Rookidee looked like an ordinary plump blue bird, small enough to be cradled in both hands.

  "Rook! Ki! Ki!"

  But the Rookidee in front of Shiro had sharp red eyes, its broken right wing hidden within its feathers, and a patch of its once-fluffy yellow belly now bare.

  The injuries inflicted during its so-called "training" tormehe little bird. Ever si was forcibly taken to this town, it had endured relentless beatings in a locked room. It had struggled, tried to escape, but os wing was broken, flight was no longer an option.

  Shiro sighed.

  This wasn't Pokémon training, it was using a living creature as a moving target, letting Pokémon attatil it was too damaged to tinue.

  Rookidee stretched out its steel gray beak, watg Shiro warily as he tried to reach for it.

  "Don't be afraid, Rookidee. Don't be afraid. The ones you met before were bad people. But now, I'm your trainer. I'll heal your wing..." Shiro spoke softly, extending his hand to touch the injured bird.

  But Rookidee wasn't ready to trust him. The moment his hand got too close, it hopped back repeatedly, refusing to let him near.

  Seeing no other choice, Shiro moved quickly, scooping the bird into his arms.

  "Hss—!"

  Sharp pain shot through his palm as Rookidee's beak dug two bloody holes into his skin. Gritting his teeth, Shiro ighe pain and pulled out the healing spray, applying it generously to the broken wing.

  "Rook…Ki?"

  Rookidee, which had been prepared to keep attag, suddenly froze. A cooliion spread over its injured wing, numbing the pain that had long since bee unbearable.

  The healing spray wasn't the best quality, but Rookidee itself was weak, meaning the medie still had a signifit effect.

  As Rookidee gazed up, it saw Shiro's focused expression. Slowly, it lowered its head. The tension in its small body eased, and for the first time, it allowed itself to rest in his hands.

  Shiro sprayed the wound several more times, soaking Rookidee's blue feathers in the process. But the effect was obvious—the little bird's body gradually rexed.

  "Huuh..."

  Letting out a breath, Shiro gently pced Rookidee on the white table. Then, gng at the two bloody punctures on his right palm, he turhe healing spray on himself, pressing the nozzle a few times.

  A cool sensation spread across his skin, and soon, the shallow wounds scabbed over.

  His guess had been right. The healing spray worked on humans too.

  Reag out, he stroked the tiny Pokémon, now curled up in silence. His voice was soft as he said, "Get some rest, Rookidee. From now on, we're partners."

  On the white table, Rookidee slowly closed its eyes, nodding its little head twice. It could feel Shiro's siy and accepted him as its trainer.

  Seeing Rookidee begin to rest, Shiro knew he had taken the first step in f a bond with his Pokémon. But there was no time to rex. He o search the wreckage of his ransacked home, hoping to find anything of value that might have been overlooked.

  ......

  Dawn was breaking.

  A few streets away, behind the Spikemuth Gym, a group ed, u teenagers huddled together. Their hair was taheir clothes stained with dirt, and they sat or crouched he batrance, where the gym disposed of its trash.

  Under normal circumstances, as soon as the first light of day touched the horizon, Team Yell would up the aftermath of Piers' cert, gathering all the waste into bags and dumping it into the alley behind the gym.

  If a group of beggars was already waiting outside, they would simply toss the trash there ahem sort through it themselves.

  At st, the heavy brown wooden door creaked open.

  Many eager eyes locked onto the narro beyond the threshold.

  A tall figure stepped out. He wore Team Yell's gray, skin-tight uniform, and his pink mohawk stid atop his head. Holding his nose in distaste, he flung the bulging trash bag into the crowd of beggars.

  But the expected chaos, the desperate scramble, never came.

  "Hmph!" The Team Yell grunt sneered before shouting, "There are no Pokémon this time! Take your trash a lost! If I see even a single scrap of pstic left behind... ime you show up, don't expect to walk away!"

  Bang!

  The heavy wooden door smmed shut.

  The first light of dawn stretched across the grimy ground, casting a pale yellow glow on the beggars' dirty faces. But instead ing warmth, it only highlighted their stunned expressions.

  They had all e with the same pn—fight for the discarded Pokémon. Strength, speed, and ruthlessness would decide who got a ce to ge their fate. Every person here had been a rival.

  But now, there were no Pokémon.

  And who still cared about a bag of trash?

  "If you don't want it, I'll take it!" A boy in a tattered short-sleeved shirt lunged forward, snatg up the garbage bag.

  A few others hesitated, then scrambled after him, hoping to find something useful.

  Most, however, stayed put, whispering among themselves.

  "What's going on?"

  "The information said it was today."

  "Maybe we just o wait a little longer?"

  They g to hope, unwilling to leave, waiting for Pokémon that might never e.

  Time dragged on.

  The sun rose, its golden light fading into the usual dull gray. Above, the sky stretched into a clear, empty blue.

  By now, the Gym Leader was training Piers and Marnie, and Team Yell had scattered for their daily tasks—patrolling, running errands, capturing Pokémon.

  There would be narbage and no discarded Pokémon.

  "Impossible! I heard it straight from a Team Yell grunt inside! He even said he caught today's Pokémon himself!" A boy ed in a tattered gray-green coat shouted, his voice crag with frustration.

  "What Team Yell grunt? There's nothing here now."

  "Just go home. Wait for the ime."

  Hopeless murmurs spread among the beggars. One by ohey staggered to their feet, preparing to leave in scattered groups.

  "Hey! Don't go! I have news!"

  A voice cut through the despair. The short-sleeved boy from before came running, breathless, his garbage bag nowhere in sight. Behind him, a few others followed.

  "I heard from Uncle Rabby! It was Shiro and the other two who asked him for Pokémon. So he gave today's three to them!" He spoke in a rush, barely pausing for breath.

  In an instant, the remaining beggars crowded around him, a mass of dark, hungry eyes.

  "What do you mean?"

  "What's the point of this news?"

  "Why e back just to tell us that?"

  The short-sleeved boy was annoyed by the barrage of questions. He waved his arms in irritation, shoving a few back.

  "Scram! Uncle Rabby said he's got nothing to do with those three anymore. And right now, her do we. I came back just to warn you!"

  "Like hell!" One boy threw up his arm, shouting.

  "Yeah! Just because his dad died, he gets to steal Pokémht out of our hands?"

  "Damn it, wasn't Shiro just robbed by Team Yell? If they steal from him, why 't we?"

  The short-sleeved boy thrust his fist into the air, rallying the others toward the residential district.

  "This..." Some hesitated. Petty theft was ohing, but ht robbery? That wasn't part of their usual routine.

  The short-sleeved boy didn't care.

  "There are three Pokémon. We split introups. Go after whoever you want."

  With that, he turned on his heel, leading his small group straight toward the residential area.

  **

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