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Hakuya, quiet and withdrawn since childhood, was born in Whitewind Town. Struggling with aphasia, he could barely speak, his communication halting and broken. In the first two years of his journey as a Trainer, he didn't win a single official match, unable to give clear commands in time for his Pokémon to follow.
That was the file the Pokémon League had on him, the one they used when considering applications for Whitewind's first-ever Gym Leader. The town had never produced a successful candidate; every prior application had failed during evaluation.
But when that report crossed Bertha's desk, back when she was still Champion, it drew her attention. And not just attention. It sparked a sharp, nagging interest in her heart.
So when Whitewind Gym's assessment day came, Bertha herself slipped into the stands to watch, her eyes fixed on the boy with halting speech and trembling hands.
The battle was brutal. Hakuya tried everything, gestures, clumsy half-formed sounds, even quickly scratching figures and symbols into the dirt, but against an examiner who could give crisp commands, he didn't stand a chance. His battle ended lopsided, his Pokémon fainted.
The examiner gave him a score of four out of ten. And Bertha, a Champion renowned for her ruthlessness, thought grimly that without sympathy added into the judgment, the boy would barely earn a two.
But then came the moment that stopped her cold.
As Hakuya left the tunnel with shoulders slumped, his three Pokémon cried out, guilt and shame heavy in their voices. And though his own eyes were red, tears brimming, he crouched down to embrace them. His hands shook, but he forced a smile.
Someone had to stay composed.
Someone had to carry the weight of "Trainer."
And so, while he longed to weep alongside them, he didn't.
Forcing cheer into his hands and his voice, he turned and noticed Bertha in passing, without knowing she was Champion of Sinnoh herself. He gave her a polite greeting, then stood tall again, gesturing to his Pokémon that it was time to go home, eat something good, and try again another day.
Bertha sat frozen in her seat, admiration sparking in her chest despite the boy's crushing defeat. He didn't yet have the strength, but he had steel where few did. Not long after, she used her own resources, quietly, privately, to ensure Hakuya received funds to continue his journey as a Trainer.
Then, his name vanished from her sight.
Until years later, when Cynthia had become Champion, and Bertha had shifted into the role of Elite Four, that boy reappeared.
This time, during his reapplication battle, Hakuya stood with his three Pokémon at his side and a harmonica between his hands. Music, rising steady and strong, carried his commands.
To Bertha's astonishment, it worked. Pokémon that once hesitated now moved in harmony with him, rhythm guiding rhythm, until at last he defeated his examiner, and Whitewind Town won the right to open its own Gym.
Bertha still remembered him collapsing into his Pokémon's arms afterward, laughing and crying through incomprehensible words while hugging them fiercely under the open sky. That year, Hakuya turned sixteen.
And that was when Bertha's admiration deepened into respect.
Because how much resolve must someone hold to discover a language of music when words have abandoned him?
How much strength must it take to continue forward, after loss upon loss, never turning away?
And how much love must one feel for this world… and for their Pokémon… to break down in joy, repeating thanks no one else understood?
Hakuya had carved a path uniquely his own.
Back in the workshop, Cynthia listened to Bertha recount those memories, stories she had never known before. Her fists clenched against the emotion they stirred in her.
"Then shouldn't you have let him pass? He's clearly strong enough to be a core-level Gym Leader."
Bertha's eyes stayed on the monitor, their gaze fixed on Hakuya's battling form. "He's strong. His control of tempo, his instinct for risk and advantage… even Flint or Aaron would have trouble catching him off guard. But he's plateaued. Watching closely, I can see it, he can't break free from his current mold. Unless that bottleneck shatters, strength alone isn't enough."
Her voice was quiet, but firm.
"To sit among the Elite Four, strength is the only language that speaks. And right now, Hakuya's strength has stopped growing. He needs more fire in his heart, more tempering to reignite what's dulled."
The realization dawned in Cynthia's widened eyes. "You… deliberately…"
Bertha met her gaze calmly. "Yes. That's why I arranged for Luther."
She folded her arms, her voice steady, deliberate. "Luther lacks control. Hakuya has too much control and too little fire. Me? I've lost some of that fire myself, so I can't help him anymore. But Luther can."
Bertha's voice was steady as she explained her reasoning.
"Your passion burns too brightly, Cynthia; it overwhelms instead of balances. It doesn't quite fit the push-and-pull needed to sharpen one another. But Luther… he's different. He and Hakuya are about the same age, peers in the new generation. Compared to Hakuya, Luther is still rough around the edges, almost raw. But in that roughness lies his worth. He'll scrape away the rust on Hakuya and remind him what it feels like to burn."
Cynthia smirked faintly. "So that's why you've been so generous. Hotel VIP cards, travel expenses, everything covered and reimbursed out of your pocket."
"Didn't Luther gain from this as well?" Bertha replied without missing a beat. "You saw it in this very battle, he felt it too. Don't underestimate him. That boy is sharp; he knows exactly why I set this up."
Cynthia clicked her tongue. "Don't talk like it's already a done deal. The match isn't over yet."
She leaned forward, sudden fire in her voice as she called out at the screen. "Marill, go for it! Smash that Kangaskhan flat!"
Down in the Gym, Marill's Ice Punch collided with Kangaskhan's Thunder Punch. The shock rattled the whole field. For a heartbeat, it seemed the little Water-type would falter… but instead, it shuddered, teeth bared, pouring everything it had into its tiny fist. Cold energy exploded outward; frost crawled up Kangaskhan's arm, forcing it to yank back with a startled cry.
On the sidelines, Hakuya's brows furrowed. His Kangaskhan's arm was half-numb, its movements slowing. This wasn't supposed to happen, Luther's scrappy tactics had completely upended the battle.
From the start, Marill had been darting fast through rain-slick rubble, launching sudden Water Guns, turning ruined terrain into a hit-and-run maze. Once Rain Dance faded, Hakuya thought that nuisance would end. But then the real surprise began in close quarters: Marill simply refused to quit.
It had already eaten two Thunder Punches, a crushing Brick Break, and even lost a clean clash head-on. By all logic, strength and durability alone should've left it unconscious on the dirt. Yet there it was, limping, bruised, tail dragging through dust… but standing tall.
The Kirlia Luther had kept waiting on the bench never even stirred. Each time Luther's hand twitched toward her Poké Ball, Marill wagged its tail fiercely, glaring as if to say, "Don't you dare. I'm not done." Then it would drag its aching little body back into the fray.
And so the fight devolved into nothing but raw brawling.
When Kangaskhan swung a Thunder Punch, Marill met it with Ice Punch.
When Kangaskhan dropped Brick Break, Marill mirrored it with its own stubby arms.
When Kangaskhan unleashed Mega Punch, Marill reeled, and then slammed forward with a Focus Punch, its strength drawn from sheer stubborn defiance.
The size difference was absurd. The power gap should've been impossible to bridge. And yet both Pokémon crashed together again and again, knocked down, knocked back, but always dragging themselves up for the next clash.
At first, Hakuya tried to calculate, his harmonica's melody drawing edges of strategy: Would this fatigue Kangaskhan for later rounds? Was he destroying his battle rhythm by indulging this slugfest? Should he command a switch, change approach now?
But as the minutes ground on, sweat drenched his forehead. His harmonica no longer played the cool, crisp notes of a conductor. It poured out frantic, wild phrases, mirroring Kangaskhan itself.
Slowly, perhaps without even realizing it, Hakuya abandoned those thoughts. He stopped trying to control the pace. He chose instead to fight with Kangaskhan's raw will, matching his Giant's blazing stubbornness blow-for-blow through music.
And in that chaos, something strange happened.
A Trainer known best for mastering rhythm control, for dictating timing, for orchestrating every flow and pause, forgot rhythm altogether.
And so did everyone watching.
What remained wasn't control.
It was a pure fight.
(End of Chapter)