Chapter 5: Growth
The sun dipped lower in the sky as trainers streamed in and out of the Pokemon Center, their voices blending into a vibrant murmur of excitement. Ash moved with his hands casually tucked into his pockets, while Misty trailed just behind him. Her eyes darted around, edgily scanning the throng of trainers, her lips curved into a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. There was a tautness to her posture, a subtle stiffness that Ash noticed but chose not to comment on. It wasn't his problem; if Misty had an issue and wanted to speak about it, that was up to her. Likewise, it was her choice if she didn't.
They reached the counter where Nurse Joy was engrossed in her work, fingers flying over the keyboard. At their approach, she looked up, her face lighting up with the familiar, welcoming smile.
"Good afternoon! How can I help you two today?"
Ash took a step closer to the counter. "We're here to sign in for the tournament. Got our reservations a while back." They both slid their IDs over the counter.
Nurse Joy's smile widened as she nodded, her fingers already dancing across the keys to bring up their information. "Ah, yes. Ash Ketchum and Misty Waterflower. I see your reservations here. Everything looks in order," she confirmed, glancing up at them. "You're all set for the tournament. Would you like me to check your pokemon for you while you're here?"
Once they both accepted their IDs back, Ash shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Nah, they're in top shape. I made sure of that."
Beside him, Misty shifted slightly, her hesitation palpable. "Actually, Nurse Joy, could you check mine? Just to be sure?"
Nurse Joy nodded. "Of course, Ms. Waterflower. It's always good to be prepared."
She extended her hand, ready to take Misty's pokeballs. As Misty handed them over, Ash leaned against the counter, watching her. He didn't say anything, but the slight arch of his brow spoke volumes. Misty avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the empty space that used to be occupied by Nurse Joy. The moment stretched longer than he expected it to.
"You sure you don't want to squeeze in some last-minute training?" His tone was light but carried an edge of teasing that was hard to miss.
Misty shook her head, her foot tapping restlessly against the tiled floor. The minutes stretched, heavy with the weight of her unspoken thoughts. Frankly, Ash was growing a bit tired of her caginess. Finally, Nurse Joy returned, handing Misty her pokeballs with a gentle smile.
"Your pokemon are in excellent condition, Ms. Waterflower. You're both all set for the tournament."
"Thanks, Nurse Joy," Misty replied, her smile genuine this time. She turned to Ash, who pushed off the counter with a shrug.
"Ready, Ms. Priss?" His smirk was infuriatingly nonchalant.
"Why do you have to be such an asshole?"
"Because it's fun," he said, walking away without looking back to see if she followed.
They stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk, the noise of the crowd washing over them like a wave. Ash leaned back, arms spread wide as if embracing the chaos. He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose. "You smell that?"
Misty frowned, watching him, squinting. "Smell what?"
Ash opened his eyes slowly, a feral grin stretching across his face. "It smells like one of those days." His voice softened, reverent. "The kind of day you remember for years, where every second is etched into your mind."
Misty couldn't help but roll her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "You're such a dork."
"Eh," Ash conceded, his grin unwavering. "But I'm a dork who's ready to win this tournament."
The streets buzzed, banners and posters plastered on every available surface. Each sign showcased a powerful pokemon frozen in mid-attack, colors so vivid they pulsed brightly. Ash strode ahead, his eyes set straight ahead, barely acknowledging the vibrant displays around him. Misty followed, her steps slightly hesitant.
"Are you sure we're going the right way?"
"Yup," he replied without slowing down. "It's not like they're trying to hide it. Just follow the signs and the noise. Or is that too hard?"
"Asshole," Misty muttered under her breath at his teasing, just loud enough for Ash to catch it. He smirked but said nothing, pushing onward.
They arrived before a massive structure sheathed in burnished stone and matte alloy, its facade dominated by an overhanging cornice and paneled glass reflecting the motion of pedestrian traffic and the intermittent sweep of transport drones. The building's wide stairwell fanned outward in terraced slabs, each tier cluttered with trainers milling in fractious clusters, most adorned in battlewear or flaunting regional paraphernalia that marked their origins. A dense congregation of League staff in navy-black coats lingered beside registration terminals, checking IDs, barking entry instructions, and gesturing toward corridors that fed inward from the main vestibule.
The threshold exhaled radiant warmth as the twin-paneled doors parted, spilling golden interior lighting onto the worn flagstone. Ash pushed one open with the back of his wrist, holding it there for Misty, who stepped through. He let the door swing closed behind them with a low thud that diffused into the murmuring crowd.
Hey, he knew some form of politeness.
Fluorescent panels recessed into the high ceiling shed a cool, neutral light across the marble inlays and black-grouted tile. The vestibule's design favored function over flourish: large, functional signage annotated with location signs, suspended from reinforced beams; a recessed directory console guarded by a hunched, graying clerk tapping listlessly at a touchscreen. At the far end of the hall, a towering plasma display cycled through bracket standings and upcoming match schedules in stoic blue font. The scrolling ticker beneath it announced disqualifications and trainer rankings. You'd be surprised how many disqualifications there already was for one reason or another.
Humorously enough, since Lance was instated half a decade ago, he made it a policy to shame dishonorable trainers in any venue they attempted to cheat in. Like Jimmy from Viridian City. He tried to have one of his pokemon smuggle a Super Potion under its tongue to battle. How he was caught, Ash had no idea, but he did have ideas…
Inside, the atmosphere was practically electric. Trainers of all ages crowded the hallways, their voices mixing with the echoes of distant battles and announcements blaring over speakers. Misty tightened her grip on her bag strap, her eyes wide as she took in the sheer number of people. Overhead, announcements blared from the intercom in rapid succession, calling names of trainers and announcing upcoming matchups.
"You weren't kidding," she muttered, eyeing a passing group of trainers who carried themselves like minor nobility, their silence less humility than menace. "Whole damn city's in here."
Ash smirked, lips twitching.
"Welcome to the League's foregut. Everything passes through here. Egos, gear, bad ideas."
Her eyes tracked a pair of twins in matching silk jackets walking in step.
"You think any of these posers can actually battle?"
"Couple. Most are here for drama. Status. Or because their sponsor told them to."
She arched a brow, lips pursed. "You ever get a sponsor?"
He glanced at her, then resumed walking.
"I've had offers. I told 'em to eat shit."
Her laugh cracked like dry timber.
"Sounds about right." Still, she shook her head and scanned the room. "There are so many strong trainers here..." she breathed out, more to herself than anyone else.
Ash glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "What, you're surprised? It's a tournament."
A stairwell spiraled upward in the far-right corner, flanked by an enormous steel sculpture resembling a stylized pokeball cracked down the middle. Its hollow interior functioned as a directional terminal, with an embedded console that mapped battle arenas and staff offices across multiple floors. Misty bit down on her lower lip, molars grazing the soft skin as her gaze veered leftward toward a recessed alcove lined with hexagonal seating blocks. Half-shadowed by a vertical column of digital signage, a cluster of trainers occupied the space with the kind of insular posture that marked veterans—bodies angled inward, backs taut, limbs still.
Their uniforms diverged in aesthetic but harmonized in tone: dark palettes, sharp tailoring, accents of bloodred or gunmetal stitched into lapels and pant seams. One of them, a wiry boy with half his hair shaved and the rest bound into silver-dyed braids, gestured toward a tablet that was projected between them, his voice low and clipped, loaded with authority that Misty reckoned hadn't been earned through seniority. The others listened with narrow eyes and minimal movement, their focus carved into the planes of their faces as they discussed their strategies their respective partners.
The longer she watched them, the more aware she became of her own heartbeat, its tempo mildly speeding up, a pulsing echo that pressed at the base of her throat. She shifted her stance, redistributing weight onto her back leg, arms folded now, posture subtly defensive, Ash noted. He watched her thumb skim the fabric of her sleeve, roughing it slightly.
"Yeah, I guess. Just… feels different seeing them all in one place," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Ash squinted at her from the side, noting her distraction. She didn't even notice his scrutiny, too wrapped up in her own thoughts. He wondered what had her so rattled.
What is she so afraid of? It's not stage fright, right? No... she's just not confident at all. What the hell has gotten into her?
...
She's completely lost it, he concluded.
"Right. With you on my side…" Misty forced a smile, though it did little to mask the nerves that still clung to her like a second skin. She tightened her grip on her bag strap, trying to draw strength from the solid weight against her palm. They continued down the hallway, the crowd parting around them.
They pressed forward down the hallway, weaving skillfully through the sea of bodies. Trainers, spectators, and tournament officials bustled around them, the constant motion making the corridor feel even narrower than it was. Every few steps, someone would glance at them. At the far end of the hall, they reached a set of wide, imposing doors. Pushing through, they entered a larger room, and the atmosphere shifted immediately. If the hallway had been chaotic, this was nothing but bedlam. The room was packed with trainers, some standing in small groups, others leaning against walls or seated on benches scattered throughout the space.
A few of them had pokemon by their sides—some small, like Rimbombee, a Pidgey sitting on a trainer's shoulder, a Nidorino hiding beneath his trainer's leg. The trainers were sizing each other up, quiet glances exchanged that spoke volumes.
Ash surveyed the room, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Looks like the fun's just getting started."
Misty stood beside him, her posture slightly more rigid. She took in the scene with wide eyes, the sheer number of trainers and pokemon creating a knot of anxiety in her stomach.
"Yeah," she murmured. "Fun…"
The waiting chamber was narrow, functional, and overlit—walls paneled in aseptic beige with long benches bolted to the floor. The flooring alternated between cracked composite tile and swatches of non-slip rubber scuffed pale by fidgety soles. Ceiling fans spun low above industrial lighting. For some reason, they were audible, and were producing a mechanical thrum beneath the vocal fluctuations of trainers trading terse instructions with handlers, muttering into headsets, or pacing with their teeth clenched and arms locked stiff behind their backs. Overhead, flat displays embedded into the concrete projected live footage of concurrent matches, each divided by region and tier bracket, annotated with live statistics.
One trainer winced audibly as his Bisharp took a close-range Karate Chop to the throat. The screen lingered on the KO for three silent seconds before cutting to the next fight.
Ash glanced to another; a closer battle. On the screen, a heated double battle raged. Two boys commanded their Flaaffy and Tangela, facing off against a solitary Rhyhorn—the last pokemon standing on the opposing team. The Rhyhorn, battered but defiant, charged across the field with surprising speed for its bulky frame. Desperation tinged one boy's voice as he shouted, "Come on, Flaaffy! Use Thunderbolt!"
Flaaffy's woolly body crackled with electricity before unleashing the attack. The bolt struck Rhyhorn directly, but the behemoth barely flinched, its body absorbing the hit with ease. Rhyhorn continued its charge undeterred.
Ash's eyes narrowed as he watched the ineffective attack. "Rookie mistake," he muttered under his breath, his disdain undisguised. "Electric moves won't do jack against a Rhyhorn."
Misty glanced at him, brows furrowed. "They look young. I bet they're just starting out. Probably got their licenses from an apprenticeship program." Her voice held a note of sympathy, remembering her own early days as a trainer. She did a lot of bone-headed things too when she first became a trainer.
"Starting out or not, type advantage is basic stuff. Rhydon are ground-types, not just rock-types. They're immune to electric-type attacks for God's sake." He snorted. "If you don't know that about a Rhyhorn, in Kanto, you've got no business being in a tournament."
Misty bit her lip, turning back to watch the battle unfold. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of agitation in her gut. Would she and Ash fare any better when their turn came? She tried to push the thought aside, focusing instead on the strategies playing out before her, but all that was trudged up was more of her own concerns.
The waiting was the worst part, she decided. The anticipation, the not knowing. She just wanted to get out there and get this all done with.
The Tangela on the screen quivered, its vines wriggling nervously as it faced the imposing Rhyhorn.
"Tangela, use Energy Ball!" the boy yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. The grass-type summoned a shimmering green orb, launching it at its foe. But the attack went wide, sailing past the Rhyhorn's bulk and dissipating harmlessly against the arena wall.
Ash shook his head. "Idiot," he muttered under his breath. Misty glanced at him but said nothing, her attention drawn back to the unfolding battle.
The Rhyhorn charged, its massive frame thundering across the field with surprising speed. It slammed into the Tangela with a crushing Rock Blast, the impact sending the smaller pokemon flying. It hit the ground hard, its vines splayed, and didn't get back up.
"Tangela is unable to battle!" the referee announced, raising a flag. "Rhyhorn and Trainer Dustin and Felix are the winners! "
The victorious trainer pumped his fist, grinning broadly as he recalled his pokemon. His opponents stared at their fallen Tangela and Flaaffy, their faces a blend of shock and disappointment.
Ash rolled his eyes, face one of mild disgust. These were the kinds of trainers they were up against? This tournament would be a cakewalk. And he despised that idea. If all the other trainers were like these ones, then he was tempted just to pull out. What would be the point in battering weak, fodder trainers around? Little, if anything at all. His time would better be spent training or researching, rather than… this.
Misty, on the other hand, couldn't quite shake the unease that had settled in her stomach. She glanced at Ash, his nonchalant confidence simultaneously reassuring and infuriating. How could he be so calm? Didn't he feel the pressure, the weight of expectation? If he did, he didn't show it. He just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, that ever-present smirk on his face. Like he knew something everyone else didn't. Like he had already won.
Misty took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. She had to focus, because when that door opened, when they stepped out onto that battlefield, there would be no room for doubt. No room for error.
"If he trained that Tangela to actually aim that attack before using it in a battle, he'd have won. Amateurs," Ash muttered, his voice dripping with distaste.
Misty glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "What do you mean?"
"All the money in my pocket," he said, "that incompetent ass taught Tangela Energy Ball from a TM. Didn't bother to actually train it with the move before throwing it into a fight."
Misty's lips curved into a small smile. Trust Ash to spot something like that. His eyes just caught things like that. It never ceased to impress her. "Maybe they were just nervous," she offered, playing devil's advocate, just to get her mind off things.
He snorted. "Nervous or not, if you don't train your pokemon properly, you're asking to lose. I'm just glad they weren't our opponents. This whole thing would be a waste of time if we just rolled over everyone else. I'd rather lose round one to an amazing trainer, than beat an entire tournament full of subpar trainers."
The TV shifted to another battle in progress, the cheers of the crowd filtering through the speakers. But Ash wasn't paying attention anymore. His eyes scanned the room, sizing up the competition. "Let's just hope we get to battle with someone who actually knows what they're doing."
Misty nodded, though her gaze remained on the broadcast. Her fingers tapped lightly against her knee, a nervous tic she couldn't seem to shake. Just then, a woman with a clipboard entered the room, her high heels clicking against the tiled floor. The chatter died down as all eyes turned to her.
"Cliff Bunyan and Sandy Wellington?"
A teenage boy and girl stood up from the corner, their movements stiff and edgy. They followed the woman out of the room, the door swinging shut behind them with a soft click.
Ash snorted, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Wellington? Poor girl's named after a food dish."
Misty raised a brow. "And you're named after dirt."
He paused, tilting his head as he considered her point.
She had him there, he admitted noddingly. Who was he to judge? His own name, as cool as it sounded in his head, was a reference to chalky, fiery ruins. Not exactly the height of sophistication or originality. Conceding the point with a shrug, Ash leaned back against the wall, a toothpick dangling from his lips. His fingers drummed against his thigh, a restless energy thrumming through his veins.
On the screen, another match unfolded, but Ash barely registered the details. His mind was elsewhere, focused on the battle to come. Time seemed to crawl, each second stretching into an eternity. The waiting room was a pressure cooker, the tension mounting with every tick of the clock. Trainers paced, fidgeted, and muttered under their breath.
Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty. The matches on the screen blurred together, a never-ending stream of pokemon and trainers, winners and losers.
Suddenly, the door swung open for the third time, the sound cutting through the room like a knife. A woman stepped inside, her uniform sharp and tailored, her demeanor all business. She scanned the room.
"Ash Ketchum and Misty Waterflower."
Her voice rang out, clear and authoritative. Ash pushed off the wall and he glanced at Misty.
It was time.
Misty hesitated for a split second, a flicker of nerves crossing her face. But then she was moving, falling into step beside Ash as they approached the woman. With a curt gesture, the woman directed them to follow. She led them out of the waiting room, into the chaotic bustle of the hallway beyond. Trainers and staff hurried past a blur of motion and noise. Ash and Misty navigated the throng but beside him, Misty's eyes darted about, taking in the frenzied hallway.
But she kept pace with Ash, matching his stride. She wouldn't let her fear hold her back. Not now. Not when he was actually trusting her to be his partner. The woman led them to a door at the end of the hallway. She opened it, gesturing for them to enter. They stepped inside, and the noise of the hallway faded away, replaced by a heavy silence.
The room was small, stark. A few chairs lined the walls, but otherwise, it was empty. The air was still, the only sound was the hum of the lights overhead. Ash and Misty stood in the center of the room, waiting. The woman faced them, her expression calm, professional.
"You'll wait here until the door on your right opens," she said, her voice even. "Once it does, you'll walk through it. On the other side of the long hallway, you'll reach the battlefield where you'll face your opponents."
Misty glanced at the door, then back at Ash. He seemed unfazed, as per usual. She nodded, swallowing hard.
"Got it," she managed, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.
The woman nodded curtly and turned to leave. The door clicked shut behind her, and Ash and Misty were alone. Ash leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the door they were waiting for. The seconds ticked by, each one an eternity.
"So," he said, breaking the silence. His tone was casual, conversational. "Ready to wipe the floor with these guys?"
Misty looked at him, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. Then a smile tugged at her lips, small but genuine.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
And in that moment, the nerves faded away, replaced by a steely determination. They were in this together, him and her. A team. And they wouldn't go down without a fight, she promised. Misty took a deep breath, trying to push aside her nerves. "Yeah," she replied, her voice a bit stronger now.
The seconds ticked by, stretching the silence in the waiting room until it became almost unbearable. Misty shifted in her seat, her fingers tapping nervously on her knee, while Ash remained still, his eyes locked on the door. Finally, with a faint hiss, the door slid open, revealing the hallway beyond. The distant roar of the crowd filtered through, a muffled racket of excitement.
Ash's smirk only widened as he glanced at Misty. Without a word, he pushed off the wall and strode through the doorway. Misty hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. The reality of the situation hit her like a tidal wave—they were about to step out onto the battlefield, to face off against opponents they knew nothing about. But she couldn't back down now—she'd already agreed to be his partner, he asked her to join him, not the other way around—she just wouldn't abandon him like that. She had no choice but to attempt to get over her own anxiety. With a deep breath, she rose to her feet and followed Ash, trying to steady herself as they fell in line.
The tunnel stretched ahead of them, a seemingly endless corridor that led to the heart of the arena. The air was cooler here, carrying the faint, earthy smell of freshly cut grass. Armed guards stood at intervals along the tunnel walls, their postures rigid and unyielding. Misty's eyes flickered to them, her unease growing with each passing step. But Ash barely seemed to notice, his gaze fixed on the light at the end of the tunnel, where the arena awaited.
As they walked, Ash leaned slightly toward her, his voice low but calm.
"I'm going to open up with Aron this battle. He's a little weaker than my other pokemon, so I want you to start with Starmie. If we face a rock or ground type, focus on that, and I'll handle any electric, grass, or dark-types that come our way."
Misty nodded, her mind racing as she tried to process Ash's strategy. It was a solid plan, one that played to their strengths and minimized their weaknesses. But even with a strategy in place, the uncertainty of the battle ahead loomed large. They had no idea what kind of trainers they'd be facing, what kind of pokemon they'd be up against.
Misty swallowed, her eyes darting to Ash's face. "So... I'll be the main act?"
Ash shrugged.
"More or less."
She blinked, surprise creeping into her voice. "I thought you wanted the spotlight to be on you, to get a chance to show off."
"I'll get my chance. Right now, I just want Aron to get some more battle experience before we face Surge."
The tunnel opened up into the bright light of the stadium, the roar of the crowd hitting them like a wave. Ash stepped onto the grassy battlefield first, his eyes scanning the small stadium surrounding them. A few thousand fans filled the stands, their cheers and shouts blending into one cumulative roar. Misty followed, her heart pounding in her chest as she took in the scene. The stadium stretched around them. Its walls were a patchwork of concrete and metal, adorned with vibrant banners that fluttered in the breeze. Massive screens were planted at intervals, their surfaces shimmering with the images of Ash and Misty's faces.
The field itself was a vast expanse of green, the grass meticulously trimmed and marked with the crisp white lines of the battlefield. Ash's smirk never faltered as he stepped closer, his eyes gleaming anticipatedly. He cracked his neck, the sound barely audible over the din of the crowd.
"Let's give them a show they won't forget."
The stadium lights pierced the darkening sky, bathing the grassy field in a harsh glow. Ash strode purposefully across the turf, Misty keeping pace at his side. The roar of the crowd faded to a dull hum as they approached the center circle where their opponents awaited. A teenage boy and girl stood there, the latter surprisingly tall, even towering over Ash by a few inches. Her height was accentuated by her slender build and long blonde hair that cascaded down her back. The boy beside her had a sturdy frame and dark, close-cropped hair.
A stern referee with a long face raised his voice above the din.
"Trainers, please step forward. I will now announce the participants."
Misty shifted her weight from foot to foot. Ash glanced sideways at her, noting the slight furrow in her brow and set of her jaw. His own face remained impassive, a smirk still playing about his lips as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants and turned his attention back to the referee.
Arrogant jackass, Misty thought, somehow still relaxed when her own stomach was tying itself in knots.
The referee swept an arm toward Ash and Misty.
"From Pallet Town, we have Ash Ketchum, and from Cerulean City, Misty Waterflower! Both trainers are participating in their first official double battle tournament."
Cheers and whistles erupted from the stands, a racket of sound washing over them. Misty swallowed hard, pulse racing as the reality of the moment crashed into her. This was it—their debut on the big stage. And yet, she found herself dreading every second of it.
The referee then gestured to the other side. "And from Pewter City, we have Liam and Ellie Wentworth."
More applause greeted this announcement, though noticeably more subdued than the reception for the newcomers. Ash's amber eyes flicked over their opponents, sizing them up. They didn't look at that tough. Around his age; maybe the girl was a wee bit older. He wasn't sure. But she was a tall drink of water, that was for sure.
The smirk never left his face. Ash hummed thoughtfully as he assessed their opponents. But also… Liam and Ellie Wentworth. Hmmm. They were siblings. Probably got good chemistry, he mused, considering his options.
Maybe I should pull out Clefable or Ursaring to be safe...
His gaze drifted to Misty, her hand resting on her hip, fingers drumming anxiously.
Nah. The second Misty shows her Starmie, all our future opponents will plan against it. This is the best chance I have to get Aron some decent experience before Surge.
Across the field, Ellie brushed a strand of golden hair from her face, blue eyes narrowing as she smirked at them. "You're going down," she declared, voice carrying across the distance, dripping with confidence.
Ash's smirk only deepened as his eyes as he met her gaze unflinchingly.
"On you, I hope," he drawled.
Ellie's smirk faltered, morphing into a sneer as she clenched her fists at her sides, knuckles white with the force of her grip. Beside her, Liam shot Ash a frigid glare, green eyes flashing with barely contained anger.
If Ash noticed their reactions, he gave no indication, his posture still relaxed, hands casually tucked in his pockets. The referee cleared his throat pointedly, trying to regain control of the situation.
"I want a nice, clean battle. No dirtiness. Is that clear?"
His stern gaze swept over both teams, locking onto Ash in particular.
He and Misty nodded, as did their opponents, though Ellie's jaw remained tight, her lips pressed into a thin line. Satisfied, the referee stepped back, raising his flag.
"Trainers, return to your positions."
Turning on their heels, Ash and Misty made their way back to their side of the field, the distance between them and the Wentworth siblings growing with each step. Misty's heart pounded in her ears, adrenaline beginning to surge through her veins as she mentally prepared herself for the impending battle.
Ash, on the other hand, seemed utterly at ease, his stride languid, almost lazy. As they took their positions, facing their opponents across the expanse of the battlefield, Misty drew in a deep, steadying breath. This was it. Time to show everyone what they were made of.
Oh, who am I kidding? I'm gonna bomb, and I'm gonna make Ash lose. This was a really bad idea.
Letting out a breath, she had to say something—anything—to get her mind off this.
"You always have to have the last word, don't you?" she muttered, shaking her head, her side-mounted pigtail swaying with the motion.
"What? You thought I was going to say nothing?
Misty rolled her eyes, a familiar exasperation washing over her. "No, I guess it was stupid of me to assume that. You like the sound of your voice too much."
Ash grinned, clearly enjoying their verbal sparring. "Well, someone's got to keep things interesting," he told her, mischief just swimming in his eyes. Misty sighed, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips despite herself.
"Just make sure you keep your focus on the battle. We've got a lot riding on this."
Not really, Ash thought, but he was willing to let her believe that. He was only participating in this tournament to meet his own goals, to give his pokemon some more experience before their next gym battle. Lt. Surge was a notoriously tough opponent. He wanted to do everything in his power to give himself a better chance against Surge. Any battles he could tally onto his record were welcomed. Each one was more experience, each one would make his pokemon better, stronger, and himself, smarter, and more capable.
If he could battle a thousand times a day with a thousand different trainers before Surge, he'd do it with a smile on his face. He sincerely doubted he'd ever grow jaded or apathetic towards battling. No matter how much time passed. It was one of the few things he genuinely enjoyed still.
The referee raised his flag, his voice booming across the stadium. "This will be a double battle, with each trainer using only one pokemon. All four trainers, send out your pokemon!"
Ash's grin deepened as he reached for the pokeball at his belt, his fingers curling around the smooth, cool surface. "Time to shine, Aron," he murmured, his voice low.
Beside him, Misty grabbed her own pokeball, her fingers tightening around the sphere as she drew in a deep breath. With a flick of his wrist, he released the small but sturdy steel-rock type onto the field. Aron landed with a thud, its metallic body gleaming under the harsh glare of the stadium lights.
"Let's do this, Starmie!" she called out, her voice ringing as she threw the ball high into the air.
In a brilliant flash of light, her Starmie materialized on the field, its core gem pulsing with a vibrant, otherworldly energy. The water-psychic type pokemon spun gracefully, its star-shaped body rotating with a mesmerizing fluidity before settling into a battle-ready stance. Across the field, Liam and Ellie threw their pokeballs in perfect unison, their movements synchronized in a way that spoke of repeated battles fought side by side.
"Machop, you're up!" Liam shouted.
The muscular fighting-type burst forth from its pokeball, its body flexing as it landed on the ground with a heavy thud. Machop let out a fierce, guttural growl, its eyes narrowing as it focused on its opponents with a single-minded intensity. Ellie followed immediately, her tone sharp and brimming with confidence.
"Pidgeotto, let's show them what we've got!"
Her Pidgeotto erupted from its pokeball in a flurry of feathers, its wings flapping powerfully as it took to the air. The bird pokemon circled above the battlefield, its keen eyes scanning the arena below, ready to swoop down at a moment's notice.
Aron stood its ground, its steel-plated body glinting in the sunlight. Starmie remained calm and poised, its gem glimmering with a soft, pulsating light that seemed to emanate from within. Across the field, Machop cracked its knuckles, its eyes locked onto Aron with a predatory focus. Pidgeotto hovered overhead, its wings beating a steady rhythm as it waited for the opportune moment to strike.
Ash glanced at Misty, his expression now serious. "Remember the plan," he muttered under his breath, his eyes never leaving the battlefield.
Misty nodded, gripping her pokeball tightly as she watched their opponents. "Got it," she said, bobbing her head.
The referee lowered his flag, signaling the start of the battle. "Trainers, begin!" he announced, his voice booming across the stadium.
Ash's mind raced, calculating strategies and anticipating moves. He knew Machop would likely target Aron, seeking to exploit the type advantage. Pidgeotto, on the other hand, posed a threat to both their pokemon with its aerial agility. Pidgeotto was the one that posed the true threat. Starmie had no real advantage against Pidgeotto, but she had plenty against Machop. As long as she kept Machop away from Aron, Ash trusted the latter to at least do substantial damage to Pidgeotto.
If he couldn't knock out Pidgeotto, then he trusted Misty and Starmie to finish off a weakened opponent, after overcoming an easier, feebler one, whom she had a type advantage against.
The referee's flag dropped, and the stadium exploded in a blare of voices. Cheers and shouts echoed off the high walls, a sea of sound washing over the battlefield. But Ash tuned it out. His world narrowed to the space between him and his opponents. He knew what he was up against—Machop's fighting-type advantage posed a considerable threat to Aron, and Ash wasn't one to let a threat go unanswered. Nevertheless, he wasn't exactly enthused about battling a pokemon that hard countered his own.
"Aron, keep your distance from Machop!" Ash called, his voice cutting through the noise, authoritative and measured. "Focus on Pidgeotto when it comes in close."
Aron's metallic body gleamed under the stadium lights, and in a sharp cry of acknowledgment, he planted his stubby legs firmly into the ground. His eyes darted between the opponents, instinctively shifting his weight as he prepared.
Across the field, Liam's expression tightened. "Machop, go straight for that Aron! Use Low Sweep!" he barked, his voice brimming with confidence.
Machop sprang into action, its legs powering forward in long, measured strides. Ash's eyes darted between the approaching Machop and the distant Pidgeotto, who was circling overhead, waiting for its moment to strike. But Ash wasn't worried—not yet.
A glance to his right—Misty was already poised, her fingers twitching ever so slightly at her side, her eyes locked on the battlefield. When their gazes met, she gave him a quick, subtle nod—she was ready.
"Starmie, keep Machop at bay! Confusion!" Misty's voice rang out, steady and strong despite the tension that was building in her chest.
Starmie revolved on her axis, her limbs a synchronized lattice of movement, each spoke tracing exacting geometric paths through the charged haze of the battlefield. The central gem convulsed with internal luminescence, its facets flaring in deep indigo bursts that expanded, then contracted with unsettling regularity—like a pulse extricated from organic rhythm. A psychic tremor radiated outward, silent at first, then rising into a subharmonic thrum that thickened the air around the combatants. The wave dispersed in concentric fields of distortion, warping light, making the edges of reality jitter as it rushed across the pitch and collided with Machop's chest.
The impact struck with dense, invisible pressure—unseen fingers constricting around the fighting-type's limbs, anchoring each joint in mid-motion. Machop staggered half a step, boots scraping grit across the polished stone, his breath shuddering through clenched teeth. Every fiber in his frame fought against the unseen restraint. Veins etched across his forearms, swelling grotesquely beneath grey hide as he dragged himself through the mire of telekinetic force. His torso heaved, elbows twitching violently under the strain, but the compulsion to advance remained embedded in his frame like bone-deep instinct.
Ash observed in silence, his mouth tight, the line of his jaw rigid. Machop should have buckled. Instead, it persisted—low center of gravity, head down, one foot shifting forward in forced, fractional increments, grinding through the psychic mire with brute persistence. The gem in Starmie's core sputtered as Misty pressed the advantage, lips compressed to a fine, bloodless line. Her brow furrowed deeper, voice low but clipped.
"Don't give him room. Push harder."
The energy radiating from Starmie sharpened, no longer a field but a thrust. The light fractured into finer threads, each strand coiling tightly around Machop's limbs as if they were tensile wire. The fighting-type snarled, shoulders trembling beneath the compound restraint, yet his gaze locked unflinching on Aron. He twisted one shoulder , inching his stance, muscles twitching violently from the effort.
The ground beneath his feet began to crack.
Huh. Someone's determined.
One thing was obvious, though. He couldn't let Machop close the gap and he could not risk close combat with a fighting type—not against his Aron. But Ash was never the one to not have a contingency.
"Iron Defense!"
Aron's body shimmered with a silver light, his metal hide growing even harder as he braced himself for impact. His small frame dug into the ground, unyielding and unafraid. If he was going to take a blow, and if that was his trainer's intention, then so be it. One blow or a hundred, Aron vowed it wouldn't bow to any of them. Not while he still had oceans of strength to still gain, and evolutions to crawl into. A loss here would hamper his growth; that much Aron understood. And so, he made up his mind.
He would not lose here.
Aron would rather die.
Overhead, the ceiling lights caught on a flash of russet plumage—the distinctive streak of Pidgeotto's wings slicing clean through the gym's thermal layer. It emerged from above the rafters, body drawn taut, beak low, feathers rippling in minor shockwaves as it broke descent. The musculature in its chest contracted with every wingbeat, displacing the pressurized atmosphere with each downward thrust. Its eyes were locked with uncanny fixation on Aron's plated form, talons flexing mid-air in anticipation of the strike.
Ash's focus shifted instantly. "Aron, now. Get ready for that Pidgeotto—Rock Tomb."
Aron's body tensed, the steel over his spine grinding audibly as his stance widened. He dropped lower, anchoring his center of mass to the terrain. Static bloomed across the floor—dust trembled loose from fine cracks in the stone. Underneath him, the ground convulsed with layered tremors, then fractured as dense slabs began to jolt upward from beneath the battlefield. Each rock tore itself loose with violent resistance, debris churning in erratic orbit around him—six, then eight, then ten chunks coalescing.
The fragments reached critical lift, and Aron grunted with exertion. They launched.
The projectiles shot skyward in a scattered but high-velocity burst, their weight and jagged contours more akin to weaponized masonry than battlefield debris. They traveled with no elegance, only mass and intent, slicing through the heated column of Pidgeotto's descent.
Across the field, Ellie's voice cracked out, strained.
"Pidgeotto—dodge it!"
Pidgeotto twisted mid-dive, its left wing flaring wide as it pivoted sharply into a roll. Its flight path wrenched rightward in a strained corkscrew, feathers bristling, eyes flicking rapidly to track the rising stones. It managed to veer between two of the larger slabs, body tilted nearly horizontal, but a third fragment—angular, rough, and no wider than a forearm—clipped the outer edge of its primary feathers. The impact was brutal, no glancing tap. The wing jerked sideways, the structure compromised in a single instant. Pidgeotto lurched into a tailspin, screeching mid-flight as it fought to level out, its remaining wing thudding in panicked succession against the collapsing wind resistance.
The descent broke. Its velocity collapsed into an uncontrolled spiral, trajectory wobbling as it bled altitude in diagonal lines. The bird clawed at control, wings pumping with asymmetrical fury, but the rhythm was shattered. It pulled away from Aron by instinct, trying to gain distance, but its flight pattern was erratic—limping through the air, limbs rigid from shock.
Aron broke into motion without hesitation. His hindlegs compressed, and his armored frame surged forward, traction grinding beneath clawed feet as he accelerated across the fractured terrain. Dust kicked up in his wake, trailing behind him in brief, weightless plumes. His skull dipped, the blunted steel of his browplate angled downward to concentrate the entire force of his compact mass into a single point of collision. His silhouette condensed into a low, driving charge—unrefined, and brutal, but effective in a linear charge.
Pidgeotto hung low near the ground, its form barely stabilized, wings laboring unevenly to maintain altitude. The impact from Rock Tomb had thrown its alignment into chaos—its left wing lagged half a second behind each correction. The avian's pupils dilated as Aron closed the distance, but its damaged frame couldn't react quickly enough. The bird tilted in an attempt to shift elevation, but by then, Aron had already crossed the midpoint.
Contact struck with a metallic clamor, not a clean hit but a grinding impact—edge-on, torso to skull. The force expelled a guttural noise from Pidgeotto's throat, the wind driven abruptly from its lungs. Its wings flailed outward once, involuntarily, before the entire creature folded mid-air, spine coiled by the torque of the hit, feathers erupting from its side in a burst of disrupted lift. Its body flung back in a tight, disjointed spiral and hit the dirt with the dull resonance of flesh against compacted clay.
It didn't bounce.
Pidgeotto lay crumpled in the shallow indentation created by the crash. One wing twitched once, reflexive. The other remained splayed and motionless beneath its body. Its head angled limply to the side, beak cracked slightly open, shallow breaths slipping out in uneven intervals. Its claws flexed against the packed grit, attempting to dig in for purchase, but the strength didn't return. The musculature in its flanks spasmed, legs kicking once in futility. Its eyes retained a dim lucidity—aware, but drained, like light seen through smoked glass.
But Ash barely had time to take a breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Machop break free from Starmie's psychic grip. The fighting-type let out a guttural growl, its eyes blazing with fury as it rushed Aron, aiming another Low Sweep at him.
"Iron Tail!"
In a surprising twist of agility, Aron bent his body, his tail glowing a bright silver as he swung it with all his might. The Iron Tail connected with Machop's leg just before the Low Sweep could land, knocking the fighting-type off balance. Machop stumbled, its footing lost as it tumbled to the ground.
"Starmie, back up and use Swift! Keep your distance!"
Starmie responded instantly, spinning in place, her central gem glowing as she prepared her next attack. A flurry of glowing stars erupted from her spinning form. The stars, each pulsating with energy, zipped in, homing in on Machop. It barely had time to react. The first star struck its muscular chest, followed by another to its shoulder. Each impact sent a jolt through the fighting-type's body, and each one brought yet another agonized grunt from its throat. The relentless barrage forced Machop to slow its charge, the cumulative force of the stars creating a barrier of pain that even its raw determination couldn't easily overcome.
Dust kicked up around its feet as it staggered, the once-clear path to Aron now obstructed by Starmie's relentless assault.
But Liam wasn't the type to falter under pressure. His voice cut through the din of the crowd, filled with the same iron resolve that drove his pokemon forward. "Machop, keep going! Don't let up! You can do this!"
Machop's eyes blazed with renewed intensity, fueled by its trainer's unwavering grit. With a guttural roar, it pushed ahead, regaining its footing, and fiercely shaking its head. The glowing stars still stung, their residual energy crackling across its skin, but Machop was undeterred. It adjusted its approach, abandoning its straightforward charge for a more erratic, unpredictable path.
It zigzagged across the field. The fighting-type closed the distance with alarming speed, its gaze now locked solely on Aron, who stood braced and ready.
Misty's eyes widened as she realized Machop's intent. At first, she thought it was going to rush Starmie, thinking that, perhaps, she'd goaded it into battling against her Starmie finally, despite its type-disadvantage.
"Starmie, defend Aron! Get between them!" she cried.
Starmie didn't hesitate. With a sudden burst of speed, she glided across the battlefield as she intercepted Machop's path. Her central gem pulsed with a vibrant light. Just as Machop lunged forward, its muscular arm raised high for a devastating Karate Chop, Starmie positioned herself directly in front of Aron. The Karate Chop came down brutally, the sharp edge of Machop's hand slamming into one of Starmie's limbs. The impact echoed across the field, a sharp, bone-jarring sound that made the crowd gasp in unison.
Starmie wobbled slightly from the blow, her body shuddering under the force, but she remained upright. Her limbs trembled for a moment, but her core gem flashed brightly.
Liam's smirk deepened. "Machop, hit Starmie with Vital Throw!"
Machop responded instantly. His muscular arms flexed as he grabbed hold of her spinning form, the suction cups on her limbs slick from moisture. Machop planted his feet, every muscle in his body tensing before he twisted, using his entire frame to generate momentum. In a swift, brutal motion, he spun Starmie around, her sleek, gem-like core flashing erratically with every rotation. The centrifugal force built rapidly, and with a grunt of exertion, Machop hurled Starmie across the field. Her star-shaped body whipped through the air, and she crashed into the ground with a bone-jarring thud, sending up a plume of dirt and debris.
Misty's breath hitched, her fists tightening as she watched her pokemon struggle to right herself. Her jaw clenched, and for a split second, her mind raced with the worst-case scenario. But she couldn't afford hesitation. She didn't know where she got it, but she shouted with everything she had, yelling out, "Starmie, recover and use Water Pulse!"
Starmie's limbs twitched, the water inside her core surging with renewed energy. Her gem flared to life, the radiant glow returning as she balanced herself once again. In an instant, water began to coalesce around her, gathering at the center of her body and swirling with a potent, controlled force. Then, with a flash of light, she fired. A torrent of water, swirling destructively, burst from her core. Machop's eyes widened just as the attack was upon him.
It braced itself, planting its feet firmly into the ground, but the sheer force of the Water Pulse was too much. The impact was immediate. The water crashed into it like a tidal wave, despite its minor stature, slamming into its chest with enough power to make it stagger. Its feet dug into the dirt as it slid back several steps, the ground beneath it turning slick and muddy from the spray.
Ash glanced about, relatively satisfied with how Misty was handling her battle. He thought she would have used more psychic attacks and finished off the Machop minutes ago, but other than that, she was still ahead and that's all he cared about right now. The noise of the crowd, the flurry of movement on the field—it all faded into the background as his sharp gaze stayed locked on the Pidgeotto, who now had recovered and circled high above the battlefield.
He knew Ellie's strategy; Pidgeotto was biding its time, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop down and strike. It was flawed, of course. She was, essentially, allowing her teammate to battle both Aron and Starmie at the same time, and was selfishly just waiting for an opportunity to strike, even while her teammate was getting picked apart and overwhelmed.
Something in him stirred as he noted that.
It took only a glance into her eyes to realize what it was.
She has it…
And he raised a brow when he heard her voice only a second later.
"Pidgeotto, stay out of range and use Gust! Keep them off balance!"
Pidgeotto obeyed instantly, banking hard to the left before diving low, just out of range of Aron and Starmie.
The avian's wings flared wide as it flapped with powerful strides. The sudden force of the wind whipped across the battlefield, kicking up dust, dirt, and loose debris in a swirling torrent. The air groaned under the pressure, the gust building with intensity as it barreled toward Aron and Starmie like an unseen force.
She read my intent. Just like that.
A slow, twitching spread across his lips.
She's like me…
Aron, with his small, sturdy frame, dug his iron-clad legs into the ground, his weight allowing him to withstand the gust without losing his footing. The dirt whipped around him, but he held firm, his body steady, head low as the wind buffeted him relentlessly. Aron's resilience was one of his greatest strengths, and Ash knew that, despite the fierce wind, his steel-type could weather the storm. But this wasn't just about defense—Pidgeotto was controlling the pace of the battle now, if only for a brief period and Ash needed to shift the momentum.
Starmie, however, wasn't faring as well. The gust of wind hit her full force, and despite her natural grace and agility, the relentless pressure pushed her back across the battlefield. Her limbs scraped the dirt, struggling to gain traction as the swirling debris hindered her movements. The gem at her core flickered as she spun slightly in place, trying to maintain balance against the powerful wind. Misty's eyes widened in concern as she watched Starmie wobble. Her instincts screamed at her to call out a defensive command, but she knew the battle required more than reaction—it needed control. She had to regain her ground before things slipped too far.
Ash glanced at her from the corner of his eye, but his focus remained sharp. He watched the battlefield unfold, calculating his next move, eyes darting between the airborne Pidgeotto and his struggling Starmie. The wind continued to howl, but Ash's expression remained unchanged. He saw the way its wings faltered slightly with each powerful flap, the strain beginning to show in the slight tremor of its movements.
"Aron, dig in and use Rock Tomb—target the ground beneath it," Ash ordered, his voice low. His sharp eyes never left the flying-type.
Aron slammed his feet into the ground with a metallic clang. The earth rumbled beneath him, responding to the command. Chunks of rock and debris began to rise around the battlefield once more, but this time, instead of aiming directly for Pidgeotto, the rocks exploded upward from the earth beneath it. The ground shifted, an unexpected tremor tearing through the field.
Pidgeotto squawked, its wings flaring wide as the terrain below it heaved, throwing its balance into disarray. The violent surge from below sent waves of instability through the air currents it relied on. It flapped frantically, trying to correct its flight, but the sudden shift was too much. The precision and grace it had maintained so well began to falter.
"Rollout, Aron."
"No!" Ellie cried out. "Use—use Swift!"
But it was much too late. Pidgeotto couldn't sustain Gust and Swift at the same time and Gust was the only thing keeping Pidgeotto airborne. If it ceased Gust and used Swift, it would just fall straight into the pointed rocks left by Rock Tomb. She truly had no way to avoid what was coming next. Ellie had the personality to take her far, but she was still very much inferior to himself and Misty in ability.
Aron's body tensed, his iron armor gleaming as he tucked into himself, rolling his entire body into a solid, unstoppable sphere. He launched forward, the ground beneath him kicking up dust and debris as he gained momentum. Aron's frame cut through the field like a boulder unleashed, faster and more powerful with every second. Pidgeotto, still reeling from the disruption caused by Rock Tomb, couldn't recover in time. Aron slammed into it with the force of a cannonball, his Rollout connecting squarely with the bird's side.
Pidgeotto let out a screech as the force of the hit sent it spiraling through the air. It tumbled uncontrollably, feathers flying in all directions as it crashed into the ground with a heavy thud. The dust swirled around it, obscuring the battlefield for a moment as the crowd held its breath.
To his side, Misty grit her teeth and pointed at the Machop. "Starmie, finish Machop with Psychic!"
The air around Starmie quite literally screeched with power as her core gem flared to life, pulsing with intense light. Her entire body radiated with psychic energy, tendrils of invisible force reaching out toward Machop. The wave of psychic power surged forward, shimmering with a faint blue glow, and brutally slammed into Machop.
Liam's voice echoed in desperation, his hands clenched into fists. "You're strong, Machop! You can take it!"
Machop's muscles flexed as he tried to resist, his feet digging into the dirt, sweat dripping down his face from the strain. For a moment, it seemed like he might hold on, the tension in his frame growing with every passing second. But Starmie's Psychic was relentless, pushing against Machop's physical power and his willpower. The psychic energy wrapped around him like an unseen hand, crushing his resistance.
Machop stumbled, his knees buckling under the pressure. His arms twitched as he tried to push through, but his strength was sapped. His eyes flickered as his body gave in, the fight draining from him.
It turns out that Machop could, indeed, not take it. Shocker.
With a final, exhausted grunt, Machop collapsed to the ground, his body limp and unmoving. The crowd erupted into a roar, but Liam stood frozen, disbelief etched into his face as he stared at his fallen pokemon. The referee raised his flag high, his voice barely audible over the cheers.
"Machop is unable to battle!"
Liam wordlessly recalled Machop, his knuckles white as he gripped the pokeball.
Misty cheered and congratulated her Starmie, but Ash tuned her out. She'd done her job; held her own and now it was his turn. The battle wasn't over yet. His attention snapped back to Ellie and Pidgeotto.
Ellie's face twisted in frustration, her teeth gritted as she called out to her partner. "Get up, Pidgeotto, and use Steel Wing! Give it all you can!"
Pidgeotto took off back into the air, doing a few laps just to gain momentum. Pidgeotto's wings shimmered with a metallic sheen, the sunlight reflecting off them like polished steel. With a powerful flap, the avian pokemon tucked its wings close to its body and dove, streaking down at Aron like an arrow loosed from a bow. The speed behind the dive was staggering, even in its damaged condition, the air itself seeming to scream with the force of the attack.
Ash's eyes narrowed, calculating. He knew how much force was coming at Aron, and he knew the damage would be severe. Perhaps even final, but this was Aron's chance to meet the attack head-on. Ash was more curious than anything. How well would he handle this? How strong was he truly, now that he was put against an attack he couldn't just dodge, one that he couldn't run from?
He wanted to see if he could take that damage and still move forward and still find it himself to hit back just as hard. Ursaring could. Clefable could. Haunter absolutely could.
But could Aron?
"Aron, don't flinch," he said, his voice calm but firm. "It's going to hurt, but you need to make contact no matter what. Meet it with Iron Head."
Aron let out a low, focused growl, his small body bracing itself for impact.
That was a good sign. Aron hadn't even blinked at the order. Just seeing that made Ash smile—assured. He did not need to see anything else. The result was already decided.
Only, he was the sole person amongst the thousands to see it.
His head began to glow with the same metallic sheen as Pidgeotto's wings, the light intensifying as he crouched low, preparing to charge. His stubby legs dug into the earth, muscles coiled like springs, waiting for the moment to strike. Pidgeotto hurtled toward Aron with blinding speed. Dirt and debris swirled in the air from the sheer force of the dive, and the metallic gleam of Pidgeotto's wings was like a blade cutting through the sky.
"Now!" Ash barked, and Aron shot outward like a bullet fired from a weapon, his head lowered, gleaming similarly to a polished spear.
The two pokemon raced at one other, both attacks glowing with raw power. The collision in the center of the battlefield was ruinous. Steel Wing met Iron Head with a deafening crash, the impact sending a shockwave rippling through the field. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, time had frozen. The two pokemon remained locked in place, their glowing forms crackling with energy as the force of their attacks clashed. The sheer intensity of the hit sent tremors through the ground beneath them, dust and dirt kicked up into the air in a swirling storm.
And then, like the breaking of a dam, both pokemon were thrown back by the force of their own collision.
Pidgeotto's wings faltered first. The bird let out a pained screech as it wobbled mid-air, its metallic feathers losing their glow. It could not even flap them once to remain airborne. The bird faltered, its body tipping as gravity took over, and it crashed to the ground with a heavy thud. Dust rose around it as it lay there, wings twitching weakly, unable to rise.
Across the field, Aron, too, was struggling. His body shook as he tried to stand, his iron-plated head dented slightly from the force of the collision. His legs wobbled beneath him, his small frame clearly taxed from the exchange. He staggered once, twice, trying to keep his footing.
But the energy was spent. With a low, exhausted groan, Aron's legs finally gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, unmoving.
The stadium was silent for a beat, the tension hanging thick in the air. Then the referee's flag shot up. "Both Aron and Pidgeotto are unable to battle!"
The crowd erupted into deafening cheers and applause, the roar of the spectators filling the stadium as both trainers recalled their fallen pokemon. Ash exhaled slowly, his face calm but focused as he pulled Aron's pokeball from his belt, the familiar red beam absorbing the tired pokemon back inside. He glanced across the field at Ellie, who had already recalled Pidgeotto, her expression a mess of agonized frustration and disappointment.
Once again, his read of her was proven correct.
"Pidgeotto and Aron are both unable to battle! Since Starmie is still standing, Misty Waterflower and Ash Ketchum are the winners!"
Ash watched as Aron lay still, fainted but proud. He nodded in satisfaction and returned Aron to his pokeball. "That was awesome," Misty said beside him, her voice tinged with relief. "I thought Aron might be in trouble, but that was a great finish."
"Aron held his own. That's all I wanted to see," Ash replied.
That Pidgeotto, he mused, frowning a smidge. It was way stronger than Aron. Stronger than Starmie, too. It could have probably given Ursaring a decent enough fight. If it wasn't such a poor match-up against Aron—him being a rock/steel-type with high-defenses—it probably would have defeated whatever I sent out, barring Ursaring, and swept up Starmie as well. That girl… I hope she makes it to the Conference. I wonder how strong she can become.
And if she could keep up with him.
Ash and Misty moved across the center of the field, their steps measured as the cheers of the crowd began to fade into the background. The intensity of the battle still hung in the air, like the faint smell of burnt earth and sweat.
Liam was the first to extend his hand, still tense from the battle, but a begrudging respect flickered in his eyes. Misty met his handshake with a polite nod, her lips pressed into a thin smile.
"You guys battled great out there. You deserve the win," he said, with a tired smile.
Misty just nodded and said, "You guys two! You're both really good trainers. I hope we battle again someday." She had no need to gloat—Starmie's performance had spoken for itself. When she turned to Ellie, her expression softened slightly.
Ellie, however, remained stiff, her jaw tight as she shook Misty's hand. Her eyes flicked to Ash, narrowing slightly. Ash withheld a smile. That frustration in her eyes had not gone away. It actually looked even worse; now it had a minute or two to fester. Ash approached with his usual calm confidence, his hand outstretched toward Liam. Their grips were firm and brief, both acknowledging the battle without the need for words.
But it was when his eyes found her that he considered something. He clasped her hand, shaking it slowly.
When they parted, he leaned in closer, his voice low and deliberate, he whispered to her, "You're not bad. If you trained your pokemon more and fed your ego, you'd be a whole lot better. If you only had that drive to be the best, like you say you want to be."
Ellie flinched as if his words had struck something raw inside her. Her hand froze in his for a moment, and her eyes widened before narrowing into a sharp glare. Her voice, when it came, was a harsh whisper, laced with nothing but indignation. "Who the hell are you?"
Her tone was biting, defensive, as though the mere fact that Ash had seen through her walls was an affront she couldn't stand. Everything he had said had been correct. And it bothered her more than she could put into words. Ash's smirk widened, a subtle and knowing smile. He didn't flinch at her reaction, didn't waver under her glare. In fact, it seemed to amuse him.
Ellie's jaw clenched at his words, but before she could react further, he continued with a shrug, as if the conversation was already over. "One thing you should know," he said. "Ego is everything. Become so single-minded into getting stronger that nothing else matters. You do that, and you'll succeed."
"Y-you—"
Ash then shrugged.
"Seek me out. Battle me again when you're stronger but remember; there can only be one king. If you don't beat me, you'll never truly be the best."
For a moment, Ellie's breath caught in her throat, her frustration boiling over into silence. She couldn't find a retort fast enough, couldn't fire back and she was forced to watch him strut away, a backwards wave to top it off, as if he hadn't done enough. Ellie, standing at the center of the field, clenched her fists at her sides, her mind racing. His words echoed in her ears, louder than the cheers of the crowd or the sound of her own breathing.
"I'm you, just better."
The audacity of it stung more than she wanted to admit.
… but it also made her think.
Nearing the tunnel, Misty asked, "What did you tell her?"
"Nothing much. Just gave her a little bit of motivation."
"Really?" Misty asked skeptically.
"Yep. Why is that so hard to believe?"
"Because you're an ass."
Ash nodded. "True! But I'm a self-serving ass. I figure if we ever battle again, her and I, I'd prefer if she were stronger. I mean, you gain absolutely fuck all by trashing bottle caps. Win or lose, if it's against a skilled trainer, it's never a waste of time."
"Whatever," said Misty. "Knowing you, it was something horrible." She rolled her eyes when he didn't even bother denying it. "I'm serious; don't be surprised when someone takes a swing at you one day."
"Why would anyone wanna punch me? I'm adorable."
"The worst part about you, is I don't know if you're being serious or not."
Ash sniffed. "Can you hear that? It's the sound of my heart breaking. I—I just don't know much verbal abuse I can take from my best friend."
"I'm your only friend, and stop being an idiot, all right?"
"So we are friends!"
"Ugh!"
Beneath his breath, Ash cackled. Man, was it fun to get underneath her skin. She just made it too easy.
The tunnel echoed with the fading roar of the crowd as Ash and Misty made their way back to the waiting room. The adrenaline of battle still hummed through their bodies, but the silence of the empty chamber brought a strange stillness. Misty found herself hating it. The stern-faced woman awaited them, her piercing eyes locking onto the pair as they entered.
She felt a wave of vertigo wash over her, the post-battle euphoria leaving her lightheaded and off-balance. Before she could gather her thoughts, the woman spoke. "You'll only battle once today. Return in two days for the first official round." Her tone was clipped and matter-of-fact.
Misty's brow furrowed. "First round? So... did this battle even matter?" Confusion tinged her words.
The woman nodded curtly.
"We have several hundred applicants for this tournament. And mind you, this is a relatively small affair. My employers did not want a tournament that spans a full month, like many other exhibitions. So, today, we cut the number of applicants in half."
Her expression remained impassive as she delivered the news.
"Congratulations, you made the cut. Please be here Thursday morning, by no later than nine-thirty, to sign in."
Without waiting for a response, the woman pivoted on her heel and strode out of the room, the staccato of her footsteps fading down the hallway. Misty and Ash were left standing in stunned silence, the import of her words slowly sinking in. Her lips twisted into a scowl as she muttered under her breath, "What a bitch."
Ash snorted, a familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Misty glanced at him, one eyebrow arched expectantly, waiting for the inevitable sarcastic quip.
"What? I'm surprised you didn't say it."
"I think that's a particular tree that could do without me barking up it. You, on the other hand, are much better suited for the job. So bark away, bully." He paused, his smirk widening. "Or chihuahua. You remind me more of a chihuahua."
Misty's eyes narrowed, annoyance flaring in her chest. She gave him the finger and did it feel nice to do that. "Bite me, Ash," she growled, turning on her heel and stalking away.
"Ruff, ruff." Ash's chuckle echoed behind her, infuriatingly nonchalant. "Nice comeback, doggy," he called out, his footsteps leisurely as he followed her out into the hallway.
The bustling noise of the streets enveloped them as they walked, the familiar sounds of the city filling the spaces where their banter usually resided. Ash and Misty strolled down the bustling streets of the city, their footsteps echoing against the cobblestone pavement. Above them, colorful banners fluttered in the gentle breeze. As they walked, Ash's eyes darted around observantly, taking in the vibrant space of the cityscape. He noticed a group of Pidgeys perched on a nearby rooftop, their feathers ruffling in the wind as they watched the passing crowd below.
A street performer with a Jigglypuff entertained a small gathering with melodic tunes that drifted through the air. He noticed Misty's hand subconsciously adjust her pokeballs at her waistband as they weaved through the throng of people. A trainer's Poliwhirl splashed playfully in a fountain nearby, its blue skin shimmering under the midday sun while it playfully ran away from an Officer Jenny.
The distant hum of chatter and laughter enveloped them as they navigated through narrow alleys and open squares, each corner revealing new sights and sounds. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of winding paths and colorful distractions, they arrived at their destination—a modest hotel nestled between two towering buildings.
As they approached the hotel, Misty savored the rush of cool air that greeted them as they stepped through the glass doors. The receptionist offered a polite nod, but Misty barely registered the gesture, her focus turned inward. The soft ding of the elevator pulled her from her thoughts, and she stepped inside, the quiet hum of the machinery filling the silence between them.
The ride-up proved brief, the doors sliding open to reveal the hallway of their floor. Misty glanced at Ash as they walked, her earlier irritation gradually fading. As they reached her door, she paused, turning to face him.
"Well, see you tomorrow," she said, her tone more casual than before. Relaxed, too.
Adrenaline must have worked its way out of her system by now.
"Yeah. Try not to stress too much, Chihuahua. We'll be fine," he teased.
"Don't push your luck, Ash. And stop calling me that," she warned and he just waved her threats off.
"If you wanna train together, just shoot me a message. Or, just talk shop," he offered, his tone more serious.
Misty considered his words; the idea held merit. "That's not a bad idea. We should probably get our strategy before Thursday rolls around," she agreed, but she couldn't be bothered to think about that right now. She was exhausted. She could barely even string together a few words to form a sentence. What she needed was ten hours of sleep and the pint of ice cream she had in the freezer.
Ash's smirk softened. "Tell you what. We'll grab dinner, talk about it over a plate or something. Don't worry too much and just try to enjoy this, all right?"
Misty rolled her eyes, opting to forego a comeback. Instead, she raised her hand in a small wave as she slipped into her room, the door clicking shut behind her. The quiet of the room enveloped her, and she leaned against the door, her eyes closing for a brief moment.
Down the hall, Ash made his way to his own room, fishing his keycard from his pocket. The lock beeped, and he stepped inside, greeted by the soft hum of the air conditioning. He set his bag down by the bed, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders. Reaching for his belt, he unclipped his pokeballs, examining each one with a small, soft smile and a critical eye before placing them on the nightstand.
Sighing, Ash kicked off his shoes, the thud against the floor echoing in the stillness of the room. He stretched out on the bed, his arms folded behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. His mind wandered, replaying the events of the day, as well as the future battles. What would happen if he ran up against Gary? Would they lose, would they win? What about someone even stronger than that twat? Like a ringer for the tournament? Or just… a damn genuine prodigy better than him?
For the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to feel intimidated or displeased. If he found someone stronger than him, he'd battle to the best of his abilities and if he lost, so be it. One loss wouldn't mean anything to him now. He wasn't at his peak. Nowhere close to it. It was one thing to lose a "vital" battle as a rookie, but it was a whole 'nother to lose one as a champion. You lose an important, sanctioned challenge as a champion and you lose the crown. Simple as.
His boss did say once or twice that people learn more from failure than success. He figured he wasn't wrong. His fourth loss; some kid named William with an Onix, showed him just how vulnerable Clefable could be if he got overwhelmed. It was an issue he did his absolute best to fix before Erika. Clefable had natural power and a decent set of moves for his age, but he still used to get frazzled by an onslaught of attacks and forget to counter-attack. That hadn't been an issue against Erika and Ash made sure it wouldn't be one against anyone else.
They met back up the next day.
The neon glow from the diner's sign outside bathed the interior in a soft blue haze.
Ash and Misty sat in their usual booth. The clinking of silverware against plates and the low murmur of conversations eased into their ears. If Ash was being honest, it was soothing to him. He generally disliked being in public, but there was a special feeling being in a half-empty diner at 1:00AM. He couldn't even describe it. It was like the feeling he would get when he wandered impractically massive cities at night.
It was peaceful, enjoyable, and soothing, for lack of better words.
Misty picked absentmindedly at her pasta, her thoughts drifting. She glanced up at Ash between bites. He leaned back in the booth, legs stretched out haphazardly under the table as he sipped lazily from a milkshake. The straw never left his mouth.
She raised an eyebrow. "You know, you could at least pretend to have some table manners."
Ash chuckled, the sound muffled by the straw. He took a long, deliberate sip just to annoy her before responding, "What, this isn't fancy enough for you, Misty? Should I sit up straight and put my napkin in my lap?"
"It would be a start," she snorted. "I'm just saying, it wouldn't kill you to show a little respect for the furniture."
"Furniture's seen worse, I'm sure."
He took another languorous sip, eyes half-lidded in contentment. Misty shook her head slightly. For all his bravado and intensity in pokemon battles, in moments like these, Ash had a remarkable ability to let all that melt away. To just... be. She envied that sometimes. That ease he seemed to carry.
"Besides," he added, "it's not like I'm spilling anything. You're the one with the pasta. What if you get sauce everywhere?"
Misty twirled her fork in the tangle of noodles, a playful glint in her eye. "I've got more control than that, thank you very much." She paused, then couldn't resist adding, "Not that you'd know anything about self-control."
"Sure I do," he replied without missing a beat. "I've got perfect control."
Misty snorted. "I can see that," she said dryly, her gaze pointedly sweeping over his lounging self.
Ash merely grinned around the straw between his teeth. Misty shook her head, a smile playing at her lips despite herself. Turning her attention back to her meal, Misty speared a few pasta spirals. As she chewed, a thought occurred to her.
She swallowed, then asked, "Anyway, what's your plan for the next round? It might not be a good idea to send Aron out again. The little guy did great and all..." She trailed off, her brow furrowing slightly. "I mean, if we're up against tougher opponents, you might need to rethink your strategy."
"Already thinking about it. Aron's good, but I'll probably switch things up. Keep 'em guessing." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Besides, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."
Misty raised an eyebrow, her fork paused midair. "Well, wanna share with the class, genius? We are on the same team, you know."
Ash took a long, deliberate sip of his milkshake before answering. "It's nothing overly complicated. Just send out your Staryu and have him use ranged attacks to support my pokemon."
"Are you sure? Wouldn't it be smarter for me to send out Starmie again? She is stronger." Misty set her fork down, surprise and skepticism warring on her face.
"Not really," he replied, his voice as calm as ever. "This is only the second round. Technically, it's the first. You really wanna show all your cards this early?" He fixed Misty with a pointed look. "You probably didn't show off all your Starmie could do, which is good. Save that for the next round at least. Besides, if you want your Staryu to get stronger, you've got to use him in battle."
Misty sighed, leaning back in her seat. Her shoulders sagged as a flicker of vulnerability passed over her features. "I know, I know. I just..." She hesitated, biting her lower lip. "I just don't want you to lose because of me."
Ash's smirk widened as a mischievous glint entered his eyes. Without warning, he propelled a wet, paper ball from his straw, sending it flying across the table. It struck Misty on the cheek, causing her to make an alarmed and embarrassed sound. Her eyes widened in shock before narrowing in anger.
"What did you do that for?!" she demanded, her voice a mix of irritation and disbelief. She wiped at her cheek, glaring daggers at Ash.
Ash chuckled, still reclining in his seat. "That's for worrying too much. You're bringing down the mood. We're not going to lose this early in the tournament. As if I'd ever let something that embarrassing happen to the two of us."
Misty huffed, rubbing her cheek where the paper ball had hit. Her skin tingled from the impact, a faint red mark marring her smooth complexion. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Yep," he replied, completely unfazed. He shrugged, a smug grin tugging at his lips. "And yet, here you are, stuck with me. You must hate life."
Misty rolled her eyes yet again, a gesture that was becoming increasingly familiar in Ash's presence. She fixed him with a pointed look. "For the record, I love my life. I just hate that you're in it."
For a fleeting moment, uncertainty flickered across Misty's face, a slight furrow appearing between her brows. She wondered if she crossed a line there? But before the doubt could take root, Ash erupted into a fit of laughter, the sound reverberating through the diner. He clutched his stomach, nearly choking on his milkshake as he struggled to catch his breath. Misty watched, equal parts relieved and annoyed, as Ash's shoulders shook with mirth.
"You're getting better at that," he managed between chuckles. "I'm impressed."
The absurdity of their relationship, the constant push and pull of their interactions, never ceased to make her feel weirded out. She could say things to him that would get her curb stomped anywhere else and he'd just laugh it off as if it was funny. If it wasn't, he'd just retort in the same vein and then laugh at her own expense. What sort of relationship allowed that kind of behavior? Misty wasn't even sure anymore
"Don't worry about losing this round," he said. "I'll use Haunter and do most of the damage. You just worry about being a nuisance, and I'll handle the rest."
"Okay," she said, her eyes brightening with excitement. "Staryu is really close to learning Water Pulse. We'll get it down before the next battle. That'll help with your plan."
Ash reached across the table and patted her arm. "Then, we'll be good," he said before flagging down the waitress for the check.
Moonlight glinted off Aron's steel-plated hide as he stood at the edge of the field, eyes narrowed in focus. Across the clearing, Larvitar shifted nervously in the shadows, green skin melding with the darkness. Ash watched from the sidelines, arms crossed. He saw potential in Larvitar—raw and untapped, waiting to be unleashed. You'd have to be a fool not to. He was a pseudo-legendary. Even the weakest, least impressive specimens—when fully evolved—were nothing short of impressive. And unlike many pokemon, pseudo-legendries had no upper limit of strength and power they could gain. Many of them lived longer, remained in their primes for dozens and dozens of years and truly, once fully evolved, their growth rate was nothing short of mind-numbing.
And Tyranitar were one of the fiercest, most volatile, and monstrously powerful pokemon in existence. They'd been on so many Champion, Elite, and Ace teams it was exceedingly difficult to even count them all. Two of the last six Kanto champions had Tyranitars. Three of the six Johto champions had the same. Hell, somehow, the two champions that came before Cynthia of Sinnoh had Tyranitars. That alone spoke to their pedigree of raw success. If their typing and station of being a pseudo-legendary did not already infer that, the repeated appearances on wonderfully powerful trainers' teams did.
However, he wasn't training a Tyranitar. He was training a traumatized Larvitar. It was going to take time before he grew into the powerhouse he knew he would become and the young pokemon needed confidence, experience. And that only came one way: through battle.
"Alright, Larvitar," he called out, his tone even but encouraging. "Focus on your attacks. Don't worry about missing. Just give it your all."
Larvitar glanced back at his trainer and nodded, tiny fists clenching with obstinacy as he turned to face Aron. The rocky pokemon took a deep breath. With a sharp intake of breath, Larvitar bolted, feet slapping unevenly against the rocky ground. Each step was hasty, clumsy even, the kind of rush that reeked of inexperience. Ash did not hold it against him. He was inexperienced. He was weak. He was lagging. But that was temporary. Weakness was temporary. It was for him, and so would it be for any pokemon he captured. Larvitar's arms pumped at his sides, and though his heart was in the attack, his lack of precision was… evident. His small frame bobbed as he closed the distance, the ground beneath him uneven and unforgiving.
He stood and ran off again. Once more, seeing the clumsy approach, Aron stepped back, allowing Larvitar to close the distance without being overwhelmed. Larvitar swung with all his might, his small arm whipping through the air in a wide flex. He aimed for Aron's side, the punch coming in low but lacking real force. The hit connected, but it was more of a soft tap than a decisive strike. His fist made a faint clang as it glanced off Aron's steel armor, the sound barely registering over the ambient noise.
The steel pokemon barely flinched as the blow glanced off his armor. But he let out a low growl of encouragement.
The young rock-type, though, stood tall—for his diminutive height.
Ash nodded to himself, pleased. It was a start. Larvitar had heart, guts. With training and experience, the technique would come. For now, the key was building the little guy's confidence, letting him test his mettle against a patient, restrained opponent.
"Good!" Ash called out. "Keep it up, Larvitar. Stay on him."
Larvitar squared his shoulders, emboldened by the praise. He began to circle Aron, looking for another opening. Aron tracked his movements, blue eyes calm and assessing. Letting Larvitar set the pace, waiting for him to strike again.
Aron stood firm, his iron body reflecting the moonlight as if it were made from the very stars above. He didn't strike back, didn't counter. Instead, he absorbed each blow, letting the impact reverberate through his frame, only shifting slightly when Larvitar's strikes hit their mark. His movements were minimal, a stark contrast to Larvitar's growing intensity. Larvitar's fist connected again, a solid hit aimed at Aron's midsection. The blow landed with a dull thud against Aron's steel-plated body, but Aron barely moved. A faint growl of approval rumbled from deep within Aron's chest.
Larvitar stumbled back after the hit, panting heavily, but the glint in his eye remained fierce. He was learning, his clumsy movements from earlier now honed into something sharper, more precise. His small fists clenched tightly at his sides, the frustration from earlier replaced with something a tad more sustainable.
And through it all, Ash watched. Critiquing. Encouraging. Knowing that with each exchange, each tiny victory and frustrating miss, Larvitar was taking another step. Finding his power. His place.
One training session at a time.
After a small break, Larvitar regrouped, his rocky brow furrowing as he eyed Aron. boldness flickered in his red eyes, underscored by a hint of aggravation. He wanted to land a solid hit, to prove himself. To show his trainer what he could do. That he was worth it. He charged again, feet churning up dust and pebbles. This time, his steps held a bit more precision, a bit more control. Not graceful by any means, but it was progress. Larvitar leaped, jaws wide, aiming for Aron's flank.
But his timing was off. Aron sidestepped neatly, letting Larvitar's momentum carry him past. Larvitar stumbled, caught off balance. He braced for a retaliatory strike that never came. Instead, he felt a gentle nudge against his side.
Aron was pushing him back into position with a careful headbutt. Holding back, even now, giving Larvitar space to find his footing. Larvitar huffed, irritation flaring. He glanced back at Ash, seeking... what? Guidance? Reassurance?
Ash met his gaze, amber eyes steady. Patient. "Keep going, Larvitar. You're doing fine."
Fine. Not great. Not impressive. Just... fine. Larvitar swallowed his frustration, drawing in a deep breath. Ash believed in him. Aron was giving him chances to learn. He couldn't let them down.
Squaring his shoulders, Larvitar dug his feet into the ground. Focused. This time, he stayed low, green scales almost brushing the earth. Energy thrummed through his body, gathering, coalescing. In a guttural cry, Larvitar unleashed a Rock Throw.
Stones hurtled through the air, jagged edges glinting in the moonlight. More force behind them than Larvitar's previous attempts. Aron braced himself as they struck his metallic hide, holding his position. Not dodging. Letting the attack connect. A grunt escaped Aron. Approval, not pain. The rocks clattered to the ground, leaving shallow scrapes on Aron's armor. Nothing serious. But more than Larvitar had managed before.
Something sparked in Larvitar's eyes. A flicker of confidence—pride. He surged ahead again, emboldened, swinging a stubby arm in a punch. It connected with a solid thunk against Aron's side. Aron accepted the blow. Then, slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head, and tapped Larvitar with a restrained headbutt. Enough to make him stagger back, eyes widening. A taste of what a real counter could feel like.
But Larvitar didn't fall. Didn't crumple. Instead, he planted his feet. Narrowed his eyes, and let out a low, rumbling growl. Not defeat. Defiance. Obstinacy.
He would keep going. Keep trying. Until he got it right.
Larvitar darted forward, his small legs pounding against the rocky ground. His fists clenched, and the young rock-type swung wildly, launching a flurry of punches toward Aron, each strike filled with raw, untamed energy. He lunged, jabbing at Aron's side, but the steel-type pokemon shifted just enough to avoid the blow, his movements smooth and controlled, contrary to Larvitar's desperate, hurried, and disorderly blows.
Another punch came, this one aimed at Aron's midsection, but Aron sidestepped with a calm, deliberate ease, his iron-clad body barely reacting. Larvitar, undeterred, fired another strike, this one aimed higher, his fist swinging toward Aron's head. Aron ducked slightly, the punch whistling past him.
But no matter how hard Larvitar tried, each punch met only empty air.
Larvitar's breath grew heavier with each missed strike, his muscles burning with the effort. Sweat glistened on his brow, trickling down his face as frustration built in his chest. His attacks became sloppier, the crispness from earlier fading as exhaustion began to creep in. With every punch that missed its mark, Larvitar's frustration deepened, his movements becoming more erratic, less controlled. Finally, after his last punch sailed past Aron's flank, Larvitar stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He huffed loudly, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his small body shook.
Larvitar's glare hardened displeasure at his own weakness, his small fists still clenched at his sides. The bitterness of missing every strike gnawed at him.
"Time out," Ash called, stepping between the two pokemon. "When you miss, don't just stand there and growl. It sucks, but it happens. The more time you pout, the more time you're giving your opponent to counter. Attack and if you miss, keep your eyes on your opponent. Never lose track of your opponent. Never. Understand?"
Larvitar's gaze met Ash's, a mix of disheartenment and understanding flickering in his eyes. He nodded dejectedly, taking in the words of his trainer.
"Alright, go again."
He stepped back, watching as Larvitar took only a second to charge once more. Aron shifted his stance, giving Larvitar more room to maneuver while still restraining his own power, ensuring the young pokemon wasn't overwhelmed.
Larvitar, despite his size and exhaustion, charged forward once again, his small fists swinging with renewed determination. His once-clumsy strikes had grown sharper, and more calculated, even though they still lacked the precision to truly break through Aron's defense.
Every punch carried weight, and each movement was more focused—comparatively—though often falling short of its intended mark. Aron, on the other hand, remained a mountain of calm. His breathing was steady, barely strained, as he deftly avoided Larvitar's strikes with minimal movement. The steel-coated pokemon shifted ever so slightly, evading each blow calculatedly, his iron-clad body a wall that Larvitar couldn't yet penetrate.
And after the last blow, Ash stepped in.
"Alright, that's enough for now. Good work, both of you."
Ash walked over to Larvitar, leaning down to whisper in his ear.
"Not bad. You could have done better, but I'm not angry at you. You listened when I corrected you, and honestly, that's an great trait to have. You're coachable, trainable. Don't worry. Within a week, you'll be battle-ready." And with that, he gave Larvitar a scratch behind the neck.
Larvitar dipped his head and Ash sighed a little.
"Look… I'm not all that good at this stuff." Larvitar cautiously glanced up, confused more than curious. "I'm… I'm…" Ash shook his head. "I suck connections and shit like that. I'll never be able to butter you up with mountains of praise that every other trainer would give you. I'm… yeah," he trailed off, scratching his cheek. "I don't say this lightly, so listen, all right? You did fine. They all started like you. Aron was barely any stronger than you were a few weeks ago. And he can run circles around you."
Indignantly, Larvitar looked elsewhere.
"Just imagine what you'll be able to do in a few weeks."
Larvitar froze, once again, hesitantly glancing back at his trainer.
"You'll be able to outclass yourself a few weeks from now. Two months from now and you probably won't even be the same pokemon." That got Larvitar to think. Would he really become that much stronger in such a short amount of time? Would he really… evolve? "You might think you're weak and honestly, you are. In body. But there is nothing stopping you from being the strongest mentally. You just have to actually have a little confidence in yourself and some patience."
Dipping his head, Larvitar nodded.
"Okay. Good. Go through your physical exercises but double everything." Larvitar blanched visibly and audibly.
"Lar! L—Larvitar!"
"Well, you're the one who wants to get stronger than everyone else, right? Well, you have to outwork them first."
Larvitar sighed before dejectedly leaving.
"And make sure to do two laps around the clearing after every set! Your stamina is atrocious. Get to it."
Larvitar sighed miserably and did not even bother complaining. He well and truly asked for this. He had only himself to blame.
"Alright, Aron," Ash said, switching gears. "Just continue practicing the moves you know now, and do your strength training. After that, come find me. I have the new food you're going to be eating. It has twice the amount of nutrients you need to strengthen your hide, armor, and bones."
Aron brushed his crown against his leg in acknowledgment before dashing off to fulfill his trainer's orders.
Ash's gaze drifted across the clearing, finally landing on Clefable and Carvanha. He beckoned them over.
"You two are up next. Time to spar."
Carvanha's body vibrated with barely contained excitement, emitting an eager sound as it floated away. In contrast, Clefable offered a gentle nod, taking a few graceful hops to the side, ready for the challenge.
Ash walked over to Clefable and Carvanha, his amber eyes flicking between them. "Remember, Carvanha, control that energy. Clefable, keep your defense strong," Ash instructed, a smirk playing on his lips. Carvanha snarled, his body practically buzzing with scarcely contained exhilaration, while Clefable gave a calm nod, ready to begin.
Ash raised his hand and then dropped it.
"Begin!"
Carvanha moved first, as expected. He lunged, growly fiercely, his sharp teeth resplendent in the moonlight. His movements were fast and reckless, a blur of uncontrolled, finely aimed aggression. Clefable watched him calmly, his expression serene but his body tense, muscles coiled like a spring. Carvanha's jaws snapped shut just inches from Clefable's arm, but the fairy-type dodged smoothly, sidestepping the vicious Bite.
Clefable didn't retaliate immediately; instead, he waited, eyes locked on Carvanha as the Water-type circled around, looking for another opening. With another fierce snarl, Carvanha charged again, firing himself at Clefable with a burst of speed. His body shimmered with the water from Aqua Jet, glistening under the pale light.
The attack hit its mark, slamming into Clefable's sturdy form. But the impact only made Clefable take a step back, absorbing the force with a calm resolve. His feet delved into the ground, anchoring him as he reinforced himself against the hit. Carvanha backed off slightly, eyes narrowing, frustration beginning to simmer beneath his aggressive exterior. Unwilling to let up, Carvanha circled back, eyes gleaming and this time, he bared his poisonous fangs, aiming for a decisive strike.
Clefable saw the attack coming and raised his arm just in time. The Poison Fang glanced off his thick hide, but not without leaving its mark. A sharp sting spread through his limb as the poison seeped in. Yet, Clefable stood firm, refusing to be rattled by the pain. Finally, Clefable decided it was time to act. He stepped up, his fist glowing with a faint, icy chill. With precise motion, he swung at Carvanha. The Ice Punch wasn't designed to knock him out, merely to remind him that Clefable wasn't an easy target. The punch connected with Carvanha's side, sending a jolt of cold straight through the water-type's body.
Carvanha recoiled, shaking himself vigorously, his resentment mounting.
Undeterred, Carvanha lunged again. This time, he poured all his energy into a wild, ferocious attack. Clefable braced himself, muscles tightening and Carvanha crashed into him, but Clefable absorbed the force like a wall of stone. Without missing a beat, Clefable countered with a Dazzling Gleam. A burst of light radiated from his body, momentarily blinding Carvanha and sending him skidding back across the ground. Carvanha shook off the disorienting attack, his vision clearing just in time to see Clefable preparing another move.
Carvanha roared, diving in once more with jaws snapping toward Clefable's arm. But Clefable anticipated the move. He stepped back, avoiding the full force of the Bite as Carvanha ferociously jerked his head side-to-side, desperately snapping his jaws to dig closer into Clefable's defenses. Quick to retaliate, Clefable delivered a heavy Ice Punch that struck Carvanha squarely, forcing him to stumble backward.
And so, Ash watched as the spar sustained itself for minutes on end, both testing the other's limits. Carvanha lunged again, his movements now lacking their initial ferocity. His sharp teeth snapped at thin air as Clefable deftly sidestepped, his calm demeanor unbroken despite the weariness etched into his features. The fairy-type responded with a measured slap of his tail, sending Carvanha skidding back, but the water-type refused to yield.
Carvanha's attacks grew sluggish, his once-razor-sharp strikes now telegraphed and slower as spar grew tedious. He circled Clefable, looking for an opening that was no longer there, each attempt more labored than the last. Clefable's counters, too, began to lose their precision, his energy waning with every dodge and block. Both pokemon panted heavily, their breaths clouding in the night air.
"One more," Ash muttered under his breath, eyes narrowed as he watched them closely.
Summoning the last of his strength, Carvanha launched himself at Clefable, encasing his body in a shimmering sheath of water. The Aqua Jet attack collided with Clefable, who absorbed the impact with a solid stance, barely flinching. The two pokemon staggered back, panting, eyeing each other warily. For a moment, they simply stood there, the moon and the near campfire the only things illuminating them. Their eyes met—Carvanha's fierce glare softened by exhaustion, Clefable's serene gaze tinged with respect. Slowly, they gave each other a slight nod of acknowledgment. The spar was over.
Clefable turned, his steps slow but steady, satisfaction evident in his posture. Carvanha let out one last growl, more of acceptance than frustration, before following suit. Despite the pain, he knew he had gained something valuable from this bout.
Ash stepped forward, his presence a calming force amidst the aftermath of the battle. Carvanha still bristled with residual energy, his body marked with scrapes and bruises, while Clefable's usually composed expression showed clear signs of fatigue. Kneeling down, Ash reached into his bag and retrieved a small bottle of healing potion.
"That should do it for now," Ash said, patting Carvanha on the head. His hand lingered for a moment, feeling the rough texture of Carvanha's scales. "Take it easy for an hour. You'll be back to full strength in no time. After that, I'll get you another sparring partner."
Carvanha growled softly, his eyes never leaving Ash's face. It wasn't a sound of defiance but rather an acknowledgment. Ash knew the difference by now.
"You battled pretty well," he continued, his tone shifting from casual to instructional. "Your instincts were good, your attack choice wasn't too bad. Only thing I think you could have done better with is knowing when to dodge and evade, rather than just charging through it."
Carvanha's growl deepened, a low rumble that vibrated through his body.
"Just keep those things in mind in the next sparring session. Improve those, and the only thing you'll really need to improve is pure technique, learning new moves, and obviously, gaining raw power."
Carvanha dipped his head before retreating off into his own self-created pool. Ash watched him dip into it, submerging himself fully until all Ash could see was his dark dorsal fin.
"Alright, Clefable, your turn," Ash said, turning to the fairy-type who stood patiently by. "My critiques for you are pretty much the same. You're too comfortable absorbing blows that are super-effective to you. You need to get better at countering while the attack is in motion, rather than after the fact. Until I teach you a few moves where you can reliably heal yourself, I don't want you to be so inclined to repeat those tendencies. You're going to be facing stronger opponents now; that sort of stuff is not going to fly anymore."
Clefable responded with a soft, melodic hum, bobbing his head in understanding. Well, more in understanding rather than being pleased. He won the match, but now he wasn't sure that was explicitly a good thing. Nevertheless, he took his trainer's advice in stride. That was part of the arrangement. As much as his critiques usually stung, the aftermath—seeing the realization of his efforts, time in and time again, made it worth it and more.
His serene eyes watched Ash with unwavering trust as the trainer sprayed the healing potion over his bruises and cuts. The cool mist settled onto Clefable's pink skin, eliciting a sigh of relief from the fairy.
"Good, that's working," Ash muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He uncapped another bottle, this one marked with a symbol indicating its potency against poison. He sprayed it over the area where Carvanha's several Poison Fangs had left its mark. The liquid shimmered slightly as it made contact, working to neutralize the toxins.
"Get some rest, both of you," Ash instructed, his voice taking on a rare softness. "In an hour or so, if you're feeling up for it, do some conditioning work. And after that, more sparring. I'll find you another partner after the conditioning, Clefable. Other than that, just rest."
Clefable nodded, another gentle hum escaping his lips as the potion took effect. The dull aches began to fade, replaced by a soothing numbness that spread through his limbs. Ash stepped back, giving them space to recover. Satisfied, nodding, he stepped away.
Ash turned his attention to Haunter, who hovered nearby, observing the sparring session with his usual impish grin. The ghost floated in the air, hands phasing in and out of visibility, eager for his next set of instructions.
"Alright, Haunter," he said, his voice firm but tinged with an inkling of amusement. "I want you to keep practicing Disable. You're getting there, but I need you to have it down cold within the week. Think you can handle that?"
Haunter's grin widened, eyes gleaming with a playful glint. "Haunt!" He gave Ash an exaggerated salute, his form flickering briefly before reappearing a few meters away. Ash smiled at his starter's enthusiasm.
"I'll check on you later and I'll arrange a sparring session with you then," he added, his tone lighter now. Haunter responded by vanishing completely, only to reappear moments later in a different spot, already immersed in his practice.
Leaving Haunter to his antics, Ash turned his gaze to the large, imposing figure of Ursaring. The normal-type stood off to the side, eyes focused and serious, waiting patiently—as patiently as someone like Ursaring could—for his turn.
"Ursaring," he began, stepping closer. "I want you to focus on Payback again tonight." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. "You have all the battling experience in the world, and I have no doubt that if you listen to me, there are very few pokemon on our level that can beat you."
Ursaring growled low in his throat, nodding his massive head.
"It's all about taking a hit and turning it into something even stronger," Ash continued, his voice steady. "Not an unfamiliar prospect to you, which is why I think it'll be such an amazing shoe-in for your battling style. I want you to get a good grasp on it either tonight or tomorrow night. Can you do that?"
A deeper, more resonant growl emanated from Ursaring. A clear enough affirmation, Ash mused.
"Good," Ash said, his tone approving. "Practice taking those hits and then hitting back twice as hard. I'll be watching."
Ursaring moved to a clear area of the field, his heavy steps echoing like the tumbling of distant thunder. He squared his shoulders and began anew.
All right.
I don't really have much to say except to apologize for being away so long. I won't give any excuses; merely an explanation. I had a pretty tough year for a variety of reasons that I won't get into. I'm doing a bit better now, and I want to actually begin posting again normally.
Nevertheless, this chapter came to me quite easily. I had a general idea of what I wanted to write in regard to a few scenes before I published chapter four, but putting words on paper felt effortless. This might have been the easiest chapter to write, and I feel genuinely confident in it, which is humorous, considering how badly I procrastinate with publishing new chapters. I will literally accumulate tens of chapters just because I get bad anxiety while updating. It's pathetic, I know, but it's my personal mission not to allow that to affect me any longer.
So, how did you guys feel about that chapter? It's my first time writing a tournament of any kind, so there may be flaws in it that I just don't see. I'm okay with that, because I know I'm going to continue to improve the longer I write this story. So, don't be afraid to give some reviews critiquing the story and the mini-tournament arc I'm writing.
Anywho, that's pretty much it for me. I have to finish editing part two, which is already finished. Yeah. I wasn't lying when I said I accumulate chapters, unfortunately.
