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The wind smelled different in Galar. Wetter, greener, more like damp soil that refused to dry.
He frowned at his new home. He didn’t want to live in the countryside.
Victor didn’t say it out loud, but he’d thought it many times since stepping off that train with his mom, carrying his small suitcase that only held the bare essentials. They had come all the way from Vermilion City in Kanto to Postwick, in Galar—crossing practically the whole continent.
He didn’t want to live here.
His mom kept insisting that they’d come for a better life: a quieter one, away from the city noise, a chance to start over and make new friends.
But Victor, with his seven years of life and wisdom, decided he didn’t care. No one had asked him anyway. The decision had been made, and here they were.
His mom promised things would be different this time. Victor wanted to believe her, but her words didn’t sound very real.
Victor knew he was a quiet and smart kid. He didn’t whine or complain about silly things (well, not always).
He preferred to be alone, watching everything in silence—analyzing his surroundings like a spy. He spoke only when it was necessary, and most of the time his answers were just: “No,” “Yes,” or “Maybe.”
His mom often said it was a blessing to have such a calm, quiet child—that he spared her a lot of headaches. Headaches that Munchlax, with his bottomless appetite, was more than happy to cause.
She never said it outright, but Victor knew. He knew.
So he sat still, behaved, and saved her the trouble of silly problems like his own complaints.
He didn’t want to cause trouble for his mom anymore.
In this new place, during those first few days, his new home—
—a small house with a view of the open fields, and a few scattered homes nearby, distant but not too far—
Munchlax was the first to explore it. He waddled around with slow, dragging steps, opening doors and peeking into every room with his sleepy expression.
When he found the kitchen, he sat down in front of the fridge and sighed, as if waiting for food to walk out on its own.
“There’s nothing in there yet, Muchi,” his mother said with a tired but fond sigh. “Vic, don’t feed him every five minutes, okay?”
Munchlax yawned. Victor giggled softly. It was his mother’s Pokémon, and he was a walking disaster waiting to happen.
Victor, on the other hand, spent hours sitting by the window, watching the world go by—clouds, bushes, people walking and waving, people talking, talking too much, way too much.
Galar was… noisy. Even though everyone called it peaceful, it was full of annoying, rude noises. A curious fact, Victor thought.
From the window, everything seemed to move at a different rhythm—the clouds, the leaves, the bushes… even the Pokémon.
A group of Pokémon he’d never seen before grazed in the distance, round like fallen clouds, moving slowly across the hill.
Victor rested his chin on the windowsill.
They look like breathing balls, he thought. They’re really cute, too.
When one of them lifted its head, he almost felt it looking back at him. But it quickly shrank away, rolled down, and ran to hide behind the rest of the herd.
“Even the Pokémon don’t want to come near me,” he muttered.
Munchlax, asleep on the rug behind him, lifted an ear and went right back to snoring.
His mom walked back and forth, unpacking, organizing, and—apparently—meeting the neighbors. Victor didn’t care about that either, even if it seemed rude not to answer when people asked questions.
His mom knew it was a lost battle trying to make him talk more than he wanted to.
Maybe that’s why she hadn’t made a fuss when he didn’t protest leaving Kanto. He didn’t care about making friends—he didn’t have friends—and he didn’t want any.
The only thing that tied him to his old home was his mom.
The days were boring. Though, to be fair, they had been boring in Kanto too. The only interesting part was when his mom forced him outside for a while—“so you can get some sun and breathe fresh air.”
Victor knew better than to argue with her and her ideas.
The worst part—the truly worst part—was that the cute and interesting things in Galar ran away whenever he got close.
Those fluffy breathing balls—the Wooloo.
Soft and silly Pokémon that just rolled away every time he tried to approach them. It was strange—Victor wasn’t scary at all. He moved slowly and spoke softly. It was unfair. That was the worst part of his days.
One day, though, he saw something new in the fields—something that caught his attention.
A Wooloo that wasn’t part of the herds. It was obvious—the others always stayed together, but this one was alone. Rolling down a hill, clumsy, but having fun.
In Kanto, everyone seemed to be in a rush, even the Pokémon. They walked in straight lines, like they all had somewhere important to be.
But that Wooloo… that Wooloo existed just to laugh.
Or rather, they both did.
Because the Wooloo wasn’t alone.
A boy—maybe his age, or close enough—
was running after it, laughing. The Wooloo bounced into his arms, and the boy tossed it playfully into the air. They were having fun together; the Pokémon clearly belonged to him.
A laugh like morning bells.
That was the sign for Victor to get closer, even if it meant leaving his yard and stepping into the open field.
The Wooloo must be friendly if it had a trainer. Which meant Victor might get to play with it too—though that meant playing with the boy as well.
The same boy who talked faster than the fastest train in the world.
“Hey! Hey, you! I’ve never seen you before! Are you new here? Do you live nearby? Do you like Pokémon? You know, this Wooloo’s mine! Her name’s Doudou!” the Wooloo bleated on cue.
“She’s the best Pokémon ever! Well—not as cool as my brother’s Pokémon, of course. He’s a Champion, you know! The best there is! But Doudou’s special too—look how she rolls!”
Victor suppressed a grimace. He was self-aware enough to know that’d look rude, and the boy would probably get mad and insult him, ruining his chance to play with the Pokémon.
He debated if it was even worth it.
But the Wooloo was so cute and fluffy…
Even if the boy kept talking, and talking, and talking—with so much enthusiasm and warmth that it was dizzying.
And Victor wondered why he hadn’t left yet—or why the boy didn’t get annoyed at his silence.
It must’ve been because the boy just wanted to show off his Pokémon. And Victor really did want to play with the Wooloo.
That had to be it.
Whatever he wanted to say or do vanished when his mom’s voice called from afar, asking where he was. He was supposed to stay in the yard, not out in the field. He’d have to hurry back before she got worried.
---
Hop—that was his name. Hop.
He had the habit of talking with his hands, his eyes, his whole body. It was like his voice couldn’t stay contained inside him. Hop was six years old but spoke like he needed to make up for decades of silence.
Victor returned the next afternoon, hoping to see that Wooloo again—and maybe that the boy would still be there.
The surprise was seeing Hop waiting for him, as if they’d been lifelong friends.
His eyes lit up when he saw him. A bright, golden light—hopeful and warm.
It didn’t make sense. Victor wasn’t exactly great company.
“There you are! I was waiting for you! I told Doudou you’d come back. She likes you, you know? And she doesn’t like just anyone!”
It didn’t seem true—Wooloo gave him a sharp look.
Victor blinked, surprised by how many words had been said in under a second. He crouched down, extending his hand the way he’d seen people do on TV last night, while having dinner with his mom—after politely asking her if he could go beyond the yard.
Wooloo sniffed his hand, blinked, looked at Hop, hesitated… then nuzzled against Victor’s fingers.
He smiled a little. It was soft, warm—real.
Hop smiled so hard his ears practically twitched.
Brilliant.
“Do you like her? You can pet her more if you want! You can come play with her whenever you like!” Then, softer and shyly, “And… maybe play with me too, if you want.”
Victor considered it. He’d spent all night thinking about the consequences—he could play with the Pokémon as much as he wanted, but that meant spending time with this loud kid.
But… the kid didn’t seem that bad. Especially when he smiled like that.
So bright. Too bright.
He probably wouldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all—
“My name’s Victor. I’m from Kanto,” he said. His own voice sounded strange to him. Hop didn’t seem to mind—he just smiled wider. How was that possible? Victor didn’t know.
“That’s awesome! Are there Wooloo in Kanto?”
Victor shook his head.
“No? Then Doudou will be your first Wooloo friend! Sometimes I braid her fur, but my mom says it looks bad. I like it, though!”
Victor nodded faintly. Something in his chest stirred—a small, damp ball of cotton.
He didn’t know if it was because the Pokémon was so cute—even if she ran away after a while—or because Hop sounded genuinely happy to have him there.
Too bright. Victor didn’t trust it. No one could smile that nicely.
They spent the rest of the afternoon together—Hop showing Victor Wooloo’s tricks.
It was strange; in Kanto he’d never met a kid who could talk so much and still smile when getting almost no response.
Hop didn’t ask anything personal.
Why did you move here?
Why don’t you look like your mom?
Why don’t you talk?
Why do you look angry?
Where’s your dad?
He didn’t ask any of that. He didn’t even seem to care that Victor stayed quiet.
And that… was fine.
Maybe Victor could get used to this.
---
Here, in the little town of Postwick, no one seemed to match Hop’s enthusiasm. Victor realized that after spending more time with him.
His days fell into a routine: Victor arriving at the fields, and Hop already waiting there with Wooloo—always first, as if he had nothing better to do.
As if waiting for Victor was important.
Their “games” usually meant Hop showing him a new trick Wooloo learned, while Victor clapped silently.
Sometimes Hop convinced him to go look for rocks, plants, or flowers—then talked about their names and properties, or something like that.
He also talked about Galar’s Pokémon—
from the tiny Rookidee, pure Flying-type and incredibly brave, to the impressive Corvisquire.
Nickit were a recurring problem, with their tendency to steal things. The townsfolk didn’t like them—but Hop found them hilarious.
At first, Hop’s energy left Victor exhausted. While the boy jumped and laughed and gestured nonstop, Victor just watched him quietly. His silence felt heavier beside Hop’s constant noise. But still—
“Look! Doudou’s learning to jump higher! Isn’t she amazing?”
Victor watched. The jump was the same as yesterday’s. But Hop’s confidence made it feel special—made it believable. Hop’s joy was so bright it was almost contagious.
Very contagious. His mom said he’d been in a better mood lately.
Yet no one else seemed to respond to Hop’s joy. In town, other kids looked at him like he was annoying.
Sometimes they laughed at him. Other times they mimicked him mockingly. Hop just kept smiling. Victor didn’t know if he didn’t notice or just chose to ignore it.
He didn’t blame him. Victor ignored things that hurt, too.
Hop never stopped talking, moving, or laughing—even when others told him to shut up, even when Victor said nothing.
It was strange.
They were noisy too—but somehow, Hop’s joyful noise was the only one that bothered them.
Hop was just another kid. Except he was always alone—except for Wooloo.
Doudou, Victor reminded himself.
That day, the quiet afternoon was filled with people’s chatter—mocking whispers behind them.
Victor was sure they were talking about Hop, even if he couldn’t hear every word.
He’d gotten permission from his mom to go out with Hop that day—well, technically she agreed while wrestling Munchlax away from the berry bushes they were planting together.
He really just wanted to see the town square, the shops, the houses—though that was more Hop’s idea than his. Victor didn’t mind tagging along.
After all, he had to learn about his new home someday.
The Pokémon walking calmly alongside trainers or wandering freely were always a point of curiosity. They stopped often when Victor didn’t recognize one. Hop would name it or share a random fact. Victor hadn’t expected him to know so much.
That day, Hop had a cut on his cheek. Small, but fresh.
Probably a fall, which would fit his personality. But Victor had never actually seen him trip. Maybe he’d been pushed.
Victor didn’t mention it, but he noticed. He also noticed the whispers when they walked past other kids.
There goes the annoying one.
He’s gonna brag about his brother again.
Wish he’d shut up for once.
What a weird kid.
Hop didn’t seem to hear.
Or maybe he didn’t want to.
No—he just kept running forward, laughing, like he couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting him around.
Or maybe he was ignoring them. Victor wouldn’t blame him. He did the same.
Maybe Victor was ready to play a little more actively with Hop.
---
The first time Victor went to Hop’s house was because Doudou got tired of him.
—Of Victor, apparently. He must have something Wooloo hate.—
She trotted away toward what must have been her home. Hop followed her, and Victor trailed behind like a lost puppy with nothing better to do—because, truthfully, he didn’t have anything better to do.
When Hop noticed he was being followed, his face lit up absurdly bright, and he grabbed Victor’s hand to pull him along.
His palms started sweating.
“Come on! This is my house! Wanna see my drawings? I’ve got one of Charizard!”
Victor let go of his hand before entering, freezing in the doorway. Hop ran up the stairs ahead, but before Victor could take a step—
“HOP!”
Victor stopped in place. From a hallway came a woman’s voice—dry, tired, and annoyed.
“Hop, are you tracking dirt inside again? And what did you do to that Wooloo this time?”
Hop froze, staring at her with genuine surprise, like he hadn’t expected her to be there.
“They’re not dirty! And Doudou’s fine! She’s just a little wet! I was training her. But don’t worry, I’m with a friend now!”
There was a heavy silence. The woman slowly turned toward the doorway, frowning, and her weary eyes landed on Victor—scanning him without smiling.
“Well, don’t make a mess. And stop yelling.”
She turned away, disappearing down the hallway, as if Victor’s presence didn’t matter. As if Hop’s didn’t either.
Hop didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he pretended not to—but his forced smile gave him away.
“Come on, come on! My room’s upstairs!” he said, quieter now, climbing the stairs carefully, as if afraid they’d creak.
Victor stayed for a moment, staring down the empty hallway.
That woman… was his mother.
---
Hop’s room was a small explosion of chaos. Drawings taped to the walls, others crumpled and folded on the floor, some crushed under toys.
Stuffed Pokémon lay everywhere, like soldiers after a lost battle.
Doudou—who’d gotten there first—was in the middle of the mess, happily chewing on a sock.
“Doudou, no!” Hop rushed to rescue the sock, but the Pokémon rolled away, bleating playfully.
Victor, standing in the doorway, tried not to laugh.
It was all noise and color. Munchlax would’ve loved this place—mostly for the chance to chew on everything to see what was edible.
On one wall hung a giant poster of a Charizard. Beside it stood a man smiling with the same bright eyes as Hop, the same uncontrollable enthusiasm.
Practically identical—just older.
Victor stared at the poster for a while, unsure if the real hero was the Charizard or the man.
Hop gave up on the sock and joined him.
“That’s my big brother—Leon! He’s the best trainer in all of Galar!” Hop said, glowing—but without his usual boundless energy.
“He’s the Champion right now, though I don’t see him much ‘cause he’s busy being the strongest. But when he comes back, he’ll bring me something cool! I can even ask him to bring you something too!”
“That’s not necessary,” Victor replied.
“Are you sure? Sure-sure-sure??”
Victor nodded. It was silly to ask for something from someone he didn’t even know.
Hop stared at him—eyes intense, question still hanging.
Victor’s face flushed. “Well… maybe he could bring one of those Munchlax trading cards.”
“I’ll tell him to bring you a Munchlax card!” he said with a victorious grin.
“Did you know Leon has never lost a fight? Not even in training! He’s—”
Hop got carried away into a long story about his brother. He talked about Leon like other people talked about superheroes: with that genuine admiration and affection that made Victor think, quietly, that it must be amazing to have an older brother like Leon—someone so strong and, apparently, so well known.
It should be great, right?
That night, before falling asleep, Victor heard the Rookidee again, the sound of footsteps—maybe a Nickit sneaking something from a neighbor, or a Skwovet devouring berries from the bushes—and the soft rumble of Munchlax snoring in his room.
Outside, the wind brought the smell of the fields, and in the distance a bleat.
Maybe Galar isn’t so bad, he thought before drifting off to sleep.
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