A week after the results, the local government within Ironforge City had finally announced the start of acquiring Pokémon Trainer Licenses for the exam passers.
The line inside the Ironforge City Licensing Bureau was long but orderly, a steady stream of sixteen-year-olds shuffling forward beneath banners that read: "Trainer Registration: Welcome to Your Journey."
Steven drummed his fingers against the counter ahead of him, restless as ever. "I've been dreaming about this day since I was ten," he whispered. "Now it's actually happening."
Albert stood beside him, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, expression calm but alert. "Dreaming is one thing," he replied softly, "but this is the first step into accountability. Every battle we take part in from now on will be recorded, tracked, judged."
Steven chuckled. "Trust you to make this sound heavier than it already is."
When their turn came, a clerk in the Bureau's uniform—a crisp navy jacket with the IPA crest—motioned them forward. "Names?"
"Steven Stone."
"Albert Hugo."
The clerk nodded, typing quickly on a holographic console. "Congratulations on passing the Pokémon Trainer Licensure Exam. Today you'll be registered as official Trainers of the IPA. Your records will now be visible to the League system. Please step forward one at a time for your Trainer ID capture."
Steven went first, standing before the camera. With a flash, the machine captured his portrait. A few seconds later, a sleek plastic card slid out of the console: a photo of Steven, his name, date of registration, Trainer ID, and a digital League insignia shimmering faintly in the corner.
Steven held it up like a trophy. "Now that's proof I'm a real Trainer."
Albert followed, stepping into the scanner's field. He looked straight into the lens, expression composed.
The flash came, and his own card emerged—his name in bold letters, Albert Hugo, his youthful face set in its quiet, unshakable poise.
The clerk slid both licenses across the counter. "Congratulations. You're now officially recognized Trainers."
Steven turned his card over in his hands, admiring every detail. "Never thought a piece of plastic could feel this important."
But the clerk wasn't finished. "One reminder," she said, her tone firm. "Your licenses won't be fully activated until you register your first Pokémon at a local Pokémon Center. That registration locks your starting team into the system. Be advised—League rules state your first Pokémon must be rookie-level. Furthermore, all other Pokémon you capture cannot exceed that partner's strength by more than one rank. This is enforced through monitoring at Pokémon Centers across the region."
Steven frowned. "Why so strict? What if someone gets lucky and catches something way stronger early on?"
Albert answered before the clerk could. His voice was thoughtful, measured. "That's exactly why the rule exists. To keep the playing field even. Otherwise, rich families—or anyone with old League connections—could hand their kids high-level Pokémon from the start, and no one else would stand a chance. This way, civilian Trainers, grassroots Trainers… they can rise too. The League was forced to adapt after too many years of imbalance."
The clerk gave Albert an approving nod. "Exactly right. That system has kept competition healthy since it was standardized."
Steven tilted his head, considering. "So, in a way… it makes the climb more real. Everyone starts close to the same line."
Albert tucked his card into his wallet. "And those who rise, rise because they've earned it."
The clerk smiled faintly. "Wise words. Now—good luck to both of you. And don't forget: the journey begins at your nearest Pokémon Center."
As they stepped outside, Steven lifted his card toward the sky, the late sun gleaming off its surface. "Albert, we're licensed Trainers now. Can you believe it?"
Albert gave a rare smile, brief but genuine. "Yes," he said. "This is where everything begins."
They walked side by side down the steps of the Licensing Bureau, the chatter of other new Trainers buzzing all around them.
For a while, Steven just stared at the card in his hand, his excitement plain. But then his expression grew thoughtful.
"Hey, Albert," Steven began, lowering his voice. "Why sixteen? Why does the IPA make us wait until now to get our licenses? I mean, we could've been raising Pokémon years ago."
Albert's gaze stayed forward, but his tone carried the weight of someone who'd considered the question long before. "Because Pokémon aren't pets. They're powerful beings, and the bond we form with them demands maturity. A ten-year-old with a Machop—or even a stubborn Pidgeotto—could end up in a hospital, or worse. The risks aren't small."
Steven blinked. "So it's about safety?"
"Partly," Albert said, sliding his license into his wallet. "But also responsibility. The exam forces us to understand the world we're stepping into. History, habitats, medicine, law. Without that knowledge, an underage Trainer might misuse their Pokémon without even realizing it. Or fail to care for them properly."
He glanced at Steven then, his amethyst eyes briefly sharp. "Sixteen isn't perfect, but it's the point where most can shoulder that weight. It's why the League insists we study first, prove ourselves, and only then begin."
Steven exhaled slowly, as if digesting the gravity of it. Then he smiled crookedly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Trust you to turn even a simple question into a lecture. But… you're right. Makes me even prouder to finally hold this."
Albert's lips curved faintly. "Good. Pride is fine—so long as it never turns into carelessness."
Steven laughed. "Don't worry. With you around, I'll never get the chance."