The dojo smelled like sawdust, scorched gravel, and regret.
Brutus stood in the middle of the main room, dripping with sweat and second-guessing every life decision that had led him here—most recently, saying "yes" to a man who looked like he wrestled Rhydons for cardio.
Flint stood nearby, arms crossed, watching Clove attempt to land a second Double Kick on a sandbag the size of a Snorlax's leg. The first hit had been sloppy. The second was closer to a love tap.
"Again," Flint said.
Clove grunted and launched himself forward. This time, both kicks landed square. The sandbag didn't move. But it noticed.
"Better," Flint said, voice flat as a slate tile.
Brutus wheezed. "You know what'd be better? A water break. Or a sugar break. Or a break from existence."
Flint ignored him, crouching to scribble notes on a battered clipboard that had probably seen more trauma than half the Kanto Rangers.
He read aloud, almost to himself:
> Trainer: Brutus, Unranked
Pokémon Analysis – Day 1 Training Intake
> Clove (Nidoran♂) – Level 7
Nature: Hardy
HP: 25 | ATK: 14 | DEF: 13 | SP. ATK: 10 | SP. DEF: 10 | SPD: 11
Known Moves: Peck, Leer, Focus Energy, Double Kick
> Yolkie (Cleffa) – Level 3
Nature: Jolly
HP: 18 | ATK: 6 | DEF: 5 | SP. ATK: 9 | SP. DEF: 12 | SPD: 8
Known Moves: Pound, Charm, Sing, Metronome
Brutus peeked over Flint's shoulder. "Wait—Yolkie's got Metronome now?"
Flint grunted. "Used it in her sleep. Nearly vaporized my lawn. Welcome to toddler roulette."
Brutus blinked. "And Clove knows Double Kick? Like, for real? Not just jumping with bad intentions?"
"He earned it."
Clove puffed up his chest. Then collapsed sideways into the grass.
---
Later, while Brutus wheezed on the floor and Flint adjusted Yolkie's stance for the sixth time that hour, the boy finally asked the thing that'd been gnawing at him since that brief flicker under the streetlight the night before.
"Hey," he said. "That guy in red. The one with the Pikachu."
Flint's brow creased. Just slightly.
"Who was that?"
Flint was silent for a long moment. Long enough that Brutus started to wonder if he'd been ignored.
"That boy's name is Red," Flint said eventually. "You won't find his name on billboards. Or shouty posters. But every serious trainer in Kanto knows who he is."
Brutus sat up. "He looked... my age."
"Maybe. But don't let that fool you."
A pause.
"Kid's been through more than most war medics."
Brutus waited, chewing the inside of his cheek. "You trained him too?"
Flint didn't answer.
Instead, he walked to the back of the dojo, where the light got dimmer and the air got heavier, as if the walls remembered things.
He touched the wall. Knocked once. Quiet. Respectful.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"You want my story?"
Brutus blinked. "Sure. I mean, if it helps you process your trauma or whatever."
Flint gave a low chuckle.
"Brock was the one with dreams. Always was. Gym Leader by age fifteen. A tactical genius. Me? I was the rock he stood on."
He sat down, slowly. Bones protesting.
"I ran the Gym before him. But not like he did. I didn't have the spark. Just fists and rules. When he took over, I stepped back. Then... Team Rocket came. Pewter was hit hard. Harder than people know."
Brutus sat quietly, eyes wide.
"My wife left. Took the younger kids. Brock stayed to fight. I... wandered. Thought I was protecting them by leaving."
He rubbed his eyes.
"Turns out running doesn't save anyone. Least of all yourself."
Silence.
Then Yolkie, sensing the mood shift, waddled over and climbed into Flint's lap. She squeaked, yawned, and promptly fell asleep.
Brutus stared.
"…She just does that."
Flint looked down at her. And for once—for once—his face softened.
"She's weird."
"She's mine," Brutus said proudly.
Another pause. This time, peaceful.
"You're doing alright," Flint said softly. "You don't know it yet. But you are."
Brutus didn't answer. Just leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
---
The next morning, Flint handed him a form.
League Official. Dojo-certified.
> NOTICE: Pewter Gym Challenge Policy Update
Minimum Trainer Level Required: 40
Badge Eligibility Reviewed Monthly
Gym Entry Without League License: Denied
Exceptions: None.
Brutus whistled. "Forty?"
Flint nodded. "League cracked down after the Rocket mess. No more baby trainers walking in with a Pidgey and blind hope."
Brutus blinked. "Well, Clove's a strong Level 7."
Flint raised an eyebrow.
Brutus sighed. "...but not a forty."
"You've got a road ahead," Flint said. "But you've started walking it. That's more than most."
Brutus folded the notice and tucked it into his pocket.
He looked out at the rising sun, the empty field, and Clove napping on a practice mat like a squashed blueberry.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Let's walk it."
---
END OF CHAPTER 10