The Veilstone Department Store didn't just tower over the street — it owned it. Six stories of quarried stone, glass windows glittering like shields, and banners snapping hard in the evening wind. Everything about it said the same thing Veilstone itself did: we're built to last.
Inside, it was louder than a battlefield. Voices rose from every floor — merchants calling out discounts, trainers haggling, children tugging at parents' sleeves, Pokémon padding at their partners' heels. The air was thick with the smell of leather, berries, and the faint tang of static from the appliance aisle.
I tightened my grip on the purse of coins at my hip, heavier than anything I'd carried before, and the voucher tucked inside my jacket. Second place in the Junior Tournament. Real money. A real prize. But the voucher mattered more: one hold item, free, from the trainer's floor.
Just one.
I climbed the stairs with the flow of the crowd, my team quiet at my belt. Tyrunt's Poké Ball twitched occasionally, Luxio's buzzed faint with static, but both stilled when I pressed a hand against them. Honedge slid silent in my shadow, tassel a faint reminder at my wrist. Grotle's ball was calm, warm, steady.
The third floor opened like a floodgate: rows of cases under glass, aisles of straps, shelves stacked high with gear. Trainers clustered around the displays, arguing in low, sharp voices. Clerks darted like Starly, trying to keep the chaos in line.
I went straight to the hold items.
One case gleamed with type-boosters:
Magnet, a polished wedge of steel, faint arcs of static crawling along its edge.
Miracle Seed, small and shriveled, but pulsing faintly green in the light.
Hard Stone, rough, heavy, its veins black as tar.
Spell Tag, a strip of pale cloth covered in glyphs that shifted when you looked too long.
Another case held general items:
Scope Lens, glass sharp enough to slice air.
Shell Bell, carved from Cloyster shell, hanging from a cord, surface shimmering faintly as if it remembered the sea.
I stopped. The voucher in my jacket felt heavier with every step. One. Just one.
I unclipped Luxio's ball first. He burst out with a crack of sparks, crouched low, fur bristling. His eyes locked instantly on the Magnet. He stalked closer, muscles coiled, static crawling from his paws into the tile. He didn't growl, didn't throw himself at the glass — but his focus was knife-sharp, dangerous.
"Easy," I said, resting a hand on his mane. My palm stung from the current, but he leaned into it, eyes never leaving the Magnet. His pride said it clearly: that's mine.
I recalled him, whispering, "Not yet."
Tyrunt came next. He landed heavy, tail already twitching, eyes flashing as soon as they found the Hard Stone. A growl rolled out of him, low and rising, tail muscles tightening like he'd swing without command.
I knelt fast, voice sharp. "Half arcs. Now."
His eyes cut to me, frustration flaring — but he obeyed. His tail twitched, short, measured, never hitting the floor. Muscles trembling with restraint. The Hard Stone glimmered back at him, a challenge unspoken.
"Good," I said. He huffed, still glaring at the case, but his tail stayed in control.
I recalled him, pressing my forehead briefly against the ball before clipping it back.
Grotle lumbered out slowly, steady as ever. He didn't pace, didn't roar. He just lowered his head toward the Miracle Seed, rumbling low, as if he could feel roots in its core. His vines twitched once, faintly.
"Patience, huh?" I murmured. He didn't answer, just stood, steady as a hill.
I recalled him too.
Honedge didn't need release. His tassel tightened around my wrist, pulling my attention to the Spell Tag. His eye opened wider in the shadow, glimmering faintly. No sound, no motion, just intent.
I exhaled slowly, chest tight. "All of you want something different."
The voucher burned hotter. Four partners. One choice.
"Hard, isn't it?"
The voice slipped in close, light and amused.
I turned.
Cynthia stood a step away, her black coat brushing her knees, hair pinned loose. She leaned against the counter like she belonged there, arms crossed, eyes bright. Her smile curved faint, teasing.
"You look like you're picking an engagement ring," she said softly.
Heat rushed up my neck. "It's not funny."
"It's a little funny." Her eyes flicked to the Magnet, the Hard Stone, the Miracle Seed, the Spell Tag. "Your whole team screaming at you in different ways, and you trying to solve it with your jaw locked."
"I'm not—" I started, then stopped. I was.
Her smile sharpened. "Cute, though."
Luxio would've snarled at that word. Tyrunt would've roared. Grotle would've sighed. Honedge would've squeezed. My heart just hammered.
Cynthia pushed off the counter, stepping closer. "So? Which is it going to be?"
"I don't know yet." My voice came rough. "They all need something. But I can't give it to everyone."
"Then don't ask what they want." Her tone softened, almost kind. "Ask what they need. Right now. For what's next."
Her words landed heavy. My mind went to Maylene's Gym: Fighting-types. Speed, force, close-range battles.
I rubbed my forehead. "Luxio's strong, but Electric won't matter much. Tyrunt's pride burns too hot, but he's weak to Fighting. Grotle's tough, but he'll get punished hard. Honedge is my shield—he doesn't need a boost to do his job."
"And?" Cynthia prompted, eyes narrowing like she was testing me.
"And…" My eyes drifted to the other case. The Shell Bell shimmered faint, white as bone. "Maybe what we need isn't power. Maybe it's endurance. Something to let us stand longer. Something any of them can use."
Cynthia's smile softened. "Now you're thinking like a trainer."
The clerk, who had been hovering nervously, hurried over. "That one?"
"Tell me how it works," I said.
He unlocked the case carefully, lifting the Shell Bell with both hands. He set it in my palm. It was cool, heavier than it looked. A faint hum ran through it, like holding the last note of a song.
"This is carved from Cloyster shell," the clerk explained. "They resonate with aura. When a Pokémon lands a clean strike, the bell vibrates. That resonance feeds back into their aura, reinforcing stamina."
"So it heals?"
"Not real healing," he corrected quickly. "Doesn't close wounds. But it strengthens resolve, eases fatigue. A fighter's rhythm. Every strike gives them a second wind."
I turned the bell over in my hand, feeling the vibration hum against my skin. My team stirred faintly at their balls. Luxio's sparks dimmed slightly, Tyrunt's ball stopped rattling, Grotle's warmed, Honedge's tassel eased.
"It suits your team," Cynthia murmured, leaning closer. "They fight like they've got storms in their chests. This keeps the storm burning longer."
I swallowed hard. "I'll take it."
The clerk stamped my voucher and slipped the bell into a padded pouch. I tied it to my belt for now.
When I looked up, Cynthia was smiling at me in that faint, unreadable way. "See? Not so hard. You just needed someone to lean on."
Heat rose to my ears. "I didn't—"
"You did." She brushed past me lightly, coat brushing my sleeve, and glanced back. "Come on. You can buy me food to celebrate second place."
It wasn't a question.
I followed her out into the Veilstone dusk, the bell cool against my hip, my team steady in their balls. The city roared around us, banners snapping. Cynthia's smile lingered faint as she walked ahead, hair catching the wind.
It felt less like shopping, more like a promise.