't know what I'm going to do now." He tried to mask his worry, but Oak saw right through it.
"When you first came here, you said something about grades, right? You came to apply for the assistant position, didn't you?"
Ashen nodded.
"Well, you could do that. But… I'd recommend something else."
Ashen looked at Oak with confusion, waiting for him to continue.
"The way you charged in head-on... the way you didn't back off from the fight—I think you're more fit to be a Pokémon Trainer—"
Ashen cut him off before he could finish.
"I always wanted to be a Professor. Also, I don't have any way to obtain a starter, and on top of that, I'm 17—about to turn 18 soon. I'll be behind others who started training at 10 or 11."
Professor Oak didn't flinch at Ashen's interruption. He simply chuckled, a deep, knowing sound.
"You think there's a time limit on finding your path?" he asked, settling into the chair beside the bed. "You're not behind, Ashen. You're just… starting differently."
Ashen looked down at his bandaged arm. "Differently?" he repeated bitterly.
"You know, I think what you need now is experience. A journey might sound tiring, but it'll heal you."
Ashen looked up again, processing his words.
"You might not feel it right now, but something's broken inside you. It'll limit your growth if you leave it unchecked."
"I understand what you mean, Professor, but… I feel I'm more fit for desk work."
Oak smiled, not dismissing his words. "You can become a Professor anytime, Ashen. But a journey? That's a privilege of the young."
He looked out the window, eyes filled with a strange nostalgia.
"I'd give anything to do that again."
Ashen's eyes widened slightly. "Wait… you were a Trainer?"
Oak let out a big laugh. "There's more to me than meets the eye."
Ashen clenched his fists, as if Oak's words had filled him with determination.
"All that is fine, but still... the starter," Ashen said, looking a bit worried again.
"You don't have to worry. You can just rely on me for that."
Ashen quickly shook his head. "No, no, Professor. You've already done enough for me. I can't ask you for more favors."
Oak stood up and walked over to his desk. He grabbed three Pokéballs and returned with them.
One had a fire sticker on it.
One had a water sticker.
And one had a leaf sticker.
Ashen, on the other hand, kept denying it. "Like I said, Professor, I just can't accept it."
Professor Oak placed the Pokéballs in front of him on the bed, acting as though he hadn't heard Ashen at all. A smirk spread across his face.
"Professor—" Ashen said loudly, trying to get Oak to listen.
"You don't have to worry. These are issued by the League to be given to young aspiring Trainers or orphaned kids, along with a Pokédex to help in research."
"You said you were 17, right? I'm legally allowed to give these to you."
Ashen went silent, his mind racing with excitement. He looked at Oak.
Oak nodded, signaling him to choose.
His hands froze midair as he looked at the three Pokéballs in front of him.
'I never wanted to be a Trainer. I was sure it wasn't for me. But… why is this kinda exciting?'
'Mom, I hope you could see this...'
Ashen thought, pushing the sadness aside and preparing his mind for the choice.