The Ridgeback Stop Area S was quieter than usual that morning. Not silent—never silent, not with Jaxon around—but muted, like the land itself was holding its breath in anticipation. A low breeze rippled through the thick canopy above, brushing over training gear still strewn across the battlefield. Even the Pokémon moved slower today, like they knew. One day left.
Marceline stood at the edge of the forest cliff, arms crossed, her tank top clinging to skin still damp from sunrise drills. Her obsidian hair was braided into a long, tight plait that swung against her spine with every wind shift, and her boots were scuffed from kicking one too many training dummies into splinters. Her match was tomorrow. Not some test, not a pop quiz, not a scrimmage—but an actual League-qualifier against a gym's rep.
"You nervous?" Bonnie asked, peeking over a fruit smoothie the color of bubblegum sin. She was lounging on a floating cushion made entirely of Psychic energy, generated by Jaxon's Gothita. Of course she wouldn't be training right now. Of course, she had her lip gloss on. Bonnie was the kind of girl who could spend an entire apocalypse looking like she just stepped out of a fashion catalog and still has time to flirt with the zombies.
Thought the pinkette has been studying lately for her Professor exam.
"I'm not nervous," Marceline replied, voice flat as a deadpan lullaby. "My Pokemon are ready. Unlike that dumbass. Where he is anyway? That boy is going to be driving us there."
Speak of the devil—Jaxon Ryder Mercer jogged into view, shirtless, towel slung over his neck, muscles shimmering in the morning light like he was auditioning for Dancing With the Delinquents. He wore his usual custom-made weighted gear—purple, black, and blood red, sleeveless gi-style outfit with gravity cuffs around his ankles and wrists, plus the heaviest weighted vest their supplier dared to sell without legal waivers. And he was still moving like it was leg day on the moon.
"Speak of the drama gremlin," Marceline muttered.
"Morning, witches," Jaxon beamed. "Don't mind me, just setting a world record for hotness and humility."
Bonnie twirled her straw. "And we were just talking about how late you are."
"I'm early in Mercer Time," he said, flashing a peace sign and nearly tripping on a stray tire.
The past two months had turned Ridgeback Stop Area S into a bizarre hybrid between a war camp and a delinquent-run wellness cult. Every sunrise was crunches, combat drills, and complicated swearing. Every night was music, meditation, and mutual insults. They bled, bruised, laughed, and leveled up together. And it showed. Their Pokémon hit harder, dodged faster. Their reflexes were sharper. Their bodies ached in good ways. Even their banter had evolved from casual sarcasm to emotionally charged murder flirting.
If someone had met Marceline and Bonnie two months ago and compared them to now, they'd probably assume they were replaced by clones or upgraded DLC versions. Bonnie had been the bratty flirt with a superiority complex and a brain full of fashion stats. Now? Still bratty, still a flirt—but also top of her class in Professor certification prep, and shockingly lethal when serious.
She began to sleep with Jaxon. Much to his confusion and Marceline chargin.
Marceline had been cool, distant, scowling like it was a sport. These days, she was still intense—but had a dangerous glint of fun behind it.
And that shift? Yeah, that was Jaxon's fault.
Not that he noticed. Or took credit. Or did anything intentionally. But something about his relentless, clueless optimism (lack of common sense)—the stories he told from his old world, the songs he sang during cooldown stretches, the dumb way he named attack combos—got under Marceline's skin. In a good way. The kind of way that made her start humming lyrics during training. That made her pick up a guitar and declare herself the "Poisoner Musician Ninja Diva" like it was a real job class. She'd started learning ninjutsu. Started teasing people more. Sometimes flirted just to watch them squirm. She even tried out seductive distractions mid-battle, just to mess with Bonnie's notes.
And yeah—sometimes it got weird. But that was the point.
"You smell like gym socks and hubris," Bonnie said as Jaxon dropped into a stretch beside her floating seat.
"You smell like jealousy," he shot back, grinning.
"Please," Marceline muttered. "Can we just focus for once?"
"We are focused," Bonnie chirped. "This is pre-battle energy alignment. I read about it in Pokémon Vogue."
"She's not wrong," Jaxon said, laying back on the grass. "It's our last full day before the qualifier. This is the calm before the ass-kicking storm."
"I don't do calm," Marceline said.
"Then do confident," Jaxon replied, eyes serious for once. "You've trained harder than anyone I know. You're going to win. You just need to show up."
Marceline looked at him. Really looked. His hair was a mess. His hands were scraped raw. His vest smelled like whatever happens when ambition sweats too hard. But the way he said it—like it wasn't a question, like it was just fact—sent a ripple through her already buzzing nerves.
"Alright," she said softly. "Let's make today count."
Later That Day… 5 Hours later
The drive into Blasto City was exactly what you'd expect when Jaxon was behind the wheel of a souped-up van he'd custom-modified himself: unnecessarily fast, absurdly loud, and somehow legally unregistered.
Jaxon took the wheel of their heavily modified off-road van—a monstrosity painted matte crimson with flame decals, extra exhaust pipes, and a snarling Charizard face carved into the front grill like a war totem. For reason that will forever make Marceline wondered if there was a god in the world. Jaxon decided that every month they would have a different vehicle.
The inside looked like a mix between a music studio, a doomsday bunker, and a junkyard. He drove like a delinquent-turned-F1 driver, blasting music from his old world. Something about radioactive hearts and bulletproof dreams. The girls didn't get the lyrics, but the beat slapped.
Bonnie lounged across the middle row, legs kicked up and sunglasses on, flipping through her Pokédex flashcards like she had an exam in ten minutes—because she did. Marceline sat shotgun, arms crossed, shades low on her nose, humming softly to a song Jaxon had played a hundred times before. One of his favorites. Something called "Black Parade." She wouldn't admit it, but she'd memorized every line.
Outside, the wilderness gave way to cracked roads, the rolling green of nature slowly swallowed by civilization's neon teeth.
Blasto City was built like someone had tried to punch a metropolis into a crater and never stopped adding on. Giant LED billboards flashed advertisements for battle supplements, perfume lines, and the latest Gym-approved gear. Flying taxis zipped overhead, chased by flocks of Honchkrow and the occasional rogue Pidgeot. Giant stadiums dominated the skyline, along with glittering skyscrapers shaped like Poké Balls, serpents, and stars. The Gym League Headquarters stood dead center—an obsidian tower that reflected light in warped rainbows, crowned with a constantly spinning dragon-shaped weathervane.
The gym Marceline had an appointment with wasn't part of the HQ. League-qualifiers started smaller.
Their target was the Pyrocoil Gym—a molten-core-themed proving ground built into an old geothermal power plant on the city's south rim. Steam hissed from vents along the street, giving it a gritty sauna feel. A colossal Arcanine statue stood at the gate, roaring mid-leap, lava veins carved into its metal flanks.
Marceline stepped out of the van like a queen dismounting her war chariot, slinging her bag over one shoulder. Bonnie followed with her parasol open, acting like they were attending brunch, not a battle.
Jaxon took one look at the looming gym doors and grinned. "You nervous now?"
Marceline cracked her knuckles. "No. I'm just excited to ruin someone's win streak."
She turned to the reception kiosk, where a League rep in a crisp blazer and mirrored shades waited.
"Marceline Raven. League-qualifier match. Appointment scheduled for 11 a.m."
The rep scanned her badge, nodded, and stepped aside. "Confirmed. Your match begins in twenty minutes. Follow the left corridor to the prep chambers. No outside coaching, Pokémon substitutions locked. Good luck."
Marceline smirked. "I don't need luck. I've got poison, claws, and attitude."
Bonnie gave her a teasing poke on the hip. "And a fan club."
Jaxon just watched her walk off toward the gym's belly, then turned to Bonnie. "Think she's ready?"
Bonnie adjusted her lip gloss and winked. "Ready enough to make the highlight reel."