Sometimes I think I'm cursed... 'cause of something that happened before I was even born.

See, a long time ago there was a family. The papa, he was a Pokemon trainer. He was catching Pokemon, training them, and fighting with other trainers. Sometimes his wife joined him and together they were taking on double battles, while their daughter was cheering for them. Teamed up, they won a lot of local Pokemon tournaments! But the papa also had a dream...to become a Pokemon master. And one day he left with his Pokemon and Pokedex...and never returned.

And the mama...? She didn't have time to cry over that walkaway trainer! After getting rid of all cups and medals, she forbade bringing up the subject of training Pokemon. She found a way to provide for her daughter... She got on Berries crop in her garden and learned to make Pokeblock - feed increasing Pokemon's condition, produced from mixing in proper proportions appropriate types of Berries. Then she taught her daughter how to grow and blend Berries, and later she taught her son-in-law. Then her grandkids got roped in. As her family grew, so did the Pokeblock business. Pokemon training had torn her family apart, but Berries held them all together.

You see, that woman was my great-great grandmother, Mama Imelda. She died way before I was born. But my family still tells her story every year on Dia de los Muertos. And her little girl? She's my still living great-grandmother, Mama Coco. Her daughter, my abuelita, runs our house just like Mama Imelda did.

I think we're the only family in the region whose members can't train Pokemon. My family's fine with that...but me? I am not like the rest of my family!

I know I'm not supposed to dream about becoming a Pokemon trainer - but it's not my fault! It's his: Ernesto de la Cruz... the greatest Pokemon master of all time.

He started out as a total nobody from Santa Cecilia, like me. But he was such a great trainer, that he easily collected a full set of badges and entered the Pokemon league. There, he beat all his rivals and became a Pokemon master. For years he was dueling with many talented trainers, but he never let anyone take his champion title. He never lost any battle! He owes this to his Pokemon - Shiny Dragonite. That Pokemon...was the strongest Pokemon in the world. He knew incredibly powerful moves, which were taking every spectator's breath away. Crowds were gathering to watch live how de la Cruz would blow out another challenger!

After a few years they began to run out of brave ones, who would dare to challenge him, so he figured out that he doesn't need an opponent to put on a show for his fans. He observed that simultaneously using a few attacks produces different results than using them separately and found out which moves cooperate the best with one others. Then he turned the battlefield into a stage and started to give performances of incredibly spectacular combinations of Dragonite's attacks. It was something innovative and won his fan's hearts even more than his battles had! In the finale of the show de la Cruz got on Dragonite's back and together they were doing acrobatics in the air. He had an amazing talent, not only as a trainer, but also as a performer. He and his Dragonite created a wonderful show that gave birth to Pokemon Contests.

He lived the kind of life you dream about... Until 1942...when he risked too much, performing acrobatics on his own too close to the ground... Dragonite didn't manage to grab him in time...

I wanna be just like him. Sometimes, I look at de la Cruz and I get this feeling... like we're connected somehow. Like, if he could become a Pokemon trainer, maybe someday I could too...

"...if it wasn't for my family", a twelve year old boy, wearing jeans and a red hoodie, ended his tale.

"Ay, ay, ay, muchacho. I asked for healing my Charmeleon, not your life story," said tetchily a middle-aged man dressed in a Pokemon trainer outfit.

"Huh?", the boy blinked, coming back to reality. He was on the main plaza of the town - a place, where Pokemon trainers gathered, having fights. Next to him stood a red lizard, a little scratched up after a recently endured battle. The town was so small, that it didn't have its own Pokemon Center - the closest was located a few dozen kilometers away, in a city stationing of Pokemon Gym. Not all local trainers bothered to travel such a long way to entrust their Pokemon to Nurse Joy's safekeeping - they preferred healing minor injuries on their own. "Oh, yeah, sorry", the kid started to take Berries in different colors and shapes out of his bag until, finally he found the one he was looking for. "Please, this is Oran Berry. Eat it and you'll immediately regain your strength," he slipped a blue, round fruit under Charmeleon's muzzle. The Pokemon ate it and after a few seconds scratches on his body started to disappear and a fire burning on his tail significantly greatened. Charmeleon looked thankfully at the boy and then was absorbed into the Pokeball.

The kid heaved a sigh.

"I just can't really talk about any of this at home so..."

"Look, if I were you I'd march right up to my family and say: 'Hey! I'm a Pokemon trainer. Deal with it!'"

"I could never say that..."

"You are a trainer, no?"

"I don't know. I mean...", the boy started to flounder in an explanation. "I have Pokemon - that's not forbidden in my family. And I train with them when nobody sees but... I never battled with other trainers..."

The man uttered an irritating growl caused by kid's lack of self-confidence.

"Did de la Cruz become the world's greatest Pokemon master by hiding his sweet, sweet skills? No! He walked out onto that plaza and fought with other trainers!", he noted that some people are pinning to a notice board a big colorful poster containing the words 'Pokemon competition'. "Ah, mira, mira! They're setting up for tonight. The Pokemon competition for Dia de Muertos. You wanna be like your hero? You should sign up!"

"Uh-uh, my family would freak!", the boy automatically refused.

"Look, if you're too scared then, well... have fun making Pokeblock."

The kid looked torn.

"C'mon", the trainer encouraged him. "What did de la Cruz always say?"

"...Seize your moment?" the boy knew the answer by heart.

The man nodded with approval and took a closer look at the poster. "It's written here that the nearest city's leader will arrive here tomorrow and the winner of the competition will be allowed to fight for a badge. The same badge as this one..."

The trainer took from his pocket a tiny box and opened it. Inside, shining in sunlight was a small, hand-made, gray pin in the shape of a hexagon. The boy was staring in awe at it. He had never seen anything so beautiful close up before...

"MIGUEL!"

To the boy's ears came a resounding woman's voice, clearly distinctive against the background of chatter prevailing in the plaza. Toward him was marching an anxious elderly lady; she was accompanied by a man in his forties, a teenage girl, and a small, pink, bulldog-like Pokemon.

"Abuelita!" stammered the frightened kid, closing the box and pushing it away toward the trainer.

"What are you doing here?" grandmother asked nervously, reaching out to the boy.

"Um... uh..." Miguel stuttered out, hurriedly putting Berries lying on the ground in his bag.

Then the woman saw the trainer and menacingly pointed a finger at him.

"You leave my grandson alone! Snubbull!"

The pink Pokemon bit the man's foot. He shrieked in pain, frantically swinging his leg, trying to throw the Pokemon off himself, and when he finally managed to do that, he started to excuse himself:

"Dona, please, I was just getting my Pokemon healed!"

"I know your tricks, trainer!" The woman didn't believe him. "What did he say to you?" she asked Miguel.

"He was just showing me his badge..."

The rest of the family gave a gasp of shock.

"Shame on you!" said a man in his forties.

Grandmother again pointed a finger at the trainer, almost touching his nose, and onto her shoulder clambered Snubbull, barring her teeth intimidatingly.

"My grandson is a sweet little angelito querido cielito. He wants no part of your accessories, trainer! You keep away from him!"

Both the woman and her Pokemon looked so frightening, that the man started to cringe away from them out of fear, eventually losing balance and falling from the bench to the ground. But quickly he bucked up and ran away in terror.

Contented, grandmother turned to the boy.

"Ay, pobrecito! Estas bien, mijo?"

She strongly embraced Miguel and peppered kisses all over his face, not giving him a chance to speak. When she finally released her grandson, she gave him a stern look.

"You know better than to be here in this place!" she waged her finger at him. "You will come home. Now."

The woman strode toward the way out of the plaza, along with her son Berto, granddaughter Rosa, and Snubbull. Miguel sighed, sad about how it all ended, and followed them. Before that, however, he furtively split a flier promoting the Pokemon competition off from the notice board and put in his bag.

...

Miguel entered the Pokeblock workplace. It was a large, spacious, and filled with the scent of Berries room, divided into three parts. In the first, Abel, 19 years old Miguel's primo, was doing the primary step of Pokeblock production: cutting Berries into equal parts, successively emptying a basket full of just picked fruits. In the second, main part of the workplace, Miguel's parents were working at the Berry Blender, mixing earlier measured, selected kinds of Berries. When they obtained a supernatant liquid, they spilled it into square molds and left it to congeal; in the solid state it becomes Pokeblock. In the last part of the room, Franco, Miguel's abuelo, was arranging ready-to-eat Pokeblock cubes into equal piles and then packing them and bringing them into the shop that adjoined the workplace. The family business comprised two more workers: Miguel's first tia, Carmen, who was caring for Berry Trees in the garden and, at the same time, tending her kids, three years old twins, Benny and Manny, and Miguel's second tia, Gloria, who was serving customers in the shop.

The main assortment of the store constituted, of course, five types of Pokeblock - the red one (that increases Pokemon's coolness), the blue one (that increases Pokemon's beauty), the pink one (that increases Pokemon's cuteness), the green one (that increases Pokemon's cleverness) and the yellow one (that increases Pokemon's toughness) - but it was also possible to buy raw Berries, which eating had medicinal properties for Pokemon. In the whole region, there were very few Pokeblock producers, for it was work involving great concentration and patience; hence buyers even from distant cities arrived to the shop. Sometimes, however, it happened that they had to go home empty-handed, mad they wasted half a day for a travel because the basic shop rule was: 'we don't service trainers'.

Miguel was the only member of the family that wasn't interested in Pokeblock production, as they weren't so useful in Pokemon battles (maybe with the exception of yellow Pokeblock). He had, though, a good knowledge about Berries effects, because they could quickly cure negative consequences of battling. So he came up with an idea that he, instead of producing Pokeblock, would go every day to the post office to send ordered Pokeblocks and Berries to customers and Pokemon Centers that his family cooperated with. It was a good excuse to go round to the Trainers Plaza, located near the post office, and watch them fighting with each other. It was the only thing, next to secretly training with his Pokemon, that made him happy. For many months nobody had discovered that he sneaked off to the plaza... until today.

"I found your son in Trainers Plaza!", grandmother announced on the workplace's doorstep. Miguel sat with his head down on a stool next to his parents, ready for a scolding.

"Miguel..." Papa said disappointedly, distracting himself from work.

"You know how Abuelita feels about the plaza," added Mama.

"I just healed a Pokemon!" Miguel tried to justify himself.

"A trainer's Pokemon!" tio Berto pointed out indignantly.

The family gasped. Abel was so shocked he inattentively cut a Berry in two, as a result it fell on the floor.

"He needed an Oran Berry so..."

"Miguel, you know that we don't sell our products to trainers," reminded Papa.

"They are awful people. They use Pokemon for their selfish purposes," added tio Berto.

Miguel rolled his eyes, knowing that there's no point in arguing.

"In accordance with Abuelita's wish, you will no more go to the plaza," decided Papa.

Life without observing Pokemon battles? This couldn't be happening!

"But what about tonight?" Miguel blurted.

"What's tonight?" Papa Franco took an interest.

"Well, they're having some kind of... of a talent show," Miguel didn't want to use the word "competition" for fear his family would guess it's about Pokemon battles. "And I thought I might..."

"Sign up?" Mama looked curiously at her son.

"Well, maybe?"

"You have to have talent to be in a talent show," laughed Rosa.

"What are you going to do, juggle Berries?" joked Abel, once more not paying sufficient attention to Berry slicing. This time it resulted in cutting his finger.

Miguel only gave a smug smile in reply.

"It's Dia de los Muertos - no one's going anywhere. Tonight is about family," grandmother ended the discussion and put bunch of marigolds in Miguel's arms. "Ofrenda room. Vamonos."

She guided him to the small room located on the ground floor of the Rivera family house. Mama Coco, almost a 100 years old granny, was already sitting there in her wheelchair, sleeping. The room served as the altar, therefore it was richly adorned with marigolds and candles. Its central place was occupied by the ofrenda, on which were standing photos of deceased family members and their Pokemon, as well as offerings from their living relatives: favorite types of Berries, Pokeblock and human treats. On the highest shelf of the ofrenda, was placed the oldest photograph, showing a serious, 22 years old woman sitting on a chair, holding on her lap her 3 years old daughter; next to her stood a man wearing a Pokemon trainer outfit, whose face was ripped off.

"Don't give me that look," Abuelita said to Miguel, seeing his pout. She took the flowers from him and started to decorate the ofrenda with them. "Dia de los Muertos is the one night of the year our ancestors can come visit us. We've put their photos on the ofrenda so their spirits can cross over. That is very important! If we don't put them up, they can't come! We made all this food and set out the things they loved in life, mijo. All this work to bring the family together. I don't want you sneaking off to who-knows-where..."

She noticed, that Miguel was trying to silently leave the room.

"Where are you going?"

"I thought we were done..."

"Ay, Dios mio...", she sighed. "Being part of this family means being here for this family. I don't want to see you end up like..." she looked at the photo with the faceless trainer.

"...like Mama Coco's papa?"

"Never mention that man!" she banged her fist on the ofrenda. "He's better off forgotten."

"But you're the one who..."

"Ta, ta, ta-tch!"

"I was just..."

"Tch-tch!"

"Papa?" their raised voices woke up Mama Coco. "Papa is coming home?"

"No, Mama. Calmese, calmese," Abuelita rushed to her mother and embraced her.

"Who are you?" Mama Coco looked at Abuelita, confused.

Sadness appeared on Abuelita's face with the realization that her own mother didn't recognize her, yet she quickly chased it away, calmed Coco down, and returned to the ofrenda.

"I'm hard on you because I care, Miguel. Miguel... Miguel?"

She looked around the room, but he was nowhere.

"What are we going to do with that boy...?"

Her gaze swept the ofrenda, searching for inspiration. Her eyes stopped at Imelda's photo. Suddenly, she came up with an idea.

"You're right. That's just what he needs!"