Chapter II, Part I: A List of Inciting Incidents

November 19th, 1999

Temple of the Dancing Weasels
Along the outskirts of Taipei, Taiwan, gongs all across a temple rung two hours before the break of dawn. A mienfoo rubbed the crust from his eyes, his ugly snort joining the general rumble of a few dozen others. Sleep continued to elude PW. The months were cold. The walls were of brick and the mattresses were not generous. He was packed into this barracks with many other pokemon, all male. Some he knew. Some he'd rather not.
Despite his sleepy slurry, he forced himself to roll out his bed and stand up. He stumbled as his blood pressure plummeted; he rushed out a door to his left. His eyes strained to adjust to the light, and once they did, saw only scrappy clouds and deep blue sky. He squeezed his head through the bars of a railing and looked far, far downward. Two guards stood at the gate of a tall stone fence surrounding the temple. PW saw two more men come up to the gate, taking those first two guards' place. The boy felt peace. He liked everyone to get good rest.
A firm paw yanked him backward and out of the railing. The young fighter sprung into action. He attempted to use his massive strength to elbow his opponent so hard they fell over. This brutish tactic could work if done quickly, but the one who touched him was too quick, and too sick of this little game. The attacker simply lifted the boy up by his neck before he could perform his little move.
PW knew the face well: his mienshao brother's rounded snout and crook of the head were unmistakable. Two decades stood between PW and Saffron, so the elder's maturity was mountains above of PW's. Even so, Saffron was often on the nine-year-old's tail, sometimes literally.
"Good morning." Saffron said sternly.
"Let me go!" He sputtered.
"Not until you admit what you did wrong!"
"Seniors first!" Saffron released him. The boy tried to rub the aches out of his neck. "Since when does that rule apply to the watchman's door?!"
Most the resident monks were respected trainers seeking simpler lives. A majority worked part-time so they may tend to the home as well, but the more dedicated sorts made up the watchmen, including the guards PW had watched. They used these doors in emergencies.
"Do you know what implications are, little brother?"
"Neither of us are supposed to go through this door, technically!"
Saffron thumped the insignia stitched into breast of his uniform: a gold circle made of dancing mienfoo. "No trainer paid for my stay. I can do what I want in my own home." He said.
"There's many other mienfoo here who can say the same thing, including me!"
"The difference is that we don't. That's what makes us better than them." Saffron neatened his uniform. The residents of this temple wore lavender shirts and grey pants fitting of a Shaolin monk. Their roles—human and pokemon alike—were to train their pokemon students to be honest, respectful, and highly skilled in combat. Saffron urged PW to keep these virtues for years to no avail. Overtime he gave up mercy, treating his younger brother however he felt, leading to petty spats like this nearly every time they met.
The mienshao snapped up PW's wrist and dragged him back inside. He shouted at all the students that did not leave their beds. "Do you think the gongs are for decoration?! Hurry your sorry asses up or I will ruin you!"
He banged his fist against bedposts, causing a panicked stampede. PW flinched endlessly. Unlike everyone else he had to be ready if Saffron chose to throw his fist at him.
The mienfoo witnessed one particular student, a young machop, stubbornly cling to his one measly bedsheet. Two seconds passed until Saffron caught up to him, then the machop's mattress spun three times after Saffron ripped it from underneath him and hurled it across the room. If there were stragglers before this, they weren't any afterward.
"Agh! Take it easy!" The machop cried. He quickly stood up and hurried by, covering his face.
"Your slow pace is unfair to everyone who pulls their weight!" Saffron shouted at the pokemon.
"Cool your heels, it is his second day!" PW pleaded.
He glared at PW. "He'll learn fast unlike you!"
All the students went through a different door. Unlike the leftmost door that PW opened, the door to the right led to a breezeway. At the right of this path was the prayer hall, and to the left, a drop that if one fell down, would pack said prayer hall. Towards the 2'o clock was a courtyard, and to the 10'o clock was the girl's barrack. Every student hurried to their position in the courtyard, a process that would take a couple minutes more. Once soon all the gongs would stop ringing. In the meantime Saffron knocked on the door to the girl's barrack.
"Mommy, sister!" He called. He then inhaled deeply, a softening neutral look now etched into his face. PW, meanwhile, made no attempt to hide his smile.
Two figures stood at the opened door: another mienfoo and mienshao. Like the brothers they ensured everyone else had left before they did. Penny was the mother. If she had the choice her children would bear names reflecting her most noble dreams. Fate often tried her. Milii was PW's twin sister. She would never change her own name. The little girl cared more about a person's character than the auspicious meaning of their name. Fate tried her, too.
No father was missing or dead or had left. In fact he slept not ten beds away from the brothers. Romantic relations were forbidden. Penny and he were not allowed to coexist therefore, and since she raised the children, he was indirectly banished from his own family. His own father was one of many people PW stumbled across rather than sought out. PW believed his father to be in good standing with the rest of his family; the boy certainly liked him. However he could not help but wonder why he did not greet him and Saffron in the mornings.
Saffron sheepishly ducked his head, holding his paws together. Penny rubbed his ears, uttering the many names a mother gave her cherished child. Milii head locked PW and spun him around. She giggled as he begged her to let his aching neck go, certainly annoying but with harmless intent. During the spin, her eyes locked with Saffron's. The spun stopped, she let go of PW, and stood straight. PW, wondering what happened, looked up at his mother to see if she had signalled Milii to stop. Instead he witnessed Saffron receive more affection from Penny in a minute than the boy might get in a month. Penny's hands dropped. "Good morning." She peeped quickly, and faintly, breaking eye contact with her younger son.
Saffron looked off to the side as well but for another reason. All gongs silenced. A younger monk at the courtyard waved them forward. Saffron took a final chance to jab at PW. "You are getting nothing today, kid!" He gleefully declared.
PW ignored the comment. The family split up as they headed for their spots on the courtyard.
The clay-topped courtyard resembled many soccer fields stitched into a square. Over a hundred mienfoo and mienshao, and the other species making up some of the students, stood in a perfect grid separated into three sections. The northern section was for the trainers' pokemon. All bipedal, as only that body shape was allowed. In the middle stood the meinshao and the southernmost section held the mienfoo.
Each morning Saffron and Penny watched Sun Chenjiu, the grandmaster, strut the same confident walk as he had done ages ago along Victory Road. He stopped in front of all the trainer's pokemon, standing between two massive absol statues guarding wide, wide steps. Those steps led up to a massive building behind him, the mess hall. He stood his feet a shoulder width apart, crossed his hands behind his back, and shouted a single word.
"Face!"
Every pokemon stood as if a general were present. In a sense one was. The specific posture varied for each specie but the point remained. Chains rattled as monks carrying lanterns and notepads weaved in and out of the grids, checking everyone like drill seargants. If one could not even stand correctly, then how could they fight? Saffron practiced for almost three decades. He was always out the eyes of the watchful monks. Each morning varied slightly, but after about a minute, all corrections had been made, and the morning exercise begun.
"Yi! Er! San! Si! Wu!"
The pokemon quickly formed one battle posture, then transition smoothly to the next as each number was called. They practiced these same kata, and the transitions between them, for exactly one hundred ten repetitions. It was as much a trial of patience as it was of routine. PW's concentration teetered at the best of times. His neck still throbbed from when Saffron grabbed it.
"PW! Pull your head up!" A monk said.
PW cursed his older brother and shaped up. All pokemon in the temple were required to know basic language so they may receive such feedback. The temple went a step further for their own pokemon, teaching them in the same classes as their children.
"Liu! Qi! Ba! Jiu! Shi!"
"PW! Neck up!"
"Again!" The grand-master continued. "Yi! Er! San! Si! Wu!"
Redoubling his efforts, PW held his head high and mentally locked it there.
"PW! No wiggling tails!"
The boy sighed. If it wasn't one thing it was another. Sadly, his frustration further distracted him. The numbers ruthlessly marched on. Another correction came, and another.
"Liu! Qi! Ba! Jiu! Shi!"
Finally, he heard those words.
"PW! Eight Arm Duel!"
In a small way the punishment comforted him. He did not have to concentrate so hard anymore. He failed. There was nothing left to achieve.
"Again! Yi! Er! San! Si! Wu!"
"Milii! Straighten that fist!"
PW snuffed the urge to look. His sister stood about eight positions away.
"Milii! You know what straight means!"
"Liu! Qi! Ba! Jui! Shi!"
PW so badly wished to look, to confirm what he was hearding. He got his wish a different way, when the monk shouted, with disappointment, "Milii! Eight Arm Duel!"

A half hour passes. The stances were finally through. To the left and the right of the courtyard were two massive gyms of fitting size and strength to contain two-dozen pokemon battles at once. All pokemon were given two minutes break before entering these gyms. PW hurried to a particular spot on the courtyard. He looked what felt to be one-hundred thousand times through the rushing crowds, then spotted him.
"Kinnow!" He called, realizing that calling him 'Dad' would be too vague. A mienshao turned his head towards PW and rushed up to him. He knelt down, addressing PW quickly. Precious seconds ticked away.
"Son! Did you and Shao Yaohao get to use the kitchen last evening?"
"Yes! In just one more day everyone can try them!"
Kinnow took up PW's hand and squeezed it, proud of his boy. Suddenly he looked over his younger son's shoulder, now seeing his older one. "Saffron! How are you doing?"
Even knowing they'd get just a few seconds, PW hated that time was stolen. Bad thoughts lingered to him but he fought back the each of them. Saffron's grabbed his brother's wrist tightly. PW again restrained those evil intentions, doing his best not to stomp or otherwise express his unyielding frustration. All anyone noticed was his breathing becoming harsh.
Saffron spoke. "Unfortunately your little son here is too good at causing trouble. He has to attend that duel again. So I would say: not so good."
"I heard…" Disappointment swelled in Kinnow's heart but the meinshao only showed respect, nodding towards them. "The field is clearing out now," indicating it was time to go, "take care of Penny."
Their father hurried towards the gym to the left, the gym for the older pokemon. PW's let his inner emotions burst like a covered pot of boiling water. He screamed towards sky and allowed himself to struggle in Saffron's grip.
"Shut up! You'll fight soon!"
Saffron quickly led PW to a gathering outside the rightmost gym. In the crowd was Milii as well as fifteen other failures. They stood outside the rightmost gym. All were soon to be unwilling participants in the Eight Arm Duel. Rather than hone battle mechanics, theory, and execution as a typical pokemon battle did, the duel was designed to force them to improve their stances and footwork. Each fighter was allowed only a human weapon. Without status moves, special attacks, or items to cover up their bad techniques with, they were strictly limited to their innate strength and agility—just as the humans were.
Nearly all of the washouts were fellow mienfoo—many trainers felt it unlucky to send in any other pokemon—but there were rare exceptions. One, as PW was soon too learn, was Qilak, the same machop that struggled to get out of bed.
"Seventeen to a four person battle!?" Qilak asked, outraged. Initially he paced nervously, knowing nothing of the duel other than what simple math implied. He counted sixteen others and found comfort in what little he pieced together. PW's arrival challenged all this.
Saffron whipped the machop in the stomach twice, the machop doubling over and coughing sharply. "One group will be of five!"
The mienshao divided them into these groups, mixing the experienced with the inexperienced. PW glanced at the shoji making up some of the walls of the gym. Fighting shadows danced a violent choreography. He wished he could sit and admire this accidental theater, but Saffron had finished, and PW's neck would strain anyway.
Looking around him, three pokemon stood at his front, right, and diagonal. Together they formed a square. Milii kneaded her paws, avoiding eye contact with everyone, trying not to be awkward. Qilak constantly peered at the other groups. He desperately hoped the fifth fighter did not join his. Augustine, a mienfoo, spoke to PW. PW's memory went hazy. He and Augustine were related but he could not recall the exact term. What does one call their mother's cousin's son'? Their first cousin? He definitely could not be the second, because as far as PW knew he only had the one.
"Hellooo! PW! Are you there? I said 'Itsa whole fam-li reeeeunyin!" He had spoken in a silly mockery of an American accent.
Augustine had waved his paw in PW's face to get his attention. PW slapped it away. "I heard!" The boy took one step back only for Augustine to step into his space again. PW hated this habit; his cousin liked to examine things with his nose too much.
"What are you in for?" Augustine asked.
"A world of hurt..."PW droned.
"Because?"
"Same as usual! I just don't get how everyone is so perfect all the time!"
Augustine's eyebrows feel flat; they could make a disappointed unibrow. PW stepped back and crossed his arms, once again creating distance, and this time forcing him to stay out his space.
"They see the sky from the bottom of a well!" Augustine added, referring to the human monks. "Jokes on them, this battle, 'box-fighting' shall be revealed!"
The others watched as Augustine struck dramatic poses. He mimed as if having a spear.
"Good luck." PW said.
"You could practice with me!"
"Our entire lives are practice."
"Shaos aren't made in one day." His sister said.
"Fooling around is not going to help. But what do I know," PW muttered with a defensive smile. He tapped his foot and murmured under his breath, the angered embers in his soul still yet to dissipate.
"Spaz," Augustine sought a more willing sparring partner. "Hey! Qilak! How many days have you been here?"
"Two! And that is if I count today!" He huffed, turning his head to the side, and cracking his knuckles.
"You're too new to be getting punished! You should have been given some leeway!"
PW chimed in. "Nope! Not here. If you suck you never get any leeway."
"But," his sister interjected, looking at PW directly, but speaking generally, "the upside is you can do crazy things because the duel is slower than battling! My brother is an expert at that!"
Gongs rung from the bellies of the gyms. Saffron quickly rushed by. "And you are an expert at coddling! Let's go."
The interior of the rightmost gym was expansive. Thick, pokemon-resistant dojo mats, many scrolls and weapons racks. Slams and throws and punches sounded out as pokemon battled each other. The shouting of black-belt trainers, and the swinging of industrial lights hung high above. A set of these lights towards an extreme end of the gym flickered after a nasty storm. The mat below these lights was where the duel would take place.
Saffron led his group of failures as a drill sergeant would, with a steady jog, and a motto. As Saffron's groups passed by the tens of other pokemon and trainers, everyone heard them recite one of many cheers.
"My people are my honor!"
"We are an army, and I am a solider!"
"My mind, my body, and my spirit are tools!"
"My mind, my body, and my spirit are also weapons!"
"Kindness is my highest honor!"
"But I am a solider!"
"If a nation stands against us! We will stand against that nation!"
"If Shenlong stands against us! We will stand against Shenlong!"
"If one stands, then I am that one!"
"Why?"
"Without my people I have no honor!"
"If I have no honor, I am a coward!"
The last two lines haunted PW.
Saffron sat them all in a line beside their dojo mat, with PW at the rightmost end. He constantly adjusted himself, fiddled with his tail—anything to delay himself from the boredom of doing nothing. Saffron spoke to two monks. Despite his long and admirable service to the temple, his ranking sat permanently below any monk old enough to sensibly marry. He negotiated with the monk who typically ran the duel, Quanxinfu. Saffron wanted him to let the mienshao judge this duel, arguing that as a pokemon he was a better judge of technique. After a time PW noticed Saffron bow. An agreement had been made. The man knew of Saffron's rampant zeal. Saffron could but had to be supervised.
PW soothed his worries by reminding himself that humans in general were fond of pokemon. They did not like to see them act in a manner counter to their favorable image of great power and friendliness. Quanxinfu ordered Saffron to address the students. He then requested another man to time the battles. This man was Li Gong. The three each had a role. Saffron took over as the judge of technique. Quanxinfu would ensure no pokemon became too vicious, especially Saffron. Li Gong took Saffron's usual role: coaching the fighters after duels. He would also tend to them, providing water and such.
With a silent nod, Saffron was given the go. He sat on the mat, facing his group, holding notes. "Some of you know exactly what is to happen. Some of you are fresh. You are all here for unique reasons but a common theme unites them all! Incompetence!" He shouted. "I have all the reasons here on this paper! Let us hope every of them is invalid by the end of this week!"
He stood up. "All stand! Prepare for your weapons!" Li Gong stood in front of a weapons rack with many non-lethal variants of Asian blades, spears, and so forth, and handed them off to PW one by one. The mienfoo then passed them leftward. Each pokemon watched their weapon roll down the conveyor belt of hands towards them. Many plans were hatched. None were shared. By the time all weapons were handed off, PW held his hands together. He could do this because he was left with nothing. Saffron deliberately placed PW at the beginning of the line, knowing the rack was exactly one weapon short of seventeen.
PW threw his cheek against the top of his shoulder, keeping his mouth shut. Suddenly, Milii sat her pair of tonfa into PW's lap and lowered her chin. She had disobeyed and was fully ready to face the consequences.
"You bastard!" Saffron shouted.
"Enough!" Quanxinfu held his hand out firmly, ordering the mienshao to behave.
"She gave her tonfa to him!"
"Was her fist not her issue?" The monk asked sternly. Saffron hesitantly nodded, ducking his head.
"Forgive me, sifu." Saffron took a deep breath. He clapped once. "Group one! Stand in a loose pentagon around me!" Once they did, the mienshao left his position and stood on the edge of the mat. It was this moment PW allowed himself to smirk.
"Sifu, and Mr. Gong, are you both ready?"
"We are," they said in unison, then glancing at each other.
"Then let the battle commence!"
The battle began violently and ended suddenly. In just shy of a minute, nearly one hundred and fifty different kicks, punches, dives, and so on had been performed. All heard massive clangs, groans of pain, and the shuffling of feet across the dojo mat. The winning pokemon was a hitmonchan. He kept his head low and absorbed hits with his boxing gloves, though this hardly mattered to Saffron. The Eight Arm Duel did not reward winners. It rewarded improvement and the hitmonchan made none.
The supposed winner was kicked to the bench, for hiding instead of fighting, whilst Saffron's chosen, a mienfoo who PW did not recognize, was hoisted up by the arm and paraded briefly. To dispel worries of specism, he explained his reasons to the hitmonchop, who accepted the news, but still held his suspicions.
The next group came to battle. PW winced. This next battle lasted not even ten seconds. Four mienfoo with swords. A stern reminder that even in practice, it never took long for oneself to hit the ground.
As the next battled commenced, PW took stock of his weapons once again. His generous sister bestowed two tonfa unto him. Qilak did not know what a podao was, let alone how to use it. Augustine attempted to juggle his meteor hammer—a long chain with weights at either end. Milii had patiently laced her fingers together. His eyes touched a ying-yang printed onto the law label for the dojo mat. No symbol could be more fitting for his siblings.
"Final group!" Saffron called. " Stand in position!" Suddenly Milii, Augustine and Qilak stood up. PW hurried with them. His heart thumped though his bones.
"Commence!"

– Battle! Eight Arm Duel –

The four held stances in their respective corners of the square. PW thought little about his conspecifics; he knew what mienfoo could do. Qilak was different. Incredible muscle built up his body. That muscle required time to move. He was not as quick as them. However, if he weathered the initial brawl, his raw power could become a serious challenge.
PW rushed towards Augustine and his meteor hammer. His theory was that his cousin would draw out their battle to practice his mysterious box-fighting. Augustine gripped and threw both weights towards each side of PW's head, more at his whiskers than his face. He suddenly snapped them backward by the chain. The weights now threatened to clap PW on the temples. Keeping cool, PW ducked under the chain, then spun on his heel, using the momentum to deliver a shovel hook into his foe's abdomen. His tonfa hit true, hurling Augustine into Qilak, who just barely dodged the flailing meteor hammer as well as Milii's follow-up low-kick. Augustine scrambled away before he became entangled in their fight.
"You are begging to get box-fought! Come over here!"
Augustine swung the weights wildly, advancing towards PW with steady sliding steps. PW held his ground, tonfa at the ready. Augustine abruptly slid his paws up the chain's ends, gripped the weights, and swung the chain instead, whipping it around like a lariat. PW he held his arms out, wrists and elbows slightly askew, and took a strong stance. Proper parries were apart of his genetics, but no training prepared him to block such an attack. He grew increasingly nervous, flinching when Augustine faked a strike with his metal whip. A true attack soon chased PW; the dense steel links snapped at his wrists so viciously his hands temporarily went limp, forcing him to drop his tonfa. Augustine, quicker than his cousin, attacked again. Now wielding the middle of the chain, he rushed towards PW and swung one weight down at his head. PW, treating this attack like a chop, sidestepped to the outward side of the weight and spun around, now facing the same direction Augustine headed, and pulled the racing chain forward. Augustine let go. That was all he needed to do. The other weight crashed into the back of PW's neck. He fell in a heap. His battle was through.
PW crawled to the sidelines. His face bunched up as he forced himself to sit up. Li Gong handed him an oran berry. PW looked up at the man. "What's the time?"
"Six seconds. Did you figure out what box-fighting is?" He asked.
"He didn't!" Augustine snickered. PW saw it in his eyes. Augustine was desperate to try it—and soon.
Milii and Qilak fought a battle of attrition. The machop's trainer never gave him weaponry. Therefore his movements with the podao were clumsy and aimless. Even so, they had only half of battle mat to use due to the other duel. His sloppy swings constantly forced Milii to dodge, killing her momentum. She fell back to one-at-a-time hits, but it would take many to take Qilak down.
When PW slammed into the mat, Qilak briefly glanced: a flinch. Milii could have used the opportunity hit him with her impression of a cross chop. However this fight was not a battle for her life; she did not need to punish every mistake. She instead took the chance to glance at her cousin as well. Augustine slowly approached. Qilak increased distance between him and Milii, using the threat of Augustine's swinging hammer to discourage Milii from pursuing further.
The final part of the duel went like lightning. Augustine, master of the meteor hammer, twirled and hopped wildly, swinging the weights. Like a ninetales that fanned her tails, he crafted a wide zone of punishment for anyone daring to touch his weights, and that zone went straight for Qilak. From the machop's view, the approaching hammers swung faintly diagonally, almost bearing down on him. Desperate to get it out the way, he ditched his weapon, and clenched his teeth. A loud thunder echoed as the sturdy machop caught the weight, wincing, and yanked it. This hurled a hopping, ranging mienfoo towards him. Suddenly, a flurry of kicks and chops came his way. The mienfoo smacked him a number of times, up until the machop felt a sporadic burst of adrenaline and quickly found himself able to keep pace.
Loud cracks of colliding fists and muscle broke out in their brawl. Milii watched closely. During the entire ordeal Augustine hopped between exactly four different points. Qilak quickly caught onto this. He rushed to one of the spots. Augustine tried to adjust, but his rampant attack tired him out. Knowing this, he recklessly twisted himself around as he hit the ground, trying to land a powerful knifehand, but only managed to quite literally throw the match. Qilak simply low-kicked Augustine, tripping him. He grabbed the mienfoo's ankles and threw him towards Milii. She caught her cousin, pinned him, and his fight was over. Li Gong handed Augustine fresh water. After thanking the monk, he tapped PW, offering said water. "I see you still rub your neck!"
"Thank you." The water relieved a little pain. "Was that box-fighting?"
He smiled. The cousin turned towards PW small amount, again leaning his head too close to PW, invading his space. "Box-fighting is my way of ensuring that I always stay in motion on battlefield!" Go away, PW said in his head. "I thought when you first hit me I was done! You're normally so fast, what were you thinking of doing instead? PW! Did you hear me?"
PW harshly shoved Augustine back by the nose. "You and these damn questions are one of the reasons why I consider—"
Li Gong quickly pulled PW away by the shoulder. PW was made to sit a little ways behind behind the rest of the group, enough so that he no longer felt any body heat, only the chilly air. He rubbed the bridges of his snout, feeling sickly pangs swim across his skin and inside his bones. The pains of sparring crept up to him, sure, but his chest used to not feel tight. Day after day, he was embarrassed, and the dreaded anticipation of shame had woven into him so well that his nervous system accounted for not only physical pain, but mental pain as well. Now in addition to aching muscles, he suffered an aching heart. Despite his typing, PW was only a boy, he expressed his sorrow through little mienfoo tears. It was a plea: he desperately, secretly hoped a monk would pity and comfort him, but this was not to happen. Buckets of tears shed each day from pain. His were not special.
Bringing his eyes up from his arms, just his eyes, because his neck hurt so much, he looked towards his sister. He then realized something. Milii took rest while Qilak and Augustne fought. She had also snapped up PW's fallen tonfa. Instilled with new energy, she took a risk and charged Qilak. She twirled high into the air and slammed down on his blocking arm with them. She traded turns kicking and parrying and side stepping with him, punishing any mistake with lighting quick backhands and flick-kicks to that same arm. Qilak's muscles never tired but they did feel pain. The machops' non-dominant arm was being smacked into oblivion. He traded arms, but this forced him to battle with his non-dominant fist and foot, since he needed to mirror his stances now.
Milii kicked his knee. He brought it too close to her whilst transitioning stances. He stumbled, opening him up to her finishing move. In one fluid motion, she knocked him backward by sending both tonfa to his solar plexus, straddled his chest once he fell, and delivered five powerful blows to his forehead.
"Halt!" Quanxinfu shouted.
By the time he finished speaking, another six blows landed. Qilak's battle was through. Milii helped him up. She may have stood when others fell, but that did not make a winner in the Eight Arm Duel. "We train such vicious pokemon!" Quanxinfu laughed boisterously. "Saffron! Who you believe has shown the most improvement?"
"Qilak!"
The machop looked up, stars in his eyes. Saffron tapped on his notepad "Augustine's risky tactics are dull against other specie! PW lost because he flinched as usual, and Milii should not be here! But Qilak went toe-to-toe with two reasonably good fighters and held! Therefore he wins!"
Saffron went up to the beaten machop. He was raised up, bruises and all, to the claps and cheers of the others. PW sucked in a breath as he tried to mentally push through the window he viewed life through. He focused on the other battles, not a single of the pokemon or humans turning their heads once to them. The never paid attention to these little duels. They were not supposed to, he knew that, but his aggressive thoughts preyed on anything.
In truth a small fantasy strolled into his thoughts anytime he became too upset. It came then left, much like a flock of mucrow flowing from one tree to another. What if he got up one morning and ran right down the temple's steps? He'd be out, just for a moment, and take a jog around the perimeter. No tasks, no worries, just him and the serene ignorance of living in the moment.
"Brother!" Milii called. She tugged on his hand. "Don't sit around so long, you've got to check on your mooncakes before the kitchen closes!"