Chapter 16 — An Invincible Rival ?

The sun hung high over the Battle Chateau, its rays glinting off the placid surface of the lake that encircled the open-air battleground. The elegant gardens and serene setting of the castle grounds seemed a stark contrast to the simmering emotions among the guests. An electric-filled atmosphere enveloped the arena as spectators gathered to witness the upcoming duel, whispering between themselves.

Tierno and Astrid took their positions at opposite ends of the large platform, their eyes locked in a fierce stare. The tranquil water belied the tension that crackled through the air, each ripple reflecting the intensity of the assembled crowd's anticipation. Grant, the appointed referee, stood in the middle of the arena with his loyal Archeops by his side. The ancient pterodactyl watched the proceedings with a keen eye, ready to intervene should tempers flare as they had before. The Gym Leader raised a hand to signal the start of the match, his voice carrying clearly over the lake.

"Each trainer will be allowed to use two Pokémon," he announced most solemnly. "There is no time limit, and substitutions are permitted. The match will end when either trainer's Pokémon are unable to fight. Combatants, prepare your first Pokémon."

Tierno stepped forward, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. "Wartortle, go !" he called, releasing his loyal partner from its Poké Ball. "I'm counting on you bro, pull out all the stops !" The blue turtle emerged, landing gracefully on the platform and staring confidently at the opposing end. Water swirled around its robust form, a mirror of its master's resolve.

Astrid smirked, her gaze briefly flitting to her ace soldier which sat calmly beside her. "Sending in Absol would be far too easy. It would take down your pathetic pet without breaking a sweat," she declared confidently, her voice dripping with disdain. "No, my other warriors also deserve some fun. And against your ridiculous turtle, I have the perfect tormentor."

With a flourish, she tossed her own Poké Ball aloft. It burst open in a flash of light, revealing an imposing Heatmor. The large, bipedal anteater stood tall, its flowing-lava-colored body emanating blaze and its long brown claws glinting menacingly. Flames licked the air from its proboscis, adding a dramatic flair to its intimidating entrance.

Tierno clenched his fists, understanding the message Astrid intended to send by choosing a fire-type Pokémon against his water-type. It was a clear attempt to humiliate him, to show that she could best him even with a type disadvantage. "She wants to make a spectacle," Tierno muttered under his breath. But he knew his Wartortle was strong and resilient, and he was determined not to let Astrid's arrogance get the best of him. "Never mind, we'll give her a run for her money, eh pal ?"

The nimble turtle gave a thumbs-up in agreement, his eyes riveted on his aggressive enemy. Heatmor's expression was as fierce as its trainer's reputation, its eyes holding a menacing glint as it sized up Wartortle. However, the intimidation attempt didn't work. Tierno's partner didn't falter ; he met its opponent's gaze with an unyielding spirit, ready to fight regardless of the odds stacked against it.

Jude, keen on supporting his friend, secured a good spot from which he could keep a wary eye on the whole confrontation. As he settled into his position, he was suddenly approached by a visibly distressed Mr. Wintersea. Frank's usual composed demeanor was replaced by agitation as he hurried over to Jude, his brow furrowed in frustration. "Are you all right, sir ?"

"Not really, alas, I'm about to go mad," Frank confessed as he came up beside Jude, keeping his voice low. "Every time I have to step away from Miss Hunter to handle a phone call or attend to my executive duties, she finds a way to stir up trouble. Just yesterday, she was caught on camera picking an argument with Miss Viola, and now, here she is again, provoking someone else. It feels like babysitting a rambunctious kid, which isn't supposed to be part of my job obligations."

Jude sighed in understanding, his eyes never leaving the arena where Tierno was preparing for the match. "That's Astrid for you," he replied stiffly. "I've known her to act like this ever since I've met her, and it seems to have only gotten worse. My only hope is that now, with her sponsorship and being in the spotlight, she might tone down her murderous tendencies."

Mr. Wintersea let out an awkward wince, the corners of his mouth tightening. "I hope so, for the sake of our brand image. Latias Airlines doesn't endorse or support any behavior that pushes Pokémon battling to the brink of lethal action. It's bad for everyone involved."

Jude glanced at Frank, sensing the genuine concern the representative felt over the situation. "Don't worry too much. Grant's refereeing the match, and he seems like a measured person. I'm sure he'll step in if things start to get out of hand. And in the worst case, I'm ready to act too."

The talent seeker looked towards Grant, who was standing tall in the arena, his prehistoric companion at his side—a visual reassurance of control and authority. "May the gods hear you, young man," he implored, managing a small, grateful smile at the Sharp. Despite his anxieties, he couldn't help but feel drawn into the upcoming fierce clash, a testament to the complex, compelling world of Pokémon competition that he was unwillingly part of. "A seasoned Gym Leader being there as supervisor does put me at ease a bit."

Jude, meanwhile, rooted silently for Tierno, hoping his pal could keep his cool and prove his worth against Astrid's defiance. The conversation paused as the audience's murmurs grew into cheers and jeers, the duel about to commence. Jude and Frank turned their full attention to the platform, where Grant raised his hand to give the starting signal. "Ready, steady, begin !"

Tierno initiated the fray by giving his first instruction. "Wartortle, unfurl your Water Gun !" he screamed with a steady voice. The faithful turtle Pokémon responded instantly, shooting a powerful stream of water towards the ardent anteater.

Astrid, smirking, watched as her Pokémon displayed a surprising tactic. The fire-type creature tore a slab of concrete from the arena floor, hoisting it as a makeshift shield against the incoming attack. The water splashed against the concrete, sending sprays into the air but failing to reach Heatmor. "You really expected to beat us with a silly frontal strike ? How naïve," scoffed the blonde, joined by her Absol's mocking grunts.

Undeterred, Tierno quickly adapted his strategy. "Wartortle, Rapid Spin now !" he shouted. The turtle tucked into its shell and spun at high speed, hurtling towards the anteater like a blue blur. With a crash, the whirling projectile smashed through the concrete barrier, but Heatmor, agile despite its appearance, leaped aside, dodging the impact with dizzying velocity.

Astrid commanded her next move with a fierce grin. "Wipe him out with Thunder Blades !" The anteater's claws shimmered with an yellowish aura, slashing towards Wartortle as it emerged from its sturdy shell. Tierno's practice with his Pokémon in breakdancing-inspired tricks paid off, as the turtle nimbly evaded the electric assaults. Swinging to the side, then back-flipping over another horizontal strike, Wartortle used its tail to execute another flip, avoiding each of Heatmor's electrified swipes.

"Wow, I've never seen a Pokémon move so fluidly," exclaimed Frank, flabbergasted.

"This is Tierno's personal training touch, he turns his Pokémon acrobatic enough to become virtually elusive," Jude explained. "Good job buddy, keep it up."

Recognizing a brief opening in the enemy's defenses, Tierno seized the moment. "Aqua Tail, quick !" Wartortle's tail glowed blue, surrounded by aquatic energy. With a graceful pirouette, it struck out like a whip, smacking Heatmor squarely in the face. The anteater recoiled wildly, groaning in displeasure. Encouraged by this successful critical hit, the dancer called for a repeat. "Great ! Again, you'll get it !"

With a swift somersault, the brave turtle attempted to hammer its tail down again, but this time his adversary was ready. The fire-type Pokémon caught Wartortle's tail, using its own strength to hurl the turtle flying through the arena. Wartortle skidded across the platform, disoriented from the throw. Astrid, sensing a turn of events in her favor, wasted no time. "Fun's over, Electro Choc !" she ordered. Heatmor's proboscis sparked ominously before releasing a large, crackling sphere of lighting that barreled down towards the vulnerable turtle.

The sizzling orb hit its mark, enveloping Wartortle in a bright, searing light. The water-type Pokémon staggered, its body twitching from the electric spasms. He had trouble staying on his feet, but he refused to back down. He would stand up to his fearful enemy to the bitter end. Tierno's heart sank as he watched his beloved soldier struggle. He understood his anger at suddenly being weakened when he was on the verge of triumph, but his safety came first. "Don't, you're too wounded to go on. Sometimes it's okay to give up !" he tried to warn him, conscious of what would result if he stubbornly persisted.

Astrid sneered at the futile effort. "Still playing tough, huh ? Fine, I'll make sure you stop trying." Displaying her merciless nature, she issued her last command. "Let's see how you handle THIS. Heatmor, finish him with Wood Hammer !" The anteater's fist glowed with a vibrant, luminous green aura as it drew back, then surged forward, delivering a devastating uppercut. The power behind the move was immense, sending Wartortle soaring through the air, well beyond the bounds of the battlefield. The poor turtle spun helplessly, its body limp from the punch.

As the audience gasped, Grant's Archeops took flight with incredible speed. Before Wartortle could crash down and sustain further injury, the prehistoric bird caught him in mid-air, gently breaking his fall with skilled precision. It then carried the stunned Pokémon back to the platform, where it was clear to all that he could no longer continue the fight. Tierno rushed over, his concern etched deeply on his face as he checked on his partner. Grant, maintaining his composure, reassured him, "Don't worry, the Battle Chateau has excellent medical facilities. We'll get Wartortle the treatment he needs right away."

Two stretcher-bearers quickly arrived, lifting the incapacitated turtle and carrying him off for healing. Astrid's jubilant expression turned to irritation upon observing the mixed reactions to her decisive victory. She had expected a standing ovation from the whole public, but it was a long way off. While some applauded her, others murmured unflatteringly, questioning the necessity of such a supercharged attack against an already faltering opponent. "I'm sure you did it purposely, you heartless bitch !" snapped Tierno, utterly irked by this excess of brutality.

"A Pokémon bout is for fighting, sissy. I'm not here to thread beads," the blonde contradicted spitefully, approved by her ardent anteater who nodded and grunted in self-satisfaction. "If you snivel as soon as it gets too violent you have no business in this tournament."

A loud roar from Archeops called the two trainers back to order before another argument ignited, and the duel could resume. Grant's voice raised to announce subsequent instructions. "Astrid, you've won this first round and now have the choice of keeping this Pokémon or selecting a second one. Tierno, please choose your last Pokémon."

Tierno took a deep breath, summoning his resolve. "Fine. Noivern, it's your turn. Do your best, pal !" With a Poké Ball throw, he released his trusty flying companion. The draconic bat Pokémon emerged with a determined screech, his wings spread wide, ready to avenge his fallen teammate.

Astrid paused for a moment, considering her options. Then, with a chilling smile, she recalled Heatmor. "I have a special foe for you," she said deviously. She launched another Poké Ball into the arena, revealing her new pick—Trevenant. A ghostly tree Pokémon materialized, its presence daunting. Its branches looked like twisted horns, and its single glaring red eye exuded an eerie menace. Trevenant's appearance sent a shiver through the onlookers. It was a creepy and formidable Pokémon, reflecting Astrid's penchant for fearsome creatures. She seemed to revel in the intimidating effect her warriors exuded.

Grant raised his hand, signaling the start of the next combat. Noivern immediately took to the sky, ready to confront the ghostly adversary below him. "Kick off the ball with your Dragon Pulse !" ordered his trainer, his voice echoing across the lake. The giant bat responded by charging bluish energy into his large, round teardrop-shaped ears and then releasing it as a mighty laser beam aimed straight at Trevenant.

Astrid, ever quick to react, countered swiftly. "Retaliate with your Solar Beam !" The spectral tree's unique eye glowed ominously before firing a potent green burst of light. The two attacks collided in the center of the battlefield, creating a spectacular display of thunderous glare. For a moment, the powers seemed evenly matched, but then Trevenant's blast outclassed the Dragon Pulse, swallowing it whole and striking Noivern with great force.

The black bat was propelled backward, but managed to regain control and stay aloft with a reverse pirouette, showcasing his aerial prowess. "Buck up, buddy, this is only the beginning," Tierno encouraged him. "If raw strength isn't enough, you'll get it by speed !"

Without missing a beat, Astrid pressed her advantage. "In your dreams, amateur. Trevenant, bring them back to earth with Phantom Force !" she shouted. The cyclopean tree's branches turned dark and ghostly, stretching out like sharp claws toward its flying opponent.

Despite the daunting threat, Noivern's agility shone through. He dodged and weaved through the air, avoiding the spectral appendages with elegant twirls and swirls. "In my dreams, you said ? Those where your moldy piece of wood is slower than a granny ?" Tierno quipped, smugly giving her a taste of her own arrogance. As soon as his partner succeeded in closing the gap with his enemy, he seized his chance for a frontal approach. "C'mon bro, it's Dual Wingbeat time !"

The dragon-bat swooped down, striking Trevenant with his sturdy wings in a swift, circular motion. The jarring impact sent the ghostly tree staggering off, causing it to plant its roots into the ground to avoid stumbling. "Not so cocky now, are ya ? Don't stop pal, keep hitting it !" Buoyed by a confident boost, the black Pokémon threw in another charge, poised to use its scaly tail like a whip.

But just as the blow was about to make contact, Noivern suddenly froze in mid-air, his form rigid and unable to move. Tierno's trusting smile shifted to a bemused grimace, equally astonished and alarmed. His aerial companion was similarly frightened, unable to cope with the loss of control over his own body. "Dang it, what the heck is going on ?!"

This question was also on the minds of many spectators. From the crowd's reaction of disbelief, it was clear that something unexpected had occurred. "Maybe a psychic trick, or some hypnosis," suggested Mr. Wintersea, scratching his head warily.

Jude, watching closely from the sidelines, quickly understood what had happened. "No, it's something else. Look at the ground, sir," he started to clarify. "Noivern was paralyzed as soon as his shadow touched Trevenant's. That's how Trevenant is holding him petrified, it controls him through its shadow."

"Really ? Impressive, I didn't know Pokémon could do that. I certainly recognize Miss Hunter's training ability, she's amazing," Frank replied admiringly.

Astrid's wicked laugh rang out across the arena, cruel and triumphant. "You jumped into my net with both feet," she declared with glee. "My fighter's hidden talent is trapping shadow. By flying, Noivern naturally enlarged his shadow, making it easier for us to ensnare him. I never do anything randomly, and my strategy was already defined before our match started, right from the instant you chose your Pokémon." She turned to her warrior, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Trevenant, end this with Poltergeist !"

Spectral flames erupted around Noivern, draining his energy and causing him to cry out in pain. The vibrant dragon Pokémon struggled against the ghostly assault but soon succumbed, his strength sapped completely. With a final pained cry, the bat fainted and plummeted toward the ground, defeated. As Noivern hit the arena floor, the audience stayed silent, the finality of the duel settling in. Astrid had won decisively, her tactics and Trevenant's ghostly powers proving too much for Tierno and his valiant partner.

The atmosphere was heavy with mixed emotions as Grant, performing his duties as the official referee, announced Astrid's absolute victory. His congratulations were professional, though his tone lacked warmth—a reflection of his first impression of the brash young trainer. Tierno, more concerned for his Pokémon than the loss, quickly knelt beside Noivern. The dragon, though visibly exhausted, showed signs of resilience and didn't appear to have sustained serious injuries.

"Archeops, take our brave guest to the Pokémon hospital," ordered the Gym Leader, assuming that Noivern was a bit too weighty and roomy for human stretcher-bearers. With gentle care, the multicolored bird lifted the bat effortlessly, quickly transporting him towards the castle wing designated for medical care. As Tierno watched his warrior being carried away, Grant approached him to offer a few words of comfort. "You fought well. Don't let this defeat discourage you, it was a splendid match."

Jude joined them, nodding in agreement. "Yes, he's right, you did everything you could. Noivern and Wartortle were incredible out there."

Despite their support, Tierno felt a pang of disappointment. Before he could respond, Astrid interjected with a sneer. "Splendid ? More like pathetic. Better luck next time, as the losers say," she mocked, unable to resist one last jab. "Though with your poor skills, I doubt there will be one. You should do yourself a favor and quit the competition before you embarrass yourself any worse."

Her slurs were sharp, intended to wound, but before Jude or Grant could rebuke her, Frank approached the group. His expression was stern as he addressed his brand ambassador directly. "That's enough, Miss Hunter ! Stop mistreating everyone around you, this unsportsmanlike attitude is unworthy of a major player. I'm tired of your constant misanthropy, and if you continue, I'll see to it that your sponsorship contract is nullified."

Astrid chuckled, her violet eyes flashing defiantly. "You ? Cancel my contract ? You're not high-ranking enough to pass such decisions, so don't make threats you can't keep."

Frank's face hardened. Used to tough bargaining, he wasn't intimidated, least of all by a vain youngster who could be his daughter. "Believe me, I will employ whatever means necessary if you persist with this behavior. I've been easy-going so far, but don't tax my patience too much."

The tension between them crackled, and for a moment, it seemed Astrid might retaliate further. However, with an upset look, she called back her Trevenant and leaved, grumbling under her breath. With Absol by her side, the ace trainer headed towards a group of journalists waiting for her, eager for more photos and interviews. Tierno felt a wave of gratitude towards Frank. He'd initially dismissed him as an insensitive commercialist, but was relieved to discover that he'd been wrong. "Thanks, sir, for standing up for us," he said earnestly. "And sorry for yelling at you earlier, after all you were just doing your job."

"No offense taken." Mr. Wintersea nodded, his gaze lingering on Astrid's retreating figure. "It's also part of my job to ensure our athletes uphold the values of Latias Airlines. I admit I'm not the most altruistic soul, but exaggerated sadism disgusts me. I apologize for any distress she caused." With the confrontation over, the small group slowly dispersed, each processing the events in their own way. Jude clapped hid friend on the back, a silent show of support as they rejoined the crowd of spectators.

High above the lush gardens of the Battle Chateau, in a secluded window alcove, two figures stood observing the duel below with keen interest. The first was Lord Shabboneau, the owner of the vast estate. He was a short man, clad in a distinguished red coat and sporting a long, meticulously groomed mustache. Though the owner of the manor, Shabboneau's connections to the world of Pokémon tournaments was tangential at best. His true passion and source of tremendous wealth was his sprawling winemaking business, the largest in Kalos, which had kept his family in prestige for generations.

Next to him stood Duke Wikstrom, a stark contrast in both stature and attire. The duke was a towering figure, armored as if ready for war, his large sword bearing witness to his martial background. Unlike his colleague, he was deeply entrenched in the Pokémon battles, his position in the prestigious Elite 4 cementing his influence. The creation of the Battle Chateau as a private club for topnotch trainers was Wikstrom's brainchild, a project that married his love for chivalric clashes with his aristocratic flair for exclusivity and grandeur.

Though both men retained their nobility titles, they wielded no real authority in the current political landscape. Since the Supreme Monarch had taken control of Kalos, power resided with the military, not with the aristocracy that had once governed. However, Shabboneau maintained his prestigious aura through his successful vineyard, while Wikstrom's place in the Elite 4 kept his family's fame alive. "It's always fascinating to see new talent emerge," the duke remarked, captivated by Astrid's performance.

The mustachioed lord nodded, "Indeed, this young lady is a prodigy like few others. If she qualifies as a finalist, she could offer you a challenge worthy of you. This sanctuary has become a focal point for such passionate competitors, to think it might have disappeared if our ancestors hadn't chosen mutiny."

Wikstrom's gaze hardened slightly as he thought back to the history that had led them here. Their shared past was marked by a significant betrayal that had occurred three centuries ago. Their families, along with Siebold's, had turned against the former King of Kalos, siding with the current ruler to help seize power. This treachery, born out of a fundamental disagreement over political games, had allowed them to retain their status while other noble houses were obliterated alongside the deposed sovereign.

"Although it would be easy to condemn them outright from today's perspective, our ascendants made difficult choices during the Supreme Monarch's incursion," reflected the duke aloud. "Aligning with the conquerors rather than the old king ensured our survival, even if the true supremacy now lies in meritocracy. Blood ties alone won't suffice anymore to remain at the top."

Shabboneau adjusted his coat, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Absolutely, those were tumultuous times. My ancestors' vineyards might have been razed had they not sided with the invaders, as well as this century-old domain. Now, they thrive, and this castle serves as a different kind of battlefield."

The pair withdrew from the high window and made their way back to the lord's private salon, a room of old-world elegance and quiet reflection. It was a refined place—a vast lounge adorned with plush armchairs, and a bar stocked with several bottles of rare and expensive wines, ample evidence of Shabboneau's successful viticultural ventures. Upon entering, the edifice's host bent down to affectionately stroke his pet Furfrou, who had eagerly trotted to greet his master. The moment was a brief interlude of domestic calm that contrasted sharply with the undercurrents of tension that seemed to follow Wikstrom.

Despite his stoic demeanor, the duke was far from serene. The reality of his future weighed heavily on him. Once a resplendent figure due to his forebears' historical grandeur, now his role in the Elite 4 was the last vestige of his family's dwindling prestige. Indeed, this august rank was all that kept him tethered to Kalos' upper echelons of authority. A few years ago, financial pressures had forced him to sell his ancestral castle to the government, a decision that grieved him deeply as the huge residence had been a symbol of his lineage's enduring legacy. Regrettably, it was far too costly to service.

His honorific position was also his fragile lifeline, and losing it would be too painful. His colleague Siebold was in a similar predicament, having also sold his historic estate which had been converted into a museum to attract tourists. Just like him, Siebold's leadership and privileges hung by the tenuous thread of his Elite 4 post. However, his peer's situation was somewhat mitigated by his daughter Kimia, a promising trainer poised to succeed him and act on his behalf.

Wikstrom, on the other hand, had no such successor. His children had opted for medical and engineering careers rather than Pokémon battling. The rise of new wunderkinds like Astrid only heightened his sense of insecurity, as each match could potentially threaten his place among the political rulers. Shabboneau, sensing his partner's disquiet, poured them both a glass of his finest wine, a rich, deep red vintage that had aged to perfection.

He handed one to the duke with a reassuring smile. "You must remain valiant, my friend," the lord advised, his voice calm and steady. "You have always fought fiercely to keep your job, and you have succeeded thus far. I have every confidence that you will continue to do so if you maintain your resolve."

Wikstrom accepted the glass, his gaze lingering on the rich, deep color of the scarlet liquid. "Merci, but I feel the winds of change are knocking wildly at my door, and they are not asking for permission to enter," he replied, his tone tinged with gratitude yet underscored by a lingering worry. "A long time ago, my house was a key military asset for the Supreme Monarch, and today it will not hesitate to replace me if it finds better alternatives. Alliances never remain eternal if one party loses its superbness."

Though he refused to admit it, the duke was perhaps about to suffer the same treatment as his forebears had inflicted on the fallen sovereign. An irony of fate that Shabboneau was careful not to spell out, no matter how obvious it was. "In that case, show it that you're still the best option, just as you always have been," prodded the lord, taking a sip of his precious red nectar. "Your family's greater strength is adaptation ; it's in your blood."

Wikstrom looked into his wine glass, the reflection of the liquid shimmering with a sense of foreboding. He knew Shabboneau was right, but he also felt the weight of history pressing down upon him. The echoes of a fading era whispered in the corners of his mind, a reminder that even the mightiest must eventually yield to the passage of time.

"May my ancestors hear you, mon ami." They clinked glasses in a silent toast to resilience and the enduring spirit of their camaraderie. The salon, with its relics of a grander past and the quiet comfort of a summer evening, seemed to hold them in a gentle embrace, offering a brief respite from the relentless pace of change.

The Pokémon Center was abuzz with activity, but amidst the usual hustle, a particular moment of reunion brought smiles to those who witnessed it. Tierno, his face lit with relief and joy, welcomed his two companions as they rushed out of the hospital wing, fully healed and bursting with energy. Their trainer greeted them warmly, scooping them both into his arms. "I'm so proud of both of you," he beamed, his voice choked with emotion. "We'll work harder, become stronger, and next time, we'll show Astrid what we're really made of !" His two buddies shouted with approval.

A few steps behind, Jude observed the heartfelt reunion. A smile played on his lips, happy for his friend's relief and the Pokémon's recovery. Yet, his thoughts were clouded with concerns about Astrid. He had watched the crowd's reaction during her battles—fear, unease, and distance where there should have been applause and admiration. Her prowess was undeniable, but her aggressive methods overshadowed her skill, alienating the very spectators who should have been her fans.

As Jude pondered, he couldn't help but wonder why Astrid chose to act so cruelly. With her unrivalled skill, she could have been a unifying figure, a role model. What drove her to such harshness ? He refused to believe she was inherently malevolent ; something must have happened to shape her into who she was today. But what ? He shook his head slightly, unsure of the answer, only that it was traumatic enough to push her to such extremes.

His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Wintersea, who approached with a satisfied expression. "Ah, I thought I'd find you here. I'm glad to see your Pokémon are doing well, thank heaven things are looking up," he exclaimed as he reknotted his tie. With night already cloaking the sky, Frank got an idea and addressed the duo. "Listen, since it's getting late, I'd like to offer you both a room here at the Battle Chateau for the night, as a small gesture to make up for Astrid's behavior."

Tierno, still buoyed by his pals' restoration, started to shake his head politely. "That's very nice of you, but we don't want to impose—"

The executive waved off the concern with a businesslike yet fair smile. "No imposition at all. Besides, at this hour, all the hotels in Camphrier town are probably fully booked. Please, I insist. It's the least Latias Airlines can do."

After a brief discussion, both trainers agreed, appreciative of the generous offer. "Thank you, sir. We accept," Jude said, nodding with gratitude.

The two friends followed Frank through the grand halls of the castle, eventually arriving at a luxurious guest suite. The room was elegantly furnished, with cozy beds and an inviting atmosphere. "Ey, it looks cool here," Tierno enthused. "I've got a feeling we're gonna nap like kings. Guys, enjoy !" Wartortle and Noivern immediately made themselves at home, each finding the ideal spot for a relaxing slumber. Jude released his three Pokémon to join in, the place being more than big enough to hold them all.

Meanwhile, in an adjoining suite, the atmosphere was far less festive. Astrid paced back and forth like a caged animal, her mood as stormy as the evening sky outside. Her Absol, in stark contrast, lay peacefully asleep on the king-size bed, undisturbed by the turmoil enveloping its trainer.

Astrid clenched her fists, each step driven by anger and frustration. The day's events replayed over and over in her mind, fueling her growing resentment. She had delivered exactly what the spectators came for—thrilling Pokémon battles, a display of strength and mastery that should have been celebrated. She executed her role to perfection, and yet, she was met with judgmental stares that labeled her a villain, and an audience that showed what she perceived as cowardly compassion for weaklings like Tierno. This limp pity for useless losers made her blood boil.

"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with scorn. "Cowards, all of them. They crave the spectacle, and then they recoil at the reality of it."

Even Frank, her supposed supervisor, had dared to chastise her, trying to keep up a good public image by playing the touchy feely citizen. His pandering action had felt like a betrayal, siding with those she saw as lesser—those unable or unwilling to reach the heights she had. "He'll pay," she whispered fiercely.

Astrid's heart hardened as she recalled her own past, a time when she was the one suffering, vulnerable and in pain due to her parents' abuse. Back then, there had been no one to plead her cause, no sympathetic crowds or protectors. Her hardships had been ignored, her misery unacknowledged, because there was nothing to gain from showing her support.

"Where were these so-called compassionate souls when I needed them ?" She paced faster, her voice rising in a mix of pain and fury. "Nowhere ! They're all hypocrites—only showing kindness when it suits them, when the cameras are watching. Their empathy is artificial, selective."

The realization stung with an intensity that matched her resolve. In her mind, the earth was full of pretenders, folks who donned masks of goodness but withdrew them when no longer convenient. But not her. Astrid prided herself on her authenticity, no matter how harsh. She was unapologetic about who she was—strong, straightforward, and uncompromising. She didn't pretend to be something she wasn't. She was real in a society full of phonies.

Astrid paused by the window, her silhouette a shadow against the backdrop of the illuminated city. The lights seemed to mock her, each twinkle a reminder of the world that had failed her. But she would show them. She would rise to a position of unassailable power, and all those who had wronged her would face the consequences, her relatives topping the list. One day, they would all pay. And until that day came, she would continue to fight, to climb, and to conquer, never mind what anyone thought of her.

In that moment, she was alone, isolated by her ambitions and her disdain for the hypocrisy around her. But rather than weaken her, this isolation only sharpened her resolve. "I'll reach the Elite 4, and I'll wrest the justice that's been denied me." This was her promise to herself—a promise driven by a lifetime of being misunderstood and underestimated.

To be continued