The news broke within hours of the Evergreen Island Government publishing the official results.
At first, it spread among trainers in Lilycove and Rustboro—whispers of a candidate who had not just passed but achieved the impossible: a perfect 1000 points.
By nightfall, Albert Hugo's name was on every newsfeed across Evergreen Island. By the following morning, it had leapt beyond the region entirely.
"For the first time in recorded history, a candidate has scored perfectly on the Pokemon Trainer Licensure Examination," the anchor of Rustboro's main news station announced, voice carrying a mixture of awe and disbelief.
Behind her, the headline blazed: ALBERT HUGO – PERFECT SCORE.
Clips played in a loop: shaky footage of Albert walking out of the Evergreen exam hall, his calm expression in stark contrast to the chaos unfolding now.
"Experts are calling this unprecedented," the anchor continued. "Not even the greatest Champions of record have ever achieved a perfect mark under the modern international standard."
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Online, the reaction was immediate and visceral.
[Forum: TrainerNet Global]
Thread: Albert Hugo - First Perfect Scorer
HoennTrainer99: No way. Nobody ever gets 1000. That's like… myth tier.
SinnohAce: Checked the official Evergreen database myself. It's legit. Kid named Albert Hugo.
KantoVet: If he's that good, I bet he's already being scouted for Indigo U.
UnovaScholar: Mark my words—this changes everything. Recruiters are going to tear each other apart for him.
The thread exploded with hundreds of replies. Some congratulated him, others doubted anyone could truly be that flawless, but all agreed: the world had just gained a name it could no longer ignore.
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At Lilycove University, a certain professor nearly dropped his morning coffee when the bulletin came through.
"Perfect—?!" He shoved his glasses higher on his nose, rereading twice. "That's—statistically impossible!"
Around him, faculty scrambled to verify, pulling up official rubrics.
They argued over the difficulty of each year's exams, the weighting of theoretical and practical, the impossibility of aligning every criterion without error.
And yet, there it was. A thousand points.
"Albert Hugo," the professor muttered, testing the name aloud. "Evergreen Island-born, wasn't he? If this boy chooses Lilycove, we'd be the academic capital of the world overnight."
Already, he could picture the press conferences, the surge in enrollment, the grants.
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In Eden Empire, the elite faculty of Lumiose University convened an emergency meeting. The Chancellor herself declared, "Send an offer immediately. Full scholarship. He will not slip through our hands."
In Desert Nation, the head of Hammerlocke Institute ordered a personal emissary to be dispatched by private jet.
"Spare no expense," he commanded. "We cannot allow Kanto or Kalos to monopolize him. If necessary, we'll build a new research wing in his name."
In the Pearl Federation, Hearthome University sent a message wrapped in ceremony and tradition, signed by the Head of the Trainer's Council, invoking the legacy of their champion themself.
Even Indigo University, already the crown jewel of trainer institutions, sharpened its blades.
The Board gathered in hushed secrecy, preparing a scholarship offer so generous it threatened to dwarf their annual budget allocations.
One thing was clear: every top school wanted him.
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Governments, too, took notice.
The International Pokemon Alliance released an official statement, calling Albert Hugo's score "a milestone achievement in the history of trainer education and a benchmark for generations to come."
In Silver Republic, councilors debated how to attract him with promises of research funding.
In Tribal Alliance, parliamentarians discussed whether offering honorary titles might tip the scales.
Even Evergreen Island's own government grew nervous.
Losing Albert to another continent would be a symbolic blow.
Joseph Stone, sitting in his Devon office, received no fewer than three calls from League officials urging him to "do what you can to ensure he remains in Hoenn."
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Ordinary citizens, too, latched onto the name.
Street vendors in Slateport hawked magazines with Albert's photo on the cover—taken hastily from exam day, his expression calm and unreadable.
"Youngest prodigy in trainer history!" one headline screamed.
"Future Champion?" another speculated.
Some children clutched the magazines like talismans, whispering that one day they wanted to be "just like Albert Hugo."
Others grumbled that it was impossible, that no test could truly measure strength or spirit.
But all the same, the name spread.
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Inside the Stone manor, the atmosphere shifted. Percy returned one evening with arms full of letters—sealed with university crests, stamped with foreign insignias.
Steven whistled low. "They're not wasting time."
Joseph flipped through them with care. "No, they aren't. Lumiose. Indigo. Hammerlocke. Hearthome. Naranja-Uva. Eucrateak. Malie. Castelia. Lilycove, of course. And these are only the first wave."
Steven glanced at Albert, who sat calm at the far end of the table, a letter unopened before him. "What do you think?"
Albert's eyes lingered on the envelope, then lifted to meet Steven's.
His voice was steady.
"They see the score. Not me. I think a personal meeting with them should be in order."
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In some corners of the world, the reaction was less celebratory.
Lower-ranking university recruiters cursed their luck.
One dean, slamming a report on his desk, muttered, "We're witnessing the making of a legend—and we're on the wrong side of history."
And among certain older Champions and trainers, jealousy prickled.
Interviews surfaced where veterans downplayed the score.
"No exam can measure what it takes to be Champion," one scoffed on live television.
But the denial rang hollow. The perfect number stood undeniable, carved into official record.
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In the weeks that followed, Albert Hugo became more than a candidate. He became a symbol—of potential, of pressure, of controversy.
To some, he was the future of Pokémon Trainers.
To others, he was an upstart, too young to carry the weight of such expectations.
But whatever the stance, none could deny: history had been rewritten with Albert as its center.