Let's go Pikachu ✨ Part Fouuuuur✨

The Hidden Dart

" Oh. It's YOU."

I didn't look up.

I just kept staring at the grass, lying down.

Silver leaned on the tree. " What're you doing out here so late?"

I didn't reply.

Because I didn't have the energy to.

Truth is, there was something I didn't want to tell him.

Today, I saw HIM.

Yes, HIM.

And we battled.

And I won.

Unfortunately, his Nidoking kinda...

Well, I have a poison dart in my stomach, if that helps simplify things.

But I wasn't telling him.

Though I KNEW he knew how to treat it.

Silver narrowed his eyes.

"...You're not even going to look at me?"

I stayed quiet. Grass blades tickled my cheek, but I didn't move. My body was stiff. Too stiff. I tried not to wince as another sharp pulse of pain radiated from my abdomen.

Silver sighed. I could hear the shift of his coat as he crossed his arms. "Look, if this is about earlier—"

"It's not," I mumbled.

He paused. "...Then what is it?"

I didn't answer.

Because if I did... I might start crying again. And I was so tired of crying.

The wind stirred, rustling the branches above. I could hear distant Pokémon sounds, the subtle chirps and hums of the forest night. It should've been peaceful. But it wasn't.

"Did something happen?" Silver asked. The edge in his voice softened, just a bit.

Still, I didn't answer.

But I felt the sting in my side again. The dart hadn't gone deep—probably because I dodged most of the strike—but poison was poison. And it was working fast.

I'd already thrown up twice. I couldn't feel my left hand very well anymore.

Silver's footsteps approached slowly.

"...Mia," he said, now standing right over me. "You look like garbage."

"Gee," I rasped, still not looking at him. "Thanks."

That got a pause out of him. Then: "You sound like garbage too."

"Really nailing the sympathy," I muttered, eyes closing. Everything ached. My head. My stomach. My chest.

Silver crouched next to me. I could feel his stare burning through me. "Okay. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Mia."

"I said nothing."

A beat. Then—

"Liar."

My breath hitched.

He didn't yell. He didn't move. But his voice cut through me sharper than the poison ever could.

I heard the rustle of him shifting closer, then something cold and precise in his tone: "Did you battle him?"

Silence.

"Mia. Did. You. Battle. Him."

"...Yes."

"And you won?"

"...Yes."

Silver didn't speak for a moment. I knew he was trying to decide how much to panic. How much to blame me.

He sighed. "Then what happened?"

I didn't answer.

"Mia—"

"I can't tell you, okay?" I snapped, but it came out weak. My voice was shaking, breathless. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll get mad," I whispered.

Silver leaned even closer. "What happened?"

My hand twitched toward my side, like instinct. But that was a mistake. The moment I moved, pain bloomed again—hot, stabbing, like knives under my skin.

I couldn't hide it.

Silver saw. His eyes followed the motion, narrowed fast. Then they landed on the thin, spreading bloodstain under my shirt.

"...Mia," he said, and suddenly his voice wasn't calm anymore—it was sharp. "What is that?"

I looked away.

He reached toward me, tugging up my shirt despite my feeble attempt to swat him away.

And then he froze.

The dart was still embedded, half-buried in my stomach.

And it was glowing faintly purple.

Silver swore under his breath.

"You idiot," he hissed, immediately pulling off his gloves and going for his bag. "How long has this been in you?!"

"...A few hours."

"A FEW—" He cut himself off, grinding his teeth. "Do you have any idea what kind of poison that is?! You're lucky you're even conscious!"

I flinched. "I didn't want to bother you..."

"Oh, spare me," he growled, already pulling out antiseptic, tweezers, a specialized antidote injector, and what looked suspiciously like a packet of candy. "You'd rather die in the grass than just ask me for help?"

"I thought maybe it wasn't that bad," I whispered.

Silver shot me a glare so sharp I thought it might slice open the trees. "You literally passed out on Victory Road once from a twisted ankle. Why would you ever think something wasn't that bad?"

"...Fair."

He huffed, then focused. "This is gonna hurt."

"Already does."

"Great. Then this'll be nothing new."

The dart came out fast, and I yelped—partly from pain, partly from surprise. He didn't slow down. Cleaned the wound with practiced hands. Applied antidote, bandaged it, and finally—finally—stuck a bitter energy candy in my mouth without asking.

I gagged. "Ugh. Silver!"

"Shut up and chew."

I did.

When it was over, he sat back on his heels and glared at me again. "Next time? Tell me. Got it?"

I nodded slowly. "...Got it."

"Good."

We sat in silence for a bit.

"...Thanks," I mumbled eventually.

Silver glanced at me. "You owe me three."

"Three what?"

"Three 'I'm not going to be reckless and hide potentially fatal injuries from people who care about me' promises."

"...That's a long promise."

"Say it."

I sighed. "...I'm not going to be reckless and hide potentially fatal injuries from people who care about me."

"Good."

"...Do I really owe you three of those?"

He leaned back against the tree again, arms folded, voice dry as ever. "Considering this is like the fifth time you've tried to collapse in secret? Yeah. You're getting off easy."