He navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the sub-level until he found his assigned Training Cell. It was a grim, windowless box—six by six meters of reinforced concrete, a single dim lightbulb buzzing overhead, and a heavy iron door that locked from the outside.
Rine sat on the floor, his back against the cold wall. He didn't release the Houndour immediately. Instead, he pulled up his Rocket Watch.
His 1,000 Credits felt like a fortune, but he knew better. He scrolled through the Trainee Market, his eyes scanning the prices.
- Standard Pokémon Kibit (1 Month Supply): 200 Credits.
- Raw Meat Scraps (1 Week Supply): 150 Credits.
- Muzzle & Restraint Chain: 100 Credits.
- Low-Grade Potion: 300 Credits.
He hesitated. The standard kibble was likely laced with the sedatives Gideon mentioned—it made Pokémon easier to "break," but it dulled their instincts. If he wanted to cultivate that Gold Potential, he couldn't poison the well.
He spent 450 Credits on three weeks of raw meat and 100 Credits on a heavy-duty muzzle.
Remaining Credits: 450.
He felt the weight of the Poké Ball in his hand. It was warm—unnaturally so. The creature inside was a predator, a hybrid of Fire and Boltund blood. It wouldn't be grateful for being caught; it would be vengeful.
"Let's see what you are," Rine whispered.
He pressed the release button.
A flash of white light hit the center of the cell. As it solidified, the temperature in the small room spiked. The Houndour was larger than a standard specimen, its fur a charcoal black that seemed to swallow the dim light. Its ribs were visible, showing it had been half-starved to increase its aggression.
The moment it materialized, it didn't growl. It didn't bark. It went for his throat.
Rine’s reflexes, honed by years of avoiding the overseers' canes, were the only reason he survived the first second. He rolled to the left, the Houndour’s teeth snapping shut inches from his ear.
The beast skidded on the smooth concrete, its claws throwing sparks as it pivoted. Its eyes weren't the typical red—they had a faint, flickering yellow glow, a trace of its Electric-type lineage.
Rine stood his ground, heart hammering against his ribs. He held the muzzle in one hand and a slab of raw meat in the other.
"You're hungry," Rine said, his voice low and steady. "And I'm the only thing in this cell that isn't made of stone."
The Houndour crouched, its back arching. Small embers drifted from its nostrils, and a faint static hum began to vibrate in the air. It was preparing a Thunder Shock—not a mastered version, but a raw, instinctive discharge.
Rine watched the Identify HUD flickering in his vision.
[Status: Feral / Starving / Enraged]
[Action: Preparing Thunder Shock (Unmastered)]
If he fought it now, he’d lose. He wasn't a Trainer yet; he was just another piece of meat in a cage. He had to change the dynamic.
Instead of lunging, Rine tossed the slab of meat into the far corner of the cell.
The Houndour’s head snapped toward the scent. The static hum faltered. For a split second, the predator’s hunger warred with its hate. Hunger won. It lunged for the meat, tearing into it with a primal ferocity.
Rine didn't move. He didn't try to pet it. He didn't try to command it. He simply watched, memorizing the way it moved, the way the sparks danced along its spine.
One month, he thought. I have one month to turn this monster into a weapon. Or it will turn me into a corpse.
As the Houndour finished the last of the meat, it turned back to Rine. It didn't attack this time, but it let out a low, vibrating growl that shook the very air in the small room. It was a warning: The meat bought you a minute. It didn't buy my soul.
Rine stared back, his eyes as cold as the stone walls. "Again tomorrow."
He backed out of the cell, the heavy iron door slamming shut between them. He was shaking, but he was alive.
The following week was not measured in days, but in scars.
The training cell became a sensory deprivation chamber of violence and ozone. Every morning, Rine entered with a slab of meat and a bruised body; every evening, he left with fresh puncture wounds and the metallic taste of burnt air in his mouth.
He hadn't tried to "battle" the Houndour yet. To do so with an unmastered, feral Pokémon was a death sentence. Instead, he was playing a high-stakes game of territorial dominance.
On the fourth day, the Houndour stopped lunging at his throat the moment the door opened. Instead, it retreated to the far corner, its charcoal-black fur bristling, the yellow flicker in its eyes tracking Rine’s every micro-movement.
[Status: Alert / Hostile / Calculating]
Rine sat cross-legged three meters away. He didn't toss the meat this time. He placed it on the concrete halfway between them.
"Eat," Rine commanded. His voice was raspy, his throat still sore from a near-miss snap at his windpipe two days prior.
The Houndour didn't move. It let out a low, vibrating growl—a Howl in its most primal, unranked form. The sound echoed off the reinforced steel walls, vibrating in Rine’s marrow.
He didn't flinch. If he showed fear now, the hierarchy would solidify with him at the bottom.
"Eat," he repeated, his gaze locked onto the beast’s.
Minutes stretched into an hour. The dim bulb overhead flickered, casting long, jerky shadows. The Houndour’s stomach let out a wet, audible growl. It took a tentative step forward, its claws clicking like metronomes on the stone.
Suddenly, a spark jumped from its spine. Thunder Shock.
The discharge was accidental—a leak of raw, untrained energy. The bolt hit the meat, searing it with a sharp crack. The smell of ozone and burnt flesh filled the cramped space.
The Houndour flinched, startled by its own power. It looked at the meat, then back at Rine, its ears pinned back in a display of confused aggression.
Rine saw the opening. He didn't reach for the meat. He reached for his watch.
[Move Mastery: Thunder Shock]
[Progress: 2% (Unranked)]
[Note: Volatile. User lacks internal grounding.]
"You can't control it," Rine said, his voice a low murmur. "It hurts you as much as it hurts me."
He looked at his own wrist, where a purple bruise from a previous 'Tackle' was turning yellow. He reached into his kit and pulled out a small roll of copper wire he’d scavenged from a discarded training dummy in the hall.
He tossed the coil toward the Houndour.
The Pokémon snapped at it mid-air, its teeth grinding against the metal. A surge of yellow electricity hissed through the wire, grounding into the floor instead of backfiring into the Houndour's snout.
The beast paused. It dropped the wire, staring at it with a tilted head. For the first time, the "Hostile" tag on the Identify HUD flickered to [Wary].
By the end of the first week, Rine’s 1,000 Credits had dwindled to a precarious 300. The raw meat was expensive, and the physical toll was mounting.
He was losing weight, his ribs beginning to mirror the Houndour’s.
The "Top 10" rewards Gideon mentioned felt miles away. From the screams he heard in the corridors, half the recruits hadn't even managed to get their Pokémon back into their Poké Balls.
On the seventh night, as Rine prepared to leave the cell, the Houndour did something it hadn't done before.
As Rine stood to walk toward the door, the beast didn't growl. It stood up, its tail giving a single, stiff twitch. It watched him leave with an expression that wasn't hate—it was expectation.
Rine leaned against the cool metal of the corridor wall once the door hissed shut. He checked his watch.
[Bond Level: 8/100 (Strained)]
[Physical Condition: 62% - Minor Lacerations, Nerve Tremors]
He needed more than just meat. He needed a way to ground that Electric energy, or the next time the Houndour used Thunder Shock, it would stop his heart.
He also needed to find a way to earn credits without leaving the base—or risk a mission in Saffron City before he was ready.
Rine stared at the glowing interface of his Rocket Watch. The numbers felt like a countdown to his own expiration. 300 Credits.
He couldn't afford to be healthy, and he couldn't afford to be ignorant. Survival in Saffron's underbelly wasn't about choosing one necessity over another; it was about scraping the marrow from both.
He navigated to the "Used & Damaged" section of the Trainee Market—a digital graveyard of items reclaimed from recruits who hadn't made it past the first week.
- Expired Medical Kit (Disinfectant & Gauze only): 100 Credits.
- Data-Fragment: 'Static Discharge & Grounding' (Corrupted File): 150 Credits.
Remaining Credits: 50.
He was nearly bankrupt. As the purchases confirmed, a small pneumatic tube in the wall of the corridor hissed, spitting out a dented metal box and a small data-chip.
Rine didn't return to the dormitory. He didn't want the other orphans to see his weakness. He slumped in the shadow of the corridor, cracking the medical kit. The disinfectant stung like liquid fire as he poured it over the puncture wounds on his forearm. He bit his lip until it bled, refusing to make a sound.
Next, he slotted the data-chip into his watch. The screen flickered, lines of code scrolling past in a jagged, broken font.
[Loading... Data Fragment 09-B...]
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
[Subject: Man-Made Hybrids & Elemental Bleed...]
[Warning: Incomplete grounding causes internal organ necrosis in canine species...]
Rine’s eyes narrowed. The "Innate Talent" wasn't just a gift; it was a defect. The Houndour’s Fire-type biology wasn't built to house a Boltund’s electrical marrow. Every time it sparked, it was cooking itself from the inside out. That was why it was so aggressive—it was in constant, searing pain.
He returned to the cell.
The Houndour was pacing, a low static hum filling the room. It looked at Rine, its lips pulling back to reveal teeth that flickered with yellow sparks.
"I know why you're angry," Rine whispered, his voice cold and devoid of pity.
He didn't offer meat. He held out his hand, palm up. In the center of his palm lay a small, flat piece of lead he’d pried from the medical kit's casing.
"The pain. It stops if you let it go through me."
The Houndour froze. It smelled the disinfectant. It smelled the lead. But mostly, it smelled the total lack of fear in the boy.
The beast lunged, but it didn't bite. It slammed its snout into Rine’s palm, its body arching as a massive Thunder Shock discharged.
The world turned white.
Pain exploded through Rine’s nervous system. His vision blurred, his muscles locked, and his heart skipped a jagged beat as the electricity surged through his arm, into the lead, and dissipated—mostly—into the damp concrete floor.
He collapsed to one knee, gasping for air, his arm smoking and numb.
[Status: Paralyzed (Minor)]
[Move Mastery: Thunder Shock -> 5% (Novice)]
[Bond Level: 15/100 (Uncertain)]
The Houndour stood over him, its fur no longer bristling. For the first time, the yellow flicker in its eyes had dimmed to a steady, calm glow. The pressure in its chest was gone. It sniffed Rine’s charred sleeve, then let out a soft, huffing breath.
It didn't attack. It waited.
Rine forced his trembling legs to stand. He looked at the beast—his partner in a slow-motion suicide pact.
"We're going to Saffron," Rine rasped, clutching his deadened arm. "We need more credits. And you need a real meal."
Rine didn’t return to the dormitory that night. He slept on the cold floor of the training cell, his back against the iron door and his numbed arm tucked into his chest. The Houndour slept three feet away—not touching, but no longer snarling. The smell of ozone and burnt hair was the only blanket they had.
At dawn, Rine woke to the harsh vibration of his Rocket Watch.
He blinked away the crust in his eyes and swiped the screen. The interface was a jagged red, flashing with urgency. He navigated to the Rookie Leaderboard.
[Time Remaining for Top 10 Bonus: 18 Days, 04 Hours]
His heart sank as he scrolled through the rankings. The names were mostly aliases, but the data was clear.
1.'Viper' – Arbok (Control: 85%) – Credits: 4,200
2. 'Klaw' – Primeape (Control: 72%) – Credits: 3,800
84. ...'Rine' – Houndour (Control: 15%) – Credits: 50
He was drowning. The leaders weren't just training; they were already out in the city, bleeding it dry. He was in 84th place out of the remaining ninety-two recruits. Eight had already been "processed"—a polite Rocket term for being hauled off to the labor camps or worse.
"We're behind," Rine rasped, looking at the Houndour. The dog's ears twitched, its yellow eyes tracking the movement of Rine's hand. It wasn't "broken," but it was listening.
He opened the Mission Board. The high-reward contracts—kidnapping Silph executives or raiding Pokémon Centers—were locked behind 'Grunt' rank. As a trainee, he was left with the scraps.
[Available Trainee Missions:]
- Scout & Mark: Identify three unmapped security cameras in the Saffron Underground Mall. Reward: 150 Credits.
- The 'Collector's' Toll: Extract 200 Poké Dollars from the 'Lucky Noodle' shopkeeper in the slums. Reward: 100 Credits.
- Bio-Hazard Disposal: Clean the Muk-clogged drainage pipes in Sub-Level 4. Reward: 250 Credits (High Risk of Poisoning).
Rine’s eyes lingered on the Bio-Hazard mission. It paid the most, but he couldn't risk the Houndour getting sick. He needed his partner sharp.
"We take the Mall," Rine decided. "And the Noodle shop."
He stood up, his muscles screaming. He grabbed the muzzle from his kit. Usually, this was a trigger for a fight, but this time, the Houndour simply bared its teeth in a silent snarl before allowing Rine to slip the leather over its snout. It was a tactical agreement: the muzzle stayed on in public so they wouldn't be caught by the Saffron Police (the "Public Peace Keepers").
They exited the base through a service tunnel that opened into a damp alleyway three blocks from the Saffron Central Mall.
The transition was jarring. Above, the golden skyscrapers of Silph Co. caught the morning sun, shimmering with the wealth of a thousand "legitimate" trainers. Below, the air was thick with the smell of cheap grease and exhaust.
Rine pulled his hoodie up to hide his Rocket Watch. He looked like just another street kid—invisible, pathetic.
[Current Objective: Scout & Mark - Saffron Underground Mall]
As they entered the neon-lit corridors of the underground mall, the Houndour’s fur began to prickle. The hum of the mall’s massive electrical grid was a siren song to its hybrid blood.
[Identify: Internal Charge Rising...]
[Warning: Involuntary Discharge Imminent.]
Rine felt the hair on his arms stand up. If the Houndour blew a circuit here, the security guards would be on them in seconds. He grabbed the dog's collar, his fingers touching the copper wire he’d tucked into the leather.
"Not here," Rine hissed, leaning down as if petting the dog. "Save it for the shop keep."
He spotted the first camera—a sleek Silph-Eye 400 tucked behind a digital advertisement for 'Rare Candies.' He tapped his watch, 'marking' the location.
As he moved toward the second camera, he noticed a group of kids his age—Trainers. They were laughing, holding colorful Poké Balls, their Pokémon—a Bubasaur and a Pidgey—walking freely beside them. They looked clean. They looked happy.
The Houndour let out a muffled, vibrating growl from behind its muzzle.
Rine’s grip tightened. He felt a surge of cold, bitter envy that he quickly suppressed. That world was a lie. His world was the blade and the blood on the orphanage floor.
He marked the second and third cameras quickly, his mind already moving to the next task.
[Mission Complete: 150 Credits Added.]
[Current Balance: 200 Credits.]
It wasn't enough. Not even close.
"Now for the 'Lucky Noodle,'" Rine whispered.
The shop was located in the 'Rust District,' where the neon gave way to flickering fluorescent tubes and the smell of rot. The shopkeeper was an old man with a prosthetic arm and a nervous twitch. He was currently serving a bowl of gray broth to a man who looked like he hadn't slept in years.
Rine stepped into the shop, the Houndour at his heel. The low hum of the dog's static made the shop's lightbulbs flicker.
The old man looked up, his eyes widening as they landed on the muzzle and the dark, predatory shape of the Houndour. He saw the way Rine stood—shoulders back, eyes hollow. He knew exactly what this was.
"I... I already paid the 'protection' fee to the man with the Arbok," the shopkeeper stammered, his voice thin.
Rine’s eyes narrowed. Viper. The #1 recruit had already been here.
"Viper took his cut," Rine said, his voice dropping an octave, cold and final. "This is the 'Processing Fee.' Two hundred Poké Dollars. Now."
The shopkeep’s face went pale. "I don't have it! He took everything! If I don't buy more flour, my daughter won't eat—"
The Houndour stepped forward, its snout pressing against the wooden counter. A yellow spark jumped from the muzzle, charring the wood with a sharp pop.
Rine felt the weight of the knife in his pocket—the one he'd used on the Rattata. He didn't want to use it. But he saw the 'Viper' entry on the leaderboard in his mind. 18 days left.