Nova knew the style well from his previous life. Back then, sensationalist headlines had taken the internet by storm — the kind that promised you something unbelievable, made you feel like you'd miss out if you didn't click, and delivered just enough to justify the bait. He had fallen for them more times than he could count while killing time at an internet café. Even knowing what they were, he had never quite been able to stop himself.
This world hadn't reached that point yet. The people here still read forum posts with a reasonable expectation of good faith. They hadn't been trained to scroll past anything that sounded too dramatic. The first time a post like his appeared at the top of a major forum with that kind of title, the reaction was exactly what he had expected — people clicked.
It was already late by the time he posted. There was nothing more he could do that night, so Nova set his phone down, washed up, and went to sleep. He would check the results in the morning.
If the forum post didn't gain traction, he had a backup plan — he could reach out to the local television station and pitch them a short documentary about Granny and the kennel. With a well-written script and the right framing, there was a solid chance they could put together something that would reach a wider audience. But that could wait.
The next morning, after washing up and preparing breakfast, Nova opened the Trainer forums on his phone.
He blinked.
The post had completely taken off.
He scrolled quickly through the reply count, then opened the thread itself. The comments were already running into the hundreds and climbing. What caught him off guard wasn't the volume — it was the content.
A large number of the replies were from former customers of the Family Kennels.
Granny's kennel is closing? one wrote. Our Pokémon came from her years ago — she's been a wonderful companion ever since, completely reliable. I can't believe this.
The comment included a photo of a large, cheerful-looking Granbull. Nova squinted at it. He couldn't see what the owner meant by adorable, but he respected that people had different tastes.
Further down, a Professional Trainer had weighed in. The original post is right about the potential. I took home a Houndour from that kennel several years ago. That Houndoom is my strongest partner now. The comment came with a photo — a Houndoom standing beside its trainer, a silver medal from a regional battle league around its neck. The trainer had placed in the top eight twice and taken runner-up once. That was a real endorsement.
Then came a post from a ranch owner.
I run Premium Ranch — our Moomoo Milk is produced right here in this region and we supply some of the best breeders around. Over ten years ago, we brought home sixteen Yamper from Granny Zhao's kennel. Today those Pokémon are the backbone of our entire herding operation. When we heard she's planning to retire, everyone here was genuinely upset. We've already agreed — we're taking every Yamper from her final litter. And yes, for anyone wondering: Granny does use our Moomoo Milk.
The reply section beneath that comment erupted.
Wild Ranch has the best Moomoo Milk in this entire region, not you. Get your facts straight.
And nobody said you get first pick on the Yamper. Highest bid wins — don't try to claim the whole litter.
Pureborn Ranch supplies the kennel. I don't know where you're getting your information, but it's wrong.
Nova skimmed past the farmers arguing about dairy products and kept scrolling.
What he found as he went further through the thread was something he hadn't fully anticipated. People from completely different walks of life were showing up to share their own stories about Granny and her Pokémon.
There were explorers who described being pulled out of dangerous situations in the wild by her Mightyena — steady, reliable Pokémon that had kept them alive when things went wrong. There were travellers who had captured some of their best memories alongside her Smeargle, Pokémon known for their ability to sketch and record the world around them. There were Security Officers who spoke about Arcanine from the kennel that had made the difference on difficult assignments. There were competitive fighters who had achieved regional and even international titles with Lucario raised on those very hills. There were ordinary families who had simply grown up with a Furfrou from Granny Zhao as a constant, steady presence in their homes.
Separate stories, separate lives — but all of them pointing back to the same quiet kennel in the mountains. Reading through them, Nova realised that this place had touched far more people than anyone outside those hills had ever known.
He set his phone down for a moment and thought.
Publicity mattered, no question. But nothing he could have written in any post matched the weight of what those people were saying on their own, without being asked.
Still, it wasn't enough yet. As a Professional Trainer himself, Nova understood how the community thought. Sentiment and nostalgia would bring casual attention. Getting serious trainers to act — to actually travel, to commit — required something sharper. He needed a hook that spoke directly to competitive instinct.
He already had it ready.
He opened the account he had registered under Nidoking, uploaded a clear photograph of the Hisuian Growlithe from the nursery, and posted a single line beneath it.
Does anyone know what Pokémon this is? I've never seen one like it before.
Then he pinned the reply to the top of the thread and waited.
The silence lasted about four minutes.
Then the thread caught fire.
Is that a Hisuian Growlithe?! Where is this kennel?? I'm on my way right now.
Mate, you can't just show up and grab a Pokémon.
Who said anything about grabbing? I'm bringing a bag full of cash.
I want one too. Would two hundred thousand League Coins be enough? I know that's probably not much but it's all I have right now.
Two hundred thousand? Go look at a regular Growlithe. The Hisuian form is in a completely different category.
Once Nova could see that serious trainers were actively engaged and watching the thread, he switched to his main account and added his own reply.
I've been travelling in the area and had a chance to visit this kennel personally. Every pup I assessed showed at least Gym leader-tier potential. Several were Elite Four level. The original post isn't exaggerating — Granny has raised a Pokémon here that could genuinely reach Champion level.
The response from one trainer was immediate and heated.
Who are you supposed to be? Elite Four level "because you say so"?
Before Nova could even think about how to answer, someone else replied — not to defend him, but clearly someone who knew him, and wasn't entirely pleased about it.
That's the schemer from Goldenlight City. Fights with a Nidoking, plays dirty, and I still haven't forgiven him for what he did at the Luma Gym — but the man genuinely knows talent when he sees it. I'm already booking an airship.
Nova recognised the tone immediately. Someone from Goldenlight City who had lost to him at some point and clearly hadn't forgotten it.
Back when Nova first arrived in Goldenlight City, he had been short on funds and looking for any way to cover his costs while training at the Luma Gym. He wasn't a licensed breeder, but his system gave him accurate reads on Pokémon potential, and he had started quietly taking appraisal requests from local trainers — charging reasonable rates, delivering reliable results. Word spread the way it tends to when someone is genuinely useful. Before long, most of the serious trainers in Goldenlight City knew his name. That was how Gym Leader Charlie Tucker had first heard of him.
He hadn't expected that reputation to reach this far, or to be invoked quite like this. But the grumbling endorsement from a familiar rival was, apparently, exactly the kind of social proof the remaining sceptics needed.
The Professional Trainers began to move.