Released from its ball, Shelmet hadn't eaten a bite and was clearly refusing food.
Maybe it thought its trainer had abandoned it.
He couldn't be sure. All he could do was bring it out, talk it through, and make one thing clear: the boy hadn't tossed it away—he'd traded it for Scyther.
With a soft pop, Shelmet appeared. Listless. It glanced at Reiji, then sank onto the grass and stared out at the sea.
Reiji set a palm on the cool spiral of its shell and stroked once. "Shelmet, your trainer traded you to me. From now on, stick with me."
"Shel, shel." Two flat chirps—like it wanted to grumble: You're the guy who swapped for me, and now you're playing comforter? Pick a lane.
"Your old trainer didn't get you," Reiji said. "Staying with someone who doesn't won't help. With me, you'll show what you can do. I understand you, Shelmet."
"Shel?" It finally looked up. Third trainer so far. The first—a woman—kept it a few days, then shipped it to Murcott Island. The second—the boy—threw it into battles, called it weak. The boy couldn't command to save his life, but somehow it was Shelmet's fault.
No one had ever said "I understand you."
"You look different from your kin," Reiji went on, rubbing gently between its eyes. "You've got Electric power. They pushed you out for it, didn't they?"
Shelmet bobbed hard. Nailed it. If it hadn't been odd, it wouldn't have left the group, wouldn't have been caught, wouldn't have met Reiji. But—how did he know?
"They don't get you," Reiji said with a quick smile. "Look around—who's shutting you out here? Everyone's a teammate. The boy didn't understand you; I will. Food and a roof are on me."
Shelmet peered across the camp—Poliwhirl and Scyther drilling; Kingler and Ditto taking hits; Spinarak threading Pin Missile from a tree; Butterfree sipping honey water atop the tent; Croagunk jogging the treeline. Everyone had work. No time to sneer. And this trainer hadn't called it weak—he'd said he understood it.
Staying didn't sound bad. No more eye-rolls from that kid. No barking nonsense from a "commander" who couldn't call a clean turn.
Shelmet's shoulders eased. It wasn't trash—it had been traded for value.
"Here," Reiji said, offering a Bug-type Pokéblock. "We'll try Electric pokeblocks later to train your Electric power, but I need to pick those up on Mandarin Island."
Shelmet didn't refuse. It chewed slow, savoring. Way better than anything the boy had given it.
It slipped from Reiji's arms and waddled over to watch Kingler and Ditto's drill—curious why they were getting pummeled.
"Frrr-eee," Butterfree called, sliding the honey water closer. Big sister duties.
"Shel," it chirped, took a sip, and settled into the grass, straw working nonstop.
With the team meshing, Reiji turned to its plan. Hydration's simple: in rain, status clears. Train it well and a small, localized drizzle means status never sticks. Overcoat—no sandstorm chip, immune to powders and spores—would drop after evolution. Post-evo, it becomes Unburden. That's the headliner. One word: speed.
He knew how to raise speedsters, but Shelmet's path wasn't Scyther's. Scyther becomes a red-plate tank of a bruiser; Accelgor is a glass assassin. Base Defense 40, Sp. Def 60—flimsier than Beedrill.
So the plan starts with survival. If Shelmet slips once, it's done.
Strategy follows: survive first, everything else later. No brawling. If it gets grabbed, it's off the field. Keep it at range, play keep-away.
Base 145 Speed means almost nothing can run it down. With Electric energy to prime the nerves, it only gets faster. Reflexes come up with power in Pokémon; when it hits stride, it'll move faster than Reiji can direct. It needs to learn to fight on its own, with calls only when needed.
Hidden Power (Electric) handles Flying. Mud Shot slows targets and punishes Fire- and Rock-types on approach. Spikes? Tempting, but hazards are a two-edged mess in the wild—Spikes, Toxic Spikes, Stealth Rock cut both ways on a shared field. If the opponent lays them, that's different; he'll adapt. For Shelmet's plan, Mud Shot is the must-have—also perfect for accuracy reps on the move.
Hidden Power (Electric) work could wait until Mandarin Island when he could buy Electric pokeblocks.
Only Kingler and Poliwhirl knew Mud Shot. Poliwhirl was mid-drill with Scyther. Fine—Kingler would teach.
"Kingler, hold up. Shelmet, over here."
Kingler clacked in, shaking off a peppering of Spinarak's needles. Shell alone had shrugged most of it.
Shelmet finished the honey water and scooted up.
"You'll learn Mud Shot from Kingler," Reiji said. "Kingler—two clean Mud Shots on that trunk. Show form."
"Krra-k," Kingler coughed out two tight shots—thump, thump—mud biting into bark.
Shelmet puffed twice. "Shelmet—puh, puh." No mud, just spit.
Reiji laughed and patted its shell. "Off-type for you. It'll take time. Stick with Kingler."
Given its talent, it shouldn't take long.
He watched them go and exhaled. Shelmet could only be a high-speed harrier, not a high-speed bruiser. No self-buffs for Attack. Agility for Speed, sure—but it's pure kiting: chip, slow, deny angles.
Shortfalls? Plenty. Frail bulk, light hitting power, no burst. Win by stringing turns and making the other side bleed out.
Forget close quarters. Punch a Rhydon and the rhino shrugs; Shelmet snaps something. If it ever trades blows, keep it within its own weight class—Accelgor barely hits twenty-five kilos.
He set Scyther's and Shelmet's plans, eased back under the shade, and watched the sea glitter. He rotated water and food to the team as they burned through drills.
Nine core partners. Eight with plans set. Only Gastly remained—still woozy off a taste of Croagunk's poison. That, he hadn't predicted.
He'd wanted to test evolution-devolution loops to farm potential, push Gastly to Elite-class baseline before levels. But a drunk Gastly killed the timetable.
When it sobers up, they'll start. He won't raise Gastly's level yet—devolution costs experience. First, max the potential, then evolve. He needs to know if Gengar could still freely revert; if not, that's a loss.
The test also checks whether evolution truly grants net potential. If it does, the path's obvious: a pool of Shellder; a school of Slowpoke; grow champions.
Gastly, too—he won't stop short of Champion-level potential, maybe the cap. For him, "cap" means a first-tier legend. If Gastly could touch that, then with Gigantamax on top, it might arm-wrestle gods.
First, bond deep. Without that, he couldn't handle the thing he hoped Gastly would become.
He tucked the Poké Ball back into his pack. Past four o'clock. Time for dinner.
Tonight would be hotpot—campfire steam and spice—one last meal before he headed for Mandarin Island and parted ways with Shun in the morning.
When the broth rolled and the white smoke curled, Poliwhirl and the others broke training. Even the two Farfetch'd drifted back, drawn by the smell. They gathered in a rough circle, bowls in hand.
"Reiji-nii, I didn't think we'd get hotpot out here," Shun said, fishing meat from the bubbling pot, cheeks shiny with broth and grinning wide.
Reiji chuckled. "There's a lot you don't expect—turns out the wild's pretty good when no one's hunting you."
His mind flicked back to that mud-island stretch—quiet, rough, honest. Back then the team was small. Now…
(End of Chapter)
[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]
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