A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.
Perhaps that's what made the following match's loss hurt so much.
He was still sitting in the locker room, thinking. He always thought about things that could go wrong. And, well, things went wrong. He'd spent hours with Steven coming up with a plan of attack to counter Alder's team. And even though they had two whole days to prepare…it wasn't enough. The fact of the matter was that Alder had type advantages through the roof, and had watched the entirety of Lance and Steven's match. He knew everything that Steven and Trodaire could try, and had somehow come up with a way to negate the advantage. Also, no amount of training could hide the fact that Steven's team had taken a hell of a beating from Lance's group. On the other hand, Alder had coasted to a victory rather easily against Wallace. (How he'd done that was beyond Trodaire) So now it was Alder in the finals against the Boy from the Mountain. Ugh.
He was so busy stewing that at first he didn't hear the door open. Then Steven spoke up.
"Still frustrated?" He asked.
"What do you think?" Trodaire grunted. Sighing, Steven took a seat next to him.
"I know. It sucks." Steven said. "But I guess it isn't terribly surprising. Even a genius doctor couldn't have gotten my team back up to full stamina."
"You're taking this remarkably well." Trodaire said.
"Why wouldn't I be?" Steven asked suddenly. "Think about it. I beat Lance, and then put up a hell of a match against Alder. I've got the fire back in me, Trodaire. And you are the reason that it's there. If anything, this couldn't have been more successful."
"What makes you say that?" Trodaire said. Steven smiled, and took a seat on the bench next to his friend.
"You know how questions I took after the battle dealing with my loss to Alder? One. A standard-fare 'how did it feel?' sort of thing. For the past fifteen minutes, I've been asked how it feels to have toppled Lance, what this means for me in the future…and one asinine reporter asked me when the wedding is." He said.
They both laughed.
"What I'm trying to say is, Trodaire, is that you are right when you say that this is frustrating." Steven said. "But I've learned long ago that there are far, far worse things in life than losing a Pokemon battle. And quite frankly, I don't want to spend my life focusing solely on Pokemon battles. It's important to me, but it isn't my life. Not like Lance's. All that really matters is: is it fun again? Well, I think you and I both know the answer to that one. Yes. It's fun again. And I have you to thank for it." He said. He clapped Trodaire on the shoulder. "C'mon, let's get out of here. They're finishing healing up my team and I was thinking about getting dinner with our dates."
Trodaire gulped.
"Uh, dates? Um, Steven you have a fiancé but I don't know who I-"
He cut himself off. Steven laughed and rolled his eyes.
"Man, for someone who can figure out a way to defeat one of the greatest trainers in the history of the world, you can be really dumb." Steven said.
THREE WEEKS LATER
The tournament came and passed. To the surprise of absolutely no one, especially given the incredible battles leading up to it that had taken out the supposedly best challengers, the Boy from the Mountain made his triumphant return to competitive battling with a victory over Alder. As soon as the battle was over, and both trainers had returned their teams, they shook hands at center ring for what had to be the photo op of the century for photographers. Alder gave a short retirement speech thanking all of his fans for getting behind him for one last miracle run, and then thanked the Boy for his incredible abilities. This was enough to draw a small smile from the younger trainer, and the crowd roared its approval.
Surprisingly, the people currently inside the Fight Club had not watched the battle. They weren't terribly invested in it. There was a wedding to be planned.
But first, a birthday party.
Trodaire's to be precise. He'd been adamant that his friends keep it low key, to which Steven and the others promptly told him to stop being so reserved and accept this fiesta as their thanks for what he did for Steven. So it was a grill-out both in the lawn between the Fight Club and the Saffron gym, as well as festivities inside the Fight Club itself. Misty had promised to exercise caution with whom she invited, and by that we mean that she invited every gym leader she could think of to come. All of them showed. Bettie and Paulie insisted that they take care of cooking all of the food, but when Steven stepped in and showed them he possessed some mean grilling skills, they were all too happy to accept the assistance. The psychics from Sabrina's gym had volunteered to help set up some fancy lighting, using their abilities to have candles and torches hover in the air instead of simply stringing them to ropes.
The man of the hour had been greeted by Sabrina and her trusted confidant, who had actually ventured out of the Saffron gym in what seemed to be ages.
"I am delighted to finally meet you face to face, Mr. Phoenix." Alakazam said pleasantly. Trodaire smiled and offered his hand. Alakazam took it, and with the same cheerful expression "spoke" once more.
"I would also like to congratulate you on your successful courtship of Madam Sabrina. I will have you know that she thinks very, very highly of you. It reminds of watching a young Abra first discovering that it can teleport. Heart-warming, really. So I conclude by saying this: if you make her cry, I will make you cry." It pleasantly wished the stunned (and slightly terrified) Orrean a happy birthday, and then teleported back inside the gym.
Trodaire leaned against a table in the middle of the gym, sipping a drink and watching the party. There was Misty, Erika and Cynthia all discussing the wedding plans (to be held in two weeks) with varying degrees of excitement on their faces. Paulie was hitting it off with Cianwood's gym leader Chuck, whose boisterous nature and hearty appetite won over the old Saffron native quickly. And periodically, a gym leader or two would come up and congratulate Trodaire on a job well done. He had to keep pinching himself to remind himself that this was all real, and that he wasn't dreaming. That was the greatest fear he'd had in the days since the tournament: that he might wake up in a musty abandoned house in Orre and realize that this was all nothing more than the lucid dreams of a desperate man.
Well, when Sabrina came in through the front doors and planted a kiss on his lips, that put those silly fears to rest in a hurry.
"Sorry I'm late," Sabrina said. "But I brought something." She was carrying a cardboard box. "It's not the best gift, but I figured that you would like it." She opened it with a boxcutter knife, and revealed stacks of black t-shirts. On the front, emblazoned with white letters in a red trim, read THE FIGHT CLUB. On the back, in the same lettering read WHERE CHAMPIONS ARE BUILT.
Trodaire told her it was the greatest gift he'd ever been given. And he meant every word.
After a while of pleasant mingling, Paulie got everyone's attention by clinking a glass. He then cleared his throat and spoke up.
"Now, I figure yeh might find dis a little funny, considerin' I's shorter than the lot of ya, but I gots something tah say." He said. "And dat is dat Trodaire here is the best friend an ol' lump like me could evah ask for. He comes inta dis town wit' nothing, and now look at 'im. King of the Fight Club!" He raised his glass. "But he's also found it in 'is heart to take in an ol' useless fogie like me. And dat's what I propose a toast to: to Trodaire Phoenix, the man wit' the biggest heart in all of Kanto!"
"To Trodaire!" Everyone said, clapping and cheering. What followed next was a wonderfully off-key singing of "Happy Birthday to You," and then back to business as usual. Bettie was about to bring out the (massive) cake, when the door opened. The bell above the door rang, and everyone turned around to see who had come in.
They filed in slowly and respectfully, each of them wearing modest robes not unlike a monk in deep prayer. There were seven of them, each at an impressive age. They bowed respectfully, parting until two other figures were revealed: Clair, and Grandmaster Arach.
Off to the corner, Erika stealthily whispered in Misty's ear.
"Did you invite them?" She asked.
"Yes, but I didn't actually expect them to show up!" Misty whispered back.
Arach was not wearing the robes that the Dragon Council (and even Clair, which made Misty and Erika giggle despite themselves), and had instead opted for a depressingly normal pair of jeans and a red flannel shirt. He looked like an accountant coming in on Casual Friday, not one of the greatest Pokemon minds of all time. He adjusted his glasses slightly and spoke.
"I didn't think we were this good at making an entrance." He admitted.
This broke the ice, and everyone chuckled. Arach spoke again.
"I apologize for our late arrival," Arach said. "We had to be certain that we were dressed appropriately for this event." Though he did not change expression or glance anywhere in particular, Misty and Erika knew that he was talking about Clair. And that was just perfect. "My protégée Lance will be here in a little bit. He said he had to run a short errand."
This struck the crowd as odd, but they went with it. Few people got the chance to hear Grandmaster Arach speak (or interact) in a non-formal setting, and now everyone was on pins and needles as to what he'd say or do next.
"I would like to, on behalf of the Dragon Clan, express great congratulations to Mr. Steven Stone for his victory in the tournament, and that personally I haven't been entertained by such a showing in a very long time. Perhaps not even since I was actively battling. Also, congratulations on your upcoming wedding vows." He smiled. Then he turned to look at Trodaire. "And there's the man I believe we are all here to celebrate today. Happy birthday Trodaire. I apologize that I couldn't bring you a present, but I think that this might be a suitable replacement." One of the Dragon Councilmen stepped forward, holding a small chest. "Because I am an incurable snoop, I happened to hear that the Fight Club is, while in no danger of closing, certainly in need of some spare funds for improvements to the facility." Arach said. The councilman opened the chest, and Trodaire felt his stomach do a backflip at the sight inside: a blank check.
"It may not seem like much, but this check represents my Clan's investment in you, Trodaire. Whatever you need, ask. Be it equipment, guest trainers, advice, money…it's yours. From now until beyond the foreseeable future, I'd like to offer you my personal and full support." He extended his hand. A dazed Trodaire reached out to take it, but Arach drew it back. "But on two conditions." He said.
"Whuh-what are they?" Trodaire asked. Arach smiled.
"First: I am no longer an active battler, but I would be lying if I said I don't miss it. So if it isn't too much to ask, every now and then I'd like to come here to offer my services as an instructor for anyone who would wish to seek my advice." He said. There was a pause. "And second…" He drew out a Pokeball on his hip, and released the being inside. A hearty-looking Garchomp came out. He smirked. "I wouldn't mind you teaching my Garchomp how to throw that megaton punch Aggron used on Lance's Dragonite." He finished, to the laughter of just about everyone in the room.
Trodaire couldn't shake Arach's hand fast enough.
"That's enough business." Arach said. "Aren't we supposed to be partying?"
There was general laughter, and before long the Dragon Clan was absorbed into the overall party.
It went for a while, and the sun was beginning to set. The cake had been eaten, everyone wanted a t-shirt, and everyone who was able to wanted to try out Trodaire's wooden dummy in the corner. (Only he and Sabrina looked like they even remotely knew what they were doing) Finally, Trodaire got in the middle of the ring so that he was above everyone, and started to speak.
"Can I have your attention for just a moment?" He asked. When everyone quieted down, he began. "I'll keep it brief. I had no idea where this was going to go when I breezed into Saffron a few months ago to buy out this foreclosed piece of land and turn it into a legitimate training gym. I didn't think that I'd make friends with gym leaders, train with champions, and I certainly didn't think that I would be a part of the best World Tournament ever." He said. "That might all be done now, but I just want to say that I loved it all, you guys are all the best, and I know that this is just the beginning. I mean, there's always next year right?" He asked. Everyone clapped and laughed, but then a voice cut through it all.
"Yes, there is always next year."
Everyone turned to the door. There was Lance, leaning in the doorway. He smiled a little bit.
"I'm sorry I'm so late," he said. "I had to go take care of something." He looked up at Trodaire. "I have something to say to you. The amount of training I put into my team to prepare for that fight was…well, to say that it was legendary probably doesn't even begin to cover it. I practiced and game-planned and thought up the most creatively brilliant ways to defeat Steven. And you, a kid I'd never heard of before, helped him beat me." Trodaire wasn't sure if he was angry or not, but then Lance smiled. "I might be one of the greatest battlers in the world, but I'd venture a guess you're one of the best trainers in the world." He made a motion like tipping a cap. Then he smiled some more. "Or so I was telling my friend. Y'see, he and I talk a lot. We don't go around trumpeting it, but we discuss all sorts of strategies and thoughts and life lessons and the like. He's the best friend I got. So when he heard that I lost to Steven, he couldn't believe it. But then I told him that you were involved, and he got interested. See, he might not be that old, but he's been battling a long time. And he likes to find out new wrinkles to battling whenever he gets bored. Well, Trodaire, you certainly piqued his curiosity. So I told him that he should come here tonight, being it is your birthday and all, and…well he agreed." He stepped off to the side of the door, allowing his friend to walk in.
He was young. Probably about 20, certainly not older than Trodaire. He was wearing blue jeans, with a black t-shirt. Over that t-shirt was a red vest, with a white collar. He was wearing a hat, a simple thing that had a design not unlike the top half of a Pokeball jutting out from the brim. He was pretty tall too, probably the height of Trodaire. He had an innocent expression on his face, but there was no denying the power in his eyes. They seemed to cut right through you.
There was a sound of shattering glass. Clair had dropped a glass of punch to the ground. No one noticed or cared.
He walked through the gym, past the gaping mouths of the many trainers there before him. All trainers and gym leaders that he had faced…and beaten. There wasn't a single soul in the room that he hadn't. Finally, he got about six feet away from the boxing ring where a thunderstruck Trodaire was hanging off of the ropes, and looked up at the Orrean. He pushed his cap up a bit so that he could see Trodaire better. It seemed like he was waiting for Trodaire to speak first.
Trodaire glanced at Sabrina, and then found his voice.
"A-are you here to train?" He asked.
A nod.
"A-are you here to train…with me?" Trodaire asked.
Another nod.
"Y-you want to t-train with me…to get better. Y-you think you'll get better training with me?" Trodaire asked.
Another nod.
"Well, uh…" Trodaire cleared his throat. "We can…we can start tomorrow. Does tomorrow work for you?"
Another nod.
And the Boy from the Mountain smiled.
"Let's build some hurtin' bombs," Red said.
THE END
A/N: And on that jaw-dropping break of canon, we have come to the end of the road for The Fight Club. I want to thank everyone who enjoyed this story while I was writing it, and for those of you who have found it. It was a labor of love and I truly had a blast writing it. Fear not, my dear readers, I do not think that this is the end of the road for Trodaire and friends. Who knows? It could all be just beginning…
Thanks again!