They told me that the mint is not a personality changer—that it doesn’t rewrite a pokemon’s innate personality or their desires or memories or wants. It offers a ‘new perspective’; that’s what I was told.

She was the one who wanted it. Primrose was my first pokemon, my companion since we were both children, and as we grew, she had always been stalwart and by my side. But I was a top-tier trainer now, and the Hawlucha I had grown with could no longer hold her own against the sort of pokemon I faced. Power wasn’t the problem; like most members of her species, she was mighty despite her small frame, absolutely packed with strength. The problem was her innate timidity—no issue against pathetic things like Rattata or Cyndaquil, but against stronger opponents like Garchomp or Arcanine, another thing entirely. Even opponents she should have been more than capable of handling, like Bisharp, ended up pouncing on her innate timidness and scoring win after win.

I gradually started cycling her off my battling team even as I kept and valued her for her companionship; I thought that meek Primrose would be happy to no longer face such opponents. But one day she confronted me about it.

I’m not one of those psychics who can commune with pokemon telepathically, but pokemon are intelligent, sapient creatures with wills of their own, and having lived with Primrose for this long, I understood what she was trying to tell me. She wanted a spot on my team and was willing to try to make it work.

I found the mints and was uncertain, but I mentioned them to her—and she, after some reflection, decided she wanted one.

So I got it for her.

There were many different styles to choose from. I would have wanted Adamant or perhaps Jolly, but she picked Naughty; since she would ultimately be the one changing, I felt compelled to respect her choice.

We received the mint and in the end, I was more hesitant than her. Primrose took it in hand, chirruped a few times, shot me a smile, and downed it.

The effect was immediate—she shook for a moment and her eyes unfocused for a few minutes. The handbook indicated this might happen, but it was still alarming to see.

When it finished taking effect, she blinked and shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts. When I asked if it was still her inside, she gave me a smile that was all Primrose, and relief flooded me. What the seller had said was true—it didn’t change them, merely opened their eyes.

And while the smile on her face was indefinably Primrose, there were other qualities there too. A quiet confidence that I remembered from my childhood which had waned as she grew; a forward impishness that I had seen the ghost of from time to time.

I tried to talk about possibly going out to get started on some new training, but then Primrose’s smile deepened into a lusty, playful smirk, and she jumped me.