The situation was critical. They were all gathered in a room in Saffron Pokemon Center. Mewtwo was on a stretcher, with a pump on his mouth to help him breathing. He was in deep coma. Metal was helping the nurses with his medical analyzing program. He said that his brother had multiple light wounds and an important neck trauma.

"So" said Victoria "what are we gonna do now ?"

"I'll cancel his participation to the semi-finals" said Giovanni. "He can't fight in that status."

"I just hope he won't die" said Sabrina. "Please, don't die…"

The poor girl was in tears.

"He won't" said Metal. "He has a regenerating organism. Sooner or later, he'll be better. The problem is that he can take hours, weeks, or even months, to wake up."

"Anyway" said Victoria "we can't help, so we'd better go. Come, Sabrina."

"No. I'd rather stay here with him."

"Don't worry" said a nurse "she can stay."

"Okay. Do as you please."

She stayed the whole night. In fact, she fell asleep. She awoke at about 2:00 am when she felt a hand stroking her hair. Mewtwo was awaken. Well, not really: his eyes were half open and he could move his arms. It was good yet.

"Mewty ! You scared me ! Metal, come !"

"I thought I'd never see you again, bro ! How do you feel ?"

"As if I got rolled over by a truck, but I'll survive, I guess. Tell me… have I kicked his ass ?"

"Yeah, you did."

"At least, something that doesn't go wrong…"

A nurse got in.

"Mewtwo, Le Français would like to see you."

"Let him in."

The tall French trainer appeared.

"Oh, merde ! It looks pretty bad…"

"Don't worry. I'll just spend a good night and at afternoon, on the ring again !"

"Are you crazy ?"

"Ain't it what you wanted ?"

"Listen, big guy: I'd love to shut Macaroni's mouth, and Presse-Purée would've been honored to fight with you. But in your condition, it's suicide !"

"Unbelievable…"

"What ?"

"You just said two English sentences properly."

"So you don't care about what I'm saying ? Ça en touche une sans bouger l'autre, hein ?"

"I'll fight."

"No, Mewty, you won't." Interfered Sabrina."As your trainer, I strictly forbide you to continue that tournament !"

"Impossible. I promised that karateka that I would kick his ass. Français, wait for me. I won't disappoint you."

Later,in another part of the city, Le Français and his Machamp, who were too nervous to get some sleep, were in an old-fashioned bar, one of those that still had a jukebox from the seventies in perfect state of working. It was playing Motley Crue's Bastard !.

"I'm worried" said the trainer as he finished his twelfth tequila. "He's a good guy, and he's valorous. But… he can't make it in that status ! T'en penses quoi ?"

Presse-Purée just shook his head and growled lightly. It meant: I agree.

"Can I ask you a favor ? If he decides to fight… don't push him too hard, okay ? J'veux pas le tuer."

Machamp agreed. A group of teenagers, about six or seven ( try to count when you drank twelve vodkas ! ), who were having a beer contest, started being a bit too noisy.

"Can't you shut up ?" Screamed Le Français.

"What'd ya want, grandpa ?" Answered one of the three boys of the group. "Ya're angry ? Lost your wheelchair ?"

The old trainer got eventuallyangry. His glass exploded as he clenched his hand, and a splinter stuck in his palm. He removed it with the teeth and stood up, ready to kick some asses. Presse-Purée grabbed his arm.

"What ?"

He growled.

"I shouldn't fight as I'm drunk ?"

The pokemon growled again.

"But they're only three !"

Le Français broke free from the grip and came closer to the bold brat. The boy tried a punch, but the old trainer dodged, grab his ankle, and lifted him upside down. The teen had his hair sweeping the ground.

"Is that enough, résidus de capote trouée ?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Would you please release me ?"

Le Français dropped him. As he got up, the boy said:

"Hey, aren't you Le Français ?"

"Yeah."

"The legend ! Wow ! And you're here for the CPT ?"

"Yeah."

The young man looked at the twelve empty glasses.

"And that's the way you're training ?"

"Boy, I train the way I want. And pour ta gouverne, sache that I never lost a fight !"

Presse-Purée growled to show his disagreement.

"Okay, I lost once. But only once !"

"Would you please tell us how ?"

"No. Pas d'humeur."

One of the girls of the group stood in front of him with pleading eyes.

"Please, Mr Français, we'd love to hear a story of yours !"

"Okay, chick: I give you twenty seconds to find a song that will please me, and maybe I'll tell you."

The girl ran to the jukebox and chosed Ma chanson lui a pas plu by Renaud.

The teens sat around the table. Le Français picked a comfortable seat, lit a cigarette ( his fiftysecond cigarette of the night ) and began his story.

I clearly remember that day. You don't forget the day you got your ass kicked so easily. It was three years and two days ago, in Fuschia City. In Fuschia Arena, also known as Koga-Ryu Nin-Jutsu Academy. I had a challenge against the Grand Master himself. Quite a honor, right ? Well, in fact, Koga and I have been good friends long before he becomes a Champion. But that's another story which I don't want to talk about. So, I was in the locker room, preparing for my fight. I even remember I was playing with a toothpick in my mouth.

"Meeting an old friend brings joy and happiness to my heart, Tony-san."

I turned back to look at my old friend. He hadn't changed since we last met, years before, and looked superb in his ninja suit.

"Still speaking like an old book, eh ?" I said.

Then, I hugged him and said:

"Good to see you again, mon frère."

"Are you up to the challenge ?"

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"Good. The reporters are here, they're all waiting for us."

"Let's not disappoint them."

We both entered the fighting area while an annoying female reporter from Goldenrod City was explaining the event. She immediately jumped on the Master and bombed him with questions. Then, it was my turn:

"Colonel, she said, I recall to our audience that this match allows double team fights. What will be your strategy ?"

"One pokemon will be enough."

I and the Master saluted Japanese-style and released our pokemons. I chose Presse-Purée, of course. He chose Weezing and Muk. The referee came to the center of the area and said « Fight ! ».

I had told Presse-Purée to use Vital Throw on Weezing and finish Muk with a Cross Chop. The Master's technique left me on my ass. Presse-Purée rushed on his opponents, and when he was almost at contact… I don't really know what happened then. Weezing had created a sudden and thick fog making us all blind. We just could hear the sounds of strikes and collisions, and when the fog cleared, Presse-Purée was laying KO on the tatamis, is body covered with purple glue. I still remember the way my jaw dropped and my toothpick fell on the ground. And I still remember the comments of the reporter:

"Unbelievable ! The Colonel, after 85 official matches, experienced his first defeat against the Master Koga in less than ten seconds ! It seems that the famous Presse-Purée has been caught unawares by the Master's particular techniques of stealth and reversal attacks."

I won't talk about details. To make short, it took us about ten minutes to get rid of them. When we came back to the fighting zone to clean the tatamis, I couldn't help but ask:

"How did you do that ?"

"You want to know how I beat you so easily ?"

"Hell, yeah !"

"I will tell you: I used your worst weakness."

"C'est-à-dire ?"

"You are very confident, Tony-san. It is a good thing, when it's under control. But, the excess of self-confidence leads to previsibility, which is far the worst thing that could happen to a trainer."

"I am previsible ?"

"Yes. You have a technique, and you realize it works well. So you always use it. It makes you win, but in a long run, people will get used to your technique and will learn how to counter it. The key to my victory is a simple work of tactician: I studied your 85 previous matches, and found a common thing in all of those. At the end, I just had to elaborate a strategy to get rid of that common thing. Only one simple strategy, and it made you lose. I can give you an example, if you want: as far as I remember, you had the same problem during fighting lessons, in the army."

"What, you mean… right here, right now ?"

"Why not ?"

"Okay."

I came closer and got in close combat stance. The Master didn't move. I threw a headbutt. Koga blocked it with his hands and judo tossed me. I got up and performed a roundhouse kick, which he dodged before making me lose balance. I managed to block one of his punches, and twisted his arm, but he reversed the grapple ( I still don't know how he did ), knee striked me in the back and tossed me away.

"It went on for nearly thirty minutes, and every time, I landed on the ground. I now score 324 matches, and among them, only one defeat: the Master. I never understood how he did that, but there's one thing sure: the Master is the only one guy I know who can dominate me like that. What he said was wrong: if it was just that previsibility problem, a random trainer could've defeated me, but no-one did. I think there's something in him, maybe that « Ninja Vital Power » he's studying, that makes him way stronger than anyone. What I want to teach you, kids, is that you'll always have someone who will dominate you. Always."

"So you've known Koga during military service ?" Asked one of the teens.

Le Français stood up, stretched and yawned.

"I don't wanna talk about that. En plus, j'suis crevé. We have an important match, so we better get some sleep. Good night, guys."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Extra infos: So here is Le Français' only one defeat. I love ninjas and all the legends about them, so I had to put Koga somewhere in my story. And yes, Le Français' real name is Tony, and he's a former army officer. I'll talk more about those two during their military years in a distant chapter.

The Ninja Vital Power: I've read something about this in a Nin-Jutsu book. If my memory works well, I think it's called the Mantra.

Twelve vodkas and fifty-two cigarettes in a row: yes, Tony has a superhuman stamina !

Ma chanson lui a pas plu: those who understand French must hear it ! It's a song about a singer who writes only dumb songs and wonders why he can't find someone who will make it a record. Just so funny !

Next Chapter: Mewtwo will attend the semi-finals.