That... had been a tough one. One of the larger groups he had to teach this semester, and a lot of young trainers who were the kids of other trainers. Snot nosed little brats that thought because they know type advantages they were 8 gyms away from becoming the new Champion of the Pokemon League. Admittedly, a few of them actually seemed to show a fair bit of potential, but there were always diamonds in the rough. You could almost always tell who would drop out the running when things got tough, and he liked to think he had quite a good eye for that kind of thing after nearly two decades of this.

He even kept up to date with a few of the ones that had, whether surprisingly or not, managed to do exceedingly well. Like any teacher, he had no lack of pride for his students, even the snooty little rapscallions that some of the richer parents foisted on him to get rid of them for a few hours. Between them and the war, he wasn't surprised that Pythia seemed to suffer from PTSD. Hopefully when she looked into the future, she saw classes of innovative kids that listened and didn't talk back when he was teaching them. He barked out a short laugh at the thought. He'd be more likely to meet a Legendary Pokemon.

At least he could find some solace up here. He was standing on the roof of the Rustboro academy, smoke coiling around his head before being blown away. A cherry red glow came from the cigarette, the nicotine flooding through his veins to give him some relief from the torturous existance that being a teacher entailed. Technically no one was allowed up here, only a select few had the keys to get up. But you didn't really need keys when you had a Psychic bird that could teleport as a friend, did you?

He was enjoying the sunshine, after being stuck in a classroom for the last four hours. The breeze continued to blow, but a shadow was cast over the day. He glanced up, and a cloud had blocked the sun. He snuck a suspicious look at Pythia. There were no Absols hanging around, but still.

"This better not be an omen..." He muttered.

dahlia goode