One Day We'll Shine

Warning: This is a Nuzlocke fic, and there will be death.

An AO3 version exists, for those who prefer that.

Special Acknowledgment: To my invaluable beta reader, zephyr_iphis, from the Nuzlocke Forums. If you like Nuzlocke stories, I highly recommend her comic The Night Grows Pale and her written run Tightrope.

Table of Contents

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It was a mistake to come here on an overcast day.

Summer should breathe movement into New Bark Town's eastern cove, but the sun's arc is veiled behind grey. No wind stirs the trees; no waves reshape the shore. When rain clouds fill the sky, drops rustle through leaves and ripple through the bay, but today, the air is stiff and dry. Everything's stuck. Only the boy in front of me, and the crackle of the radio, assure me that the world spins.

Ethan watches my brush sweep along the Totodile's shedding skin and he repeats, stroke for stroke, on his Marill. "Trace longer paths on round Pokemon," I say, guiding his hand.

"Leah, can I join Elm's lab when I'm old enough?"

"If you study hard, like your mom tells you to." The gator in my lap snaps her jaw and growls; my hand jerks back. "Beck, stop that."

"She's just happy, purring."

"Oh."

Ethan's hands wobble. I check mine; he's copying me. The brush slips from my palm, beading with sweat.

"You don't like Pokemon much, do you?" Ethan asks. Heat flushes down my neck, but when I glance at the sky there's no sun reaching its apex. A dismal grey, nothing more.

"Not really." I snatch the tool off the grass and resume Beck's maintenance.

Whitney's voice drones from the radio. "And those are the latest Rocket sightings. Coming up soon, a guest from the Pokemon League brings news from the Kanto southern coast, and why he believes Vermillion City is so difficult to capture."

"Let's listen to something else," I say, fiddling with the knobs. "You like Buena's Treehouse, right?"

"Why do you help Elm if you don't like Pokemon?"

"Look, that's how jobs work. You'll understand when you're older," I say. He won't. Ethan's family is rich. He doesn't grasp why the other kids have Rattatas instead of Marills. He doesn't grasp why they never shop in Goldenrod, or ski near Mahogany Town.

He doesn't grasp why I offer to babysit him on summer mornings: to slow down the rate I accrue debt, trying to stave off the anger of Anya, my landlady, with income that's never on time and never enough. She yelled this morning. Two and a half months behind, she warned.

I glance at the sky. This spot is supposed to be an escape, but it doesn't work on an overcast day.

Only Buena speaks the next few minutes. I think back to my tone with Ethan, those last few words. It was too sharp.

I switch to a comb and release Blair and Belle, Beck's Cyndaquil and Chikorita sisters. A cross-species genepool shared from a Ditto mother. Ethan has permission to handle Belle, because there's no fangs or flames to maim him; her leaf won't sharpen without a command.

The Pokemon playfully wrestle in the dirt after we're done. I jot down observations about their behavior, while Ethan yawns and stretches out across the grass for a nap. "My grandparents show me Ditto siblings all the time," he says. "I've never seen ones this nice to each other."

They're different when domesticated. I've told Elm that these three would be at each other's throats in the wild, but he dismisses the thought.

Ethan dozes off. For the rest of the morning, the horizon holds my gaze. I try to peek past it, to picture the land tucked behind the shutter where water meets sky. The town gossips about this ritual of mine. Someone claims I'm mourning a grave no one else can see; their guess isn't far off.

It's the only part of my day when I can imagine life moving forward. Rent payments, job stability, survival—those worries fade away. A breeze picks up. The air whispers to the ground, coaxing it out of slumber, and lifts up petals and blades of grass. For a moment, the world on the other side feels closer, and I can recall with clarity the warm brush of my brother's hand in the dark.

Then Buena on the radio announces it's noon, the air flattens, and I'm anchored back to the rest of my day.

#

Today's chores: basic care for the Ditto trio project (done), fluorescent microscopy on Donphan trunk cells (next), and analysis on the Gloom saliva data. I'm in the middle of sample prep when Elm summons me to his office. He's usually scribbling on his chalkboard or flipping through papers when I walk in, but this time he sits at his desk and looks directly at me.

"Hello, Leah, could you close the door behind you?  Thank you." The usual meandering is absent from his voice. "For the next few days, I'm asking someone else to take care of your projects.  There's an errand I'd like you to run."

"Days?  That long?"

"It's a project funded by the Pokemon League." Elm frowns; it must have been forced upon him. "I don't have all the details yet, but there's a package at a certain address, and to keep it low-profile, they want a middleman to carry out the delivery. I don't have the address in writing, so listen closely."

He checks outside his door for eavesdroppers before whispering the instructions to me. Request a red and a white polkadot apricorn from the first cottage in the woods north of Cherrygrove City, to confirm my identity, then head to a second cottage behind it to pick up the real item. Between the two houses there is a Butterfree hive: trained, not wild. They won't attack as long as they see the painted apricorn.

"You can borrow my bike if you don't have one," Elm says. "And take a Pokemon with you, just to be safe. They said there shouldn't be any danger from trainers, but it's the middle of the summer, sometimes the wild Rattata get feisty."

"Why me?" I ask.

"I figured it's a way to get you to take a small vacation without losing pay." He flashes a wry, proud smile.

"Speaking of which, Professor, I was wondering about my next check." His lips twist into all the familiar apologies and explanations as I nod through them. Budget delays on projects because wartime funding is tight. My status as part-time technician on a rigid payscale, despite the workload of a full-fledged researcher. Bureaucracy paces itself as it pleases while I sink into debt.

"Things would simplify if the League recognized you as research staff," Elm says. "If you could show a degree-"

"I'm sorry, I can't."  It's an open secret of New Bark Town: I'm a Kanto refugee. "Thank you, Professor Elm, I understand." I force a smile, bow my head, and exit.

Option 1: take a job that doesn't require proof of secondary education. Option 2: apply to schools in Johto and face jail or deportation when they uncover I'm from Kanto. Option 3: keep my head down, be grateful I already have the skills to research Pokemon even if I hate it, and work for someone who doesn't pry. Hold a job, pay the bills, and survive, for the rest of my life.

#

The grassy hills and plains of Route 29 are safe and uneventful for travelers these days. Some residents of New Bark Town boast about herds of Donphan and Exeggutor rampaging around, but because of Kanto's proximity, the Pokemon League has caught the area's strongest wild Pokemon in the past two years for use in the war. Some parents think that means it's safe for their children to venture into the wilderness. Accidents happen. A fledgling Spearow's peck or a territorial Rattata's bite isn't lethal, but at times it has been crippling.

The Chikorita, Belle, comes with me. She nibbles on berries at the Pokemon Center before we spend the night at Cherrygrove Lodge. Elisabeth, the manager, serves me dinner in an empty dining room. Her son Joey dusts the tables instead of washing them, from lack of use. Once a tourist hotspot for its beach resorts and blooming cherry trees, Cherrygrove City's popularity has dwindled lately because of the war. Younger adults from the city itself are gone, too, supporting their families by enlisting in the Pokemon League.

Outside, an old man slumps against a streetlamp. He talks about his days as a tour guide while begging for change.  

"Want to buy my shoes?" he asks, holding them up to my face. "I used to be a famous runner, back in the day. These are special shoes."  

The soles are gone. His face watches me with desperation through the holes.

In the morning, I bike out of Cherrygrove City and into the forest, along the dirt path protected by League trainers. They are slacking, as they always are, so there's no one to be seen, and I stay alert for the sound of any wild Pokemon that might attack.

At the first house I knock and say my name. A man opens the door with a Pokeball in his left hand, ready to release at any time. Once he's verified I am indeed Leah, he hands me the polkadot apricorn and ushers me away.  

"Leave your bike here," he says. "Don't scare the Butterfree."

Soon, I come across the swarm, a mass of thrashing wings and purple writhing amidst the tree branches, and I gulp, holding up the fruit. They monitor me with their red, oval eyes as I walk underneath. I can catch the whiff of the powders breezing from their bodies, sweet and toxic, and hold my breath.

Ten minutes later, I reach the second cabin and knock. A Machoke takes the apricorn from me and permits me to enter. Inside, two old men sit at a table with mugs of coffee. One wears a brown suit and hat, the other a lab coat. The scientist turns to me first, and we hold eye contact in silence for what feels like an eternity.

It's been two years since we last saw each other.

"So this is where you've been all this time, Daisy," Professor Oak says.

"Blue, Red. Where are they?" I ask. "Tell me what happened to them."

He doesn't let up his hardened stare as he contemplates my demand.