Chapter Text
“Garchomp, Spikes!” I roar, and Garchomp roars in kind, the dragon blood pumping through both of our veins burning in synchronicity as she scatters earthen caltrops around the battlefield.
“Medicham, unleash your frozen fist of justice! ICE PUNCH!” The overdramatic scream comes from my opponent for the match, a perpetual annoyance named Ivor.
“Medi!” calls back the Pokémon in question, a pink humanoid creature. It cloaks its fist in Ice-type energy and slams it into Garchomp, sending her reeling to the ground.
I smirk as I notice Medicham shaking its open hand slightly after the attack, having injured itself on Garchomp’s shark-like Rough Skin. Most importantly, I see that the abrasion—however minor—was enough to shred the delicate red sash tied around Medicham’s arm.
“Good job, girl,” I whisper to Garchomp’s Great Ball as a flash of red light emits from it and absorbs her.
“Hah! Trading one of your Pokémon for a single layer of entry hazards? Perhaps you should spend more time at the Fist of Justice dojo. It’s clear you need to learn what a fair exchange looks like,” Ivor gloats.
I grin, dropping into a low crouch. “Oh, pretty boy,” I snarl. “It’s so cute that you don’t realize. I’ve already won.”
Ivor flinches as I bare my fangs at him, but shakes it off pretty quickly. “Already won? Hardly. Send out your next Pokémon so they can face JUSTICE!”
“Noivern! Drag this poser!” I call, hurling a second Great Ball into the air where it bursts with white light, revealing a massive bat-like Dragon-type with a white fur mane and ears that resemble loudspeakers. A pair of yellow spectacles dangle from a chain around her neck—I had tried to get her to actually wear them as glasses a couple times, but they were not made for draconic faces with eyes on the sides of the head rather than facing forwards. Plus they were hard to balance on Noivern’s red nose crest without looking extremely goofy, and Noivern refused to look silly in battle, which I respect.
“Noi! Noi!” Noivern screeches. She flaps her wings, remaining aloft in place as her Great Ball falls back into my waiting hand.
“Ice Punch!” shouts Ivor.
At the same time, I call out my own order: “Hurricane!”
Gale-force winds rip through the battle court, blowing hats off of spectators and scattering newspapers out of nearby newsstands. Medicham is unable to even begin gathering type energy, as it’s blasted into the chainlink fence surrounding the battlefield. Without the protection of the Focus Sash that Garchomp’s Rough Skin had torn to pieces, the impact is enough to knock it out instantly.
“Machamp! Slay this dragon! Stone Edge!” Ivor screams, hurling an Ultra Ball into the field with one hand while he withdraws his Medicham with the other.
A muscular gray Pokémon with four arms, wearing a bulky red vest, materializes and flexes for the audience. The Spikes set by Garchomp dig into its feet as it takes the field. I just smirk and snap my fingers. Noivern blasts out another Hurricane—the only move it can use with those Choice Specs it’s holding. The wind slams Machamp into the ground, relentlessly battering it against the Spike-covered floor until it passes out despite the padded vest. Ivor grits his teeth in frustration and withdraws his second Pokémon, all while Noivern continues to lazily circle the battle court, completely untouched.
“Heracross! Protect!” Ivor commands, releasing his next Pokémon—a blue beetle with a massive horn. It raises its arms and conjures a dome of protective energy, blocking… nothing, as I withdraw my Noivern.
“Dragalge, take the field!” I call, sending out my partner Pokémon. My mom had found Dragalge as a Skrelp in the waters south of Slateport City, long before my scumbag father met her on a business trip and convinced her to leave Hoenn and our Draconid heritage behind. Now Dragalge was all I had left of her—my strongest battler and best friend. She emerges from her Great Ball, floating gracefully above the battle court as her leaf-like fins dance gracefully in the breeze.
Meanwhile, Ivor’s Heracross winces and drops something it’s been holding since taking the field—an orb of red glass that flickers as if filled with an internal flame. The Flame Orb has done its job by now, giving Heracross a nasty burn that will last until it gets healed with an item or at a Pokémon Center.
“Sorry that this battle is going to be so boring for you, girl,” I tell Dragalge. “Flip Turn!”
“Façade!” calls out Ivor in reply. Heracross chitters out an insectile war cry as it flutters forwards on its shell-covered wings, slamming itself into Dragalge before leaping backwards. I know my partner, though, and she takes the attack comfortably—not even a critical blow would’ve been enough to take her down.
Dragalge counters by surrounding herself in water and rushing after Heracross as it attempts to disengage. She somersaults in midair and pushes off of it, like a swimmer pushing off the wall of a pool after finishing a length—not only striking Heracross for minor damage but also propelling herself back towards me, where I have her Great Ball waiting. I quickly withdraw her and send Noivern back out.
“Air Slash!”
“Façade!”
My command and Ivor’s both echo through the battlefield, but only mine is executed. A blade of air—much less indiscriminate than the earlier Hurricanes—is enough to dispatch Heracross before it can repeat its earlier strike. Heck, after the Spikes, burn damage, and chip from the Flip Turn, it was probably enough to KO Heracross two or three times over, considering its Bug and Fighting types were both weak to Flying.
Ivor is sweating now, but he still doesn’t concede. There’s not much I like about the guy, but I do respect that. The commitment to fight until the bitter end. Noivern could always miss an Air Slash, after all.
“We may be backed into a corner, but we won’t back down! Time to Mega Evolve, Falinks! Justice WILL win the day!” Ivor’s final Pokémon takes the field as he activates the Key Stone set in the back of his right glove, causing blinding, rainbow-colored light to ripple from both it and the Mega Stone held by Falinks. “Use No Retreat!”
“Noivern, Air Slash,” I get out, trying not to giggle as Ivor’s Falinks—a Pokémon consisting of six round little creatures called troopers—Mega Evolves. They hop up on top of each other, stacking to form a tiny little Megazord as they assume what the Pokédex calls “the ultimate battle formation.” Unfortunately for Ivor and Falinks, the ultimate battle formation does not hold up to a Choice Specs Air Slash, and the cute little guys are scattered across the ground as Noivern shreds them, knocking the troopers off of each other and leaving them sprawled all over the battle court.
“My justice… didn’t prevail,” Ivor gasps in despair as he withdraws his partner Pokémon. “It is clear I must train even harder.”
“Good job, girl. Four up, four down,” I call up to Noivern as she trills happily. She swoops down and lands next to me. I run my hand through her fluffy mane, stroking her as she coos appreciatively, then return her to her Great Ball.
“It was a good battle,” Ivor says once we’re alone on the battle court, pressing the battle’s prize money into my hand. “But mark my words: one day, I will defeat you!”
“Yeah, yeah. Any time, any place. There isn’t a single person in Lumiose City who can beat me,” I reply.
Ivor lets out a soft “hmph” and exits the battle court, probably heading for the nearest Pokémon Center.
My team is in much better shape than his—a Revive and a couple of Max Potions ought to do me, so I can return to the crowd outside the court and keep looking for challengers. I had been hoping to take on someone who might actually be worth my time, not just Ivor again. The dude has some kind of fixation on me. I had once beaten him up when we were kids in school, and he’s been weirdly obsessed with me ever since—he’ll flinch whenever I so much as glance at him, but he’s also constantly challenging me to contests, from arm-wrestling to Pokémon battles. Not that he’s ever won. I’m really not sure why he persists—I guess fighting each other is just the only way guys like us know how to make friends? But if that’s his goal, it certainly hasn’t worked so far. I’m much better friends with his sister Gwynn than I am with him, and our favorite topic of conversation is how aggravating Ivor is.
Speaking of Gwynn, I clock her Chandelure-themed hat in the crowd and make my way over to her. She’s sitting on one of those benches with the armrests dividing them into seats, watching something on her Rotom Phone with earbuds in. I wince as I look at the bench, remembering nights spent trying to get comfortable enough on one to sleep back before I was making enough prize money to afford rent on an apartment. I take a seat next to Gwynn and tap her on the shoulder, and she jumps in her seat, whirling to face me as she pulls out an earbud. I can hear an obnoxiously perky girl’s voice playing over the headphones, cussing up a storm—something about “Beldum Bouffalantshit,” from what I can hear. Gwynn frantically taps at her screen until the video she’s watching stops playing.
“Yo, battle’s over. I kicked your brother’s ass,” I say. “Whatcha watching?”
“N-nothing!” Gwynn sputters, turning off her phone’s screen, but not before I catch a glimpse of what appears to be a gaming stream. The streamer, whose face cam is visible in the corner, is a tan girl with two-toned yellow and teal hair.
“Who’s she? Your e-girl crush?” I tease.
“Shut up!” Gwynn says. “…but yes. Her name is Canari. Oh, Canari… ♥”
“How did you…? You know what, never mind.”
“Well, thanks for letting me know the battle is over. I should probably go find Ivor before he breaks something. Sorry that he keeps bothering you,” Gwynn says.
“It’s all good. I’m always happy to put down a challenger. And to be fair I did kind of beat the crap out of him when we were in high school—can’t fault the guy for holding a grudge.”
Gwynn giggles. “That did mess him up. Did you know that’s why he started working out so much? He was worried you’d come after him again and wanted to be ready. Then he fell in love with martial arts and strength training, which led to him opening the dojo. Really he should be thanking you for helping him find his passion.”
“Well, it’s not like I was sweating it that much, but good to know I didn’t ruin his life or anything,” I respond, grinning.
“Why did you beat him up, anyways?” Gwynn asks.
I shrug. “I dunno. I wasn’t in a good place when I was in high school. Took it out on the people around me.”
Gwynn nods, accepting my answer, and stands. She releases her partner Pokémon—a Chandelure to match her hat—from a Nest Ball. “Chandelure, find Ivor,” she says. The Ghost-type lets out a cry and vanishes, doing its spooky ghost thing. “I’ll see you around!” Gwynn calls to me as she walks off into the crowd.
I release Garchomp and Dragalge once I have the bench to myself and open my bag to get out my healing items. As I tend to their injuries, I muse that I wasn’t entirely honest with Gwynn. I definitely was lashing out at the world in high school—Mom was sick and Dad didn’t give a fuck, having left her for some Unovan girl as soon as she got her diagnosis. He was probably out living his best life, doing lines of coke and fucking foreign girls on business trips behind his new wife’s back the entire time Mom was in the hospital.
Ivor, though, wasn’t just a random target—there was just something about him from the very first time I saw him that irked me. His flowing, silky blond hair. His slight frame and delicate features. His long, pretty eyelashes. Every time I saw him, I was just… I don’t fucking know, jealous, I guess. He was like a little porcelain doll, unexposed to the harshness of the real world. He had a family who loved him and enough money to easily replace the countless Rotom Phones he kept on breaking like the clumsy oaf he still is to this day. Whereas I was hanging out on streets and in back alleys, selling weed and getting into Pokémon battles for prize money to try and keep up with the minimum payments on Mom’s apartment and hospital bills. I guess I just wished I was a little more like pretty boy Ivor, instead of being a rough punk with dyed and buzzed hair in hand-me-down clothes riddled with holes.
It didn’t help that Ivor was super popular with all the girls in our grade—I could still remember the chorus of “Oh, can I touch your hair? Can I put makeup on you? You’d look soooo good!” and whatnot that followed him through the halls. Nobody wanted to touch my hair, and definitely nobody wanted to see what an ugly motherfucker like me would look like in makeup. Er, not that I wanted to wear makeup, of course—it’s just that a bit of attention would’ve been nice.
That persistent jealousy was enough for Ivor to be my first choice of target when I hit my breaking point after Mom passed. It wasn’t long after that that I lost the apartment. I dropped out of school and left for a Pokémon journey, using prize money and the accommodations reserved for traveling trainers at Pokémon Centers to shield myself from the worst parts of being homeless. Even though I didn’t end up making it to the Pokémon League, I wouldn’t trade that Pokémon journey for anything—I had caught Garchomp as a Gible in the badlands just outside Lumiose on Route 13, and Noivern as a Noibat in a cave between Anistar City and Couriway Town. Both of them were now irreplaceable to me. I had also met and battled my rival, a cool Paldean butch named Marcia whose partner Pokémon is a Dragon-type called Cyclizar. I’d never seen one in-person before meeting her, and introducing me to a new Dragon-type is a surefire way to get on my radar. I’d earned three Gym Badges—Lumiose’s, Laverre’s, and Anistar’s—before hitting a wall against Wulfric. I hadn’t been able to beat his Ice-types with my three dragons before the end of the League season, so I had to slink back home to Lumiose, promising Marcia we’d meet up again someday and take on the Kalos League as partners next time. I haven’t heard from her recently—hopefully she’s doing well.
Since coming home to Lumiose, the passage of time and dealing with actual adversity (see again: deadbeat dad, dead-period mom, homelessness) have definitely cooled my feelings on Ivor. No irrational hatred anymore—I respect the guy’s dedication to self-improvement, and his sister is cool. But even now that he’s ripped as hell, he’s still frustratingly pretty with that gorgeous hair and those long lashes. Not that I’m gay or anything—it’s just that he doesn’t seem to understand how good he’s got it. Most of us men turn into horrible beasts or goblins covered in hair that stink to high heaven, not beautiful angels who girls trip over themselves to be near. I’m not sure Ivor has even noticed that his entire Fist of Justice team is all women except for him. Meanwhile my only two friends, Gwynn and Marcia, are both lesbians. Of course, I can hardly fault them for that—I like girls too, after all!
“Is this seat taken?”
I’m jolted out of my reverie by a rich feminine voice, coming from a woman in a visibly expensive white trench coat. She’s got dark grey shoulder-length hair, and she’s wearing a wide-brimmed hat, a gorgeous pair of boots, and sunglasses that would probably cost me an entire month’s worth of prize money. She also looks vaguely familiar—I can swear I’ve seen her before somewhere, but the hat and sunglasses are doing a lot to obscure her face.
“No, go for it. I was just leaving, actually,” I say as I recall Garchomp and Dragalge, both of whom are fully healed by now. I stand to offer her the bench I was using.
“Merci,” she says, smiling. “A gentleman as well as a battler.”
“Ah, did you see that?” I ask, grinning. “I’m the best in the city. If you aren’t from around here, you’re in luck that you got to see me in action.”
The lady titters, covering her laugh with one hand. “I see,” she says. “Then I’ll count myself grateful—it’s rare that I get to stay in Lumiose long these days. I’m just coming home from a trip to Virbank City in Unova, in fact.”
I grin lazily at her as she continues talking.
“While I’ve got the attention of ‘the best in the city,’ do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Shoot,” I say, my smirk widening. This rich chick seems really into me!
“Why switch your Noivern out against Heracross? Even with her Choice Specs, couldn’t she have just stayed in and used Hurricane against Heracross and Falinks?”
“Ah, good question,” I say. “You must be interested in Pokémon battles?”
“You could say that,” she replies, with what appears to be an amused twinkle in her eyes.
“Well, I’ve battled Ivor before. I know his go-to responses against fast Flying-types are his Focus Sash Medicham with Ice Punch and his Assault Vest Machamp with Stone Edge. Since Ivor knows all three of my Pokémon are weak to Ice but only one of them is weak to Rock, I figured he’d lead with Medicham, which is why I started with Garchomp. I knew she was faster than Ivor’s Medicham and could set up Spikes while breaking the Focus Sash with Rough Skin. Then Noivern could knock Medicham out. I used Hurricane because I knew Machamp was next—and even a Machamp holding an Assault Vest and fully trained to maximize its health drops to a single Specs Hurricane after Spikes damage. It would have to sacrifice Attack investment and focus on its Special Defense instead if it wanted to take that hit, and I know that just isn’t Ivor’s style.”
The woman nods. “You sound like you know this Ivor well.”
“Since high school,” I reply. “And Pokémon battling is all about instincts. Trainers are predators, sniffing out weakness in their prey that they can use to go for the kill. Ivor’s weakness is that he’s too focused on straightforward aggression. I’d call myself an aggressive battler as well, but I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Ivor use Spikes or Stealth Rock or anything even once–he just likes to set up and attack. No nuance.” The woman nods along as I explain my battle philosophy. I preen a little at the attention. “Anyways, that’s why I’m at the top of the Lumiose food chain—dragons are apex predators. There’s no weakness I can’t sniff out.”
“Interesting theory,” the lady replies. “But please, do go on.”
“Sure. I knew I had to use Hurricane on Machamp to power through the Assault Vest. Air Slash wouldn’t do the trick, not even if I had gotten up all three layers of Spikes somehow. Luckily, Hurricane can never miss Ivor’s Machamp—Ivor uses No Guard, with Stone Edge and Dynamic Punch, not Guts. But if I stayed in after Heracross came out, I’d have to hit two more Hurricanes in a row, and that’s just begging to be punished. He could’ve set up a Trailblaze with his Heracross or a No Retreat with his Falinks and counterswept me.”
“I see. Not a fan of being punished?” the woman asks, smiling suggestively and arching an eyebrow.
I flush. “I guess that depends on who’s doing the punishing,” I flirt back. “But not in Pokémon battles, no.”
“Wouldn’t the switch to Dragalge give Ivor more of an opportunity to set up Trailblaze, if that’s what you were worried about?”
“Nah. I knew he’d Protect for the Flame Orb on his first turn, giving me a free switch. Then if he tried to Trailblaze on Dragalge and I just used an Adaptability-boosted Sludge Wave, Heracross would be done for. Ivor probably thought I was using an offensive set on Dragalge, not a bulky pivot set, since that’s what I did the last time we battled. He went for the KO on Dragalge hoping that he could try to set up on a potential miss when Noivern came back out. But he probably wasn’t expecting me to have tech’d on a second, more-accurate Flying move. I still could’ve missed, but it was much less likely once I was able to reposition and use Air Slash instead of Hurricane.”
The woman smiles broadly. “You do seem to know what you’re doing. But I wonder how your battling holds up when you face an opponent you don’t know well enough to counterteam?”
I smile back. “Is that a challenge?”
“Not from me, no. But I do get the feeling a close friend of mine would very much enjoy battling you,” she says.
I’m a little disappointed that this chick doesn’t want to go right here right now, but that doesn’t stop my grin from getting a little more feral. “Any time, any place,” I growl.
“I hoped you’d say that,” the woman says, handing me a card. The cardstock reads “Society of Battle Connoisseurs” in a flowery lavender script, and I recognize the address printed below as Hotel Richissime—the kind of frou-frou place beloved by rich douches that reminds me of my dad and makes my blood boil.
I glare at the card as if it’s wronged me, then look up at the women and smirk. “Well, tell your friend to be prepared. No prey escapes Lumiose’s apex predator.”