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Lin Ling had always wanted to see the world.
Not for fame. Not for glory. Not to be the Champion of anything. When he was younger — maybe eight, maybe nine, he couldn’t remember the exact moment — he’d watched a flock of Swablu pass overhead and thought, Yes. That’s what I want. A journey, with no map but the sky.
It wasn’t long after that that the professor handed him his first Poké Ball. Inside was a wide-eyed Eevee with ears too big for its head and an endless, chaotic curiosity that matched his own. He’d called her Baozi, after the food stand snack he used to share with his mom. The first time she tackled him, it knocked him straight on his back. He’d laughed so hard his ribs hurt.
Since then, he’d made good on that childhood dream: cities, forests, deserts, oceans. He’d battled trainers, traded stories, helped strangers fix broken Poké Gear. He caught a Wooloo that wouldn’t stop chewing on his sleeve. A Riolu who wouldn’t stop challenging wild Pidgeotto five times its size. A Ditto who once impersonated him and somehow got away with ordering a full lunch. A Rockruff who always tried to race passing trains. And an Applin who preferred to stay still in Lin Ling’s arms, napping through most of the adventure unless food or sunshine was involved. He had made friends. With Pokémon. With people.
He was, by every definition, living the dream.
Until very recently.
Until people started stopping him on the street. In the middle of Pokémon Centers. Outside rest stops, gyms, even in the bathroom once.
Until they started looking at him like they knew him.
And saying: “Hey, aren’t you Nice?”
And then: “No, wait — you’re definitely Nice. I recognize that smug walk anywhere!”
And then: “You’re not getting out of this battle with that dumb disguise. Fight me, coward!”
And then they threw Poké Balls at him.
No “hi.” No handshake. Just immediate violence.
He first noticed something was off in Petralune Town.
It was his first stop in the Velun region, a small town in a region he’d never visited before.
He’d stopped there to rest, grab a meal, and take a photo of a really fat Bidoof he’d seen waddling near a fountain. It was a peaceful little afternoon—until a teenager with bright pink hair and far too much eyeliner stomped up to him and threw a Poké Ball with a dramatic flourish.
“You’re not fooling anyone, Nice!”
The Poké Ball hit the ground. Out came a Luxio with what Lin Ling swears was a sparkle animation. Lin Ling blinked, halfway through chewing his food.
“Sorry?” he mumbled around his food.
“Don’t play dumb,” the teen said, pointing accusingly. “You think we can’t tell just because you dyed your hair and put on contacts?”
Lin Ling blinked again. “I think you’ve got the wrong—”
“Wow,” the teen cut in. “You even changed your voice. So committed! But your blue eyes were way prettier, by the way. This muddy brown? Not doing it for me.”
He almost choked. “These are my real eyes—”
“And your hair dye is patchy.”
Lin Ling froze, appalled. “What?! It is not!”
The trainer just shrugged, smug. “Whatever. Stop stalling. Let’s see if the top Gym Leader’s still got it.”
And then the Luxio used Spark and Lin Ling spent the next ten minutes scrambling to command his Rockruff between dodges, half in disbelief and half in raw panic.
The worst part? That wasn’t the last time.
In fact, it kept happening.
Trainer after trainer, town after town — it was the same thing. They’d see him. They’d squint. They’d shout something like:
“Nice is going undercover to test us! I knew it!”
“Don’t think we forgot your Metagross sweep last tournament!”
“That Ditto isn’t fooling me. Classic Nice move!”
One guy even insisted Lin Ling was doing a “social experiment,” whatever that even means.
And when Lin Ling tried to explain?
“Nope. Not buying it,” one woman said, adjusting her goggles. “Too on-brand. Humble hero arc. Bet this’ll be a great reveal episode.”
Lin Ling was starting to think he was in some kind of TV show and not the main character.
Lin Ling collapsed onto a log bench near the edge of their camp, clutching a warm cup of instant ramen like it was the only thing holding him to the material plane.
“I don’t even look like this guy,” he said, staring into the steam. “My hair is brown. Brown. My eyes are brown. Very normal, extremely boring, completely not blue.”
Wooloo bleated softly from his sleeping bag and rolled into his leg. Lin Ling made a noise halfway between a groan and a sigh.
Rockruff jumped up onto the log beside him and wagged its tail, panting excitedly. Baozi the Eevee was already curled on his other side, tail flicking with what Lin Ling could only describe as judgment.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered. “You didn’t get thunder fanged by a arbok earlier without warning.”
Ditto, currently in the form of a cup noodle lid, flopped into his lap and changed into Lin Ling’s face. It raised one eyebrow.
Lin Ling, slightly disturbed, nudged ditto off and said. “Stop that.”
Riolu sat cross-legged by the campfire, arms folded, eyes closed like a wise monk. Applin was asleep near a tree, snoring like a slow, warm kettle.
Lin Ling exhaled. “I just don’t get it. Who is this guy? Why would anyone want to look like him if it means getting challenged six times a day and nearly falling into a pond?”
He took another sip, leaned back against a boulder—
And that’s when he saw it.
A poster nailed to the bulletin board on the other side of the trail.
Slightly weather-worn. Blue, gold, and white. Fancy logo of the Altaria League on top. And dead center:
A young man with glacial white hair. Pale blue eyes. Sharp jawline. Pristine posture. Dressed in a custom-tailored battle jacket with embroidery that probably cost more than Lin Ling’s entire backpack.
And yeah.
Okay.
That face was... unfortunately similar.
Lin Ling stood slowly. Walked toward the poster. Squinted.
There, in bold letters under the picture:
"Nice — Altaria City Gym Leader — #1 Ranked Trainer Three Seasons Running"
A second poster beside it read:
“Think you’re good enough to beat him? He’s always watching.”
Lin Ling squinted harder.
“...He is not always watching,” he muttered.
Rockruff barked.
Ditto turned into the poster version of Nice and gave him finger guns.
“I hate everything,” Lin Ling said flatly.
Altaria City was... too much.
The sidewalks sparkled. The buildings gleamed. The streetlights were shaped like Altaria wings and softly played orchestral music as pedestrians walked by.
Even the pidoves looked like they paid taxes.
Lin Ling adjusted his hoodie for the fifth time, staring at a passing limo with Nice’s face airbrushed on the side, blue eyes glowing like a final boss. Baozi, was perched on his shoulder, tail flicking aggressively.
“I know,” Lin Ling muttered. “I don’t like it either. He’s everywhere.”
There was a Nice Café on the corner. A Nice Gear merch store across from it. A Nice-branded bottle of water in a vending machine. He walked past an entire salon that offered “Nice-tier styling.”
“I haven’t even met this guy and I’m already exhausted,” Lin Ling said under his breath.
A passing fanboy overheard him and gasped. “Nice would never say that.”
“I’m not—!” Lin Ling started, but the guy had already walked off in offense.
Fed up Lin Ling decides to ignore everyone and everything and heads straight to where he’s sure to find Nice. His gym.
The Altaria City Gym wasn’t a building — it was a museum made of ice and mirrors that someone had the audacity to call a gym. Lin Ling stood at the entrance, glaring up at the sleek marble pillars.
“This is it,” he said, mostly to himself. “I am going in there. I’m going to find this guy. We’re going to have a normal, adult conversation where I politely ask him to stop being born with my face.”
Baozi yipped supportively.
“Thank you,” Lin Ling said. “Support appreciated.”
He stepped through the massive glass doors into an equally ridiculous lobby.
It was too white. Too cold. It smelled faintly of lavender and performance anxiety.
A receptionist — tall, expressionless, wearing a badge that read “TREEMAN Corp | Front Desk” — looked up.
“Welcome to the Altaria Gym,” she said in a tone that suggested she hadn’t felt joy ever in her life. “Are you here to challenge the Gym Leader, request an autograph, or report a fan harassment incident?”
Lin Ling took a deep breath. “None of those. I’m here because people keep confusing me for your Gym Leader and I need him to publicly confirm we are not the same person.”
He stood there, arms folded, as the receptionist blinked up at him.
“You’ll need to schedule a battle if you wish to speak to Mr. Nice,” she repeated, with all the warmth of a frozen Glalie. “He does not accept non-league-related requests without a Gym Challenge.”
“But I’m not here to challenge him,” Lin Ling said. “I don’t want a badge. I want a statement. Like, an announcement. Maybe a short video. Something like, ‘Hey, this guy with brown hair and brown eyes and socially acceptable posture is not me. Stop throwing Poké Balls at him.’”
“That would still require a Gym Challenge,” she said.
“What if I pay him?”
“He does not accept bribes.”
“It’s not a bribe, it’s a commission!”
Baozi curled tighter around Lin Ling’s neck like she wanted to disappear into his hoodie.
“Fine!” Lin Ling snapped. “Fine. I’ll challenge him. Where do I sign?”
The Gym had a pre-battle ceremony.
Of course it did.
Lin Ling stood on a glowing platform as orchestral music swelled in the background and two dancers in Altaria-themed outfits spun around him dramatically. He hadn’t even touched a Poké Ball yet.
“Why is this a thing?” he whispered, ducking a glitter cannon blast.
The announcer’s voice boomed from above:
“And now... our challenger faces the one and only master of elegance and power... the man known across regions as the Perfection Incarnate!”
“Altaria City’s soaring symbol of style—Gym Leader Nice!”
Lights dimmed. A single spotlight hit the far end of the battlefield.
From an upper platform, descending slowly on what had to be a motorized floating staircase, came Nice.
Hair white. Eyes pale blue. Cape fluttering in the artificial wind like the dramatic final boss of an RPG no one could afford to finish.
His face, of course, was almost identical to Lin Ling’s.
And Lin Ling had had enough.
Before the fanfare even finished, Lin Ling marched onto the field and shouted:
“Can you please just tell everyone I’m not you?!”
Nice blinked once.
The music cut off mid-swell.
Lin Ling kept going. “I don’t want your badge. I don’t want your stupid glitter cannon. I want you—the stupidly symmetrical man with my face—to go on record and say, ‘That guy is not me, stop battle-challenging him in cafés and train stations and public bathrooms.’ Please. I am begging you. My Riolu hasn’t slept in four days.”
Silence.
Nice regarded him for a moment. Unreadable. Still perfectly posed on his floating staircase.
Then, with terrifying calm, he said:
“...Why are you impersonating me?”
“I’m not!”
“I see.” Nice nodded, slow and thoughtful. “A denial. Very committed.”
“I will scream,” Lin Ling muttered.
“You already are screaming.” Nice points out.
Nice stepped lightly down from his platform, cape fluttering behind him.
“Fine,” he said. “We’ll talk. But I want to see something first.”
Lin Ling narrowed his eyes. “What.”
Nice smiled faintly.
“Your team.”
Of course they do the only thing every trainer in the Velun region ever seems to want to do.
They battle.
Nice stands with the calm precision of someone who’s done this a thousand times. Lin Ling, by contrast, bounces slightly on his heels — not nervous, exactly, but tightly coiled. Ready.
Nice flicks a wrist. “Go.”
A burst of cold air shimmers as Frosmoth takes the field, wings glittering like fractured glass. The crowd murmurs approval.
Lin Ling grins. “Alright, Rockruff. Let’s go!”
Rockruff explodes onto the battlefield in a blur of motion and dust, barking once like a firecracker. The type matchup earns a few raised eyebrows — Bug and Ice vs. pure Rock? Not ideal.
But Lin Ling doesn’t hesitate. “Accelerock — now!”
Rockruff blinks forward, slamming into Frosmoth mid-lift. Shimmering scales burst into the air.
Frosmoth tries to recover altitude, wings glowing for a Quiver Dance — but Rockruff’s already back with a Rock Throw, clipping it hard.
Nice narrows his eyes. “Bug Buzz.”
Frosmoth releases a piercing vibration that ripples across the field. Rockruff flinches — just long enough for a wave of icy wind to follow — but Lin Ling’s already shouting:
“Accelerock again! Don’t give it time!”
Rockruff streaks forward — and this time, the blow hits center mass. Frosmoth crashes to the ground in a flurry of snow and wings.
Frosmoth is unable to battle.
Score: Lin Ling – 1 / Nice – 0
Nice returns Frosmoth, cool as ever. “You’re reckless.”
Lin Ling shrugs. “I’ve been electrocuted six times this week. I no longer fear death.”
The crowd laughs. Nice doesn’t.
He sends out his next Pokémon: Altaria. A swirl of serene clouds and feathers, gliding onto the battlefield like royalty. The Gym’s namesake.
“Round two,” Lin Ling says. “Let’s go.”
Rockruff growls, bracing itself.
Altaria closes its eyes. Dragon Dance begins — slow, graceful, ominous.
“Rock Throw!” Lin Ling barks.
Rockruff hurls a stone that grazes Altaria’s wing — but the dragon barely flinches.
“Sky Attack.”
Altaria launches upward, wings glowing.
“Accelerock!” Lin Ling yells, desperate to intercept — but Rockruff leaps a second too late.
Altaria slams down from above in a flash of light and feathers. Rockruff tumbles across the field.
Rockruff is unable to battle.
Score: Lin Ling – 1 / Nice – 1
Lin Ling recalls him with a quiet “Thanks,” then grabs his next Poké Ball. “Wooloo, it’s you and me.”
Wooloo bleats heroically and puffs up with Cotton Guard — transforming into a rolling ball of armor.
Altaria doesn’t wait.
Sky Attack, again.
Lin Ling flinches as Wooloo gets slammed mid-roll and bounces — bounces — across the field like a bowling ball.
“Headbutt!” Lin Ling calls out.
Wooloo, dazed, gives it a valiant charge… and misses completely as Altaria floats effortlessly overhead.
One last Sky Attack.
Wooloo is unable to battle.
Score: Lin Ling – 1 / Nice – 2
Lin Ling sighs. “Okay. We’re not dead yet.”
Baozi, his Eevee, nuzzles his cheek as if to say ‘Put me in, coach.’
“You sure?” he whispers.
Baozi flicks her tail.
“Alright then. Your turn.”
Eevee hops off his shoulder onto the battlefield, small but steady.
The crowd stirs. A few people laugh — an Eevee? Really?
But Baozi’s eyes are sharp.
“Double Team!” Lin Ling shouts.
Multiple Eevees scatter across the field.
Altaria flares its wings, eyes narrowing.
“Dazzling Gleam,” Nice commands.
A burst of radiant light floods the field — clones vanish, but Baozi dives clear and rolls back onto her paws.
“Charm!”
Baozi gives the most weaponized sparkle-eyed look imaginable. Altaria falters, its attack power dampened.
“Quick Attack!”
Eevee vanishes in a blur and slams into Altaria’s side — then vanishes again.
Altaria tries to retaliate with Sky Attack one more time.
Lin Ling waits, eyes locked.
“Now. Bite.”
Baozi leaps — intercepting mid-air — and clamps down with a dark-type glow, dragging Altaria out of its dive.
Both Pokémon crash to the ground.
Dust settles.
Altaria does not rise.
Altaria is unable to battle.
Score: Lin Ling – 2 / Nice – 2
The crowd explodes — but it’s not over.
Nice’s final Pokémon takes the field. Gardevoir.
Elegant. Silent. Surrounded by a quiet storm of psychic energy.
Lin Ling exhales slowly. “Okay, Baozi. Last one.”
Nice doesn’t give them time to think. “Psychic.”
Gardevoir unleashes a wave of pressure that sends Baozi skidding backward.
“Shake it off! Double Team again!”
The clones scatter.
“Moonblast,” Nice says.
A pale sphere explodes across the field, wiping out half the decoys — but not Baozi.
“Quick Attack — left flank!”
Baozi blinks forward and strikes. Gardevoir stumbles.
Then Nice’s voice rings out, dry and teasing:
“You know, if you wanted to be me, you’d have to be better.”
Lin Ling’s voice cuts across the stadium, loud, raw:
“I’m not trying to be you! I’m just trying to live my life without people assuming I’m part of your PR strategy!”
The words hang in the air like a thrown gauntlet.
Nice doesn’t respond — but his expression changes. Slightly. Almost imperceptibly.
And so does Gardevoir. It hesitates — just a breath.
But that breath is enough.
“Iron Tail, Baozi — now!”
Baozi spins, tail glowing bright silver, and strikes with everything she has. The hit lands cleanly.
Gardevoir’s eyes widen — then it falls, gracefully, quietly.
The announcer explodes:
“AND THE WINNER — LIN LING!”
Without much fanfare, thank god, the battlefield lights dim. The crowd disperses, murmuring. Lin Ling stands on one side, breathing hard, hair a mess, hoodie soaked in sweat and maybe glitter.
Nice walks over, steps quiet on the stone floor. He offers a water bottle.
Lin Ling stares at it suspiciously.
“It’s just water,” Nice says. “Not a PR trap.”
Lin Ling takes it. “So, you gonna make the announcement now? Tell everyone I’m not your secret twin?”
Nice’s gaze lingers on Baozi, curled up in Lin Ling’s arms. “Your Eevee,” he says quietly. “She fights like she knows what you’re feeling.”
“She does,” Lin Ling says. “We’re both tired of being told we’re something we’re not.”
Nice folds his arms, silent for a beat.
“You’re strong,” he says. “Messy. Undisciplined. But strong. And... genuine.”
Lin Ling side-eyes him. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Both,” Nice says.
They stand there in silence.
Finally, Nice exhales. “I’ll make the statement. A full broadcast. You deserve that.”
Lin Ling’s shoulders sag. “Oh thank god.”
“But,” Nice adds, glancing over with something unreadable in his eyes, “you really do look like me.”
Lin Ling groans. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying.” Nice’s lips twitch. “If you ever need part-time work impersonating me, I’m taking a vacation next month.”
“I will throw this water bottle at you.”
Nice chuckles — quietly, a rare sound. “I’ll draft the announcement.”
He starts to walk away, then pauses.
“You could stay in Altaria for a while,” he says, not looking back. “If you want. There’s more to this region than just me.”
A beat.
“Maybe I could show you around. If you’re interested.”
Another pause, a hint of a smile in his voice.
“You know where to find me. I’ll even tell my receptionist to let you in without a battle next time.”
Lin Ling watches him go.
Then looks down at Baozi.
“…Did he just invite me to hang out or try to recruit me for evil?”
Baozi yawns and flicks her tail.
“I don’t know either,” Lin Ling says. “But let’s get dumplings first.”
They never did hang out.
Nice got busy—press meetings, league audits, something about “pre-vacation chaos.” The one time Lin Ling caved and asked if he wanted to meet up before leaving Altaria City, he got a message passed through the receptionist instead:
“Apologies for flaking. I’ll come join you as soon as I’m free.”
Totally normal. Absolutely not suspicious at all.
Lin Ling felt a chill anyway.
He left the city the next morning and tried not to think about it too hard.
A month had passed since the public announcement aired.
A month since Nice, on national broadcast, looked directly into the camera and said, in his polished, perfect tone:
“This is Lin Ling. He is not me. Please stop attacking him in train stations.”
It worked.
Sort of.
People stopped accusing him of being in disguise. Now they just challenged him because he was the guy who beat Nice.
Which, in some ways, was worse.
The challengers were more aggressive. More dramatic. One girl demanded a six-on-six double battle in the middle of a farmer’s market.
Another handed him a business card for a podcast and asked for a battle and a guest interview.
“I miss being unknown,” Lin Ling groaned one night, flopping onto his sleeping bag. “I miss the dignity of anonymity. This is why I never challenge gyms. I miss not having to dodge flamethrowers to get groceries.”
His Pokémon all grumbled in agreement. Baozi climbed onto his chest and refused to move. Ditto turned into a Pikachu and faceplanted into the rice bowl. Riolu was quietly sharpening a stick like he was planning a defensive ambush.
The stars were just coming out. The fire crackled. For once, things were quiet.
And then—
A rustle.
Footsteps.
The snap of a branch.
Lin Ling sat up sharply, his Pokemon tensing up in response.
And from the trees stepped—
Nice.
Wearing casual travel gear. Hoodie, gloves, perfectly tailored slacks, still somehow glowing. A thermos in one hand. A Mimikyu following at his heels like a bodyguard.
Lin Ling just stared.
Nice stepped into the firelight, glanced around the campsite, and then — to Lin Ling’s utter horror — sat down on a log like he’d been invited.
Ditto turned into Nice. Nice looked at it, unimpressed.
Baozi hissed.
Rockruff growled.
Lin Ling rubbed his face with both hands. “Why are you here?”
Nice poured tea into a collapsible cup like this was the most natural place to be. “I told you I was going to have a month off.”
“And you decided to follow me!?.”
Nice shrugged. “I told you I would join you soon and you seemed interesting.”
Lin Ling blinked. “Interesting?!”
Another sip of tea. “Charming, too. But mostly interesting.”
Lin Ling stood up, flailing vaguely in every direction. “I can’t believe this. I spend weeks trying to get away from you, and now you’re just casually stalking me through the woods?”
“Not stalking,” Nice said, unbothered. “Tagging along.”
“I didn’t invite you!”
“You didn’t not invite me.”
Lin Ling made a strangled noise and sat back down so aggressively he almost knocked over the firewood pile.
There was a long pause.
Nice looked up at the stars, then at the Wooloo curled up nearby.
“You’ve done well,” he said softly. “Handling the attention. Still yourself.”
Lin Ling gave him a tired look. “Who else would I be?”
“I don’t know.” Nice answers honestly. “But it’s easy to lose yourself when there are so many eyes on you. So many expectations.”
Lin Ling unsure of what to say to that stays silent.
Nice leaned back against a tree stump like he belonged there. His mimikyu curled up beside him.
“You’re an enjoyable kind of chaos,” he murmured. “I thought you might be fun to travel with. Is that so terrible?”
Lin Ling looked at him. Really looked.
And for once, Nice didn’t seem like the PR-perfect Gym Leader with a floating staircase and a fan club the size of a stadium.
He just looked like a guy. A slightly weird, overly composed, painfully symmetrical guy who maybe… was a little lonely.
Lin Ling sighed.
“…Fine,” he muttered. “You can stay.”
Nice smiled — small, real.
“But,” Lin Ling added, pointing a stick at him, “you carry your own gear and you live by my rules out here.”
Nice’s smile widened. “Of course. Lead the way, Lin Ling.”
Lin Ling groaned. “I already regret this.”
But he was smiling, too.
Just a little.