The hum of the lights overhead is like a high whine, always biting at me. It digs into me, feeding into my sense of worry and unease, never letting me breathe a moment’s rest.

It was supposed to be a completely normal Championship match—safe and sanctioned, with no threat of danger. But even though pokemon battling was safer now than it had ever been, accidents still happened from time to time, and this time my ace, a powerful Samurott, was left broken and wounded on the battlefield.

The opponent, to her credit, had immediately surrendered, watching with obvious worry as attendants had shepherded Umi off the arena floor. And now all I had to do was wait—wait for them to tell me his state.

The arena had a room specifically for attending mid-battle injuries. I’d insisted on it the moment I’d been instated. And now, more than ever, I found myself grateful for it.

After what seems like eons, the nurse steps quietly from the room where they were tending to my poor Umi. She motions me over with a small wave. “Madame Champion,” she says with her voice low, “it looks like your pokemon is going to pull through.”

Before I knew it, I’d raised my hand to my chest, breathing a sigh of relief. If I lost him… if I lost my Umi… I didn’t know what I would do!

“Pokemon are generally resilient,” the nurse was saying, “but your ace is… I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s pulling through insanely quickly. But even though he’s out of the woods, he’s likely to be delirious and vulnerable for a good day or two. I’d recommend avoid putting him in his poke ball or moving him from the room for a good bit.” I raise up on the balls of my feet to peer over her through the crack in the door. In the room beyond, I can see Umi reclining on the bed within. He didn’t seem to be hooked up to any medical devices—thank heavens that they hadn’t found it necessary.

“Understood,” I tell her. “I’ll watch him and summon medical attendants if he looks like he needs help.”

The nurse nods and I whisper past her. The room is being kept dim, and Umi’s azure fur is like a cold ocean in the dark. As I hear the door slowly click shut behind me, I am finally able to break down. I rush, tears budding up in my eyes, to the side of his bed, emotion strumming through me.

“Please,” I whisper. “Please. My son… my son…”

It was widely known in the region that I had raised Umi from his birth. But less widely known was the fact that I was, in fact, his mother. A certain… incident during the same journey that propelled me to the Championship left me carrying, and I dutifully birthed the pokemon and raised him.

The resulting Oshawott quickly grew in power, changing shape first to a Dewott and then a Samurott. He took to battle like a natural, securing a well-deserved spot on my team as my ace. Though I’ve found it prudent to hide the information from our region, he knows I’m his mother, and that I’m proud of him—that I love him.

And now he might be hurt because of me.

I quickly sweep my gaze over his body. There’s no obvious injuries; the nurse was correct in that Umi has always healed extremely quickly, even by pokemon standards. In fact, he’ll likely be right as rain in a few days, perhaps even twenty-four hours.

But I look at my son and all I see is a strong, proud young pokemon in pain. I gently caress my hand to his furred face and he moans. “Mom…” he mutters. “M—mom…”

“I’m here,” I say, but he doesn’t respond, descending back down into incoherence once more. I suppose I should have suspected it. He’s delirious.

I sit by the medical room’s bed for a few hours, softly stroking his fur and singing to him, hoping that he recovers well. Umi drifts in and out of consciousness, never keeping attention for long. He keeps muttering my name, and I’m not sure if he knows I’m here or if he’s just crying out for me in dreams.

If it’s the latter, my heart goes out for him. I’m here, but he doesn’t know it…

The hours climb into evening and I can feel my eyelids grow heavy. Maybe it’s just the fact that I’ve been alone and anxious with my son for long, but I feel a little disoriented, like I can’t think clearly. Weariness can be as exerting as any physical labor. The momentousness of what happened to Umi, the reality of how desperate I am for him to pull through this, winnow their way through my thoughts.

Drowsiness threatens to set on me, and almost mechanically I lean back, resting my torso against his softly heaving bulk. His fur is silky against my neck, and I unconsciously match my breaths so that they are running in tempo with his own.

Without realizing it, I begin to nod off…

I can’t say how long I sleep through the night with my back against my son’s fur. I can tell you what it’s like when I wake, though.

My son has pulled me close to him, one arm wrapped close around me like I’m some sort of teddy bear. We’ve ended up curled together almost like as if he’s the big spoon and I’m the little one.

And such an intimate image was given extra weight, given what woke me up. An unfamiliar hardness pressed against my lower back.

I’m not exactly a moron, so I know what exactly that was. I am quickly surprised and then mortified. I try to break away softly, so I don’t have my own son’s cock pressed against my back, but to my surprise Umi pulls me back to him, holding me tight and nuzzling against my shoulder.

“Mom…” he half-mutters, half-moans. His voice… he’s sleepy. No, not just sleepy—still delirious. I resign myself to the discomfort. I don’t want to upset my delirious offspring any more than I already had.