A month had passed since Ben’s conversation with Mr. Boon. Whatever gears that meeting had turned, something had definitely started moving.

  That day in class, Mr. Boon made an announcement.

  “Listen up, everyone. After one of your classmates came to me with some questions about their future, I spoke with the principal. It’s been decided that each of you will be matched with someone connected to your career path. If anyone has decided to change their plans, now’s the time to let me know.”

  The room stayed quiet for a beat, until Amy raised her hand.

  “I still want to be a professor,” she said, “but I’ve also decided I want to specialize in Fighting-types. I don’t know if there are any professors who’ve taken that path.”

  Mr. Boon furrowed his brow, trying to think. The idea clearly hadn’t crossed his mind before. “Hmm… not off the top of my head, but the principal will know. We’ll find someone.”

  Amy beamed. That was all she needed to hear.

  “Now, second announcement,” Mr. Boon continued. “In three months, we’ll be celebrating Master Oak’s 150th birthday. On that day, we’ll have a special history lesson about the League’s reform and how Oak rebuilt it 130 years ago.”

  Nathan raised his hand. “Didn’t the League exist for over a thousand years already? Wasn’t it powerful before Oak?”

  “Excellent question,” Mr. Boon replied, smiling. “You’ll get the full story then. But not before. Class dismissed.”

  That evening, Ben, Nathan, and Mike were in Ben’s room.

  “Just another half year… then I finally get my Pokémon,” Mike groaned, watching Tana and Gabe tumble around the floor.

  Ben rolled his eyes. “You’ve been saying that for the past six months.”

  “You’re not denying it’s unfair. Kids from big families probably get their Pokémon at ten!”

  “Then go argue with the League about it,” Ben muttered. “Anyway,” he turned to Nathan, “you picked Johto, but have you thought about what you want to do there? Anyone you want to meet?”

  Even Mike stopped complaining to hear the answer.

  Nathan shrugged. “Not really sure yet. Maybe contests? Tana likes attention—and I mean, really likes attention. Johto’s got contests. Not like Hoenn, but enough.”

  As if on cue, Tana let out a spark and a proud bleat. “Maaa! Mareep, maa!”

  “She’s telling me she wants to fight,” Nathan said, patting her head. “I thought contests might give her a spotlight without needing to jump into battles right away.”

  Ben raised a brow. “She doesn’t seem thrilled with that plan… but if you think it’ll make her happy, go for it.”

  Mike looked lost. “Wait, what even are contests?”

  Which said everything you needed to know about contests in Kanto. Ben and Nathan tried explaining, while Gabe and Tana had their own version of the discussion.

  “Tanaaaa,” Gabe asked, “are you gonna do sparkly lightning dances instead of zapping people now?”

  Tana huffed. “Of course not. I’m the Electric Queen. I will be fabulous—while I blast them.”

  “Oh, okay. That sounds fun.”

  Back with the teens, the topic shifted.

  “I bet I’ll be matched with someone from the Blackthorn Clan,” Nathan said. “They’re the most loyal clan to the League in Johto, right? Even their Champion follows the old ways more than most.”

  Ben looked curious. “Why would the League assign you someone loyal like that?”

  “Because that’s what they do,” Nathan said. “Why send someone neutral to a school that trains League loyalists? Think about how Mr. Boon reacted when Reed mentioned the Church. They’re already trying to limit how much outside influence we get.”

  Ben frowned. “I mean, maybe. But we’ve gotten a lot. Good food, education, Pokémon. Can you really say they’re doing all this just to control us?”

  “I don’t know,” Nathan admitted, “but I don’t like it.”

  There was a pause. Nathan wasn’t being dramatic—he meant it. But even he wasn’t sure what that meant yet.

  Elsewhere, in John and Reed’s room, a different conversation was happening.

  “Anything new?” John asked. “Feels like we’ve run out of things to talk about.”

  Amy leaned forward, smirking. “Yeah. You watching things burn. That’s new.”

  John blinked. “What?”

  “I mean, Emberly I get. She’s a Fire-type. But you? You’re acting like fire’s your soulmate.”

  John didn’t even flinch. “It is. I think I’m going to specialize in Fire-types. When I become an Enforcer, I want the League to feel my passion. I want to burn brighter than anyone.”

  Amy stared. “That was the most cringe thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Even Reed snorted.

  John shrugged. “You’ll see. When I’m the best Fire specialist in the League, you’ll be quoting me.”

  Amy laughed. “Sure, Fire Lord. Just don’t try to burn the school down.”

  “No promises.”

  Reed, quiet until now, finally spoke.

  “I want to go to Sinnoh,” he said, closing the book in his lap. “I’ll do my gym circuit while staying with the Church. I’m done with Kanto. I need something new. Something grounded.”

  John raised an eyebrow. “Why religion, though? There’s plenty in the League that can give you purpose. Why not the Joys or Hoenn?”

  Reed looked at him. “Why are you so loyal to the League? Maybe this is just important to me. What I don’t get is why the school hides information about the Church. Doesn’t that seem… off?”

  Amy tilted her head. “Now that you mention it… yeah. Our town wasn’t religious, so I never thought about it. But the Church is huge. It’s weird how little we know.”

  John tapped his fingers. “Maybe they’re just protecting us. The Church only takes people who share their beliefs. The League takes everyone.”

  Amy grinned. “You sure about that? Maybe the League just wants to shape us their way.”

  The room went quiet.

  Then, they all laughed.

  They didn’t really believe it.

  Not yet.

  “Today is the day,” Mr. Boon announced as he stepped into the classroom, clipboard in hand and a rare glint of excitement in his usually calm expression. “Representatives from different career paths will be speaking with you—each with their own goals, ideologies… and offers.”

  He tapped the board behind him.

  “Pay attention. This isn’t just for show.”

  The room snapped to attention. There was a weight in his voice, the kind that signaled something real was about to happen—something far above their usual lectures and drills.

  He scanned the list on his clipboard and began.

  “Reed, you’ll be meeting the Viridian City priest—the Church’s equivalent of a Gym Leader.”

  The room froze.

  That title wasn’t thrown around lightly.

  Gym Leaders sat near the top of the trainer hierarchy—Master-level trainers with strength that bordered on mythical. Most people never got to see them battle in full. They didn’t just command Pokémon—they commanded respect, fear, and awe.

  The League was notoriously strict about those battles. As they always said:

  “You’re not at the level to understand these kinds of fights.”

  Whispers stirred among the students.

  Reed’s expression didn’t change, but Ben noticed his fingers curl ever so slightly on the desk.

  “Amy,” Mr. Boon continued, “we couldn’t track down the exact specialist you requested… but instead, you’ll be meeting someone far more significant—the regional professor. Our principal.”

  He paused, letting that sink in.

  “She’s the granddaughter of Master Oak. That name alone opens doors most trainers never get close to. Make a strong impression, and your future could change overnight.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Gasps and murmurs rippled through the room.

  Even the more cynical students leaned forward. The League didn’t waste resources on idle promises. This kind of opportunity was unheard of.

  Amy looked stunned. Even she hadn’t expected something like this.

  “John,” Mr. Boon continued, eyes now gleaming slightly, “you’ll be meeting the Head Enforcer of the Kanto Region.”

  John’s eyes widened.

  That wasn’t just a high-ranking officer. That was the highest rank in League enforcement. The Head Enforcer was a direct member of the Jenny family—descendants of the original law-keepers. The ones who had shaped the League's modern justice system.

  “When he heard there was a boy who hadn’t even started his journey yet but already wanted to join the force,” Mr. Boon added, “he insisted on meeting you himself.”

  John tried to play it cool—he failed. His fists clenched in barely-contained excitement.

  Then Mr. Boon’s tone shifted.

  More careful. Measured.

  “Ben…”

  He paused, as if searching for the right words.

  “You’ll be meeting a Cult Hunter.”

  The room went quiet—this time, for a very different reason.

  Every student remembered the attack. Remembered the aftermath. Remembered seeing the Cult Hunters arrive like shadows wrapped in armor. They were silent, faceless figures who moved through fire and ruin as if they belonged there.

  And then they were gone.

  Later, the students had learned that Cult Hunters weren’t just elite—they were ghosts sanctioned by the League. They dismantled dangerous groups. Silenced threats before they ever reached the public. They were a whisper. A warning. A weapon.

  Even Mr. Boon looked uneasy now.

  “They don’t usually go public. Their operations are strictly off the record. I don’t even know who’s coming. Only that… someone is.”

  Ben blinked. Was he supposed to feel honored? Intimidated?

  Maybe both.

  No one said anything. The air in the room had changed—it was heavy now, like the tension before a thunderstorm. Every student knew, in their gut, that what was coming next would shape the rest of their lives.

  Mr. Boon took a breath and finished the list.

  “Everyone you’ll meet today holds a top-level League position. These aren’t minor contacts—they’re gatekeepers to your future.”

  He looked around the room, making eye contact with each student.

  “And let me be absolutely clear: Everything they tell you is confidential. Unless they explicitly say otherwise, you do not share what you hear. Not with classmates. Not with friends. “

  There was no more chatter. No jokes. Just silence.

  They were being treated like adults for the first time in their lives.

  And that made it real.

  The room was dark.

  Shadows clung to the walls like living things, shifting with every breath of cold air.

  At the center sat a man.

  His left eye was gone, replaced by a hollow scar that ran jagged across his face. One arm was mechanical—old, dented, and humming faintly. The other, flesh and blood, was missing several fingers.

  Burns marked his skin like a history book—some fresh, some faded. And beside him stood a creature.

  A Pokémon, but... wrong.

  Mid-sized. Quadrupedal. Its body blacker than night, ringed with golden light that shimmered like molten script. It didn’t blink. It didn’t breathe. It only watched.

  And in front of them stood Ben.

  Alone.

  He had just stepped inside, but already his lungs were rebelling. The air was thick with pressure, cold and sharp like breathing in glass. Space itself seemed to warp—heavier, thinner, unnatural.

  Then he saw the Pokémon.

  That shape. That glow.

  Umbreon.

  But not any Umbreon.

  This one felt wrong. Like it had been forged in silence and shadow, refined in fire and death. It didn’t stand—it loomed, its presence wrapping around Ben like a noose of unseen threads. Its eyes weren’t red. They were hollow.

  Ben’s heart hammered. His knees threatened to give. And then his eyes met the man’s.

  Scarred. Still. Watching.

  Recognition struck like lightning.

  This was him. The man from the ruins of Larkspur. The one who stood unshaken in the aftermath, alone in the smoke.

  He hadn’t spoken then.

  He didn’t need to.

  That moment had carved itself into Ben’s soul. That was the day the dream was born—the day he swore to become a Cult Hunter.

  Now, here he was. Face to face with the ghost that started it all.

  Ben took a step forward. Then another. The air pushed back like it didn’t want him there, but he forced himself through it.

  Step. Step. Breath. Don’t break.

  The world around him dimmed. The shadows grew teeth. He swore he heard laughter—thin and distant, like it came from behind the walls of reality.

  But he didn’t stop.

  He reached the chair.

  And sat.

  Not because he wasn’t afraid. Because he was—and that’s why he had to.

  The man smiled

  It was a quiet smile.

  Not warm. Not cold. Just… knowing.

  There was something buried in it—joy, maybe. Sadness. Regret. A history that Ben would never fully understand.

  Then the man spoke. His voice was low, but it held weight. Every word settled like iron.

  “Umbra. That’s enough.”

  The Pokémon didn’t growl. Didn’t blink. It simply vanished.

  No light. No movement. Just a smear of shadow dissolving into mist, as if it had never been there at all. The air remained cold.

  The man leaned forward.

  “I’m not sure if I should be proud or worried that you passed my test,” he said, his voice ragged from old wounds. “Someone your age shouldn’t face pressure like that… but if you want to be a Cult Hunter, you’ll see worse.”

  His gaze sharpened, drilling into Ben.

  “You’ll experience worse. Do you understand?”

  Ben nodded.

  Barely.

  His chest was tight, his body tense. But he didn’t look away.

  He couldn’t.

  The man leaned back, arms resting—one real, one metal—on the arms of his chair.

  “You’re shaken. Good. That means you’re still a kid. Just don’t let fear own you. You’ll need it where you’re going. Learn to wear it like armor.”

  Ben swallowed. He was still catching up to everything—his thoughts, his breath, the reality that he was here.

  But he was listening.

  Then, the man’s tone shifted.

  “Now tell me. How much do you know about us?”

  Ben hesitated for only a second, then answered, voice steady despite the cold in his throat.

  “Not much. Most of the data is restricted. I know you’re League-sanctioned… ghost units. You operate in silence. Take out threats before they become public.”

  The man chuckled—dry, almost bitter.

  “Right... and wrong.”

  He leaned in.

  “We don’t stop threats. That’s for the Aces. Enforcement. The League’s face.”

  “We hunt the cult. And not their grunts. Not their officers.”

  A pause.

  “We go after their leaders.”

  Ben froze.

  The man’s voice didn’t rise. It lowered—like the truth was too heavy to speak aloud.

  “Every target we go after is Conference-level or higher. That’s the entry point. You don’t even see us unless the situation is spiraling out of control.”

  And suddenly, Mr. Boon’s warning echoed back, loud and clear.

  Top 100 in the Conference. Just to be ready.

  It hadn’t been a suggestion. It had been a threshold.

  And now, sitting across from this man—this scarred shadow of a war long hidden—Ben understood why.

  He didn’t feel brave.

  But he felt right.

  Like this pain, this fear, this pressure—it was exactly where he was meant to be.

  If anything, it only made his resolve stronger. The weight of what he’d just seen—the power, the scars, the shadows—it didn’t push him back. It pulled him forward. He understood now, more than ever, why it mattered. Why he had to hunt them all down.

  The man tilted his head slightly.

  “Good,” he said. “You’ve got that look… Like you understand something. But your eyes—they’re not shaken. They’re burning. I can see it fueled you.”

  He exhaled.

  “You know… I never thought the same little kid I saw in that ruined town would grow up to idolize us. Usually, when people see us, they associate it with disaster. We only show up when the worst has already happened.”

  A pause.

  “And cults? They like to make sure the worst happens.”

  Ben blinked, surprised—but strangely glad. The man remembered him. That brief moment in the rubble… it meant something after all.

  Still, one question gnawed at him.

  “Why?” he asked. “Why do the cults do this? And how come the League can’t stop them?”

  The man didn’t answer right away. He studied Ben in silence—long and hard—before finally speaking.

  “Good questions,” he said. “But before I answer, you need to understand—this conversation is classified. Even most high-ranking trainers aren’t told what I’m about to tell you. You cannot repeat a word of it. Not to your friends. Not to your teachers. Not even a whisper. Do you understand?”

  Ben nodded. His throat was dry, but his mind was sharp. “I understand.”

  The man leaned forward.

  “Good. Then let’s begin.”

  “The Cult is ancient,” he said.

  “We’ve traced their movements back almost 3,000 years. No one knows how they began, or why they haven’t collapsed. They don’t work like any criminal group you’ve studied. They move in cycles. When dormant, they run the underworld—black markets, forbidden tech, trafficking, smuggling, bio-mods, you name it. If it’s illegal, they’re involved.”

  “That’s what we call them when they’re asleep.”

  Ben frowned. “And when they’re awake?”

  The man’s jaw tightened.

  “They burn. They slaughter. They awaken chaos. Your town’s destruction? That was the Cult waking up after two hundred years of silence.”

  Ben’s breath caught in his throat.

  “Since that day,” the man went on, “they’ve gone loud. No more lurking. No more creeping in the dark. They want panic. They want headlines. They want the world to feel it.”

  His voice dropped.

  “And the worst part? Even when they were asleep… we could barely hold them back. Now?”

  He shook his head.

  “Now it’s almost impossible.”

  Ben sat still, the words burying themselves deep in his chest.

  “There aren’t many of us left,” the man continued. “We’ve started cooperating with others—Aces, the International Police, even some vigilantes. We’re patching holes faster than we can fill them.”

  Ben’s world reeled. His entire life, the League had been the untouchable power. The foundation. The protectors of order. But now, with every word, that image cracked.

  The man must have noticed. He gave a small, grim smile.

  “I get it. It’s a lot. But you need to understand—Hunters like me? We’re just a small part of the League. They control how far we go. How deep we’re allowed to dig. But we’ve still stopped hundreds of attacks.”

  Ben blinked, struggling to absorb it.

  Then the man’s voice dropped further.

  “But it’s not just us. The Church is hunting them too.”

  He chuckled—not in amusement, but something drier. More bitter.

  “You think we hate the Cult? You should meet the Crusaders. They make us look polite.”

  He gave a crooked grin.

  “The Cult isn’t just after power. They worship something—the Abyss. The opposite of creation. They believe in ending things. In unravelling. In entropy. And for what purpose?” He shrugged. “We have theories. Strong ones. But no proof. Nothing I could swear to you is true.”

  Ben’s thoughts spun faster. He had known the Cult was dangerous, but this? This was something else entirely. The League wasn’t all-powerful. The Church wasn’t invincible. And the Cult wasn’t just an enemy.

  It was a force.

  “I get that they’re strong,” Ben said slowly. “But still… how can neither the League nor the Church stop them? If the Church is ancient, that must mean they’re strong. Aren’t they?”

  The man nodded, his expression sobering.

  “Your friend should be meting a Church priest right now. He’ll probably give your friend permission to share what he learns. The Church is the oldest structured force we know. They predate the League by centuries—over 3,300 years old. I think that gives you a sense of how vast they are.”

  Ben opened his mouth to respond, but the man pressed on.

  “The Cult has tendrils in every major region. Not always under the same name. They operate as crime syndicates, black cells, secret societies. But their core—their capital—is in Orre.”

  He leaned back slightly, his voice now almost bitter.

  “They’ve taken it. Entirely. The region’s theirs. And they’ve turned it into something brutal.”

  Ben gritted his teeth. “What’s it like? Orre, I mean. How does it work?”

  The man tilted his head, tapping the table with one worn finger.

  “They don’t have Gyms. They have Colosseums. Open to any trainer, any time. Once a month, they run a full match cycle. You register. You fight. You survive.”

  Ben’s brow furrowed.

  “And… what’s different about it?”

  The man’s smile was cold.

  “There are no rules. You can target the trainer. Hurt them. Kill them. Doesn’t matter. If you survive four Colosseums, you get a ticket to the Grand Colosseum. Win there, and you’re recruited into the Cult’s upper ranks.”

  Ben felt sick. The idea that something like that existed—and that it was happening right now—was almost too much.

  Then he remembered why he was here.

  “One more question,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “If I want to stop them… really stop them… where do I go? What region prepares me best?”

  The man studied him a long moment before answering.

  “Circuit of Kanto,” he said. “Victory Road of Johto.”

  He let the words hang.

  “Kanto will harden your skill. Johto will test your spirit. You want to face what we face, kid? Then you need both. No shortcuts. No excuses. Train off-route whenever you can. Wild Pokémon out there fight like Cult trainers—no mercy, no rules.”

  Ben’s resolve solidified. The fear was still there—but it had somewhere to go now.

  He stood.

  He didn’t say thank you.

  The man didn’t expect him to.