"Fur fur!!"
Run, run, run!!
"Furret!!"
Keep running!!
On the open field, a shiny Furret led a group of Furret and Sentret in a chaotic sprint, yelling out strange slogans about "youth" and "bonds" that nobody else in the farm quite understood.
The Furret pack ran like it was some sort of competition, with no care for keeping formation. If one of them fell, no one stopped; the fallen simply scrambled to their feet and continued the chase, eyes locked on the figure ahead.
"Servine…"
At the tail end of the pack, Servine struggled to keep up, gasping for breath. Its body was drenched in sweat, as if it had just been fished out of a river.
And it wasn't just Servine—Tepig, Dewott, and Steenee were all putting every ounce of energy into staying in the race.
At first, they had felt confident, thinking, This training isn't so bad after all.
But as their stamina drained away, they naturally fell to the back of the pack. Now, they weren't even close to catching up with the shiny Furret. Just keeping pace with the "reckless runners" was taking everything they had.
Do these guys never get tired?! Servine thought bitterly, glaring at the energetic Sentret running alongside it.
Half an hour earlier, when Natsume had mentioned that the farm's Pokémon would serve as the trainers, Servine had been skeptical. Could this kind of training really be effective?
After all, if Pokémon could train themselves, what was the point of trainers? Were they just there to sign up Pokémon for competitions?
The truth was, one reason Pokémon chose to partner with human trainers was because trainers helped them grow stronger. If Pokémon could achieve that on their own, why would they bother getting captured? For fame and glory? Don't make me laugh.
But now, just thirty minutes into this training, Servine's perspective had completely shifted.
Running with this group, one thing became clear: At the very least, my stamina is definitely going to improve.
No matter what kind of base stats or strategies a Pokémon had, stamina was the foundation. You could have the most brilliant tactics in the world, but without the endurance to execute them, it was pointless. Even high-burst attackers like Weavile needed enough stamina to set up and strike decisively. If a Pokémon was too exhausted to take a hit, no strategy could save them.
"Phew…"
Tepig, the weakest of the bunch in terms of stamina, felt like it was teetering on the edge of collapse. Its vision began to blur, and it thought it saw a river ahead. On the far bank, something seemed to be waving at it…
"Slow…"
Standing on the sidelines, Slowking lazily opened its eyes.
With a casual wave of its hand, a surge of psychic energy caught the stumbling Tepig, gently laying it down beside the Slowking.
"Slow…"
Your stamina is terrible, Slowking muttered, scratching the back of its head in mild annoyance as it looked at the utterly spent Tepig.
Dressed like a proper coach, Slowking held a tactics board in one hand and a pen in the other, occasionally jotting down notes. After recording Tepig's training results, it tossed the board and pen into the air, where its psychic energy kept them floating.
It rummaged through a nearby box, eventually pulling out a few vials of medicine and a bag of Pokéblocks.
Technically, the vials were just energy supplements, similar to glucose but more effective.
"Slow…"
After giving Tepig the medicine and setting it aside, Slowking continued its coaching duties.
Natsume had promised to prepare more Psychic-type Pokéblocks soon, even developing a custom recipe tailored specifically for Slowking.
Champions and Elite Four Pokémon have entire teams of experts collecting data and designing Pokéblocks for them, Slowking mused. And now I'm getting the same treatment? That's amazing.
I have to work hard to repay Natsume's efforts.
(Though, to be fair, the Pokéblocks are still in the "concept stage"… whispered a tiny voice in Slowking's head.)
As it reminisced, Slowking casually caught the collapsing Steenee with its psychic power.
"Slow…"
It's good to push yourself, but you need to know your limits.
Its immense psychic power allowed Slowking to multitask effortlessly, keeping tabs on Servine and the others without even glancing up.
"Servine!"
Compared to Tepig and Steenee, Servine and Dewott were performing significantly better. Though they were straining at the back of the pack, they hadn't fallen behind completely.
Which made sense. While Servine and the others were battle-oriented Pokémon trained by a human trainer, their practice time was limited.
In the wild, they had to stay alert and cautious, never able to train at full intensity.
In cities, time spent outside their Poké Balls was restricted, and training facilities had time limits. All these factors meant they could never train as much as they wanted.
How could they compare to this group of Pokémon, who spent all day running wild on the farm?
Someone who occasionally jogged for fitness couldn't hope to match someone surviving on a deserted island. They were on completely different levels.
"Slow…"
Alright, time for a break. Lunch is ready, Slowking called out, pulling a pocket watch from behind its back.
(Why a pocket watch? Because it's stylish, obviously.)
The watch was something Natsume had bought during his edgy teenage years, thinking it looked cool. After sitting in a drawer collecting dust, it was finally dug out last night and claimed by Slowking.
"Servine."
Servine plopped onto the ground, glancing up at Slowking.
This Pokémon… was something else.
Its psychic power was leagues beyond anything Servine had ever seen.
"Servine."
What's next on the schedule?
"Slow…"
Trash-talk resistance training, followed by skill and combat drills in the afternoon. Before dinner, more trash-talk resistance. After dinner, free time.
Flipping through its tactics board, Slowking added, Your trash-talk resistance training is pretty interesting. If I knew how to trash-talk, I'd join in myself.
"Servine?"
Is Corviknight in charge of that part?
"Slow…"
Yep. The trash-talking shut-in bird.
"Servine."
Got it.
Clenching its tiny fists, Servine radiated determination.
This time, I'll show that bird how much I've grown. I'm not the same weak Snivy I used to be!
However…
"Caw?"
Wait, who are you?
Tilting its head, Corviknight stared blankly, its bird face full of confusion.
Snap.
In that instant, something broke inside Servine's mind.
****************************
Read advanced chapters ahead of everyone else on my P@treon.
p@treon/GodDragcell