Apoorv POV
I woke up tired.
Not the normal "didn't sleep enough" tired.
This was the kind that sat in your bones. The kind where your muscles ached before you even moved, where your brain felt slow until you forced it awake.
For a few seconds, I just stared at the tent ceiling, listening to the sounds of the camp waking up.
Boots hitting the ground.
Low voices barking orders.
Pokémon calls—short, controlled, disciplined.
Another day.
The past month had been brutal.
And I meant brutal.
People thought becoming a Pokémon Trainer was about catching something cool and learning flashy moves.
They were wrong.
Painfully wrong.
Our days started before sunrise and ended long after sunset. Physical conditioning came first—running, endurance drills, balance training, reaction tests. Not optional. Not "recommended."
Mandatory.
Then came the academics.
Types.
Type interactions.
Counters.
Move categories.
Status effects.
Common battle patterns.
Pack behavior.
Territorial psychology.
Signs of aggression versus hunger.
Signs of curiosity versus ambush.
They drilled it into us until we started dreaming in type charts.
If you messed up a classification? Punishment.
If you hesitated in identifying a threat? Punishment.
If you treated Pokémon like game sprites instead of living beings?
You were done.
The instructors didn't yell much.
That somehow made it worse.
Most of them were military. Not the loud, chest-thumping kind. The quiet ones. The kind who looked at you once and made you feel like you'd already disappointed them.
They didn't insult you.
They waited for you to fail.
And when you did?
They made sure you understood why.
Phones were restricted.
One hour per week.
That was it.
One hour to call family. To reassure parents. To pretend you weren't constantly sore, constantly scared of messing up, constantly aware that the forest just outside the perimeter didn't care how rich or important your last name was.
I used my time to talk to my mom.
She cried once.
I didn't tell her everything after that.
From what I gathered, other camps weren't like this.
I heard stories during few moments online.
Most camps were mostly theory,
focused heavily on Pokémon bonding.
Some barely pushed physical limits.
Meanwhile, at Aarey—
We were being crushed.
At first, people complained.
Loudly.
A few spoiled brats—politicians' kids, business heirs, people who clearly expected special treatment—lost their minds when they realized no one cared who they were.
They argued.
Threatened.
Tried pulling connections.
Didn't work.
One by one, they were transferred out.
Officially: "Reassignment due to compatibility concerns."
Unofficially?
They couldn't handle it.
And the best part?
Every time someone left, someone else took their place.
Students from other camps.
Kids who'd scored high.
Kids who'd shown discipline.
Kids who actually wanted this.
You could feel the difference immediately.
Less whining.
More focus.
More respect—for instructors, for Pokémon, for each other.
That's when it hit me.
This camp wasn't harder by accident.
It was intentional.
Aarey wasn't training trainers.
It was filtering them.
Only the ones who could endure stayed.
Only the ones who could learn under pressure advanced.
And whether people liked it or not…
This was Aakash's camp.
Of course it was different.
I sat up slowly, stretching sore shoulders.
"Yeah," I muttered. "Another day."
I couldn't quit.
Not when he trusted me like that.
Outside, the whistle blew.
Training time.
I stood, adjusted my uniform, and took a breath.
If this was what it took to stand beside people like Aakash—
Then fine.
I'd endure it.
_____________________________________
After training, something felt…
Different.
We were gathered in the central clearing. Normally, this was the part of the day where everyone looked half-dead—sweat-soaked, sore, eyes dull with exhaustion.
But today?
Faces were lifted.
Postures straighter.
People were tired—no one here wasn't—but underneath that fatigue was something sharp and alive.
Excitement.
Anticipation.
Whispers spread through the ranks.
"Is it true?"
"They said today's the announcement."
"Final week, right?"
"Does that mean—?"
The instructors didn't shut it down.
That alone confirmed it.
Imran stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back. Kavya stood beside him, tablet in hand, expression calm but focused. Behind them, Pokémon moved quietly—Chansey near the medical tents, Oddish clusters resting in the shade, Slowking watching everything with that unreadable regal calm.
Imran let the silence stretch.
Then he spoke.
"Today marks the beginning of your final week."
A ripple went through the crowd.
He didn't raise his voice.
Didn't need to.
"That means," he continued evenly, "every trainee who does not currently have a Pokémon partner will receive one today."
The clearing exploded.
Not cheers—those were drilled out of us early—but sharp inhales, clenched fists, stunned looks exchanged between people who'd spent the last month earning the right to hear that sentence.
Imran raised a hand.
Silence snapped back into place.
"There are three paths," he said.
"Those who selected random eggs during intake will receive their assigned Pokémon from instructors."
A few nervous smiles.
"Those who arranged Pokémon partnerships through family channels will have their Pokémon delivered after verification."
Some relieved nods.
"And those who already formed bonds before entering this camp—"
His gaze flicked briefly across the crowd.
"—will have their Pokémon returned to them."
That was it.
That was all he said.
But my heart was already hammering.
A month.
A full month without Piplup.
At first, I'd told myself it would be fine. That separation was part of training. That it would help us grow independently.
That was a lie.
I missed her.
The quiet weight at my side.
The way she puffed up when she was proud.
The stubborn little glare she gave me when I doubted myself.
I clenched my hands, forcing myself to breathe evenly.
I wasn't the only one.
I saw it in Arpit's posture—how his shoulders tightened, how his eyes scanned the perimeter instinctively, like he expected his Poochyena to come trotting out any second.
Neha didn't say anything, as usual, but her fingers curled slowly at her side. Controlled. Focused. But her eyes were bright.
Imran continued with logistics—schedules, verification protocols—but my mind was already somewhere else.
At the out of the camp.
Beyond the fencing.
Past the tents and patrol routes.
Home.
Aakash's villa.
The backyard.
Happiny waddling around like she owned the place.
And Piplup—
Probably standing there, chest puffed out, acting like she hadn't missed me at all.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Then Imran's voice cut through again.
"Let me be clear," he said. "Receiving a Pokémon is not a reward."
That sobered the air instantly.
"It is a responsibility," he continued. "And if at any point you prove unfit for it, that responsibility will be taken away."
"You've endured this far," he said. "Now we see what kind of trainers you become."
I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders as the soreness reminded me I was still very much alive.
"Hey," Arpit muttered beside me. "You think they'll recognize us immediately?"
I snorted softly. "Piplup will. She's got better memory than I do."
Neha glanced at us. "If she doesn't," she said calmly, "something has gone very wrong."
That got a quiet laugh out of me.
For the first time in weeks, the exhaustion didn't feel crushing.
It felt earned.
And as the camp slowly shifted back into motion, one thought stayed locked in my chest—
I didn't just survive this month.
I became someone worthy of standing beside her again.
Just as we were lost in our own thoughts—
A sharp cry cut through the air.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
But powerful enough that every head snapped upward on instinct.
"—That sound…"
My breath caught.
I knew that cry.
The sky above the clearing darkened as a massive shadow swept across the camp.
Wings.
Huge.
Controlled.
The wind shifted violently, snapping tent flaps and sending loose dust spiraling upward as a form descended in a wide, deliberate arc.
Gasps rippled through the trainees.
No one needed to be told to look.
Pidgeot dropped from the clouds like a living storm, feathers gleaming, wings adjusting with effortless precision. She didn't rush the landing—she owned the air, spiraling once over the clearing before touching down directly on the stage platform.
Talons hit wood.
THUD.
The impact wasn't violent—but it was final.
Pidgeot folded her wings neatly, standing tall, head held high, eyes sharp and alert. Even from where I stood, I could feel it—the pressure, the presence, the absolute certainty that this Pokémon ruled the sky she flew in.
And on her back—
Aakash.
__________________________
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