The orphanage sat on the outskirts of Saffron City, just beyond the reach of its golden skyscrapers. A bleak, stone fortress tucked away in the shadow of progress, where the unwanted and forgotten were raised beneath the iron grip of its overseers. It bore no name—just a tarnished sign above the gates, the words long weathered away by time. To the outside world, it was a shelter, a home for those left behind.

  But to those inside, it was a cage. A proving ground. A place where weakness was stamped out, and only the strong endured.

  Rine Frostfang had lived here for as long as he could remember. Sixteen years of hardship, sixteenth years of learning the rules of survival. The overseers did not coddle, nor did they nurture. They taught only one lesson—power is everything.

  He sat on the cold metal frame of his bed, staring at the single window in their dormitory. The pale glow of the streetlights barely reached inside, casting shadows that stretched across the cracked concrete floor. Another night in this hellhole. Another day closer to his fate.

  Today was his birthday. Sixteen. The age where he would be given a choice.

  A faint knock came at the door, followed by a voice—low, rough, and laced with amusement.

  “Frostfang. You’re up.”

  Rine didn’t respond immediately. He simply exhaled through his nose, pushing himself up from the cot. He already knew what this was about.

  Standing in the doorway was a man dressed in black. The uniform was unmistakable. The crimson “R” stitched across his chest might as well have been a brand burned into his flesh. Team Rocket.

  “Didn’t forget your big day, did you?” The man’s smirk was anything but friendly. “Time to see if you’ve got what it takes.”

  Rine followed him down the silent halls, his boots barely making a sound against the stone. The other children—his so-called ‘siblings’—remained in their beds, pretending to be asleep. They knew better than to ask questions. Only those who passed this test ever returned.

  The initiation chamber was beneath the orphanage. A hidden floor, locked behind steel-reinforced doors, leading into the depths where Team Rocket truly operated. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, metal, and blood.

  Rine had been here once before—years ago, when he was younger, weaker. He had watched others take the test, seen them break beneath it.

  Some never made it back.

  Tonight, it was his turn.

  A circle of men stood around a steel table, their faces obscured by the dim light. A lone Poké Ball rested at its center. The head overseer, a grizzled man with streaks of silver in his hair, stepped forward. His name was Gideon. A former Rocket Executive who had long since been stationed here to oversee the “recruitment process.”

  “Sixteen years,” Gideon mused, his voice cold. “We’ve watched you grow, Rine. You’re stronger than most. Smarter than most. But none of that matters if you don’t have the stomach for what comes next.”

  Rine met his gaze without flinching.

  Gideon smirked and gestured to the Poké Ball. “Your test is simple. This Pokémon has been… borrowed, from an outside trainer. You have one command. Kill it.”

  Silence.

  Rine’s fingers clenched into fists at his sides. He had expected something brutal, something cruel—but this?

  The ball cracked open, releasing a small, trembling form onto the floor. A Rattata. Young, barely more than a few weeks old. It squeaked, glancing around in confusion, its tiny whiskers twitching.

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  Rine felt something cold settle in his stomach.

  This is it.

  A test of loyalty. A test of strength. A test of obedience.

  A blade was tossed at his feet. A crude, jagged thing, stained with old rust—or was it blood?

  Gideon watched, his expression unreadable. “Do it.”

  Rine didn’t move. His heart pounded against his ribs, the weight of his past life pressing against his shoulders. In the games, things were simple. Battles, rivalries, adventure. But this? This was real.

  This was wrong.

  Yet, hesitation was weakness. Weakness meant death.

  He reached down, fingers wrapping around the handle of the blade. The Rattata’s eyes locked onto his, wide, uncomprehending.

  He could hear the other Rockets murmuring. Waiting. Judging.

  Kill it, and he’s one of us.

  Spare it, and he’s nothing.

  Rine’s grip tightened.

  The silence in the chamber stretched. The only sound was the faint, rapid breathing of the Rattata in front of him. Small. Helpless.

  Do it.

  Gideon’s voice rang in his ears like a death knell. The other Rockets watched with cold amusement, waiting to see if he would hesitate.

  Rine’s grip on the knife was tight enough to turn his knuckles white. The blade was crude, barely sharp, a weapon meant to test not just his will, but his brutality. A clean kill wasn’t an option.

  The Rattata, sensing danger, let out a terrified squeak and bolted. Instinct kicked in.

  Rine lunged.

  The rat was fast—faster than he expected. It scurried out of reach, its tiny claws skidding against the floor as it scrambled toward the shadows.

  A cruel chuckle echoed from one of the Rocket grunts. “Better hurry, kid. If it escapes, you fail.”

  Failure meant death.

  Rine exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. This isn’t a game. This is survival.

  He pivoted, scanning the room. The Rattata had vanished into the dim light, hiding among the crates and debris along the chamber’s walls. It was watching him—waiting for an opening.

  It’s scared, but it’s not stupid.

  Rine didn’t waste time chasing blindly. Instead, he stepped toward the nearest crate and kicked it hard. The impact sent a sharp noise echoing through the chamber. The Rattata flinched, revealing itself for half a second.

  That was all he needed.

  He lunged again, slashing with the knife. The Rattata squealed, barely dodging as the blade scraped across the floor. It retaliated with a desperate Tackle, its tiny body slamming into his ankle. Pain jolted up his leg, but Rine barely reacted.

  He was stronger. He was bigger. He could win.

  The problem was, the Rattata knew how to survive.

  It darted back into the shadows, circling him, forcing him to stay alert. Every time he moved, it moved. A game of predator and prey—only this time, the prey knew how to fight back.

  Rine’s breathing was steady, but his heart pounded. He had fought before—against other orphans, against the brutal training that Team Rocket put them through. But this was different. This was killing.

  Hesitation is death.

  He shifted his stance, forcing himself to think. It’s aiming for my legs. It knows I’m too slow to catch it head-on.

  He needed to trap it.

  Slowly, he stepped toward the center of the room, forcing the Rattata’s options down to two paths—left or right. He let his body relax, feigning an opening.

  The moment the Rattata lunged, he moved.

  His foot shot forward, slamming into the rat’s side mid-air. A sharp squeal echoed through the chamber as it crashed against the stone floor, dazed.

  Rine didn’t give it time to recover.

  He was on it in an instant, pinning it down. The Rattata thrashed violently, claws scratching at his arms, fangs biting deep into his wrist. Pain exploded through his nerves, hot and sharp, but he didn’t let go.

  If I let go, it escapes. If it escapes, I fail. If I fail… I die.

  He raised the knife.

  The Rattata’s beady eyes locked onto his, filled with pure, primal terror.

  For the briefest moment, something inside him screamed at him to stop.

  This wasn’t a battle. This wasn’t training. This was murder.

  His breath hitched. His fingers trembled. He could feel the life beneath him, struggling, fighting, desperate to live.

  But so am I.

  The blade came down.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Again.

  The struggle didn’t last long. The Rattata’s cries turned to weak, wet gurgles, then silence. Warm blood dripped between Rine’s fingers, staining his hands, his arms, his clothes.

  He didn’t move.

  Didn’t breathe.

  Just stared at what he had done.

  A slow clap broke the silence.

  “Well,” Gideon mused, stepping forward, his boots echoing against the stone. “Took you long enough.”

  Rine forced himself to release the knife. His hands felt numb.

  He had won.

  He had passed.

  But as he sat there, staring at the cooling corpse of the Rattata, he realized something.

  This wasn’t a victory.

  Something inside him had changed.

  And it would never change back.