"That's not—" she started, but I cut her off.
"Isn't it? You were the one who wrote the report, weren't you? The one that said Gible was lethargic, unresponsive, recommended it be transferred to a sanctuary for 'long-term low-intensity care.'"
The way Elara's expression shifted—from defensive to guilty—told me everything I needed to know.
Being able to communicate with Pokémon made it easier to know what people said about them. It was essentially like having video cameras everywhere. You always got the unfiltered version.
"I was following the data," she said quietly. "The genetic analysis showed significant developmental delays. The behavioral assessments indicated—"
"The assessments were wrong." I looked down at Gible, whose amber eyes were fixed on Elara with barely contained hostility. "The data was incomplete. And now you want to run more tests? After already failing to see what was actually there?"
Professor Oak raised his hands, stepping between us before the argument could escalate further. "Peace, both of you. Samael, I understand your position. I do. But would you at least allow us the bare minimum? Visual examination, basic measurements, and observation? No invasive procedures, we won't force Gible to do anything it's uncomfortable with."
I looked down at Gible, seeking its opinion through our mental connection.
"What do you think? He's my grandfather. He's a good man, and he's helped thousands of Pokémon over the years."
Gible's mental voice was uncertain, torn between its instinctive distrust and the reassurance in my words. 'If you trust him... then I'll try. But not her. She doesn't get to touch me.'
"Fine," I said, addressing my grandfather. "You can look at Gible and take notes. But you won't probe, or run invasive tests, and if Gible says it's had enough, we're done. Understood?"
"Understood," Oak agreed readily, relief evident in his expression. "Thank you, Samael. I promise we'll be respectful.... Wait.... Can you communicate with Gible?"
"Yes, I can understand everything he has to say."
He approached slowly, keeping his movements slow so Gible wouldn't be frightened.
Gible tensed but didn't growl, trusting my earlier reassurance that this man was safe.
"Hello there," Oak said softly, crouching down to Gible's eye level. "I'm Professor Oak. I've been studying Pokémon for over forty years, and I have to say, you might be the most remarkable specimen I've ever encountered."
Gible's hostility lessened slightly at the genuine respect in Oak's tone. The old man knew how to talk to Pokémon, how to make them feel valued rather than objectified.
Elara, unable to contain herself any longer, took a step forward. "May I..."
She reached out toward Gible, and everything happened in a split second.
Gible's head whipped around, his jaws opening wide, those steel-sharp teeth glinting in the artificial light.
The Dragon lunged forward with surprising speed, and I heard Elara's sharp intake of breath as she jerked her hand back just in time to avoid getting bitten.
"Gible, no!" I commanded, and the little Dragon stopped immediately, though its teeth remained bared in clear warning.
Elara had stumbled backward, her blue eyes wide with shock. She looked at her hand—unharmed but trembling slightly—and then at Gible with a mixture of fear and, somehow, even more intense fascination.
"I... I'm sorry," she stammered. "I shouldn't have tried to touch without permission."
"No, you shouldn't have," I agreed, then looked down at Gible. "But that doesn't mean you get to bite people either. We don't attack unless we're actually in danger. Understood?"
'She deserved it,' Gible grumbled mentally, but I felt its aggression starting to ebb.
"She made a mistake," I said aloud, knowing Elara and Oak could hear me. "She judged you based on incomplete data and gave up when she should have looked deeper. But that doesn't mean she deserves to be hurt."
I looked directly at Elara, whose face had gone from frightened to deeply ashamed.
"You need to apologize to Gible."
"What?" Elara blinked, clearly not expecting that.
"You heard me. You deemed it defective. You recommended it be transferred away because it didn't meet your standards. And you were wrong. So, apologize."
Professor Oak watched this exchange with an expression I couldn't quite read—somewhere between approval and amusement.
Elara swallowed, then slowly approached again, this time keeping her hands firmly at her sides. She knelt down, meeting Gible's suspicious gaze.
"I'm sorry," she said, and to her credit, she sounded genuine. "I looked at your genetic profile, your developmental delays, your behavioral patterns, and I made a judgment. I thought I was being scientific. But I missed something crucial—I missed your potential. I missed you." She glanced up at me, then back at Gible.
"Samael saw what I couldn't. And I'm sorry for giving up on you."
Gible stared at her for a long moment, and I felt the internal conflict through our bond. The hurt was still there, but so was a grudging acknowledgment that the apology was genuine.
'Fine,' Gible finally said to me. 'But I still don't like her.'
"It's a start," I murmured, then addressed Elara directly. "Gible accepts your apology. But you're not forgiven yet. That's something you'll have to earn over time."
She nodded, relief evident on her face, and backed away to give Gible space.
With the tension diffused—at least somewhat—I felt a familiar notification appear at the edge of my vision:
[+20 GP: Conflict Resolution Without Violence]
[Current GP: 390]
Professor Oak resumed his examination, this time with Gible's wary cooperation. He started with simple observations, circling the Dragon-type slowly while making notes on a digital tablet.
"The scale coloration is extraordinary," he muttered. "Not just the red pigmentation, but the way it catches the light. There's a metallic sheen to it that suggests..."
He reached out carefully, asking permission with his eyes. I nodded, and Oak gently touched one of Gible's scales.
"Fascinating. The texture is much harder than standard Gible scales. And the weight—" He glanced at me. "May I lift Gible briefly? To gauge the density?"
"Is that okay?" I asked Gible.
'If it makes him stop asking questions, fine.'
"Go ahead," I told Oak.
The professor bent down and, with a slight grunt of effort, picked Gible up. His eyes widened almost immediately.