The afternoon sun dipped low as we approached Field 14, Flavio and Melody flanking me like corner men on the walk to a ring.

  My opponent was already waiting.

  Yash stood tall near the far end of the field, arms crossed, face unreadable. His posture was rigid, almost military—like this wasn’t a casual match but a duty. Beside him, a small navy-blue bird Pokémon bounced lightly in place, wings flaring every few seconds in an effort to take flight, only to settle again with a frustrated chirp. Her body was compact and lean, legs spring-loaded, eyes sharp.

  I lifted my Pokédex and pointed it toward her.

  Rookidee – The Tiny Bird Pokémon

  This brave and reckless Flying-type will challenge any opponent, no matter how powerful, learning from every clash—even in defeat. Its compact body and agile legs allow it to jump nimbly across the battlefield, seizing even the smallest opportunity to disorient larger foes.

  Level 9. Female.

  Rookidee gave Teddy a long, measuring stare, then scoffed under her breath like she couldn’t believe this was her opponent.

  “Five-point battle,” announced a graduate student I didn’t recognize. She looked bored, with a clipboard in one hand. “One-on-one. First to faint or surrender. Confirm points?”

  I nodded. “Confirmed.”

  Yash tapped his Pokédex. “Confirmed.”

  The grad student tapped her screen. “Trainers, send out your Pokémon.”

  Teddy stepped forward, rolling one shoulder, the Training Sphere clipped snug to his band. It was our third official match today—after Bagon and Shinx—but with the sparring rounds against Koa and Meli, it felt like our fifth. Still, he looked sharp. Unshaken. Nowhere near done.

  Yash extended an arm. “Go, Rai.”

  The Rookidee fluttered forward—not soaring, just enough to skim the ground in a low hop before landing in front of him. She puffed up immediately, beak tipped down, eyes locked on Teddy.

  Yash didn’t hesitate. “Hone Claws!”

  Rai chirped sharply and lowered her head. A dark shimmer surrounded her talons as she raked them through the air, her body tensing, feathers bristling. Her eyes gleamed—attack rising, focus sharpening.

  “Teddy, Baby-Doll Eyes.”

  Teddy blinked, then widened his eyes into an exaggerated, shimmering stare that practically sparkled in the air. Rai flinched. Her stance shifted. The glow around her talons faded slightly.

  Whatever Yash had planned, it hinged on that stat boost.

  Now that it was gone, he hesitated.

  Not long—just a beat. But in battle, hesitation was time.

  And we were already moving. “Teddy, Covet!”

  My partner bolted forward, paws pumping across the field. Rai startled, wings flaring as she tried to hop back. But she’d been caught watching. Teddy hit her with a quick strike, just enough to stagger her and force her off rhythm.

  She chirped angrily and backpedaled hard, wings flapping wildly. She didn’t get airborne—but she didn’t need to. Her jump gave her just enough height to land outside Teddy’s immediate reach.

  The initiative was ours now.

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  Yash recovered quickly. “Rai, keep your distance! Stay mobile!”

  The bird shifted tactics on a dime. She started bouncing, weaving, and darting from spot to spot like a feather in the wind. Not flying—just leaping in sharp arcs, changing direction the moment her talons touched the ground.

  Every time Teddy lunged, she was already somewhere else. It wasn’t elegant—it was raw, stubborn evasion.

  “She’s fast,” Melody murmured from the sidelines.

  “If that’s her without flight, I don’t wanna see her airborne,” Flavio added. “Classic hit-and-run. She’s baiting him.”

  And she was doing it well.

  Teddy gave chase, but Rai had all the momentum. She was using every inch of her agility to stay just out of range—landing, hopping again, pecking at the air when he got too close. Peck wasn’t just her preferred move—it was her response to everything.

  Yash wasn’t shouting instructions anymore. Just watching, eyes sharp, letting Rai read the field.

  We were getting nowhere. Every time Teddy adjusted, Rai adjusted faster.

  But there was one pattern.

  I watched. Three hops. One backpedal. Two short arcs. Then another long leap to the left. She was resetting space, always toward the left.

  She wasn’t random.

  She was predictable.

  “Teddy,” I called. “Prepare Fling.”

  He stopped mid-chase, nodded, and unclipped the Training Sphere from his band. The dark energy flickered along his paw—more solid now. No stutter, no delay. Just focus.

  Rai leapt again.

  “Now!”

  Teddy hurled the sphere—not at her—but where she was going to land.

  Yash shouted something, but Rai was already in motion. Her eyes widened in midair as the sphere flew toward her. She twisted in the air, wings flaring hard, managing a clumsy turn that avoided a direct hit—but only barely. The sphere clattered behind her.

  But she’d lost her rhythm.

  “Teddy, Play Rough!”

  He surged forward, pink light igniting around him like a second skin. Rai tried to hop again—but she hadn’t recovered. Teddy crashed into her mid-lift, and the glow enveloped them both.

  A single impact.

  The dust cleared.

  Rai was down.

  “Teddiursa wins,” the grad said with the barest hint of surprise.

  I let out a slow breath and walked forward. Teddy stood beside Rai, paw extended—helpful, not mocking.

  Yash walked to meet me at the center. He knelt to check Rai, murmured something softly, then returned her to her Poké Ball. When he stood, he met my gaze square on.

  “You read her,” he said, tone flat.

  “I got lucky,” I said, shrugging. “The pattern just showed up.”

  “She doesn’t have much of a moveset,” Yash admitted. “Everything she’s doing—she’s improvising. Peck’s her only real option. Power Trip only works if she gets a buff off.”

  “She was fast,” I offered. “She almost got away from us.”

  Yash nodded slowly. “She’s tough. She’s trying harder than I expected.”

  There was something more behind those words. Not frustration. Not regret. Just—quiet admiration.

  “I wasn’t sure if she had it in her,” he said, more to himself than me.

  I watched Yash clip Rookidee’s Poké Ball back onto his belt, his expression tight. Frustrated, but not angry. Not at her.

  I hesitated, then said, “If you ever want help, the grad students around here actually give pretty good advice. Me and my friends talked to one earlier—helped us figure out some things we were missing. It really made a difference.”

  Yash looked up, curiosity flickering behind the frustration. “You got help from a grad?”

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “They didn’t give us the answers or anything, but they helped us see what we could do with what we already had. Stuff we didn’t think to try.”

  Before he could respond, the grad student who’d been refereeing our match stepped closer, clipboard still tucked under one arm.

  “If you’re interested,” she said evenly, “there’s a desk just outside the main battle hall where you can sign up for tutoring. Plenty of upperclassmen and grads offer short sessions—especially for first-years who are serious about improving.”

  Yash turned toward her, then back to me, showing the faintest smile, and giving a small nod. “Alright. I’ll check it out.”

  “Thanks,” he said, quieter this time.

  And this time, I believed he meant it.

  Teddy trotted beside me, calm but alert, the Training Sphere still clipped tight to his band.

  “Well,” Flavio said, adjusting his jacket with a grin, “you’ve had your fun. Time to let someone else take the spotlight.”

  Melody stretched her arms overhead, her expression focused. “My match is in ten. Koa’s up next after that.”

  I nodded. “Then I guess it’s my turn to watch.”

  “You gonna cheer?” Flavio asked.

  “Loudly,” I said. “Unless you lose in the first minute. Then I don’t know you.”

  He scoffed. “Please. Koa’s got flair and fangs. We’re gonna put on a show.”

  Melody was already walking ahead with Vulpix. “Come on,” she called back over her shoulder.

  Teddy glanced up at me, then forward again, his pace steady—at first. But after a few steps, he let out a soft huff and slowed just slightly. Without a word, he brushed against my leg, then tapped my shin with one paw and raised his other toward me, eyes half-lidded but hopeful.

  Not dramatic. Not demanding.

  Just… a quiet request.

  I scooped him up, and he melted into my arms with a low, content grunt, head nestling into the crook of my elbow.

  “You’ve earned it,” I murmured.

  He didn’t answer. Just closed his eyes.

  We were done for the day. But our friends were not.