Chapter 7 The cost of power

  Three weeks in, the routine had begun to settle. Between classes, tutoring sessions, and late nights with Annabelle. Wendel’s days had started to blur together. Early mornings were reserved for training, the cold air thick with the sound of clashing Pokémon.

  One crisp morning on the open fields, Gretchen and Cecilia sparred fiercely, their movements fluid but focused. Wendel knelt beside Rhys, guiding the little Riolu through a series of maneuvers.

  Suddenly, a familiar figure jogged toward them — Bea, the school’s strongest student and a renowned martial artist.

  “Adjust your stance,” she said briefly to Wendel with a sharp nod, eyes gleaming with the practiced precision of a fighter. “Keep your weight balanced more on your toes when you move Riolu. You want to be ready to react, not just to push forward.”

  Wendel nodded, grateful. “Ahh, I see, that makes it much smoother. Thanks.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Bea continued her run, leaving Wendel feeling simultaneously exhilarated and humbled.

  Later that week, the classroom buzzed with questions. Professor Elric Dain was deep into explaining official league rules when a hand shot up.

  “Professor, why is it that trainers can only use six Pokémon in official battles? Can’t they bring more?”

  Professor Dain nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a common question. The rule of six comes from the League’s efforts to keep battles fair and manageable. Officially, whether you’re challenging a gym, competing in ranked battles, or participating in the Pokémon League tournaments, you’re only allowed to use six Pokémon in your battle team.”

  He leaned against his desk, eyes sweeping the classroom. “But outside of battle, trainers often carry more than six Pokémon. Many do, especially breeders, researchers, or those who specialize in diverse types. The catch is, caring for a large team isn’t easy. It’s not just about space — the financial cost of feeding, training, and tending to even six Pokémon can strain many trainers, especially those from less wealthy backgrounds.”

  Dain gestured toward the window where a group of students trained their Pokémon outside. “That’s why most trainers keep their teams tight. Having six strong, well-prepared Pokémon is better than carrying a dozen poorly cared for ones. Plus, the league wants battles to focus on skill, strategy, and teamwork — not overwhelming opponents with sheer numbers.”

  He smiled, adding, “There are exceptions, of course. Some trainers participate in special events or research projects with larger teams, but for official matches, six is the limit — and it’s been that way for decades.”

  Professor Dain paused thoughtfully before continuing, “One of the more fascinating—and practical—League regulations involve the use of the Pokédex during official trainer-versus-trainer battles.”

  The students leaned in as He explained, “Before any sanctioned match, trainers must ‘register’ each other’s Pokédex entries. This not only verifies identity and eligibility but also activates the League’s automated wagering system.”

  Wendel’s ears perked up. Wagering? Like a battle bet?

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Exactly,” Dain said with a small smile. “Both trainers agree on a stake—usually money, sometimes items, or even Pokémon. The Pokédex handles the transaction instantly. If a trainer loses, the credits are deducted automatically and transferred to the winner. This system helps maintain transparency and trust, so there’s no need for cash or third parties.”

  He added, “Most trainers keep their funds in digital banks accessible through their Pokédex, so the device acts as more than just a Pokémon catalog. It’s their wallet, communication device, and battle record all in one.

  Wendel thought about how this constant tally of wins and losses across the region would influence not only reputation but strategy—and maybe even alliances.

  Team Rocket training facility

  The underground corridors of the Team Rocket base stretched in muted gray lines, Kolt could feel a low hum of machinery vibrating faintly through the floor.

  Kolt walked beside Astrid, her cold and calm demeanor could unsettle even veteran trainers. Their footsteps echoed against the concrete as they approached the training chamber.

  “Your assessment was… promising,” Astrid said, eyes scanning the hallway as if measuring its every shadow. “Your Alakazam is strong and has the necessary genetic markers. But raw potential alone is not enough. He needs to have an iron will otherwise this…will kill him.”

  Kolt glanced at the silver exoskeleton hanging in the chamber.

  “What is it?” Kolt asked

  "Your next step."

  “This suit has only been used once before… well successfully”

  “Only once? What survived?” Kolt asked

  “We called him Mewtwo.”

  “Mew..two...as in the Legendary Pokémon created in Kanto.” Kolt replied dumbfounded.

  “Yes, the one and only. The reports from his creation say he had power second to none. This suit helped him develop and control that power.” Astrid said with a sly grin.

  “This seems almost extreme.” Kolt retorted

  “Extreme is the point,” Astrid replied smoothly. “The suit constrains, channels, and intensifies psychic energy. But the union is far from gentle.

  Mistimed inputs, or hesitation, and the consequences can be severe. Pain is inevitable. Control is everything.”

  Alakazam floated beside Kolt, his eyes steady, its psychic presence brushing against his mind. In Kolt’s thoughts, the voice came, calm but resolute: “Do not fret, Kolt. If this is what I must endure to grow stronger, this suit shall not best me.”

  Kolt exhaled slowly.

  Astrid gestured to the exoskeleton. “Alakazam, first we will begin with the spinal plates.”

  “Then pins along your spine will be directly inserted into your spinal column connecting the suit to your central nervous system.

  Kolt stood unblinking, staring at the suit and swallowed hard. Something inside him was screaming for him to get away from it.

  “After that we will add the remainder of the suit, all of the limb and chest armor tie into the helmet and spinal plate.”

  “I will not sugar coat it for you. The pain will be unimaginable, but remember you must stay in control, it is crucial to your survival.”

  Alakazam nodded, floating forward. Segmented panels of silver metal folded over his chest, arms, and legs, hugging every limb in rigid armor. The spinal plates draped down its neck and along its back, poised and ready. The helmet descended, the visor locking smoothly into place.

  A technician stepped forward, hand on a lever. Astrid’s voice cut through the chamber, calm but firm: “Are you ready?”

  Alakazam’s energy pulsed in answer.

  Somewhere in the back of the room a lever slammed forward.

  A series of sharp, mechanical clicks echoed through the chamber as the pins drove downward, piercing his skin along the spine, forcing a direct connection to the brainstem.

  Alakazam screamed, the sound reverberated through Kolt’s chest. Pain seared through the Pokémon’s body as the suit fused with him.

  “Alakazam!” Kolt shouted, rushing forward, but Astrid’s hand shot out holding him back.

  “Don’t,” she said softly. “If he loses control, you’ll die before you touch him.”

  Kolts gaze was glued to Alakazam, his fists were clenched so tightly they ached.

  Then Alakazam slumped forward, his head hung low in front of him. Silence permeated the room.

  Kolts eyes widened. He couldn't be...

  A single drop of blood dripped from beneath the helmet and dropped to the floor shattering the silence.

  Slowly he lifted his head. The visor tilted toward Kolt.

  Through the narrow slit of reinforced glass, his eyes glowed. Not with familiar focus, not with the sharp intellect Kolt knew better than his own reflection.

  A storm raged within them, raw psychic force, hungry and unrestrained, and barely contained.