Chapter 59: Flint

The clock struck nine, signaling bedtime for the younger children in Brock's family. The atmosphere settled into a hush as the household prepared for rest. 

"Forrest, take Salvadore and Tommy to take a bath…" Brock instructed, delegating tasks as the last round of children scrubbed up. 

"Yes!" Forrest responded eagerly, already accustomed to helping his big brother manage the household.

As the sound of laughter and splashing faded into the background, Brock settled onto the couch, leaning against the familiar, cozy fabric.

His mind wandered back to the match with Ash that morning—the thrill, the determination, and the moment of victory that made him reflect deeply on his own life choices. 

A steaming cup of tea sat on the coffee table, the aroma still lingering in the air, but the warmth had long vanished. Floating leaves sank to the bottom, echoing Brock's gloomy thoughts.

"Big brother! We're done washing! You go take a shower too!" Forrest called out, interrupting Brock's reverie as he emerged with his two younger siblings.

"I got it, you guys head to bed now. Good night," Brock said with a supportive smile, watching them scamper off to their rooms. 

He sighed, standing up slowly and taking a deep breath. The weight of responsibility sat heavily upon his shoulders.

Leaving his younger brothers and sisters to pursue his dreams felt impossible; they were far too young and depended on him.

Brock trudged into the bathroom, undressing and preparing for a shower that would wash away more than just the day's grime. 

Meanwhile, a door creaked open in the quiet house. A middle-aged man who appeared disheveled and weary stepped inside.

He looked around, taking in the once-familiar yet altered surroundings as a wave of guilt washed over him. This man was Flint, Brock's father.

Flint gingerly removed his red knitted hat and fake beard, revealing the true likeness he shared with his son. He sighed deeply, recognizing the weight of his absence over the years. 

"I… I'm back…" Flint murmured, placing his hat and beard on the hallway table and stepping cautiously into the living room. 

The remnants of Brock's preparations still lingered, yet the warm glow of life had cooled as if reflecting Brock's own unsettled emotions.

"Thank you for your hard work, Brock," Flint spoke softly, his eyes glistening with remorse as he surveyed the organized home.

Guilt gripped him at the sight of his eldest son bearing the heavy burden of the family alone.

However, witnessing the interaction between Ash and Brock earlier that morning had ignited something within Flint.

It encouraged him to finally face up to his responsibilities rather than retreating further into the shadows. 

He had witnessed the bond of support and mentorship Brock extended to Ash—a reminder of what he had abandoned.

Flint realized he could no longer remain a bystander, too afraid to step up and claim his role in both the family and the gym.

Years ago, Brock's mother, Lola, had been the heart of the Pewter Gym, running a Water Type establishment with pride.

Yet, drawn by the allure of becoming a powerful Trainer like Lola, Flint had vacated his family's needs.

His choices had driven Lola away in anger, leaving Brock and his siblings to shoulder the burden of their home and the gym.

Brock, now fifteen and having assumed the gym leader's mantle, had molded the Pewter Gym into a Rock Type gym, all while nurturing his younger siblings. 

The air was still, thick with unresolved feelings, until a sound broke the silence.

Brock emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed in pajamas, and his eyes caught the sight of a familiar figure in the living room. 

"Dad, Dad…?!" Brock stammered, shock replacing his earlier sentiment. He could hardly believe the figure before him was indeed Flint, his father, returned after so long.

Flint turned at the sound of Brock's voice, forcing a smile, but it held a somber weight. "Long time no see, Brock…"

Brock's fists clenched at his sides as emotions conflicted within him—anger, loss, relief, and confusion. Words stilled in his throat, all his feelings threatening to burst forth.

"You don't need to take care of your younger siblings anymore. I will also take care of the gym, so… go and pursue your dreams, even in my stead!"

Flint declared, earnestness burning in his gaze.

Brock stepped forward, frustrated and elated at the same time, and in a sudden impulsive move, he punched Flint lightly in the stomach—just enough to express his frustration.

Flint grasped Brock's head in a gentle embrace as the tension between them broke. 

The dam in Brock's emotions cracked, and tears fell freely as he sought solace in the moment. "These years… I tried so hard," he sobbed.

"It's alright to cry, son. Men are allowed to cry. After you let that out, go chase your dreams!" Flint comforted, his own heart aching for the burden Brock had carried alone.

…

The next morning was greeted by soft rays of sunlight spilling into the home. 

"Big brother… good morning…" Forrest murmured as he came into the kitchen, sleep still in his eyes.

He was surprised to find not Brock but a lively figure bustling about, cooking breakfast with energy unlike anything he had seen before.

"Forrest likes red miso, Salvadore wants white miso, Yolanda wants mixed miso…"

Flint spoke half to himself, checking the recipe, doing his best to fulfill the requests he remembered from the children.

"Dad…Dad?!" Forrest exclaimed, disbelief flooding his features at the sight of the father he thought was lost to them. 

"Oh?! It's Forrest?!" Flint turned, brightening at the sight of his son. "Wait, we'll be able to eat soon!" 

"What, what's going on here? Where's big brother?" Forrest asked, still trying to process the whirlwind of events. 

"He… he went to pursue his dream," Flint said, his voice brimming with pride and a hint of melancholy. 

Flint's glow of accomplishment wavered as the frantic energy of the morning all rushed in.

He felt overwhelmed; it was the first time he had taken on such responsibilities, and the chaos of the kitchen began to fluster him.

"Let me help!" Forrest offered, rolling up his sleeves despite his confusion. "If you keep going like this, you might ruin the breakfast!"

Flint looked at his son, who appeared steadier and more capable than he felt at that moment, and it both comforted and alarmed him.

He recognized that each of his children had been shaped by Brock's tireless efforts, and now it was time for him to step up, to be the father they needed in their lives. 

With newfound resolve, Flint recalled Brock's parting words: "As for the gym, I will propose it to the League, and then Forrest will take over. Dad, you can take care of their daily life!"

It was a huge step forward—not only for himself but for their family.

Flint realized that he could do this, and with Forrest by his side, perhaps they could rebuild a life that had been put on hold for far too long.

__________________

Adios