POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters do not belong to me.

TIME:  About a year and a half after Chapter 2

LOCATION:  Thorn Mountains, behind Blackthorn City

            Back behind the city of Blackthorn, home of Claire Keenan, a tamer of dragon Pokémon as well as the sacred Dragon Shrine, are the Thorn Mountains, the largest, rockiest mountain range in Jhoto.  A popular hiking and camping region, many hikers and junior Pokémon trainers can be found lurking about at any given time.  This area also possesses one of the highest concentrations of rock-type Pokémon anywhere in both Jhoto and Kanto, making it one of the definitive areas to catch a rock Pokémon.  Even on occasions, it wasn’t uncommon to see young lovers basking in the beautiful sunset that graced the Thorn Mountains every day of the year.

            Now was not the time for any of that, though.

            Now was the time for intense training, administrated by Pokémon Elitist and world-renowned Judo king Bruno Santangelo, and his pupil, the young Pewter City gym leader Brock Ballas.  The Lord of the Fight tournament was less than two years away, and the most intense training was yet to come.

            As he promised his student, Bruno’s regiment of training, training, and...well, more training was difficult.  For the first week or two, things were relatively calm, as Bruno taught Brock first a few house rules (the two trained and lived in Bruno’s cabin nestled within the mountains), and plenty of cardiovascular work and conditioning.  It would be but a whole month before Bruno started to teach Brock his art.

            When they weren’t spending their time conditioning, weight lifting, meditating or otherwise, Bruno was gradually teaching Brock everything he knew.  As expected, Brock stuck to his guns no matter how difficult things were for him.  He didn’t get a chance to tell Bruno himself, but he once told Ash that he idolized the Judo king.  Knowing Ash, Brock thought, he’d probably ask me if I felt the same way after he sees what he does to me...  Living and studying under master Bruno had its ups and down.  Some times had more ups than downs, others had more downs than ups.  There would be times when he would pay for his failures – Bruno had a surprising low tolerance for screwing up, Brock learned.  A good deal of the pain Brock received was for doing just that.

            The rest can be attributed to other...misfortunes.  Such as flubbing moves he was practicing on his own...

            ...and sparring with master Bruno and being tossed around...

            ...and being slammed, taken down, and even put through several a flimsy wall of Bruno’s dojo...

            ...and, on one occasion, taking a nasty tumble down a slope – courtesy of a hard elbow shot to the chest – resulting in him landing hard on a large boulder.

            This incident seemed prominent in the minds of both the student and the teacher.  Bruno rushed down a mountain trail, which inevitably led to the spot where Brock landed.  He was a few paces away from his groaning, wounded disciple, who was currently face down atop a boulder.  Brock’s agitated grown made Bruno chuckle a bit, but just low enough not to be heard.  He walked over to Brock.  By now, he had rolled off, and was on the ground, on his back, looking up at the sky with a glazed-over look in his eyes.

            “You alright?” Bruno asked.  His face bore a smirk as Brock twitched slightly.

            “I think I just...marked that boulder as...my...territory...” Brock groaned.  Bruno chuckled heartily, much to Brock’s chagrin.  Here he was, pretty badly wounded, lying at his sensei’s feet while said sensei stands there and laughs.  It wasn’t meant to be insulting or anything; Brock’s reaction to being injured in such a matter was what was funny, not the injury itself.

            Bruno stretched his hand out to Brock, who took it, and pulled him back to his feet.  Though he was doing his damnedest to fight it, Brock was in quite a lot of pain.  He hastily wiped the trace of blood that had appeared in his mouth from his lips, trying not to show his master any signs of weakness.  But Bruno knew.  Many times, when he was his age, he did the same thing, trying to trick one of his early masters in similar fashion.

            “Come on,” Bruno said, “let’s head back.”  Bruno started back up the trail, his hands behind his back, while Brock followed a few paces behind.  About half of the trek back to Bruno’s dojo was quiet – Brock had somehow gained the habit of not speaking unless spoken to.  Brock figured it to be a way of showing respect, that’s all.

            Bruno went to speak, but was a bit surprised to see his student trailing behind like that.  He partially figured he was still a bit groggy from taking such a hard fall like that.  Regardless, it bothered him a bit.

            Seeing Bruno stop suddenly made Brock do the same.  He was a few steps away, and he saw Bruno throw a glance over his shoulder at him.  He beckoned to him, his hand never leaving the small of his back.  Brock hurried over to his master’s side, and they continued to walk.

            “Ahh, that’s better,” Bruno remarked.  “You know, Brock, there’s no need for all the humility around me.  It bothers me just as much as it does you.”

            Brock glanced at Bruno.  His head bowed slightly, and he spoke.  “Sorry, master,” he said.

            “No, no, you’ve nothing to apologize for,” Bruno continued.  “What I mean to say is you shouldn’t constantly be holding your head down, son.  Think about it for a second.  Have you realized just how much progress you’ve made here in the past year or so?  I must admit that not even I expected you to be at this level.”

            “Yeah, well, I’m merely fulfilling a promise, if you want to get really technical about it.”  He exhaled deeply.  “I promised I wouldn’t quit no matter how difficult it was, and I’m not going to break that promise any time soon.”

            Bruno smiled.  “I’d expect nothing else from a fine young man such as yourself.  Your dedication and persistence are of a caliber I have not seen in such a long time.”  He glanced at Brock.  “You must have developed those traits traveling with Ashura all those years, ne?”

            “Probably,” Brock chuckled.  “Speaking of which, I spoke to him the other day.  He sends word that Misty, another friend of ours, is entering the tournament as well.”

            “I see.  And how good of a fighter is she?”

            “I don’t know.  All Ash told me was that she was entering.”  He looked to his master.  “We’ll just have to wait and see how good she is, won’t we?”

            “Indeed we shall, Brock.”

            That was more than half a year ago.  As time passed, Brock’s skill and strength grew.  Anyone who knew Brock by now could take one look and see the change in him.  He was built much better than before, having much more definition in his upper body, especially in his arms.  Bruno saw his skill and grasp on his form of Judo (Bruno taught a style that is based on Judo, but combines elements of wrestling, Pancratium, as well as other styles), and believed that he’d soon be able to say he taught him everything he knows.

            So with about eighteen months until the start of the tournament, Bruno decided it was time for a change of setting.

            He woke Brock a half hour earlier than usual, and much to his pupil’s surprise, he was told to pack his stuff.  “Pack my stuff?” Brock had asked, surprised, “what’s going on?”

            “We’re going on a trip, Brock,” Bruno explained.  “Our training is going to continue elsewhere.”

            Brock was up, and as instructed, putting his belongings into his duffle bag.  He looked around the main room of the dojo when he was finished.  Bruno wasn’t there.  He stepped outside and saw Bruno, looking over the horizon, his back to Brock.  Brock slid the door shut and took a few steps forward, and stopped when Bruno turned around suddenly.

            “Master?”

            “It’s time for you to continue your training,” he said in his low, deep voice.  “And for me to start mine anew.”

            “Your training?” Brock had no idea what Bruno was talking about.

            Bruno threw a glance over his shoulder at Brock, and as he started to walk away, Brock followed.  “Let us go.”

            Without another word, Brock stayed at his master’s heels as they traveled back down the path from his cabin in the mountains into Blackthorn City.

            They paused to have some breakfast in the city, but were quickly back on the road again.  Brock had been hesitant to ask his master’s motives in suddenly just picking up and leaving, but he feared the repercussions of questioning him.  Though the worst punishment he had received was excessive pushups (on his knuckles), but that was over something comparatively trivial.  He shuddered to think what he would do if he dared speak against him now.

            Though, Bruno wasn’t a violent man in the least.  He wasn’t prone to losing his temper or patience too often, but the few times he did, he could how dangerous he could be.

            By 8:00 that morning, they were outside of Blackthorn City.  Bruno informed Brock they were going to Olivine City.  “You’re probably wondering why we are doing this, correct?” he asked.

            “Yes,” Brock answered nervously, “I am.  This is a change of pace, needless to say.”

            “Well, I’ve been meaning to explain that to you,” Bruno started.  “Brock, how do you think I got to the position I am in today?  As a martial artist and a member of the Elite Four?”

            Brock shrugged.  “By working your ass off, I’d say,” he said.  “How else?”

            “True.  But I’m far from a workaholic, and to me, the way you answered, that’s what you’re assuming.  You forget that I wasn’t born into this position.  I had to work for what I’ve achieved.”

            Bruno glanced at his student.  He was hanging on his every word.  Good.  “Another thing you have to understand is that at one point, I was a student to my master, just as you are to me.  We all have our roots, our origins, where everything began.  Everyone had to start somewhere, Brock.  That is why I’m taking you to where I got my start.”

            “And where is that, master?”

            “Cianwood City.”  Brock’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Do you know of the gym leader Chuck?”

            “Know him?  Man, tell me about it.  I first met him when Ash challenged him for his Storm badge.  The man’s a maniac!  I heard stories from some of his students that he trains 24/7 – literally!”  He cocked his head to the side.  “Why, do you know him?”

            “He is my master.”

            Brock’s lips pursed.  Never in his visit to Chuck’s gym did he ask Chuck about this.  Then again, the subject never exactly came to his mind, either.  He shrugged, and the two continued on their way.

            They took no major stops in any of the cities they passed through, and were able to make it to Olivine City by around noon.  Bruno’s boat was in the same place it was when they first docked in the city, and the student and teacher got in and set sail, as if they had only been there a couple of hours.

            While they ran into stormy weather on their way to Blackthorn via Olivine, today would not be the case.  The boat trip was calm, the wind catching the sail and propelling the modest vessel towards its destination.

            The Whirl Islands can be considered the “home stretch” to Cianwood, and seeing them and the plethora of whirlpools that dotted the archipelago were a way of saying to Brock, “we’re almost there”.

            “We’re approaching the Whirl Islands, Brock,” Bruno said, taking a sip from a bottle of spring water.  He looked over at his student.  “It’ll only be about another hour or so until we arrive at Cianwood.”  It wasn’t long before Bruno noticed Brock wasn’t paying attention.  He tilted his head to the side.  Brock was sitting down, looking out starboard side, leaning forward with his chin resting on his hand.  He was lost in thought.

Just as whirlpools stirred the clear, blue water, the Whirl Islands stirred memories in Brock’s mind.  One of the areas they passed was a rope suspension bridge over a small river, plagued with whirlpools.  He remembered the incident well – he, Ash and Misty were crossing that bridge (which was in much worse shape than it’s in now; it looks like it was replaced since they were there).  Suddenly, about halfway across, the bridge started to break, and they were running as fast as they could to avoid falling into the whirlpools below.  Brock got to safety first, followed by Ash, who ended up pulling Misty the last foot or so.  Brock noticed Misty clutching Ash’s hand fearfully – who instinctively wrapped his arm around her waist – as they watched the bridge fall away, getting sucked into the whirlpools below.

            “Brock?” Bruno called.  He cleared his throat.  “Yo, Brock?”  Still no response.  He took another sip of his water, then glanced at the bottle.  It was almost empty.  In an instant, his hand lashed out, and the remaining water flew out and splashed on Brock’s face.

            Brock was brought crashing back to reality thanks to Bruno splashing water on him.  He shouted in surprise and flailed about momentarily before looking back at his master.  “What was that for?!” he asked.

            “You seemed in your own world, Brock,” Bruno said with a smile.

            “Oh, well, um...”  Brock looked back at his previous vantage point.  “I had...” he motioned out at the gap he was staring at. “There was something out there that seemed familiar...”  Bruno nodded in understanding.

            At about sunset, Bruno’s boat landed on the shores of Cianwood City.  There was no harbor in Cianwood, so the two resorted to beaching the craft, pulling it up onto the beach and taking down the sail, storing it in the small cabin.

            They walked through the small seaside town, making their way to the gym itself.  Again, Brock thought back to the first time he entered the gym, but now, only his sensei was with him.  His friends were not.  That wasn’t going to stop him.

            As he began his training under Chuck, Bruno’s master, he started to fully understand what Bruno meant that he was a student at one point.  He wasn’t used to seeing Chuck manhandling Bruno the way he did to him.  And furthermore, Bruno never seemed like the type of guy who would let himself be ordered around by anyone!

            Through what Brock saw as a strange role-reversal, he began to further realize the student-teacher relationship.

NAME:  Bruno Santangelo

STYLE:  Combined martial arts based on Judo

DOB:  14 August 1958

HEIGHT:  6’5”

WEIGHT:  304 lbs.

HOBBY:  Training

FAVORITE FOOD:  Steamed buns

MOST IMPORTANT:  His dojo nestled in the Thorn Mountains

LIKES:  Nature, tranquility

DISLIKES:  Chaos, disorder