Pewter City.
Pewter Gym.
In this city, the Gym wasn't just a landmark. It was the landmark.
Unlike in the anime, this Pewter Gym was not some half-broke rock shack.
As the key combat force responsible for defending the city, its status was closer to a local garrison.
Even leaving aside League funding, just running a bit of business on the side was enough to rake in money by the bucketload.
Respect and social status came with the territory.
Deep inside the Pewter Gym, under grey-white stone walls, the training arena lights only lit a tight circle of rock in the center.
The air smelled of stone dust and old sweat.
Brock stood with arms folded against the cold rock wall, his face as chiseled as the stone behind him and even harder in the shadows.
Beside him coiled his Onix. Its rough, stone segments gleamed dully in the faint light.
"Dad. Mom."
Brock's voice was low and steady, echoing slightly in the open space.
Two figures stepped out of the shadows—
his father, Flint, tall and broad-shouldered, the years etched into the set of his jaw;
his mother, Lola, a softer presence, eyes gentle but steel beneath the warmth.
If Brock hadn't suddenly gotten a call from Professor Oak, Lola wouldn't have rushed back.
She and Flint were in the middle of… disagreements.
"I've relayed Professor Oak's message," Brock said, sweeping his gaze over them. "He wants us to 'take that boy Ash from Pallet Town seriously'—and if he proves suitable, to do our best to train and protect him."
Originally, Flint had been the official Pewter Gym Leader.
But Flint spent most of his time irresponsibly running off to catch Pokémon…
So the Gym badge duties had fallen to Brock.
Thanks to that, even at fifteen, he had the full respect of the city.
As Gym Leader, Brock was strict, with a will like bedrock.
In other words, he had an image to maintain.
If he ever retired, that image might crack.
Because…
More than being a Gym Leader, Brock wanted to be a Breeder.
He wanted to travel too.
Maybe this was his best chance to run for it.
For all people said he was "so mature," he was only fifteen.
Wanting to go see the world was perfectly normal.
"Train and protect him?" Flint's thick brows furrowed. "If Professor Oak has his eye on a rookie, the kid's potential must be high."
"But protect?"
"How far can a Trainer go if they need a Gym Leader for a bodyguard?"
"There's something odd about that request…"
Flint was turning the bigger picture over in his head.
Honestly, the Kanto League's biggest problems these days were Team Rocket—
And the Elite Four.
The Elite Four were a whole separate issue.
Team Rocket, though… They were too big to stamp out and too slippery to handle.
The only ones who could openly keep them in check were the scholars, led by Professor Oak.
As for the Kanto League itself?
Best not to bring that up.
Flint glanced over at his son. "What do you think?"
Brock was silent for a moment. "The Professor's word carries weight."
"But a Gym Badge stands for something. For the will of stone. For real recognition. Not for favors and face."
He paused. "And as for protecting…"
"If he's really as 'special' as the Professor implies, what he needs isn't a greenhouse. It's a grindstone sharp enough to match him."
In Brock's mind, Oak didn't say things lightly.
The Professor wasn't just a researcher—he'd once been strong enough to challenge the Champion. He was old friends with Agatha of the Elite Four.
Lola sighed softly. "The Professor is probably looking several moves ahead of us."
"That child might be carrying things on his back we're not aware of. But Brock is right—the Badge is Pewter Gym's recognition, and that has to be earned."
She looked at her son.
"The key is that word, 'suitable.'"
"The Professor didn't say 'you must.' He left room for our judgment."
"Use your own eyes. Your instinct as a Rock-type Trainer. Weigh him."
"If he's truly got what it takes—if he's worth the effort of training—then follow the Professor's wishes."
"If he's just raw talent with no matching resolve…"
She didn't finish the sentence, but the meaning was crystal clear.
A "genius" that never developed was just another weakling.
"I understand," Brock said, eyes sharpening. "I'll give him a test worthy of 'Professor Oak's expectations.'"
"The Pewter Gym way."
He'd be serious about it.
Not "go all-out with his ace team" serious.
But serious enough to pick the right-level Pokémon and follow League standards for a fair match.
This was still a Gym challenge, not an execution.
He wasn't twisted enough to throw his real ace squad at a brand-new rookie.
"Good." Flint nodded, voice like gravel. "Let that kid see what the true will of stone looks like!!"
In the days that followed, the atmosphere in Pewter Gym was heavy as a mountain.
Brock personally adjusted the battlefield and prepped the Pokémon he'd use: Onix, Graveler, Kabuto—
all of them put through sharper drills than usual.
Especially Graveler; its rolling drills shook the arena with such rumbles it felt like the ground itself was moving.
For once, Brock didn't go to help at the Pokémon Center.
He stayed in the Gym—
or up on the high ledges overlooking the road that led to it,
a silent boulder watching and waiting for a particular Trainer to appear.
One day passed.
Then two.
Still no sign of the Pallet Town rookie.
Even the Gym staff started whispering about what Brock was plotting.
They had no idea.
That Professor Oak had contacted him at all was something Brock had shared only with Flint and Lola.
Not even his many younger siblings knew what was going on.
On the evening of the third day—
Flint watched Brock walk in from the Gym doors again, his face as unreadable as ever, and finally couldn't hold back.
"Tch. The kid didn't get lost in Viridian Forest, did he?"
It wasn't impossible.
Pallet Town was close to Viridian City—practically in the shadow of Indigo Plateau.
But Pewter City was much farther.
Trainers had to pass through Viridian Forest.
The paths there were a maze, and every year there were rookies who never came out.
Still… this was the one Professor Oak had personally singled out.
He wouldn't die on the road that easily… right?
"…" Brock didn't answer.
He just picked up a rough stone, feeling its cold, gritty surface, eyes steady.
Off to the side, a Kabuto scratched restlessly at the stone floor, claws rasping softly.
Lola touched Flint's arm. "Patience is a Rock-type virtue."
Just as that weighty silence was starting to solidify into something almost physical—
Brock's pocket buzzed.
A specific pattern.
He froze for a fraction of a second, then pulled out his communicator almost faster than thought.
On-screen was a brief, encrypted message from Pewter City's Nurse Joy.
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