Leaving the contest atmosphere of Verdanturf behind, I stepped onto Route 117. This path was famous among breeders, lined with vibrant flower patches and small ponds. It was a peaceful route, the perfect stretch of road to reach Mauville City.
As I walked, I heard a voice shouting enthusiastically from a nearby field.
"Come on, Silcoon! Tackle! We have to get ready for your big evolution!"
I stopped. A young girl, dressed in a frilly coordinator outfit, was training a cocoon-like Pokémon. She looked about my age, maybe younger, and her eyes were sparkling with excitement.
"Hi there!" she waved when she saw me. "Are you a trainer? Look at my Pokémon! It's going to evolve into a beautiful Beautifly any day now. We're going to win the next ribbon!"
I walked closer, smiling politely. "That's a nice goal. Bug-types grow fast."
I looked down at her Pokémon. It was round and covered in silk, but something was off. Silcoon is usually a brilliant, snowy white. This cocoon was a dusty, purplish-grey. Its eyes were narrow and intense, not the wide, blank stare of a Silcoon.
"Let me just check something," I said, pulling out my Pokédex out of habit. I pointed it at the Pokémon.
The mechanical voice buzzed quietly, audible only to me and the girl.
Cascoon: The Cocoon Pokémon. It endures damp and cold conditions. It creates a sturdy cocoon to protect itself while it prepares to evolve into Dustox.
I froze. It wasn't a Silcoon. It was a Cascoon.
The girl blinked, her smile faltering. "What? That thing is broken. My pokedex said it was a Wurmple, and Wurmple evolves into Silcoon, then Beautifly. It's just... a little dirty from the road, right?"
She knelt down and started rubbing the Pokémon's shell vigorously with a handkerchief. "See? It's white underneath. It has to be. I need a Beautifly for my routine."
The Cascoon winced under her scrubbing. It looked up at her, its narrow eyes filled with expectation, waiting for her to praise it.
"I... I can't have a Dustox," the girl muttered, panic rising in her voice. "Dustox are poison moths. They're... they're ugly. They don't fit my style at all."
The air around us grew heavy. The Cascoon stopped moving. It had heard her.
I stayed silent, not knowing how to intervene without being rude, but the damage was done. The Cascoon looked at its trainer—the person it was trying so hard to evolve for—and then it looked at me, seeing the truth in my expression.
It let out a low, heartbreaking hiss.
"Cascoon?" the girl asked, pulling her hand back.
Suddenly, the Pokémon began to glow with a red aura—not evolution energy, but Rage. It spun its body, tackling the girl's leg gently but firmly to push her away, and then rolled rapidly into the tall grass, disappearing into the woods.
"Wait! Come back!" the girl shouted, but it was gone. She turned to me, tears welling up. "Why did it run away? I was just cleaning it!"
"It didn't run because of the cleaning," I said gently, putting my Pokédex away. "It ran because it heard you."
"Heard me?"
"You said you didn't want a Dustox," I explained bluntly. "You said they were ugly. That Pokémon isn't a Silcoon. It's a Cascoon. It knows what it is, and it knows what it's going to become. It was trying its best for you, and you rejected its future."
The girl covered her mouth, the realization crashing down on her. "I... I didn't mean... I just thought..." She looked at the woods where her partner had vanished. "I'm the worst trainer."
"You made a mistake," I said, adjusting my backpack. "But you can fix it. Do you care about the Pokémon, or just the appearance?"
She wiped her eyes, her face hardening with determination. "I care about him. He's been with me since he was a Wurmple. I don't care if he's a moth or a butterfly anymore. I just want him back."
"Then let's go find him," I said. "Sableye, Wingull, come out!"
"Sab!" "Wing!"
"Wingull, scan the area from above. Sableye, check the shadows in the bushes. Look for a purple cocoon."
We searched for nearly an hour. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across Route 117. Finally, Wingull cried out, circling over a small clearing near a pond.
We rushed over. The Cascoon was there, wedged between two rocks, shivering. It was glowing faintly, trying to hold back its evolution, as if delaying the inevitable transformation that would make its trainer hate it.
"Cascoon!" the girl cried, running forward.
The Cascoon hissed, trying to roll away again, but it was stuck.
"I'm sorry!" she yelled, dropping to her knees in the mud beside it. "I'm so sorry. I was stupid. I don't care if you're a Dustox. You're my partner. Please... don't be mad."
The Cascoon stopped struggling. It looked at her, its narrow eyes searching for a lie.
"You're strong," she whispered, hugging the hard, purple shell. "You're tough. Who needs a delicate butterfly? I want you."
As if unlocking a seal, the Cascoon relaxed. The reassurance was the catalyst it needed.
The white light of evolution erupted from its body, illuminating the darkening clearing. It was blindingly bright. The round shape of the cocoon dissolved, stretching and expanding. Wings unfurled—large, velvety wings.
When the light faded, a Dustox hovered in the air.
It wasn't the vibrant colors of a Beautifly. It had green wings with toxic purple patterns and deep, compound eyes. But as the moonlight hit its wings, the toxic dust shimmered like gold dust. There was a dangerous, hypnotic elegance to it.
"Dustox..." the girl breathed.
The Pokémon flapped its wings, scattering a small cloud of scales. It landed gently on her head.
"It's... it's actually really cool," she laughed, tears running down her face. "You look like a night knight."
"Dustox!" it chirped happily.
I recalled my team, smiling at the reunion. "See? Beauty is subjective. In a contest, a Dustox can create displays a Beautifly never could. Poison scales in the spotlight? That's mysterious."
The girl stood up, her Dustox perched on her shoulder. She looked at me with genuine gratitude. "Thank you. If you hadn't told me the truth... I might have lost him forever. I'm going to rethink my entire Contest routine."
"Good luck," I said, shaking her hand. "I'm sure you'll win that ribbon."
"We will," she said confidently. "And you... good luck with your Gym Battles."
She waved goodbye and ran back toward the town, eager to start training her new partner properly.
I watched them go, then turned back to the road toward Mauville. The encounter reminded me that a trainer's job isn't to mold a Pokémon into what they want, but to nurture what the Pokémon is meant to be.
"Mauville City isn't far now," I murmured to myself. "Let's go, guys."