A/N: Well, I didn't get any reviews for the last chapter, but I did get replies to reviews I posted on other stories. Thank you, authors who replied (even though you will probably never read this), for your words awoke my writing spirit anew!
. . . Yeah, that sounded pretty corny, but you can only work with what you got.
Anyway, despite its name, this chapter is mostly just to set up the location, feel, and tension of the situation. The next chapter will feature more of the battle, I promise. At least that answers one reason as to why I've left this story alone for as long as I did: I'm uploading both this chapter and the next simultaneously (the other reason being that my basement was flooded twice and the cable around the neighborhood went down twice by two nearly-simultaneous, massive thunderstorms, which kept me more-or-less preoccupied).
Disclaimer: See first chapter; it'll disclaim everything that needs to be disclaimed throughout the entire story.
Chapter is approximately five pages long, 1,663 words (not including title). Chow down!
Chapter 2: The Battle Trial
On any normal Wednesday these hallways would have been packed with students going between classes. Even on the Finals' schedule you would occasionally find several students cramming in corners or at the few tables outside some of the larger classrooms. Ryan even recalled once seeing a lax second-year on top of one of the vending machines. But today, today especially of all days, it was deserted; even when he passed that same condiment dispenser and found no lounging sophomore.
Everyone was at the arena, waiting for him.
Today marked the last of the Finals matches in the school's round-robin Battle Trials, including one of the most attractive match-ups yet: Ryan Pilate vs. Karen Nadian; two of the School's most distinguished students, salutatorian and valedictorian respectively.
Ryan did not mind this title of second-best. He understood that it was a laudable title, nothing to be ashamed of. There are many who work all their waking hours for such an honorific. He just didn't care. He already knew that he was better than Karen. Every student could be sorted into their proper standings with excellent precision, but when it came to accuracy the School was seriously lacking. It was an error in the ranking system that he had come to accept and, as such, not something he let bother him.
Along with the absence of the other students, Ryan himself was out-of place. Because School representation was not a necessity for the Battle Trials the students were not required to wear their uniforms. In fact, they were encouraged not to. With graduation not too far off, the School wanted to stimulate expressions of independence and self-reliance. Seriously, if you can't get up without being able to succinctly decide what to wear in the morning, without help, how could you possibly survive a journey across the region?
With this in mind many of the students went out of their way to make the event into a freak fashion show. Multi-colored and clashing outfits, scarves, berets, headbands, and obscenely short skirts and shorts decorated many as they tried to put up the façade of a serious challenge. Just two days ago, in another match-up, there was a girl decked-up in high heels. Ryan practically choked on the idea of somebody hiking in those. High heels! These people knew nothing of the world outdoors. What little they got seemed to come from TV.
Ryan would definitely not journey in something as nonsensical as high heels. His choice of clothing was more conventional: denim jeans with lacquered hiking boots, water-resistant and freshly broken-in, to go with a black shirt and a long-sleeved, high-collared jacket with a seam that ran down his front on the left. The jeans had an extra pocket on the right leg, for extra storage space. The collar could be worn open or clasped, depending upon the temperature, and the jacket can be removed and easily stored.
He decided against wearing a hat. It would only hide his eyes and get in the way.
The only adornment on his whole person was a large glass emblem, amber in color, positioned on the left collar, just beneath his jawbone. It somehow felt . . . appropriate. He wanted to follow in the footsteps of the greats, after all.
The beginnings of a smile crept onto his lips as he stepped inside the holding area adjacent to the arena. It was a utility room, designed to hold and store Pokémon for School-sanctioned events and activities. Events such as this one.
Ryan knew upon entering the room that he was not alone. He did not expect Karen to be here, and that prediction had held true. More likely she had arrived earlier, promptness more befitting her style. No, the other person in the room was the supervising teacher of the shift. Whenever the holding area was in use, a member of the faculty or staff was always there to manage and supervise, and today of all days proved to be no exception.
The teacher's name was Mr. Costello, the School's resident Phys. Ed. and Battle Coordination teacher. He was a tough man who expected nothing but the student's optimal effort. Anything less was considered to be weak, while anything more was scorned as arrogance, even stupidity. He made little effort to hide his belief that Ryan was anything but the latter. Ryan ignored him as well. It was neither a large problem nor one which required his immediate attention.
The storage unit was situated in the center of the wall to his left, halfway between the door he entered through and the arena entrance. Most other places would have preferred to place it in the corner, but this room was specifically built around the system, the layout designed to optimize mobility about the room itself.
Taking his School ID from his pocket, Ryan swiped it along the device's scanner. His name, School-selected ID number, selection, and standing flashed across the screen. Upon selecting the option that would allow him to access the Pokémon he would be using, a bright flash of light flared up to the left of the machine, quickly materializing into a pokéball. Species, type, attacks, and stats (given in numbers unlike what the games use) appeared.
Ryan's features contorted, disappointed, at the sight of the first.
Every student at the School gets a partner pokémon in their final year, and an additional pokémon as the teachers deem fit. Ryan, one of the School's top ten honors students, had the maximum of two. The goal of this was to establish a repertoire between would-be trainer and pokémon, as well as give the student time to witness how practical certain moves worked. They were school-owned and trained by the Violet Gym Leader, and would only cooperate when overseen by a Gym handler.
The one he was holding right now wasn't quite worthless, but not near phenomenal enough for his liking. Despite the hours he put into working with it, there was only so much it could do, and its combinations were very well known. Sure, its attacks had a fairly wide coverage, but he—the computer identified it as male—wasn't physically strong enough to make use of them.
He would use this one first.
The second made him smile. Well, almost. The typing was good for offense and his—for it was also a male—speed was impressive. It opened up options. Yes, he could work with this one. Finished, Ryan pocketed the balls and nodded to the teacher. He was ready.
The Battle Trial is pretty straight-forward. Each student faces seven of their peers in a round-robin tournament with one pokémon each. For honors students and higher, they could use two.
For Ryan, today was his last day. His score was a flawless six wins. Of course, what mattered for passing was not victory, but performance. This was the chance for the students to show off their skills and what they learned these last few years to the teachers, mainly the few selected judges.
The teacher ushered him to the arena, a slightly-less-than-regulation-size battle field, as most of the pokémon the school holds are rather small & tame. Across the field, Karen walks in, wearing her own trainer outfit, which was both stylish and workable. This was good. Ryan allowed a smile, not having expected anything less from his top rival. Underclassmen and other spectators lined the stands. In the presidential box, the headmaster sat next to a man with long gray hair and a brown overcoat. That would Professor Coy from New Bark Town. It would appear that Brash had been serious about him showing up.
Ryan turned to face his opponent. Karen had also noticed the special guest.
"You nervous?" he asked, casually placing his hands on his hips. This was just a taunt, to get her riled up. Karen wasn't the type to blow-up; the statement was just to get her to focus on him and, concurrently, the match. She responded with a similarly neutral posture, a sign that she too was unaffected by her surroundings.
"No more than you are."
"That's good." Let her interpret that as she will, Ryan was going to enjoy this match. He continued to stare at her as the referee stepped onto the field.
"This is the final match of the Battle Trial round-robin tournament. In the green corner, Ryan Pilate." She—the referee—raised her green flag and pointed it in Ryan's direction. The crowd started to clap, and a few yells rang out, both supportive and mocking. Apparently the teachers had gotten too lax with discipline.
"In the red corner, Karen Nadian." The referee did likewise with the red flag in her other hand. This time, not only was there cheering, but a banner went up! Jeez, someone put a lot of thought into this.
"The rules are two pokémon each." The crowd continued to cheer. "A time limit of three minutes per round, maximum of four rounds." Time limits were common in pokémon matches, to prevent over-exhaustion and serious injury. Anyone who thought differently put too much faith in the misleading TV show about the early adventures of Champion Ketchum. The referee could call a round at any time, so long as she felt the pokémon were in danger. A medical professional (not of the Joy family, I might add) was on standby for possible first aid cases.
This was good. We might need him.
"On signal, release your pokémon."
Ryan pulled the first pokéball out of his pocket. Maybe, when this was all over, he would get a proper holder for them. Not a belt—too traditional and too open. They could fall off or be stolen without him even knowing. Something for inside his jacket, perhaps.
The referee lowered her flags. "Release!"
Two red-and-white spheres flew through the air. Two flashes burst in the mid-morning light, revealing two bluish figures, one slim and one plump.
"Match"—the referee raised her flags—"begin!"