Instructor Joy clasped her hands in front of her as she stood before the class, her smile gentle but eyes sharp.

  “Caring for a Pokémon egg requires more than just keeping it safe,” she said. “It needs your presence. Your attention. Your energy.”

  She let that sink in before continuing.

  “Yes, you can keep an egg in a Poké Ball—but doing so slows its development. Worse, it stunts early bonding. Pokémon begin perceiving the world from within the egg. They listen. They sense. Keeping them isolated dulls that connection.”

  I glanced down at the Poké Ball in my hand.

  Good to know. Guess I’ve already made my first parenting mistake.

  Joy’s Blissey waddled up and down the aisles, peering up at us with bright, encouraging eyes.

  “The eggs you received today were removed from incubation just this morning,” Instructor Joy continued. “Now it’s your turn. Take them out. Keep them close. Let them feel your presence.”

  Around the room, students were releasing their eggs, cradling them carefully. I followed suit, releasing mine into my arms. The shell felt warm—heavier than I expected.

  Totodile’s egg.

  I brushed my fingers across the surface, wondering if he could already sense me. If he knew I was here.

  “There’s no universal timer for an egg,” Joy said. “But there are signs.”

  She began pacing slowly in front of the class.

  “If there’s no movement at all, expect four to six weeks of consistent care. If it stirs once a day, three to four weeks. Less than six movements a day? One to three weeks. More than six? You’re likely within a week of hatching.”

  She paused. Her voice softened.

  “And if you hear sounds from inside—chirps, scratches, anything at all—then be ready. Hatching is just around the corner.”

  I frowned.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Was that…?

  The egg shifted slightly in my arms. A gentle nudge, like something brushing the inside of the shell.

  Then another.

  Two movements. Back to back.

  I blinked.

  Already?

  I pulled it in a little closer.

  “I’m here,” I whispered. “You’re not alone.”

  Joy continued, unaware that half the class was now entranced by the life in their arms.

  “You’ll be given a basic incubator before leaving today,” she said. “It’s meant for times you can’t carry your egg—like during sleep, class, or battle. Use it. But understand: the ideal place for your egg is with you. The closer the bond, the faster the hatch—and the stronger the connection.”

  She tapped her wrist with two fingers.

  “Why does closeness matter? Because your body emits a passive energy—unique to you. It helps Pokémon grow stronger, faster. That’s why wild Pokémon evolve slower than trained ones. Your presence is part of their growth.”

  That was news to me.

  And kind of incredible.

  So maybe my mom’s constant reminders to carry Teddy around weren’t just overprotective parenting.

  “Every species is different,” Joy went on. “Your Pokédex contains a profile with care guidelines specific to your starter. Use it.”

  She clapped her hands once.

  “Now. I want you all to understand something very clearly.”

  The warmth in her tone vanished.

  “Your grade in this class depends entirely on the development of your starter.”

  Silence fell across the classroom.

  “That means: successful hatching within four weeks. Proper health and growth. Combat readiness by the end of the semester. We will track everything—sleep, stress levels, physical condition, emotional responses, even potential.”

  Wait. What?

  “Anyone whose starter hasn’t hatched on time, or who fails to meet development milestones, will not pass this class. Pokémon Care is not just a requirement—it’s a pillar of your future as a trainer. And the Academy doesn’t hand out second chances lightly.”

  I tightened my hold on the egg, suddenly very aware of how fragile it felt in my hands.

  No pressure, right?

  “I know this sounds intense,” she said, a little of her softness returning. “But this is your first true bond. Treat it with the respect it deserves, and you’ll be amazed what can grow from it.”

  All around me, students were murmuring, checking their eggs for signs of life. Some were anxious. Others excited.

  Me?

  I’d done this once before. I remembered how it felt waiting for Teddy to hatch. How every little twitch of the shell made my heart skip.

  But this was different.

  This wasn’t playtime in the village.

  This was real.

  Instructor Joy nodded toward the door. “My assistants will give you your incubators on the way out. If you have questions, this building is always open. You’ll find me here most days.”

  At her side, Blissey gave a cheerful shout, waddling between rows and peeking into students’ laps as if inspecting the eggs herself.

  “Bliss! Blissey!”

  Joy chuckled. “Sissy, it’s not your job anymore. They’re in good hands.”

  Blissey hesitated—then looked back at us, almost wistfully, before following her trainer out the door.

  I watched them go, my egg cradled tightly in my arms.

  And for the first time, I really felt it.

  Responsibility.

  Not because of a class or a grade.

  Because something inside this shell was alive.

  And I was the one it was counting on.