Ash wasn't sighing without reason. Those words had come straight from the heart.
His fate had quietly diverged on the very day he set out.
If he hadn't encountered the Chat Group, and the version of himself from a parallel world, on that first morning, could he truly have reached his current height in just half a year? The answer was obvious.
Without the Chat Group's help, he might never have survived the countless life-and-death crises he had faced along the way: the thousand-year-old Gastly, Sabrina, Mewtwo, the ancient Pokémon.
Each of those threats had been overcome only because the Aura expert within the Chat Group had bestowed Aura upon him. The power flowing through his veins was the greatest gift the group had ever given him.
Every ability he acquired afterward paled in comparison, at least for now.
Those S-rank abilities held promise for the future. Aura, however, safeguarded his present.
Whether it was knowledge or power, immediate aid or long-term support, the Chat Group's contribution was immeasurable. Without it, the Ash of today simply would not exist.
Forget reaching the Top 32 of the Indigo Plateau Conference in half a year, he might not even have qualified for the tournament at all.
Mewtwo scoffed. "Spare me the nostalgia and get some sleep, or train your Pokémon. You're hardly the strongest Trainer alive."
With that, she vanished and returned to her Poké Ball.
She'd clearly been embarrassed by Ash's blunt gratitude, especially since his 'we' had included her.
"Was Mewtwo… actually shy?" Ash asked aloud.
"Pika-pi~" Pikachu nodded vigorously.
"Who's shy? I've got nothing to be shy about!" Mewtwo's indignant voice echoed in Ash's mind, only reinforcing his suspicion that she was flustered.
"Still a tsundere, huh?" Ash shrugged, glancing at Pikachu. "Right, buddy?"
Pikachu nodded again, though this time its eyes were already half-closed.
It was past one in the morning, far beyond the bedtime of a Pokémon that cherished routine.
Ash gently lifted Pikachu into his arms. "Let's go home."
The main bracket would begin in seven days. After that, rest would be a luxury.
The Round of Thirty-Two spanned two days, giving early participants some breathing room, but from the Round of Sixteen onward every match would be crammed into a single day.
Then came the quarterfinals, semifinals, and the final.
Those seven days were the last real window for rest, preparation, and reconnaissance.
If a Trainer wanted to gather intelligence on future opponents or squeeze out one final breakthrough for their Pokémon, this was their chance.
Ash maintained his usual steady rhythm. The morning after the celebration banquet, Delia and Professor Oak returned home, Delia to tend her garden, because even with Mr. Mime's help, she couldn't neglect everything.
Professor Oak, meanwhile, left Ash's large reserve of Pokémon at the Pokémon Center. The villagers of Pallet Town could only keep a loose watch, feeding them or swapping duties at best.
Anything beyond that was out of their depth.
Neither Delia nor Oak planned to stay away long. Unless something urgent arose, they would naturally return to Pallet Town.
On the third day, Ash's next opponent was announced: a Trainer named Ritchie.
They even crossed paths in person, and Ash was struck by a strange sense of familiarity, as though he were staring into a mirror.
Curious, he checked Hiroshi's profile and found the reason immediately.
Ritchie, like him, used Pikachu.
After Ash's victory over Koga, the Kanto League had experienced a brief Pikachu craze. But once the novelty faded, most Trainers abandoned the mouse and things returned to normal.
Because aside from Ash's Pikachu, the species simply couldn't compete at the highest levels.
Not every Pikachu was his. And not every Trainer was Ash Ketchum.
Which made encountering another Pikachu at the Indigo Plateau Conference almost unthinkable.
Yet here one was, commanded by someone who felt like his doppelgänger.
Beyond Pikachu, Ritchie's lineup, Butterfree, Charizard, Fearow, overlapped heavily with Ash's own. He might as well have been a reflection.
At their first meeting, Ash barely knew Ritchie. Ritchie, on the other hand, knew Ash extremely well, he was Ash's biggest fan.
As a fellow Pikachu specialist, Ritchie understood better than anyone how difficult it was to raise the mouse. His own partner was a Pikachu with perpetually bristling fur.
Any Trainer capable of making Pikachu their ace was extraordinary.
Ash was one.
And so was Ritchie.
Ritchie had been traveling for nearly a year and a half, and his Pikachu had reached mid-level, a tier that would utterly dominate ninety percent of Pikachu worldwide.
Ash had encountered countless Pikachu in the wild and in battles, yet none had surpassed mid level; most wild ones didn't even reach mid level.
Ritchie's Pikachu stood at Mid-Level, the first Ash had ever met besides his own.
That alone spoke volumes about both the Pokémon's potential and Ritchie's skill as a Trainer.
To Ritchie, however, Ash was the legend.
He had spent eighteen months pushing his Pikachu to mid-level. Ash had needed only months to pit his Pikachu against Elite Four–level opponents.
Back in the Gym battle against Koga three months earlier, Pikachu had already fought on even footing with an Elite Pokémon. No matter how one framed it, that was reality.
And after another three months of growth, its current strength was impossible to gauge.
The two Pikachu specialists took an instant liking to one another.
Unfortunately, their first meeting hadn't been as friends—it had been as enemies.
Four days later, they would face each other at Indigo Stadium. They had only just met and already found common ground, yet in a matter of days one of them would see their journey through the Indigo Plateau Conference come to an end.
It was undeniably cruel.
On the fourth day, Ash was training his Pokémon on one of the outdoor fields at the Indigo Plateau. The drills were basic, move execution and stamina work only. True sparring was reserved for secluded areas.
The Trainers ahead in the bracket were no pushovers. If someone managed to scout detailed information, it could spell serious trouble.
That was why Ash kept all public training deliberately simple. The real work happened out of sight.
"Good, Pikachu, Thunderbolt again!"
"Pika!" Pikachu answered crisply, nodding as electricity crackled around its cheeks. But just as it prepared to fire, it suddenly froze.
"What's wrong, Pikachu?" Ash asked, confused.
"Pika-pika!" Pikachu pointed behind him.
At the same time, murmurs rose around the field. Ash turned, and stopped short.
A beautiful woman stood there.
"You're, Sinnoh Champion Cynthia?" Ash ventured.
He had seen her countless times, on broadcasts, in magazines, in the VIP seats during the qualifiers, but never this close.
And never dressed so casually.
"Nice to meet you, Ash. I've been looking forward to this," Cynthia said, stepping to within half a meter of him.
Up close, she was nearly his height. Ash was fifteen and a half, already around 175 centimeters tall. Even in heels, their eye levels were almost the same. Among women, she was undeniably tall.
A few seconds passed before Ash processed her words. He scratched his cheek sheepishly.
"I'm just a regular Trainer, still miles behind you. If anyone should be star-struck, it's me."
Among ordinary Trainers, Ash was a legend. But standing before Cynthia, he was the one looking up.
Without Mewtwo, at best he might manage to take down one of her Pokémon, and that was being generous. Even with Aura Power stacked onto Gengar, trading blows would be pushing the definition of a fight.
He was nowhere near Champion level yet.
"Shall we sit somewhere?" Cynthia glanced at the growing crowd and gestured outward.
Ash had noticed the stir as well. "Let's go to my place. Lunch is almost ready, and my friends are great cooks. Join us."
"That sounds lovely," she replied with a smile.
They left the field together. Ash recalled his Pokémon and led the way before onlookers could swarm them.
Among the lingering spectators, a sharp-eyed boy adjusted his glasses, lenses glinting.
"To catch a Champion's attention… lucky kid," Conway murmured quietly. "But no matter what you do, the winning equation has already been written."
With that, he turned away.
Fifteen minutes later, Ash led Cynthia to the rental house. Along the way, he asked why she'd been nearby.
With no matches scheduled for several days, Cynthia had been sightseeing around the Indigo Plateau. At first, crowds had gone wild wherever she appeared, but over time people had grown accustomed to her presence.
That was why the training field hadn't erupted immediately, until the two most talked-about names appeared side by side.
Thankfully, Cynthia had suggested leaving before the crowd fully reacted.
Spotting Ash had been pure coincidence. She'd finished an ice cream while walking, noticed him training, and stopped to watch.
"I've heard a lot about you," she said. "Raising Pokémon to that level in just half a year… I'd love to see your methods someday."
"They're really nothing special," Ash replied as he unlocked the door. "Most of it comes down to the Pokémon's own potential."
"Welcome home, Ash, lunch is al..."
Misty's cheerful greeting cut off abruptly. Her spatula slipped from her hand and clattered onto the floor.
"C-Cynthia?!"