David hesitated for a moment, then answered honestly.
"Not yet. I'll probably just go catch a Weedle in the woods or something. You know, get through the rookie phase."
He said it like he was planning to go buy a sandwich.
Melissa blinked. Her eye twitched.
For a full second, she thought she'd misheard. Maybe her ears were playing tricks on her after a long day. But no. He had definitely just said "catch a Weedle" like it was no big deal.
"You're—what?!" she snapped, her voice shooting up an octave.
David looked up, confused. "A Weedle. You know, the little yellow bug thing with the poison horn? I figured I'd grab one, level it up, maybe evolve it into Beedrill before midterms. Should be fine."
Melissa slammed both hands on her desk and stood up so fast her chair nearly rolled back into the filing cabinet.
"Are you trying to die?!" she barked.
David took an involuntary step back. "What? No!"
"Weedle venom is extremely toxic to humans, David. Extremely. Ten milligrams of it can send a normal person into full-body shock. You wouldn't even make it back to town if you got stung."
"…Oh." David scratched the back of his neck. "That sounds... less ideal."
"Less ideal?" Melissa looked like she was about to start throwing office supplies. "What are you gonna do, wear oven mitts and hope for the best?"
David shrugged. "I mean, if I find one that's chill—"
"There is no such thing as a chill Weedle!"
She marched over and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around to face her like a soldier about to be court-martialed. Her gaze locked onto his, stern and sharp, scanning for any trace of a joke. But all she saw in David's eyes was plain, stubborn sincerity.
He meant it.
This wasn't some prank or dumb flex. He really was planning to wander into the woods and try to catch one of the most medically inconvenient bugs in the Pokémon world. Barehanded. Like it was nothing.
Melissa felt a cold chill run down her spine.
She suddenly pictured David passed out under a tree with a purple spike lodged in his leg and no one around to call for help. Just him and a very proud Weedle sitting on his face.
She sighed and let go of his shoulder. "You really would've gone through with it, wouldn't you?"
David nodded. "Yeah. Gotta start somewhere."
She stared at him. For a second, he looked so much older—taller, more composed, more like someone who had already been through a lot. And in a weird way, he reminded her of herself when she was younger.
Melissa looked away, the frustration in her face giving way to something softer. Regret, maybe. Or nostalgia.
Because once upon a time, she had been that reckless too. She remembered being young, dreaming of becoming a Trainer, thinking the world would bend if she just pushed hard enough.
But reality hadn't bent. It had snapped back. Life had pulled her into teaching, and while it wasn't a bad path, it wasn't the dream. Somewhere along the way, she'd buried that dream so deep she stopped even digging for it.
And now here stood David—so much like her, but maybe just stubborn enough to chase what she didn't.
She exhaled slowly, sitting back down in her chair and crossing her arms.
"I don't want you going after a Weedle," she said, her voice calm again, but firm. "I'm not just saying that as your teacher. I'm saying it as someone who knows what it's like to think you're invincible until you're not."
David looked at her for a long moment, then nodded, slower this time.
"…Alright," he said. "No Weedle."
Melissa nodded back, but said nothing. The room fell into a brief silence.
And though neither of them said it out loud, both knew this conversation wasn't really about Weedle.
It was about the kind of person David was becoming—and the kind of person Melissa still remembered being.
Melissa looked at David—the tall, scruffy-haired teenager standing awkwardly in front of her, with his stubborn eyes and that ridiculous plan to catch a venomous bug with his bare hands—and something about him hit her like a wave.
For a moment, she didn't see her student. She saw a younger version of herself.
Just like David, she had once been full of impossible ideas, thinking passion was enough to conquer logic. She, too, had believed she could muscle her way into becoming a Pokémon Trainer, no matter what the odds were.
But life hadn't played along. She'd missed her shot—maybe out of hesitation, maybe out of pressure, maybe just bad timing. That dream had quietly shriveled, tucked away in the back of her mind while she took the safer route.
Teaching wasn't bad. In fact, it had its own quiet rewards—watching students grow, guiding them, pretending to not be annoyed by their absurd questions. But it wasn't the dream. It never had been.
Now here stood David: blunt, reckless, smart when he felt like it, and too determined for his own good. Watching him was like someone had reached into the past, dug up her old ambition, and handed it back to her, alive and kicking.
But that gave her something she never had back then—power. A chance to protect someone else from making the same mistake. Or maybe, just maybe, to help him succeed where she had failed.
Melissa folded her arms and leaned back slightly, her expression softening.
She didn't want David—or any of her students—to carry the same what-ifs she still kept buried. Not if she could help it.
***
Melissa stood up slowly from her office chair, and immediately David could feel something was off.
He paused mid-massage, eyes narrowing, instincts screaming that whatever just shifted in the air wasn't good. Melissa wasn't scolding him. She wasn't teasing him. She wasn't even rolling her eyes. No, she was quiet—the kind of quiet that made David's back tighten like a wild Pidgey sensing a storm.
He stood frozen, still hovering behind her chair. After a moment, he scratched the back of his head and asked carefully, "Uh… Miss Melissa? You… don't want the massage anymore?"
She didn't answer. No sarcastic remark, no side-eye glare. Just silence. Then, without a word, she turned and walked toward her desk.
David squinted. He didn't like this. Melissa walking away without mocking him felt like watching a Meowth ignore a fish. It was unnatural.
She opened a drawer. Smooth, deliberate. Then she reached inside and pulled something out—a bank card.
Melissa slid it across the desk toward him like she was playing poker and he'd just lost.
"You take this," she said. "There's three hundred thousand on it. Should be enough to get yourself a proper starter from the breeding center."
David blinked. "Wait… what?"
"Don't make me repeat myself," she said, arms crossed now, tone flat but firm. "Buy a real Pokémon. Don't be an idiot and go poking Weedles with a stick in the woods."
David stared at the card like it might explode. This wasn't a joke. This wasn't sarcasm. Melissa was serious. She was funding him.
His brain short-circuited.
Three. Hundred. Thousand.
This was the same woman who once deducted points from his final grade because he submitted an essay titled Why Magikarp is the Ultimate Apex Predator with a straight face.
Now she was handing him a future. Just like that. And not because she had to. Not because he earned it. But because… she believed in him?
A weird, warm pressure bloomed in his chest.
He tried to speak, failed, and just stared between the card and Melissa's face, which for once looked genuinely calm. Not annoyed. Not smug. Just calm.
This was the same teacher who once confiscated his lunch for sneaking it into class—then gave him her sandwich when she realized he hadn't eaten all day.
The same teacher who chewed him out weekly but still showed up to every dumb tournament he entered, even the ones where he got knocked out in the first round.
And now she was investing in him.
David's throat felt tight. He looked around the office like he was searching for a towel to dry his suddenly sweaty eyeballs.
"Uh… just a sec," he mumbled.
He scurried to the water dispenser in the corner and carefully poured a few drops of mineral water into his hands. Then, with the delicacy of an amateur stage actor, he dabbed the corners of his eyes and turned dramatically.
"Miss Melissa… boohoohoo… I didn't expect this…!"
He sniffled, shaking with exaggerated emotion. "So much generosity… You really are the wind beneath my Pidgeotto's wings…"
Melissa gave him a flat stare. "Did you just cry using water cooler juice?"
David sniffed harder. "These are the tears of a grateful man, Miss Melissa. I'm touched. Deeply."
She raised an eyebrow. "And that grin on your face?"
He froze.
Then tried to force his face into a frown, which only made him look like a toddler struggling to poop.
Without missing a beat, David snatched the card off the desk like a starving Rattata spotting cheese.
"I'll take this before you change your mind," he blurted, sliding it into his pocket with the speed of a professional thief.
Melissa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're unbelievable."
David gave her a thumbs-up. "But undeniably charming."
She looked like she was debating whether to hit him with a textbook or her shoe.
Melissa was absolutely dumbfounded.
She stared at David like she was witnessing a Slowpoke win a sprinting contest. This—this—was not how it was supposed to go.
Before handing him the 300,000, Melissa had played out dozens of different scenarios in her head. In one, David broke down in grateful tears, clutching her hand and declaring her the best mentor since Professor Oak. In another, he bowed respectfully, whispered something heartfelt, and vowed to become the world's greatest Pokémon Trainer.
She even imagined him getting choked up, eyes misty, saying something along the lines of, "You've changed my life, Miss Melissa. I'll never forget this."
What she didn't imagine was this little rascal sprinting to the water dispenser, dabbing his eyes with bottled water like he was auditioning for a drama club, then grinning like a Snorlax that just found a buffet.
And before she could even process the absurdity of it all, David had snatched the card and slipped it into his pocket like it was a limited edition trading card on clearance.
Melissa just stood there, eyes twitching, lips twitching, soul twitching.
This kid didn't even say thank you. He faked a cry and robbed me like a cheerful, broke raccoon, she thought.
David, still grinning ear to ear like he'd just pulled off the heist of the century, was clearly enjoying himself. And as if the situation wasn't insulting enough already, a little voice in his head chimed in:
[+50 Negative Emotion Points from Melissa.]
[+50 Negative Emotion Points from Melissa.]
David's grin grew wider.
Melissa could practically see the notification bubbles floating above his smug little head. Her eyelids twitched harder. She briefly considered launching her stapler at his forehead.
She glared at him and snapped, "Get out, you heartless gremlin!"
David, sensing danger like a wild Sentret spotting a predator, began slowly edging toward the door.
"Okay, okay! No need to be violent! I'll be going now," he said with mock calmness, then added with a wink, "Next time, I'll bring my backflipping Meowth. You'll love it."
And just like that, he slipped out the door, gone in a flash—probably before she could hurl anything sharp at him.
Melissa stood in the middle of the room, staring at the now-closed door. Her shoulders slumped. Then she let out a deep sigh, shaking her head.
"That little punk doesn't know how to say thank you at all," she muttered. But even as she said it, a small smile crept onto her face.
As irritating as David could be—no, was—he had a strange charm. A cocky, mischievous, chaos-spreading charm. And no matter how much trouble he caused, there was something undeniably bright about him. He lit up the room, even while setting it metaphorically on fire.
He made her laugh. He made her sigh. He made her question her career choices at least twice a week. But he also reminded her of something she'd almost forgotten—hope.
Melissa walked back toward the desk, but something fluttering near the door caught her eye.
"Huh? What's this?"
A piece of paper was wedged in the doorframe. She pulled it free, unfolding it with curiosity. The handwriting was messy, uneven—classic David—but there was no mistaking the effort. It was a note, hastily scribbled but unmistakably sincere in its own chaotic way.
"Thank you, Miss Melissa! Your kindness and good heart will never be forgotten (crying face)!"
"Also, don't you think this 'excellent student' deserves a little after-school tutoring? (funny face)"
Melissa snorted.
Then she burst out laughing, a real, belly-shaking laugh. The kind that cleared away any leftover frustration, leaving only the strange warmth that came with knowing you'd made a difference in someone's life—even if that someone was a disaster disguised as a teenage boy.
She looked down at the note again and shook her head.
"This brat acts all cheerful, but he's terrible at expressing gratitude."
Then she smirked, tapping the part about after-school tutoring.
"…Still, at least he has a little conscience."
She paused.
Then added under her breath, "…a little conscience. Very little."