Day One in Eterna
Orion woke up in clean sheets.
It was the first time in months—or in this life—that he hadn't been jarred awake by damp soil, shifting roots, or the distant sound of claws scraping across bark. No cold air, no smoke-burned tents, no dried jerky for breakfast.
Just silence. Filtered air. A proper bed.
And for a moment, it made him feel like he was trespassing.
Not on the city.
On comfort.
He lay still, staring at the ceiling with the kind of practiced stillness that came from sleeping with one ear open for predators. He could hear hallway footsteps through the walls. Quiet ventilation. The distant hum of the front desk's security kiosk.
It wasn't peace.
But it was as close as he was going to get in this world.
Shinx lay curled beside him, tail tucked, head buried under his own paws, ears twitching at every noise beyond the door. Still asleep, but still wired.
Like trainer, like cat.
When Orion sat up, the first thing he did—without even thinking—was check his bag.
Inventory Check – Day One in Eterna
Trainer rations: ~2 days
Pokémon rations: ~1.5 days (rationed)
Emergency jerky: 2 strips
Poké Balls: 1 spare
Pokédollars: 320₽
Healing items: none
Training gear: none
Notebook: 3 pages left
Nothing new. Nothing missing.
And nothing to panic about—yet.
He wasn't worried about food. He could always go back to the road and forage or hunt if it came to that. Tyrunt could bring down mid-sized prey without breaking a sweat, and Grotle's appetite for vegetation meant most areas with grass could keep him content for days.
The real issue was growth.
You could survive the wild on instinct and firewood.
But you couldn't evolve through it.
Training cost money.
Good drills. Proper recovery supplies. Equipment. Match footage. Guidance. Strategy.
And if he wanted this team to evolve—and he did, every one of them—he'd need more than clever battle instincts and campfire grit.
He'd need resources.
And right now, he had just enough to buy a mid-tier meal and a weak Heal Spray, and then nothing.
The Pokémon Center's job board was about as depressing as he remembered.
Digital screen. Minimal backlight. Too many rows of grey. He scrolled the listings with his arms crossed and his foot tapping.
Shinx sat next to him, tail flicking slowly, as if judging the economics of the situation himself.
"Flyer posting – 45₽. Manual labor. 2 hrs."
"Courier run: Inner Circle to West Loop. Must own bike. Pay: 60₽."
"Grooming station assistant – 70₽, smiles required."
"Sim match decoy trainer – must not complain when losing. Pay: 80₽ flat."
He snorted.
All the combat-tier jobs—the ones that paid well—were locked behind a three-badge minimum. And the League archive tagging position, which he'd almost landed back in Stonewall, had a three-day queue here.
At least the pay was consistent: 400₽ per review session.
But even then, that was barely enough for two good meals, some training tape, and a half-empty Heal Spray.
He wasn't in danger of starving.
He was in danger of plateauing.
And that was worse.
He scheduled his Gym battle at the front desk.
No confusion. No surprise.
He already knew the system—Gym challenge tiers were unlocked per badge count, with cooldown windows to manage trainer flow. He'd seen it before in Stonewall, had it explained more than once, and had already figured out how far ahead he needed to plan.
"Orion," the receptionist said, confirming his ID. "One badge from Oreburgh. You're eligible for Tier Two."
"Schedule me for the next open match."
She tapped her console.
"Three days out. Mid-afternoon. 3v3. Submit your team by noon the same day. Terrain modifiers enabled."
"Standard Eterna rotation?"
"Looks like layered elevation with randomized flora deployment. Lighting variance probable. The leader has discretion."
"I've seen the layout," Orion said. "Thanks."
She nodded without looking up.
There was no small talk here.
Just trainers and timers.
And Orion was on the clock.
He headed to the Eterna Knowledge Wing just before noon.
It was built into the city's outer ring like a fortress made of glass and concrete. Quiet. Public. Old enough to smell like weathered brick, new enough to hum when you passed the badge reader at the entrance.
He found a free terminal in the Battle Archive Wing and keyed in his search parameters.
Shinx – Evolution line – competitive usage – League-tier breakdown.
The screen flooded with data.
He filtered for base form only.
Only a handful of matches showed up.
Unsurprising.
Shinx was rarely used in serious battles without evolving. Too frail. Too bursty. Too dependent on positioning and control.
But the few that did succeed had something in common: coordination.
Bite. Spark. Thunder Wave. Fake Out in some evolved forms. One trainer had used Shinx in a full double team setup with terrain-based disorientation—pulling in support from a Noctowl and controlling field zones with fog.
Orion scrolled through match footage summaries.
"Ambush tactics, lightning flinch chaining, and bait setups. They never use Shinx as a finisher."
He looked down.
Shinx was pawing at the terminal cord like it was a string toy.
"You're a saboteur, not a sword."
Shinx sneezed.
Possibly in agreement.
He cleared the search and shifted to Grotle.
This one had more depth.
Search: "Grotle – League-tier builds – champion lineage – match footage."
Dozens of hits.
He narrowed it again.
Only pedigreed Grotle. Pre-Torterra stage. Non-exhibition battles.
These were tanks. Not just slow, but immovable. Draining. Burrowing. One match showed a Grotle wall off a Blaziken with repeated Absorb + Protect cycles, holding it in check until its stamina failed.
Another match showed a full team built around a Grotle's Curse-fueled defense, using him as a terrain anchor while sweepers circled and shredded the enemy's backline.
Orion copied everything relevant.
Then added his own notes.
"Turtwig started obedient. Grotle stayed quiet. Dangerous."
"Bulk is developing early. Shell plate integrity visibly thicker than baseline."
"Absorb line scaling rapidly—likely tied to breeding optimization."
This isn't just a wall.
It's a wall with roots.
He left the Wing in the late afternoon.
The sky had clouded slightly, wind curling through the old stone alleys like it didn't want to commit to being cold yet.
Trainers passed him without looking.
Some had two or three Pokémon walking beside them. Others had one out, and their badge lanyards flapping proudly in the wind.
He ignored them all.
He was tired of the noise.
Back at the Center, he returned to his room, locked the door, and released the team one by one.
They didn't need a feast tonight.
They needed a routine.
A rhythm. Training. Familiar drills. Stability.
Tyrunt got a quarter ration and a short strength session: rock-pushes, bite grips, and low-roar holds.
Grotle chewed slowly on dried nutrient blocks while Orion tested shell taps and core balance exercises—pivot maneuvers, resistance holds, and pressure endurance.
Shinx practiced a spark-dodge circuit. He missed half of them. Bit Orion's boot once. Got zapped by his own static twice.
But he was smiling the whole time.
Orion sat on the bed, logbook in his lap.
He wrote:
"We're not starving.
We're not desperate.
But we're not strong enough.
If I want them to evolve, I need better drills, better supplies, and a damn good reason to stay in this city long enough to make those things happen.
The Gym battle is the gate.
We open it—everything changes."
He put the book away.
Stared at the ceiling.
And waited for the next piece to fall into place.