Aaron left the Allocation Chamber with Gible waddling beside him, its steps short and thudding, but strangely purposeful for such a small creature. The other students were still buzzing over their own partners, filling the corridor with overlapping voices. Some held their Pokémon in their arms, others were already struggling to keep them under control. A few looked terrified, clutching their Pokéballs like they had just been handed live explosives.
Gible kept glancing up at him with a stare that felt far too intelligent for a first day meeting. It wasn't affectionate, not yet. It was more… evaluative. As if the little dragon was already deciding whether this human was worthy of listening to.
Aaron could work with that.
They had been instructed to return to the main residence for their evening break, and then report to the Common Hall to register their partners formally. His communicator buzzed just as he stepped outside. The familiar ringtone cut through the chatter around him.
He looked down.
Home calling.
His chest tightened in a way he didn't expect.
He accepted the call.
Elena appeared first, her face brightening instantly at the sight of him. The background looked familiar — the kitchen back home, sunlight pouring through the window onto the wooden table she always polished on Sundays. Roserade hovered nearby, arranging a bowl of Pecha berries with delicate, almost artistic precision.
"Oh thank goodness," Elena said. "I've been waiting all morning. Lila is practically vibrating from excitement."
Aaron smiled. "I just finished the allocation."
Before Elena could ask anything, there was an explosion of movement. Lila pushed her face into the screen so abruptly that all he could see were her wide brown eyes and a blur of messy hair.
"What did you get? What did you get? Tell me it's cute! Or strong! Or both!"
Aaron angled the device downward. Gible crossed its arms and narrowed its eyes at the screen, unimpressed by the sudden enthusiasm aimed at it.
Lila squealed. "It's adorable! What is it?"
"A Gible," he replied, watching her jaw drop.
"No way," she breathed. "Proper dragon type? I want one!"
Gible huffed at her tone, almost offended.
Elena leaned closer, examining Aaron more than the Pokémon. "You seem quite calm for someone who's just been handed a land shark."
"He's… interesting," Aaron said, glancing at the small dragon now sniffing the pavement.
"He looks stubborn," Elena observed.
"That makes two of them," James's voice came from off screen.
The camera shifted as he stepped into frame, still in his Ranger uniform, Staraptor towering behind him on a perch. James gave a brief nod of approval when he saw Gible.
"Good choice," he said simply. His tone wasn't warm, but it wasn't cold either. It carried the weight of honest respect. "Gible lines are strong. Demanding. They reflect their trainers. That's a good match."
Aaron felt his shoulders straighten a little.
Staraptor leaned in, staring at Gible with the kind of intensity only a trained predator could manage. Gible stared right back, claws digging into the ground, refusing to back down. Eventually Staraptor blinked slowly, a silent acknowledgment. Gible grunted in triumph.
Elena sighed, rubbing her temple. "Wonderful. Our son has bonded with a creature that already tries to intimidate fully grown flying types."
Lila giggled and tried to insert herself into the frame again. "Can I talk to it?"
"You're shouting into its face, Lila," Aaron said, amused despite himself.
"Well it should know who I am!"
Gible bared its teeth, though it wasn't entirely clear whether it was a warning or an attempt at a smile. Knowing Gible, it was probably both.
Elena stepped forward again. "Have you eaten? You look like you've been standing in corridors all day."
"Mum—"
"Don't 'Mum' me. Have you eaten?"
Aaron exhaled. "I will after registration."
"Good," she replied, though she still looked as though she didn't quite trust him.
James crossed his arms. "Focus, son. Today is important. Don't get swept away by excitement."
"I'm not," Aaron assured him quietly.
Lila leaned in once more. "Call me again tomorrow. I want to hear everything Gible does. Even the tiny things. Like if it blinks funny."
Gible made a short growling noise.
"I think that was a funny blink," she whispered loudly.
Aaron laughed under his breath. "I'll call. Promise."
Elena softened. "We're proud of you. All of us."
James nodded once, firm and silent.
Staraptor ruffled its wings in approval.
Lila blew a kiss so forcibly she nearly toppled into the counter.
"Go do your thing, big brother!"
Aaron ended the call slowly, letting the warmth settle in his chest. Gible tugged at his trouser leg, grunting impatiently.
"All right," Aaron murmured. "Registration first."
Gible snorted as if to say, "Finally."
They headed back toward campus.
The registration hall was bustling, each student lining up with their new partner. Clen stood near the corner, his Shinx darting around his feet, sparks popping harmlessly from its tiny paws.
"Oi," Clen called, raising a hand. "You got a Gible? That's ridiculous. I'm jealous."
Aaron shrugged lightly. "You got a Shinx."
"Yes, but yours bites mountains."
Gible puffed its chest, proud of the reputation.
They checked in their Pokémon, received the necessary bonding chips, hydration guides, and emergency recall rules. After that came a brief health screening from the academy nurses. Gible attempted to bite the thermometer. Twice.
By evening, they were back in their room, eating the provided meal while both Pokémon were sprawled nearby in the soft dorm lighting.
Clen watched Gible with an analysing stare that reminded Aaron faintly of Professor Rowan himself.
"Yours looks like it's planning world domination," Clen commented.
"That's just its face," Aaron replied.
"No, that's intent. Pure intent."
Shinx yawned, sparks dancing lazily from its fur, before curling beside Clen's bed.
Gible, on the other hand, refused to stay still, pacing like a restless predator testing the territory. It sniffed the corners, pushed the chair slightly, tapped the wardrobe door as if testing its durability, then finally sat down in the middle of the room and stared at Aaron meaningfully.
Clen smirked. "Yours is going to make life very interesting."
"I know," Aaron said, though there was no hint of worry in his tone.
"Good," Clen replied. "I can't stand people who aim for boring."
The next morning began the true rhythm of university life.
Their first major course was Trainer Psychology and Bond Dynamics taught by Professor Lyran. She was a middle aged woman with calm eyes, long silver hair tied neatly behind her and a voice that moved like a steady river — patient, unhurried, but profoundly deep.
She walked into the hall, placed her notes down and simply said, "Sit with your Pokémon."
A wave of shuffling spread across the lecture theatre as dozens of Pokémon hopped, crawled, slithered or waddled into place.
Professor Lyran surveyed them with a gentle but sharp gaze.
"The first three months," she said, "are not about battles. They are about understanding the mind of the creature you stand beside. Training without understanding is just coercion. You are not here to command. You are here to communicate."
Gible sat beside Aaron, arms crossed again, watching Lyran as if judging her worth.
Lyran's eyes flicked briefly to the dragon. Then she nodded, almost approvingly.
"You will learn each week how your Pokémon thinks, fears, trusts and decides. Your success depends on your ability to adapt to its nature, not force it into yours."
The class spent the next hour studying behaviour cues, micro expressions, territorial instincts and emotional variance across species.
Gible's emotional variance, Aaron learned, ranged from "mildly annoyed" to "intensely annoyed".
He took notes diligently anyway.
Their second module, Global Ecology and Habitat Adaptation, was taught by Professor Harklin, a wiry man who dressed like he had permanently just returned from a jungle expedition. He spoke fast, scribbled faster and genuinely seemed to forget that breathing was a necessary part of lecturing.
"We are not here to draw maps," he said, pacing so quickly the students' eyes followed him like a tennis match. "We are here to understand why a Grotle thrives in Sinnoh forests, why a Trapinch collapses in humid areas, why Dratini hide where they do. Geography is survival. Habitat is everything."
He spent the day throwing rapid fire questions at the students, most of which half the room couldn't answer without panicking.
Clen muttered under his breath, "This bloke needs to calm down before he combusts."
Their next class of the week was Essential Combat Theory with Professor Renford, a retired battle strategist whose presence alone could silence an entire stadium of trainers. He had a voice like gravel on metal and a posture that suggested he had never slouched in his entire life.
"Battles," he said, "are mathematics. Instinct plays its part, yes, but instinct is useless without structure. We do not indulge reckless swings or lucky strikes here. We craft predictable unpredictability."
He studied Gible for a long moment.
"Yours," he said to Aaron, "is designed for aggression. Train that aggression into control. You do not want a dragon deciding things for you."
Gible snarled half-heartedly.
Renford raised an eyebrow. "Case in point."
Between these major modules, they also attended Pokémon Medical Fundamentals with Nurse Helia, a gentle and endlessly patient woman who carried herself like someone who had treated every wound known to Pokémon history at least twice.
She taught them how to detect muscle strain, how to recognise early poisoning signs, the proper temperature for hydration gels and what not to do if a fire type sneezed.
Gible attempted to drink a disinfectant solution exactly once.
After that, Aaron kept a death grip on every bottle placed near the dragon.
Field Safety and Emergency Strategy came next, taught by Instructor Vale, an ex ranger who had a habit of stopping mid sentence to stare at students like she was evaluating their survival odds in real time. Her practical drills were notorious, even in the first week.
"You," she told Clen, "don't run in zigzags if a Stantler charges. That just makes you look like confused prey."
"You," she told Aaron, "don't let a dragon type wander behind you during a forest sweep. You'll lose your ankles."
Gible looked positively delighted by the comment.
The first month blurred into the second with relentless training, unexpected assignments, early morning drills and late night study sessions.
Gible grew more responsive, though not any less temperamental. It liked challenges, disliked waiting, hated paperwork and absolutely despised the cleaning spray used on dorm floors.
Aaron learned quickly that the little dragon preferred direct communication — clear tone, firm instruction, visible confidence. Anything less and Gible simply pretended not to hear.
Clen, to Aaron's surprise, became an anchor through the chaos. He was sharp, sarcastic, but observant to a fault. Shinx matched him perfectly — energetic, loyal and eager to impress.
By the end of the second month, the four of them moved almost like a functional unit, even when they weren't trying to.
Lectures grew denser. Field sessions grew harsher. Professor Harklin nearly got himself electrocuted during a demonstration involving a Luxio and metal tongs. Nurse Helia made them all practise emergency bandaging on their own legs, which resulted in a corridor full of limping students.
Through all of it, Aaron found his own rhythm. Not by forcing it, but by aligning with it. Gible seemed to sense the growth and responded with increased trust — not affection, not yet, but trust. That alone felt monumental.
When the third month arrived, the academy shifted into exam mode. The atmosphere changed almost overnight. Students who once chatted freely now huddled in corners with textbooks and study tablets. Pokémon sensed the tension and either mirrored it or tried to relieve it.
Gible fell into the former category — it grew even more alert and restless, suspicious of everything that moved.
The night before exams, Clen looked up from his desk.
"You ready?" he asked.
"As ready as I can be," Aaron replied.
Gible paced the length of the room, tail twitching like a tiny sword.
"Your Gible thinks it's sitting the exam," Clen said.
"Wouldn't be surprised," Aaron muttered.
The morning of the exam, sunlight cut across the campus in pale gold, sharp and cool. Students gathered outside the Grand Convergence Hall once again, but this time the energy was different — quieter, heavier, threaded with nervous anticipation.
Aaron stood with Gible at his side, the dragon unusually silent.
Clen exhaled slowly. "Here we go, then."
Shinx mewed softly, offering a spark that brushed against his hand.
Aaron looked down at Gible.
"You ready?" he whispered.
Gible grunted, nodding once with absolute certainty.
They walked inside.
The hall doors shut behind them.
And the first term exam began.