Aaron stood at the gates of Arceus University and blinked.
He had expected something grand. Maybe even majestic.
He had not expected this.
Twin marble pillars towered above him, etched with golden runes and studded with crystal shards that hummed faintly with elemental energy. Beyond them, floating bridges arced across deep garden canals. Battle arenas hovered on levitating platforms. One courtyard featured a rotating statue of a Garchomp locked in eternal combat with a Salamence.
And that was just the front lawn.
Aaron adjusted the strap of his bag, which had already begun sliding off his shoulder, and took one slow step forward.
Sol immediately darted ahead—tripped over his own foot—and faceplanted in the dirt.
Aaron followed suit, not because he tripped, but because his foot caught on Sol's tiny body mid-stride and launched him into the air like a ragdoll fired from a trampoline.
He landed with a spectacular THUD, just beyond the golden threshold of Arceus University.
And that was how Aaron Royce, grandson of one of the Seven Champions and heir to the legendary Royce name, officially entered school: face-first, butt-up, and tangled in his own psychic partners.
"Brilliant," he muttered into the flagstones. "I've arrived."
Laughter erupted nearby. Not mocking, not yet. Just amused students watching the chaos unfold.
Aaron pushed himself up, brushing dust off his long coat as Sol untangled himself from Aaron's legs and Luna casually floated over, not even pretending to help.
"I see chivalry is dead," Aaron muttered to her.
Luna blinked once. Dry. Judgmental. Elegant as ever.
From the crowd, a voice sliced through the air like a Slowbro using Slash.
"Well. That's new. Usually the first-years wait until orientation to humiliate themselves."
Aaron looked up to see a boy his age, maybe slightly older, standing in a full Psychic battle uniform—white and violet, pressed to perfection, cape fluttering dramatically in the wind despite the total lack of wind.
His hair was platinum-blonde, face sharp and elegant like a statue someone paid too much for. He stood with his arms crossed and chin raised, like royalty forced to watch peasants juggle Rattata for amusement.
Beside him stood a small crowd of students in coordinated uniforms—clearly House Zenith.
The boy continued. "You must be Aaron Royce. The one with the roulette wheel of a battle system."
Aaron dusted off his shoulders and offered a lopsided grin. "Wow. My reputation gets here before my luggage. Impressive."
"Your reputation," the boy said, "is a disgrace to your family. The Royce name is sacred. You treat it like a party trick."
Aaron's smile widened. "So, which are you? Cousin I didn't know I had? Illegitimate child of Grandpa Max? Third-generation stick collector?"
A few students nearby snorted with laughter. Someone whispered, "He talks like Max."
The boy didn't flinch, but something behind his eyes flickered.
"I'm Lucius Veyl," he said smoothly. "Top graduate of the Indigo Prep League. Master of Psychic tactics. I don't need chaos to win. Just control."
Aaron looked at Luna and Sol. "You hear that? He's a 'Master.' Hope he gives autographs."
Sol bounced happily. Luna crossed her arms and stared daggers at Lucius.
Lucius stepped forward. "You may have the Royce bloodline. But you're not one of us. You're a mutation. A clown with a dice roller."
Aaron's grin vanished for just a second. Just long enough to register the challenge.
Then it was back. Wider. Sharper.
"Good," he said. "Clowns always steal the show."
He turned, waved lazily at the crowd, and began strolling into the campus proper, Sol jogging to keep up, Luna floating like a mildly offended queen.
Behind him, Lucius Veyl stood perfectly still.
But his jaw was clenched tight.
~~~
The auditorium inside Arceus University looked like someone had tried to merge a cathedral with a battlefield and then decided to decorate it with thunderbolts.
Massive banners depicting the 18 Pokémon types hung from the vaulted ceiling, each flanked by holographic projections of signature Pokémon: Charizard flamed beside a draconic Hydreigon; Metagross hovered near a spectral Gengar. The central dais glowed faintly with active psychic energy, where names were being read and houses announced.
Aaron stood near the back of the first-year group, still brushing faint leaf debris from his coat. Sol was staring at the floating banners in wonder. Luna levitated just slightly above the floor, as if to avoid being accidentally touched by anyone.
A booming voice echoed from the stage:
"Kiera Danvers — House Pyra."
"Juno Kettleblack — House Zephyr."
"Theo Wren — House Unda."
Aaron watched as a tall, serious-looking boy with blue-tinted hair and a tight, no-nonsense gait approached the platform. Theo Wren gave off "I woke up at 4 AM to train in the rain" energy. He didn't smile, didn't blink—just nodded and walked over to a corner seat beneath the Water-Type banner like he'd already been assigned homework.
Aaron kind of respected it.
Then the voice called again:
"Mika Tanaka — House Voltrix."
A blur of yellow and spark shot through the crowd. A girl—short, grinning, and covered in lightning bolt patches—vaulted onto the stage, did a twirl, and struck a pose like she'd just won a beauty contest and a cage match at the same time.
"YEEEAAAAAH! That's me, baby!" she shouted, finger-gunning the shocked faculty.
An administrator dropped their clipboard.
Aaron nodded slowly. "That one's gonna be a problem."
Luna agreed with a small psychic pulse of resignation.
"Aaron Royce — House... Zenith."
The room collectively tensed.
Aaron sighed, stepped forward, and muttered, "Here we go."
As he stepped onto the psychic platform, the golden eye of the Zenith banner blazed brighter. A glowing emblem appeared behind him: a stylized Ralts encircled by seven crescent moons. The crowd whispered.
"Wait, he's in Zenith?"
"Didn't he use a Gacha Gear?"
"Thought he said he hated the Psychic legacy."
"He tripped into orientation. I was there."
Aaron turned to the podium. "Just gonna say it now—I didn't volunteer for this. I'm allergic to elitism and cult robes."
An awkward silence followed.
Then, from the side of the stage, a voice drawled, "Finally. One with some teeth."
A man stepped into view—tall, thin, wrapped in long, star-dotted robes with a sparkle in his mismatched eyes. His beard was braided, and his hat—yes, a literal wizard's hat—tilted at a ridiculous angle.
"Professor Carrow," someone whispered. "The Headmaster."
"Mr. Royce," Carrow said, striding toward him like a man both drunk and terrifyingly lucid. "You don't want to be in House Zenith?"
"No offense, Professor, but I think your whole type-specialist thing is a little... calcified."
A pause.
Then Carrow grinned.
"Excellent," he said. "House Zenith needs someone to break the mold. Stay right where you are."
Aaron opened his mouth. Closed it. "I walked into that."
"You face chaos. Chaos faces you. Symmetry achieved," Carrow announced to the audience. Then he twirled, waved a scroll over his head, and yelled, "Orientation continues!"
As Aaron staggered offstage, Mika Tanaka beelined toward him and elbowed him in the ribs.
"You're my favorite person here already," she said brightly. "You wanna team up for prank wars?"
"I haven't been here an hour and that's the second time someone's asked me that," Aaron said.
"Who was the first?"
"My grandfather."
She burst out laughing and threw an arm around his shoulders. "We're gonna be dangerous."
From across the auditorium, Theo Wren looked up from his notebook and sighed heavily.
The Central Arena looked like someone had told a team of architects, "Design something that gives freshmen panic attacks."
A floating platform shaped like a stylized Poké Ball hovered over a shimmering lake. Each quadrant bore a different elemental terrain: grass, stone, sand, and a metallic grid that occasionally sparked with electricity. Dozens of students stood along the outer ring, each waiting to be called into the battle zone.
Above it all floated an enormous digital screen labeled:
WELCOME BATTLE ROYALE: TEST YOUR TYPE, PROVE YOUR MIGHT!
Aaron stood near the back, arms folded, coat flaring behind him in the lake breeze. Luna and Sol stood on either side of him—one serene, one vibrating with battle hype.
He turned to Mika, who was bouncing on her heels like a Pikachu on caffeine. "This feels less like a welcome and more like a hazing."
"It's both," she chirped. "You ready?"
"I've been mentally preparing all day to humiliate someone. Just didn't know it would be on camera."
"Next group: Aaron Royce, Zara Flint, Tobias Jett, Mira Gresh!"
A cheer went up—mostly from students hoping to see Aaron crash and burn.
Aaron stepped forward, eyes scanning the others in his heat.
Zara Flint—clearly the Fire-type specialist—had wild red hair tied into a jagged ponytail and a grin that said I'm here to melt things. She cracked her knuckles as she spotted Aaron. "You're the gacha boy? Cute."
Tobias Jett looked like he hadn't smiled since birth, with a cloak that screamed "Dark-type specialist" and eyes that screamed "writes brooding poetry at 3 AM." Mira Gresh was tall, quiet, and completely covered in flowing green robes. Grass-type? Maybe Ghost?
The horn blared. Four platforms rose from the lake and hovered into the air. One for each competitor.
"Alright, team," Aaron said as he stepped onto his tile. "Let's show 'em chaos in high definition."
Sol vibrated in place. Luna just gave him a look: Be serious.
The match started instantly.
Zara sent out a Torkoal, belching smoke and flames like it had just walked out of a volcano. Mira released a Trevenant, its gnarled limbs dragging across the platform with eerie grace. Tobias let out a Sneasel, quick and twitchy.
Aaron?
He sent out Luna. Just Luna.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"He's not using both?"
"Why only one?"
"Wait, where's the Gacha?"
Luna stepped forward calmly, her aura blooming like moonlight.
Zara smirked. "Sweetheart, you brought one little Ralts into a four-way?"
Aaron grinned back. "One's all I need."
Zara pointed. "Torkoal, Flamethrower!"
A jet of searing flame blasted toward Luna.
"Dodge and use Confusion, now!"
Luna blinked once—and vanished, teleporting short-distance just as the flames licked her heels. She reappeared behind Torkoal and let loose a pulse of psychic energy that knocked the fire-type off balance.
But then Sneasel dashed in—fast.
Luna barely turned before claws glowed with Faint Attack.
"Gacha time," Aaron muttered, slamming the button.
The Gear on his belt spun wildly. Sparks flew. The crowd gasped.
PING!
A TM popped out, clinking onto the floor of the platform.
Aaron snatched it up, blinking in disbelief. "TM30... Shadow Ball?"
He turned to Luna. "Can you use this now?"
Luna looked at the TM, then at Aaron, then at the incoming Sneasel.
She nodded.
Aaron loaded it into his Pokédex, tapped "Transfer to active," and shouted: "Shadow Ball! Right between the eyes!"
Dark energy coalesced in Luna's tiny hands—bigger than she should've been able to hold. A glowing sphere of ghostly energy blasted out and hit the Sneasel full in the face just as it lunged.
BOOM.
Sneasel flew backward like a sack of potatoes, colliding with Trevenant and knocking them both off-balance. Zara's Torkoal tried to get a new angle—but Luna teleported again.
Another Shadow Ball. This time aimed high.
It hit Torkoal directly in the head.
The arena filled with smoke. When it cleared, all three opponents were groaning or knocked down. Luna stood alone on the field, shimmering and perfect.
A stunned silence followed. Then a slow, scattered applause.
And then—cheering.
On the upper balcony, Lucius Veyl stood motionless, eyes fixed on the battlefield.
Aaron gave a lazy salute to the crowd, then pointed to Luna. "Told you. One's enough."
The moon was out by the time Aaron made it back to the dorm tower.
He stood at the edge of the upper quad, where the central battle arena shimmered in the distance. Lights pulsed across its surface from another late-night match, but the energy had shifted. The roar of crowds had faded to laughter and murmurs. The spectacle was over. Now came the whispers.
Aaron leaned on the railing of the stone balcony, letting the night wind ruffle his coat. His heart still beat fast from the adrenaline of the battle—Luna's perfect teleport, the Gacha's perfectly-timed Shadow Ball, the shocked silence of the crowd... and the applause.
But now the silence felt colder.
From behind a decorative pillar just around the corner, voices carried—careless and sharp, students who thought they weren't being overheard.
"Did you see that Royce kid?"
"Yeah, the one who tripped into orientation?"
"He used a gacha pull to beat Zara's Torkoal. Luck, not skill."
"Maximilian's grandson, and he's out here cosplaying as a rogue trainer."
"He's a clown. Royce legacy's gonna tank with him at the wheel."
"Watch him crash out by midterm."
Aaron didn't move. Didn't react. He just watched the arena glow and let the words drift past him like wind.
He'd heard worse.
He expected worse.
A soft rustle behind him made him glance down.
Luna stood at his side. She hadn't made a sound, but she looked up at him with a directness that didn't need speech. Her hands were clasped together, but her aura pulsed lightly against his own.
Aaron looked away, smirking. "You hear that too?"
She nodded once.
"I'm not mad," he said. "They're not wrong. I am chaotic. I do use luck. And I'm not going to pretend I'm some genius tactician."
Luna didn't respond.
"But I am going to beat them. And I'm going to do it my way."
Still no response. Then—gently, with hesitation—Luna took his hand. Her small fingers barely wrapped around his, but the warmth pulsed through his whole arm like a psychic whisper.
Not reassurance.
Agreement.
Aaron's smirk shifted into something real.
"…Thanks, partner."
Above them, the stars flickered. Somewhere far off, Sol snored loudly in their dorm room, clearly dreaming of punching a tree.
Aaron stayed a while longer.
Just a boy with a roulette machine, two psychic partners, and a thousand expectations he had no intention of following.