The first real morning at the Trainer Academy began with a siren instead of sunlight. A harsh metallic screech that drilled through the dorm walls and made several kids fall out of bed. Uriah was already awake—habit, not anxiety—but even he found the noise painfully unnecessary.
An automated announcement followed:
"Training Cycle A-1 begins in thirteen minutes. Report to Field C. Pokéballs stay secured unless instructed otherwise."
Vulpix stayed in its ball on Uriah's belt. That rule was absolute here. No free roaming, no casual bonding sessions, no childish "sleep with your starter" nonsense. This was a military academy, not a league dream camp.
Uriah stepped into the corridor. Hundreds of trainees funneled toward the massive outdoor training arena—Field C. The place felt like a mix between a gym battlefield and a military test site: steel platforms, distance markers, target drones suspended by magnetic fields, and reinforced barriers to absorb stray attacks.
Instructor Rowan waited at the center like a man who hadn't slept since last month.
"Listen up," he shouted, voice sharp enough to cut through the chatter. "You're not civilians anymore. You're trainees under the Valerian Trainer Corps. That comes with obligations, rules, and a hierarchy so strict you'll struggle to breathe without permission."
Hierarchy — the Brutal Ladder
Rowan tapped the board behind him, revealing a simple ranking structure:
Cadet → Initiate → Field Trainer → Senior Field Trainer → Corps Specialist → Vanguard → Sentinel → Commander
Most people never made it past Field Trainer.Most people didn't survive long enough to try.
"The Corps isn't charity," Rowan continued. "You climb by missions, performance, and survival. Fail any of these, and the system throws you back into laborer slots. You don't want that."
Nobody argued.
Why the System Exists
Rowan switched the board to another slide—this one showing swirling masses of shadow and teeth crashing against walls.
Pokémon Tides
Not random attacks. Not accidents. Natural phenomena where wild Pokémon moved like storms, driven by migration cycles, resource scarcity, or unknown triggers the scientists in Crownspire still hadn't figured out.
There were three categories:
Surface Tides – common, messy, mostly small-to-mid Pokémon.
Convergent Tides – multiple species coordinating, unpredictable, lethal.
Great Tides – the kind recorded in history books because everyone else died witnessing them.
Valeria hadn't had a Great Tide in twelve years. That didn't make anyone relax.
"This is why we need trainers," Rowan finished. "And this is why we don't wait for volunteers."
A few rich-born kids shifted uncomfortably. Everyone knew the truth—there were two ways to become a trainer:
Path 1: State-Drafted (MC's Path)
Mandatory test at age 15
Assigned to Corps training
First years spent doing missions in cities, border settlements, and internal response units
Can challenge gyms only after completing military tasks
Gym progress is slow and often blocked by service demands
High mortality, brutal routine
But survivors who rank up become elites—well-paid, respected, politically untouchable
Path 2: Independent Trainers (Rich Families' Route)
Not forced to take state test
Funded by family to travel, catch Pokémon, battle freely
Focus on gyms, contests, personal power
No Tide duty unless they volunteer
Entirely different lifestyle
Independent trainers called the Corps path "the grind." Corps trainers called them "tourists."
Uriah didn't care for either label. He was here because he had no choice.
Training Begins
Rowan clapped sharply. "Enough theory. Time to see what you're worth."
He pointed to the rows of trainees.
"Cadets, line up by number. Three drills today: Pokéball control, stance discipline, and command projection."
Drill 1 — Pokéball Control
Trainees practiced rapid-release and recall using test dummies—no Pokémon yet. The idea was to standardize timing. A second too slow in battle meant a dead partner.
Uriah completed the sequence with mechanical precision. No fumbling. No hesitation.Rowan walked past him, nodding once. Not praise—just acknowledgment he wasn't incompetent.
Drill 2 — Stance Discipline
Combat stance mattered more than anyone realized. Trainees had to maintain balance while delivering commands, dodging attacks, or directing movement.
Uriah did well, but one thing stood out: he didn't overreact. When Rowan fired small shock pellets to test reflexes, most kids panicked. Uriah simply shifted weight, avoided them, and resumed position.
Rowan said nothing, but the look he gave Uriah was clear: useful material.
Drill 3 — Command Projection
Trainees had to give commands loud, clear, and sharp enough that a Pokémon locked in adrenaline could still recognise it.
Uriah didn't shout. He projected—focused tone, concise words, no wasted breath.
"Vulpix—focus.""Vulpix—halt.""Vulpix—prepare."
Rowan scribbled his score with an impressed grunt.
The Point System — The Academy's Currency
After drills, all cadets were taken to a briefing hall. A holographic board lit up:
POINTS = SURVIVAL + STATUS + PROGRESSION
Earn points by completing missions assigned within Crownspire.
Missions included:
Escorting registered trainers during public battles
Assisting local defense units
Tracking injured Pokémon near city perimeters
Helping with resource distribution
Emergency response inside the city
Fail a mission = point deduction
Negative points = disciplinary service
High points = access to better instructors, equipment, and eventually permission for gym challenges
This was the Academy's real game. Not battles. Not talent.Consistency. Discipline. Reliability.
Uriah absorbed it silently. Points meant progress. Progress meant rank. Rank meant survival.
Simple enough.
Mission Orientation
Rowan ended with the final instruction:
"Your Pokémon stays in its ball unless I authorize release. Anyone breaking this rule risks disqualification or injury. These aren't pets. These are weapons you haven't earned yet."
Uriah touched the Vulpix's Pokéball lightly.It vibrated once—a sign of alertness.
Good.
Obedience wasn't friendship. It was structure. The fox understood that.
After dismissal, Uriah headed back to the dorm. Two others fell into step behind him Marian and Riven, the other early tamers.
Marian spoke first. "You're efficient. I'll give you that."
Riven added, "But efficient doesn't win in the long term. Endurance does."
Uriah didn't bother responding. Words didn't prove anything here. Points did.
They understood the silence and smirked. Not hostile, not friendly. Just competitors measuring the gap.
The Corps Life
Late that night, instructors walked the halls, their steps heavy and their Pokémon silent in their balls.
Life here was brutal.The missions were worse.But the reward for climbing the hierarchy—if you survived—was a life civilians envied.
And that was enough for Uriah.
He lay on his bunk, staring at the metal ceiling.The Academy wasn't a place for dreams.It was a furnace.
People broke here.People forged here.People died here.
Uriah planned to be the rare fourth category:
People who climbed out stronger.
Tomorrow would be his first real mission.
And the Academy didn't care if he was ready.