After the Mightyena attack, I couldn't sleep properly for days.
Not because of fear.
Because of clarity.
Everywhere I turned, I saw it—threads of color surrounding Pokémon. Aptitudes. Potential. Direction. It was as if someone had removed a film from my eyes and replaced it with glass sharper than reality itself.
The gift—or curse—was no longer limited to Mira.
Now, every Pokémon revealed something.
But the revelations weren't just about growth.
They were about rarity.
I quickly learned something strange—and important.
Most wild Pokémon I saw had aptitudes of Red, Orange, or Yellow. Occasionally, I'd spot one with Green, and that alone made me stop and stare. Green wasn't just "better"—it was unusual. Refined. Balanced.
Green meant real potential. Pokémon with this aptitude weren't just strong—they were trainable. Consistent. Valuable.
And that explained why so many trainers in town favored Pokémon with Green cores. They were considered the gold standard for aspiring professionals.
But beyond Green?
That was a different story.
One afternoon, I saw a young woman training her Floatzel near the riverbank. She was older—maybe a traveling trainer—and the Floatzel moved like a torpedo made of muscle and wind.
Floatzel – Blue (Light)High reflex potential. Requires precise, high-speed drills. Weak to emotional instability.
I blinked.
Blue.
It was the first time I'd seen it.
Blue wasn't just rare. It was elite-tier. From what I gathered by listening to trainers at the market, even top-level Gym Leaders only had one Blue-tier Pokémon—usually their ace.
Aptitudes weren't public knowledge, but those with enough experience could "sense" a Pokémon's strength. What I had was something far beyond that.
And yet... I kept silent.
Each morning, I walked through the town square, my notebook hidden in the folds of my vest.
I'd pretend to watch the stalls. Really, I was watching Pokémon.
Mankey – Orange (Core)Unfocused aggression. Needs discipline-driven training.
Pidgeotto – Green (Light)Stable. Will excel with aerial combat repetition and light-speed drills.
Pawniard – Yellow (Core)Cautious. Growth linked to structured battle environments.
Even the ones owned by official trainers rarely climbed past Green. Seeing it felt like spotting a rare flower in a field of weeds.
But Blue? Never again—not in town.
And Purple?Only in stories.
According to overheard gossip near the local bulletin board, the top 10 trainers in the world—the true legends—were the only ones with Pokémon touching Purple aptitude.
And Aurora?
That was the stuff of myths. Whispered in connection with Legendary Pokémon. I hadn't seen it, and honestly, I wasn't even sure it existed in the real world.
But if I ever did…
No. Best not to think that far ahead yet.
I began to develop exercises for myself.
Every time I walked near a Pokémon, I'd try to focus not just on its aptitude, but also on what affected it.
If I smiled?
Some Pokémon's threads pulsed brighter.
If I ignored them?
Some dulled.
If I fed them berries, repeated my visits, or spoke with warmth?
Certain colors shimmered—like Yellow becoming Deep, or Orange stabilizing from chaotic to structured.
I created symbols to track changes.
Drew graphs. Color-coded sketches. Developed a point system.
My notebook wasn't just a diary anymore.
It was turning into a manual.
One late afternoon, I saw a boy crying near the fence outside the training grounds. His Ponyta had kicked over a bucket of water, clearly agitated.
I approached quietly and focused.
Ponyta – Yellow (Light)Emotionally reactive. Needs comfort and consistent feedback to evolve.
I crouched nearby and offered the Pokémon a gentle wave and a soft, humming tone I'd used on Mira.
Ponyta calmed. For a moment, her flame lowered slightly, and the boy sniffled.
"She doesn't like me…" he muttered.
"She's just scared," I said simply.
He looked at me, surprised. "How do you know?"
I shrugged. "She looks like it."
I smiled. He didn't press.
But I checked again before I left.
The thread had deepened, ever so slightly.
That night, I stared at my ceiling, notebook clutched to my chest.
I knew I had something no one else did.
And I also knew it came with risks.
If people learned I could see these things—if they thought I was lying, or worse, trying to manipulate the system—I didn't know what would happen.
So for now… I stayed quiet.
But every day I learned more.
And one day, I'd do more than just observe.
I'd shape the future of the strongest Pokémon this world had ever seen.