Chapter Text
Katsuki woke up with the sun. Before his alarm clock could even go off, he leaped from his bed, frantically throwing on the clothes he'd laid out the night before.
Today was the day. It was finally here.
He stumbled as he attempted to pull on his joggers, slamming into the doorframe with a pained grunt. That would probably bruise, which would make carrying a backpack suck ass, but he didn't care.
He was too excited. It was finally time, and if he wanted to leave on schedule, he had to hurry the fuck up. He had to be early. Because he didn't just have to get himself ready, he had to make sure Izuku had woken up too.
Fuckin' dork could sleep through a Tauros stampede. They had to get to Aizawa's lab before anyone else, so they could get the first pick of the starter Pokemon that the professor had been raising for them ever since they'd registered as trainers.
The Yueii region sat in the middle of so many Pokemon migration paths, that the starter Pokemon available changed almost every year. There were only four other trainers this year, so it's not like they'd be starved for choice—but what if they missed out because someone else had a lead on them?
He wasn't willing to take that risk, and he knew Izuku wasn't either. They'd been planning this for too long. They'd both applied for Trainer's Emancipation as soon as they'd been able—turning in their forms as soon as the Professor's Lab opened on their 15th birthdays.
They'd both been preparing for months—planning who would be carrying what supplies, and marking out stops along their journey. They'd decided to complete the Johto League championships first, which meant a lot of travel. They'd saved their allowances for years so that they could afford actual hotel rooms on nights before gym matches.
The day was finally here, and there was no way he was gonna let either of them get a late start.
He stumbled his way into the kitchen—unusually uncoordinated, probably because he was trying to put on his shoes and walk at the same time. To his surprise, his mom was already in the kitchen, and she turned to him with a smile that was disgustingly soft.
"Morning Katsuki," she cooed. "I'm just finishing up breakfast, why don't you take some time to turn your shirt around and make sure your pants aren't inside out," she chuckled.
He glanced down at his clothes, blushing furiously at the disarray. "Fuck," he grumbled, yanking his arms out of his sleeves so he could turn his shirt around without taking it off. "Thanks, Ma."
"Oh, now you're gonna be polite, right when you're about to leave?" she chastised, smile growing wistful. "Where was that attitude yesterday?"
"Fucking nowhere, because you called me demon spawn to my face," he barked. She cackled, continuing to assemble whatever questionable meal she'd decided to prepare. "What the fuck are you making, anyway?"
"Since I figured you didn't want to be a civilized human being and sit down for a proper meal, I'm making you breakfast sandwiches and bentos for lunch," she explained, still snickering like a complete asshole. "You'll be in Musutafu by dinner, so I figured you'd just buy dinner there. But if you want, I can make you something and you can pick it up after you've picked up your Pokemon," she offered.
"Nah, it's fine. Deku said there's a place by the Pokemon Center there we should try. Are you making food for both of us?"
She nodded. "I figured Izuku would wake up late. Better safe than sorry, I think."
He definitely agreed. "Thanks, Ma."
"If you keep being polite, I'm gonna have to keep you home so I can bask in it," she teased, flashing a smirk at him over her shoulder.
"You could fuckin' try," he grumbled, currently in the process of turning his pants inside out. "Wouldn't end well for you, though."
"Go brush your teeth, you fucking animal," she grinned. "And brush your hair. And wash your face! Food'll be ready by the time you come back."
He sneered but did as he was told. He trudged back up the stairs toward the bathroom, kicking his parents' door as he passed. He didn't want to leave without saying bye to the old man. He was so much more tolerable than the Hag, so he was sort of attached. "OI! I'm leaving as soon as I'm done brushing my teeth!" he bellowed.
He heard his father's grumble of understanding from inside and had faith that he'd be properly awake by the time Katsuki was ready to leave.
His backpack was already at the door—four spare changes of clothes, hygiene things, money, dried food, camping utensils, and their map. Izuku was in charge of bringing the notebooks they'd be using to document their progress, and he'd be carrying the tent since Katsuki would be carrying the cooking stuff. Katsuki would be carrying the sleeping bags so that Deku could carry the medicines and potions.
They were ready. They were so fucking ready. They already knew all of the most common Pokemon on their routes and had plans for which to catch in order to make others easier to catch.
They were gonna be Masters. Together.
He felt a lot less frantic by the time he made it back downstairs—still brimming with excitement, but much more put together. Izuku was the frantic one, anyway. One of them had to stay level-headed, and it definitely wouldn't be the nerd.
As promised, Mitsuki had their food in lunch bags on the counter by the time he came back. She and his dad were sitting at the table, talking quietly. When they noticed him, he realized (in horror) that his mom was crying. "The fuck is wrong with your face, Hag?" he demanded.
"You're such a little shit," she blubbered. "I can't believe I'm gonna miss you."
His heart clenched. "What the fuck ever, it's not like you're not gonna call me and Deku every fucking day," he barked. "Stop crying!"
"You can't make me, brat," Mitsuki sniffed.
"I could kill you," he offered uncomfortably. "Dead people don't cry."
"Word of advice, son," Masaru chuckled. "Normal people aren't accustomed to casual death threats. Maybe don't say stuff like that to people you don't know."
"I fucking know that!" he yelled. Masaru only gave him a fond smile in return. "Aren't you gonna say something old man?"
"You already know I'm proud of you," he shrugged, warm and amused. "What more is there to say? If I get started it'll just ruin your head start."
Fuck, he hated them. His dumbass eyes were stinging. "Whatever," he huffed, grabbing the lunch bags off the table. "If you're done, I'm leaving."
His parents both stood before he could make his escape, squeezing him into a fucking group hug.
"Call when you get to Musutafu, you little trash baby," Mitsuki cooed, kissing his forehead. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "And make sure you text me to let me know when your matches are. I wanna watch them all, you little shit."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he grumbled, shaking them off.
"Let me know if you need any extra money or supplies," Masaru said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Anything you or Izuku need, we'll help make it happen, alright?"
He flushed. "Yeah. Thanks, dad."
He hoisted his backpack over his shoulders, boots properly laced and everything accounted for. This was it. The first time he'd walk out the door without coming back. He hated to admit it, but it was scary. But it would be less scary once Izuku was there.
"Take care of yourself, kiddo," Mitsuki demanded as he yanked the door open. "I'm serious, Katsuki, call me once a week!"
"Fat chance!" he yelled as he slammed the door shut behind him. Why would he call her once a week when Izuku would do that for him? Sentimentality was not his shit. He took a deep breath—shaking off the knowledge that he was gonna miss his parents. He could have lived without that revelation. Focusing on that would only slow them down. It would only be a distraction.
They had goals. They had plans. The only time they'd budgeted for sentimental crap was for Izuku's guaranteed emotional breakdowns, and he was planning to be ruthless with their cutoff time.
He made his way to Izuku's house—three streets over the river that ran through the center of town, standing in front of Inko Midoriya's Miltank Farm and Creamery, Midori Pastures. A pun, because not only did the Miltank graze in pastures, but they pasteurized the milk. When Katsuki figured that out, he'd nearly brained himself on the fenceposts. Inko and Izuku loved puns. He'd nearly slapped Deku in the mouth when he'd called Katsuki's broken finger a Kat-astrophe.
He banged on the door when he finally arrived. Aizawa's lab was opening any minute now, and they had to get going. His parents had been more of a time suck than he'd realized.
He frowned when nobody answered. He could hear the Miltank and if the Miltank were awake, Inko usually was too. He knocked again, a little louder this time. He swore when no one opened the door. He kicked the door this time, yelling. "OI! NERD, WE GOTTA FUCKIN' GO!" he bellowed.
The door was ripped open a moment later, and Katsuki flinched back. He hadn't seen Hisashi Midoriya in years. He was a prominent trainer. The only league championship where he hadn't placed Top 3 was in the Orange Islands, when he'd been knocked out by Katsuki's dad. He spent most of his time traveling and training, so it was unusual to see him.
He looked ruffled, like he'd just woken up. "Do you know what time it is, Katsuki?" he demanded.
"Uh," Katsuki swallowed. Hisashi had always been sorta cranky. "Sorry, sir. I'm here for Izuku. We're getting our first Pokemon today and we're—"
"I know you're getting your starters today," he snapped. "Why do you think I'm here? I came to see my son off. He left already, and I was trying to get back to sleep."
Katsuki blinked, stomach sinking. "He...told me to meet him here yesterday," he explained hesitantly. "He left already?"
"That's what I said," he replied, looking more irate by the second. "He was awake at dawn, crashing around here like a damn Copperajah. Took his bag and left almost half an hour ago. He said he needed to start early if he wanted any chance of getting ahead."
"Ahead?" Katsuki echoed quietly. Ahead of what? Ahead of him? They were supposed to be doing this together.
"He said that if he had you as a rival, he needed to start as fast as he could."
Rival? They were supposed to be partners. He felt sick. "I....have half his stuff," he tried, looking for any logical way that Hisashi could have misinterpreted. "I have all the cooking equipment, I have his sleeping bag—"
Hisashi raised an eyebrow. Katsuki's stomach sank even further. His dumbass heart hurt. That look spoke volumes. It told him that Hisashi thought he was delusional.
"He looked like he had everything. I saw him take his bed roll and sleeping bag when he was checking everything last night. And he doesn't like cooking anyway—he'll probably end up getting food at restaurants and PokeMarts. That's how I did it. Perhaps you were confused about his plan. He's always told me that his greatest challenge would be to defeat you."
That couldn't possibly be true, right? Yeah, Deku had been acting a little cagey lately, but that was just because he was nervous about leaving. That's what he'd said, and Katsuki had believed him because Deku was his best fucking friend.
Unless...unless Deku had been gearing up to leave him behind. Unless Deku had been playing him for a fucking idiot this entire time.
There was a sour taste in his mouth, and it tasted like betrayal. It mixed with the salt of actual fucking sadness. Deku didn't deserve his sadness. He'd left already.
He'd had a plan, and it wasn't the plan they'd been making for years. He'd left Katsuki behind, just like he'd always fucking intended to do. He'd been stringing Katsuki along—getting him to lower his guard and think of them as partners, when all along he'd been thinking of him as an opponent. A roadblock. Looking down on him. Planning to surpass him.
It was hard to breathe around the iron fist around his lungs. After everything they'd been through, everything they'd said wanted to accomplish, Deku had been lying. Deku had left him behind.
He felt sick. And around the pit of sadness that sat his stomach, he was furious.
"Fine. He would have held me back anyway. I never want to see that idiot again," he spat.
Hisashi's eyebrows lifted higher. "If that's how you treat honest competition, I'm not sure you'll go very far."
There was nothing honest about it. Deku had fucking lied to him. But more to the point: "I don't give a shit what you think, has-been," he snarled. His eyes were stinging. "I'll be the best, with or without your dickhead son!"
He turned on his heel before Hisashi could say anything else—like scold him for being rude. He didn't give a fuck what any Midoriya thought. Not anymore. He heard the door slam behind him and it felt painfully final. It didn't matter, though. He had to get his Pokemon, and he had to catch up to that fucking asshole he'd been stupid enough to call his best friend.
He had to surpass him. He had to leave him in the fucking dust.
There wasn't a trace of sadness left in him by the time he reached Aizawa's lab. Just roiling, burning anger. His nerves were alight with it. He didn't need a Pokemon, he could breathe fire himself.
He banged on the door to the laboratory. It was an unassuming place—the most subtle research lab in any region. Aizawa mostly wanted to be left alone.
The tired-looking professor pulled the door open. He sighed when his eyes landed on Katsuki. "Honestly, the registration and selection time was 10 AM for a reason. You're the second early start. Can any of you follow instructions?" he demanded.
Katsuki pushed down the hurt and glared harder. That was confirmation. Deku had beat him here. "Why does it matter if you're already awake?" he huffed. Aizawa sighed again but pushed the door open. He walked in, following the professor deeper into his home.
He'd never been here before—but the place was...freakishly efficient. Meaning all of his personal life was mixed manically with his work. He could see the main laboratory out of the window but here, there were egg incubators lined up beside a bed that was really more of a cot. There was pokeblock blender in the kitchen alongside a human-food blender. There was what looked like a mini-Pokemon Center set up in the living room, currently nursing a small Nidorina and an angry-looking Venipede.
"Over here," Aizawa called. Katsuki turned away from the living room to follow the professor's voice. He was in a room that was probably intended to be the family room, but instead housed shelves of Pokeballs, and a containment table. On the table, there were five Pokeballs left on the table—one space sitting empty in the middle.
Bitterness welled up in him. He wondered what Deku had chosen. He wondered if it was whatever Katsuki wanted. Hopefully, there were doubles. Hopefully, Deku had chosen something that would cripple him in comparison.
Aizawa flipped the switch on the containment table and with a shimmering glow, the Pokeballs disappeared, and in their place were five Pokemon.
"Per league standards, you have three options to choose from. A fire-type, a water-type, and a grass-type. The remaining Pokemon available are a Cyndaquil and a Torchic, which are both fire types; a Totodile and a Sobble, which are both water types; and a Chikorita, which is a grass type," he explained. "I'll give you a minute to introduce yourself to them, and choose who you'd like to have as your partner."
They were all so small. Nothing like the amazing, monstrous Pokemon he'd seen on TV—powerhouses that could burn down whole cities if they wanted to. As Aizawa left, he stepped up to the table, taking the professor's comfy armchair so he could stare them all down.
He felt that stupid lump in his throat again. He was supposed to be doing this shit with Deku. They were supposed to be picking partners that complemented each other. He felt his eyes stinging again, and he looked down at his lap—embarrassed to be seen crying, even if it was only in front of Pokemon. He felt so stupid for crying over someone who clearly didn't give a shit about him but apparently, he couldn't logic his way out of this shit.
He heard a little coo and felt small paws patting his face. "Quil?"
He looked up at the Cyndaquil that was honestly too close for comfort. "The fuck do you want, tiny?" he huffed. The little thing pushed at his cheeks, forcing him into a false smile. "The fuck do I have to smile about," he muttered. "You're all lame."
The little Cyndaquil dropped his face and fucking pouted. Then, it turned his back on Katsuki, and he figured that was that. But no. The spots on its back glowed, and that was the only warning Katsuki got before flames came roaring out of its back, singeing his eyebrows. "Fuck!" he yelped, leaning back and toppling both himself and the armchair.
The idiotic thing started dancing on the tabletop, flames still burning high and bright on its back. Despite himself, Katsuki laughed. "Alright, alright. Maybe you're not as lame as you look."
It couldn't leave the containment table, but it held its dumb little arms out like it was expecting a fucking hug. Sighing, Katsuki got to his feet. "Already fuckin' decided, have you? Maybe I wanna talk to the others, you little shit."
It puffed out its cheeks in irritation before rearing back and spitting embers at him, singing his sleeves. "Oi!" he barked as the Cyndaquil chittered out a little laugh at his expense. Katsuki glanced around at the other Pokemon, and they looked back at him. The only other Pokemon that looked even slightly interested in him was the Chikorita. It looked nervous though—wide, crybaby-looking eyes staring up at him and cowering. Not too much, but enough for him to know that they'd probably be a poor match.
He might be abrasive, but he didn't want to intimidate his Pokemon. "I plan on being the fuckin' best," he told the Cyndaquil and Chikorita. They both perked up. "That means I'm gonna be harsh. It means I'm gonna be training you all the fuckin' time. And I'm not nice, I'm not gonna baby you. We've got a lot of work to do." He looked the Chikorita in the eyes. "I can tell you more, but if you're looking for a nice trainer who congratulates you for everything, it ain't gonna be me. That's not my style."
He felt bad. The little green weirdo looked sad, but stepped back to its place on the tabletop, settling down as though getting ready to go back in its Pokeball. "Sorry," he said, reaching over to pat the leaf on its head. "I just...don't want you to feel the way I feel right now. Like I'm not good enough for some reason. Left behind—" he broke off, upset again.
He wondered how long it would take him to not be upset. More than half an hour, probably. But he was already tired of the telltale burning feeling that meant he was about to cry. The Cyndaquil stood up on its hind legs to reach Katsuki's face again, pushing at his cheeks again. It attempted to roar, but the sound came out as a bitch-ass squeak.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "No time to cry about shit that's not my fault."
Aizawa shuffled back in but froze at the sight of Katsuki letting Cyndaquil wipe his tears away. "At the risk of regretting that I asked—are you okay?"
Katsuki nodded, terse. "Fine. This little shit's gonna be my partner."
Aizawa eyed him for a long moment before nodding slowly. "She's a strong choice. And she likes you, which is good. She nearly burned the hand off the last trainer who came in here."
Katsuki smirked at that. Served Deku right. "She knows a weak bitch when she sees one."
Aizawa raised an eyebrow. "I caution you not to underestimate your opponents. The last trainer was the son of a champion, so he has prior experience. Besides, Pokemon's affinities for a single person don't determine that person's skill or strength. It could just be a difference in personality. Pokemon are better at sensing those things than we are."
He knew Deku's dad was a champion, but he hadn't considered the leg up it would give him. Fuck. "Yeah, I got it," he muttered absently. Aizawa sighed again but flipped the switch again. The extraneous Pokemon retreated to their balls, and Katsuki was left holding his new partner.
"Fill out this paperwork while I get your Pokedex ready," Aizawa instructed. "If you finish before I get back, here's some information you can start getting familiar with." He smacked a spiral-bound book down onto the table. Aldera Research Laboratory - Trainer Guide was printed onto the front. Katsuki scowled. He didn't need a fucking guide.
Regardless, he pulled both the paperwork and the book toward himself. The forms were easy enough—legal name here, birth date there. Starter Pokemon species: Cyndaquil. Would you like to name your Pokemon? Yes. Name?
Katsuki looked down at the Cyndaquil that was now sitting on his trainer handbook. She was a tiny thing, but she had some serious firepower.
Name: Cherry Bomb.
"What do you think?" he asked quietly, giving the Cyndaquil a small smirk. "Cherry Bomb's a kick-ass name, right?"
"Quiiiiiil!" she cried, throwing up her tiny-ass paws in celebration. He smiled despite himself. They may have a shit-ton of work to do, but Cherry Bomb was fuckin' cute.
Aizawa was less delighted by the name. "You're naming your first Pokemon Cherry Bomb? You can change it later, but it doesn't always stick. It might be a red flag to gym leaders who care about things like that, too."
"Who gave a shit what they think?" he snapped. Aizawa frowned.
"Assuming you want to compete in league tournaments? You should," he stated firmly. "As long as you take good care of them, I don't really care what you name her—but even if you win a match, a gym leader can withhold on moral grounds or if they think your temperament doesn't reflect the necessary maturity."
Katsuki scowled. "That's stupid," he snapped. "I shouldn't have to change who I am to be good at what I do!"
"I agree," he replied. "A bad trainer will out themselves. And there are plenty of people with awful personalities who raise strong teams. But they know how to present themselves. Your Pokemon's name is a form of presentation."
"She likes it, and so do I," he insisted, getting annoyed. "You gonna sign off or what?" He was wasting time getting lectured. Deku could be halfway to Musutafu by now.
Aizawa studied him a moment longer, eyes flicking between him and Cherry Bomb. "I'll sign off," he finally agreed.
It took half an hour to get through the rest of the process. Aizawa handed him the Pokedex clip for his Rotom phone and walked him through how it worked. He showed him the Trainer ID function, which served to grant him entry to any official Pokemon competitions or battles. He explained how the payment system worked—where anytime he lost a battle he'd have to link his Pokedex to the other trainers' and pay them for the loss, and vice versa.
"You can technically call me anytime. Please don't, though," Aizawa drawled. "I'm more reachable by text, and that ensures you won't wake me up. If it's an emergency, feel free. Otherwise, don't. There's a directory in the back of the handbook I gave you which includes a guide on who to contact for what situation. I'm not always going to be the best resource. Any questions?"
"Yeah," he smirked. It was half-hearted. "Why do you look like death warmed over?"
Aizawa pointed toward the cot. "Eggs," he replied, as though that explained anything. It didn't. "If that's all, feel free to go so I can take a nap before the next insufferable teenager shows up."
Katsuki took the queue and left, grateful as fuck to be out of that windbag's lab. He had no idea why old people talked so fucking much. At least it had been a good distraction. Being irritated with Aizawa meant he couldn't be miserable and pissed about Deku—at least not with his whole brain.
That was no longer the case as he approached the city limit. Now, there was nobody but Cherry Bomb to distract him—and he felt the anger and sadness rush back to the surface.
They were supposed to do this shit together. What the fuck.
He steeled himself, setting his shoulders and straightening his spine. Chin up, eyes determined.
He had no idea how far ahead Deku was, but the lead wouldn't last long.