Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Friday morning came far too fast.

There would be no training today. We couldn’t risk an injury with the big battle only hours away.

Instead, I paced the suite with my Pokédex in hand, scrolling through movesets and scribbling notes while Ace lounged on the couch cleaning his fur with a sandpaper tongue and Arashi demolished her second bowl of kibble like she was carbo-loading.

Suzie wasn’t some four-badge Gym trainer. She’d done the circuit herself. The full eight badges, Indigo Conference in her first year, and she’d placed high enough that A.C.E. had come knocking.

She was stronger than us. No point pretending otherwise. She’d had years of battles to shape her instincts, while we’d scraped by with weeks. But strength wasn’t everything. If we were smart, and extremely lucky, we could cut her where she didn’t expect. Suzie would be expecting rookies, sloppy mistakes, nerves she could exploit. She’d want to humiliate me, not just beat me. That kind of over-confidence? I could use that.

She knew about Arashi from our fight against Heather. That alone told me she wouldn’t risk her Flying-types. No Butterfree, no Ledian, no Scyther. Not if she wanted to keep her reputation intact. Beedrill? Venomoth? Both Poison, both dangerous, and both local to Viridian City. If I had to bet, one of them would hit the field before tonight was over.

Then there was Ace. Last Suzie had seen him, he’d been just an Eevee. Normal-type. Weak to Fighting-type moves. If she wanted a show of dominance, she’d send something built to crush him. That meant Heracross.

The thought made my stomach tighten. Ace hadn’t flinched when he evolved, hadn’t flinched at training until his paws shook, but Heracross was a monster. Pins through steel. Fists that could level walls.

I wouldn’t lie to my team. We were undeniably the underdogs. No question. But scribbling out my notes, going over every possible matchup, I felt something shift. A week was a long time and we’d pushed ourselves to the very edge of our limits. If we kept our heads, if we seized every opening and didn’t let go, then yeah. We could do this.

Still, I set my jaw and underlined the name in my notes. Better to expect the worst than get blindsided. If Suzie wanted to flex with a Heracross, then we’d show her exactly how hard an “underdog” could bite.

Then there was the name. Harrison.

A family of Gym leaders. While I’d been watching Pokemon on Cartoon Network in my Pikachu pajamas, she’d been helping her brothers train since she could walk. Pokemon wasn’t a hobby for her—it was the family business.

Joey sprawled on the rug nearby, egg tucked in a nest of sheets beside him, throwing out ideas like he was pitching movie plots to a bored Netflix exec.

“What if Ace uses Feint Attack when her Pokemon is midair, it’ll look awesome.”

“Focus,” I cut in, but I couldn’t quite kill the corner of my mouth pulling up.

Ace flicked an ear without looking at either of us, his rings glowing steady, calm in the way only he could be. Arashi bleated and sparked again, her version of laughing at Joey’s dramatics. Mr. Wiggles shadowboxed at the edge of the rug, throwing wild punches at imaginary opponents.

We weren’t flawless, not even close. But the room felt wired with the kind of energy that could carry us through a fight.

—

The diner was busier than I’d ever seen it.

Fryers hissed, plates clattered, and conversations competed with one another. The air was thick with the smell of greasy bacon and sugary syrup. Joey didn’t care—he was too busy inhaling pancakes, butter smeared across his cheek like war paint.

Beside him, Mr. Wiggles tore into a pile of scrambled eggs so big it looked like the kitchen had mugged a Chansey. Yolky shrapnel dotted the table, and Joey’s laugh only got louder every time his partner missed his mouth. The waitress had given up trying to keep up, just dropping refills and fleeing before collateral damage reached her apron.

I stirred my coffee, more out of habit than any desire for the bitter dirt-water, watching the cream spiral into galaxies that dissolved before they could settle. My stomach was too knotted to think about food. Every clang of cutlery, every hiss from the griddle lined up with the clock ticking toward tonight. The battle felt close enough to touch, close enough to choke on.

That was when Raymond arrived. He didn’t so much walk as stride, his cane tapping on the floor with each step before sliding into the booth across from us. The guy had a way of making a diner booth look like a throne. His suit was casual but still sharp enough to cut glass, his hair slicked back, his eyes gleaming. He didn’t smell like grease or syrup, either but instead something clean and expensive that cut straight through the diner’s haze.

A neat little bundle hit the table between us with a soft thump. Paper wrapping, clean string, the kind of package that didn’t belong anywhere near Joey’s sticky syrup plate.

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“Figured you’d want to look the part tonight,” Raymond said, his grin all teeth.

I tugged the knot loose. Inside—black denim still stiff from new dye, a jacket cut sharp across the shoulders, every rivet and zipper gleaming like it had been polished just for me. Battle clothes. Not flashy—no sequins, no desperate sparkle—just clean lines and cold steel. My chest tightened. Gratitude, nerves—same thing, really.

“It’s not my usual work,” Raymond said. The smirk lingered, but his eyes softened, just enough to pass for genuine. “But it was one of the most fun.”

“Thank you, Raymond,” I said, my words almost sticking in my throat. “It’s perfect.”

Joey looked up, syrup shining on his chin.

“Hey, do I get a suit too?”

Raymond gave him a single flat look over the rim of his glasses and Joey shrank back into his pancakes like a scolded child, fork suddenly very interesting.

The package sat heavy in front of me. Tonight, I wouldn’t just be walking into a battle. I’d be walking into an arena dressed for war.

—

“And these are completely League legal?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” the clerk assured me, chipper in a way that didn’t match the steel glint of the items on the counter. “Protects the throat, and you can slot your preferred held item beneath the band or hang it from the front.”

The collars looked simple—black leather bands with a snap lock, nothing flashy. The extra metal studs in my pocket courtesy of Raymond would take care of that.

“Great. I’ll take two,” I said. “And a Dark Gem. Electric Gem, too.”

The clerk rang it up like I’d just bought candy. To me, it felt closer to strapping blades onto the people I loved.

—

We were only a few feet outside our hotel when my Pokédex buzzed in my pocket, Oak’s name burning across the screen.

“I need to take this,” I told Joey.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but for once he didn’t. Just nodded, shoulders slumping, while I slipped into a narrow lane between buildings.

The noise of the diner dulled behind me, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the faint hiss of wind through the alley.

Neon glare bled off a nearby window sign and across my face as I thumbed the screen, steadying it more than I wanted to admit. Ace stirred faintly in my shadow, his rings glowing once before dimming.

The signal clicked, faint static in my ear. My throat felt dry, but I forced the words out.

“Gary,” I answered the call. “Is everything ready for tonight?”

—

The waiting room was colder than I expected. Concrete walls, a single bench, and the muffled roar of the crowd pressing down from above. Every chant and cheer seeped through the floor, vibrating in my chest like I’d already stepped into the arena.

My Pokemon rested in their Poke Balls, despite Ace’s complaints. We couldn’t risk Suzie having a way to see him in my shadow. No need to reveal our hand too soon.

The door was flung open.

Fatigues crisp, hair tied back sharp, expression smug enough to sour milk. She didn’t bother knocking, didn’t bother asking. Suzie walked in like she owned the place—probably because she did.

“Well,” she said, voice slipperier than honey. “You done with the dramatics, Luxford? There’s still time to bow out. Save yourself the humiliation.”

I leaned back against the bench, arms folded but said nothing.

“What’s the matter? Too busy rehearsing your sob story for when you lose? Don’t bother. Everyone already knows what you are.”

I tilted my head and spoke as calmly as I could manage.

“Why do you hate me so much?” I asked.

Her smile sharpened.

“Why?” she said. “Because you’re a freak, Luxford. This nation was built on people knowing their place, who respected the natural order. You’re a stain on everything that makes Kanto beautiful.”

“You don’t even know me,” I said, struggling to keep my voice level.

“I don’t need to,” she snapped. “I can see it. Everyone can. Your kind makes me sick.”

“My kind?” I demanded. “And what kind is that?”

She leaned forward, voice sharp as broken glass.

“Deviants, perverts, molesters,” she spat.

“What?” I asked, stunned. “I’m not-”

“Not a transexual?” she shouted at me. “Not a raging homosexual? You’re sick and you make me sick.”

Holy shit. This is what it all came down to?

“I’m not trans,” I told her. “But even if I was, that’s no reason to send someone to die.”

“Picked up on that, did you?” she said. “Shame you weren’t clever enough to never come back here.”

“This is insane,” I blurted. “You’d really send a new trainer off to get killed just because you thought they looked queer?”

“It’s one of my finest honors as Gym Leader of this city to rid it of people like you,” she admitted. “And once I crush you tonight and no one cares about you anymore, I’ll be paying you a little extra visit to finish the job.”

My blood ran cold. This chick was a psycho.

A horn blew somewhere above, long and low, the kind that cut straight through concrete. The sound vibrated down the walls, shaking dust loose from the ceiling. The match was about to start.

Suzie’s grin widened, smug and satisfied. She turned on her heel with a soldier’s precision, boots clicking sharp against the floor as if she was marching to a victory already guaranteed. She didn’t look back—not once. She didn’t have to.

The door shut behind her with a metallic thunk, leaving the air heavier, the cold pressing harder. The roar of the crowd swelled through the walls, drowning the silence she’d left in her wake.

I sat there for a moment, fists clenched on my knees, nails biting crescent moons into denim. My pulse thundered against my ribs, half fury, half adrenaline. Suzie thought she had me pegged.

Good. Let her believe it. Let her believe she was better than us.

Because when those floodlights hit, I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of beating a victim. I was going to make her bleed for every smug word.

“You get all that?” I asked to the seemingly empty room.

“Yep!” Joey declared, stumbling from a nearby locker. “That was messed up!”

I nodded.

“Send it to Oak. I’ve got a battle to win.”