"System—enhance Rhyperior's Solid Rock Ability," Gary commanded silently.
[Ding! Ability enhancement successful.]
[EX Solid Rock — Reduces damage from super-effective attacks by 50%.]
Gary stared at the notification, letting the implications sink in.
Fifty percent reduction on super-effective damage.
He'd expected an improvement—the standard Solid Rock reduced super-effective damage by 25%, and enhanced Abilities typically scaled up by a meaningful margin. But doubling the reduction to a full 50% was a game-changer of the highest order.
Gary ran the mental calculations with the practiced speed of someone who'd spent years analyzing type matchups and damage formulas.
Rhyperior's Ground/Rock dual typing was a double-edged sword. On offense, it provided excellent STAB coverage and access to devastating moves like Earthquake and Stone Edge. On defense, it was a liability—six super-effective weaknesses (Water, Grass, Ground, Fighting, Ice, and Steel), two of which (Water and Grass) dealt a catastrophic four-times effective damage due to overlapping type vulnerabilities.
Under normal circumstances, a strong Surf or Energy Ball would obliterate Rhyperior regardless of its level or defensive investment. The Pokémon was, in competitive terms, a glass cannon masquerading as a tank—enormous physical bulk undermined by crippling type coverage.
EX Solid Rock changed the equation entirely.
Four-times effective attacks now dealt only two-times effective damage. Two-times effective attacks now dealt only one-times—effectively neutral. In practical terms, this meant that four of Rhyperior's six weaknesses—Ground, Fighting, Ice, and Steel—had been functionally erased. Attacks of those types would hit Rhyperior with no more force than they'd hit a Pokémon with zero type disadvantage.
Only Water and Grass remained as genuine super-effective threats, and even those had been reduced from the devastating four-times multiplier to a manageable two-times—the same level of vulnerability that any ordinary single-weakness Pokémon would face. A Thunderbolt to a Gyarados. A Rock Slide to a Charizard. Painful, certainly. But survivable.
This is massive, Gary thought, a rare spark of genuine excitement flickering behind his composed expression. Rhyperior just went from having one of the worst defensive typings in the game to having one of the most resilient. Combined with the Premium Smooth Rock extending Sandstorm and boosting Rock and Ground moves by 30%… and Tyranitar's Sand Stream automatically raising Rock-types' Special Defense by 50% in sand…
He could picture it clearly: Rhyperior standing in the heart of a raging Sandstorm, its EX Solid Rock halving super-effective hits, the sand boosting its Special Defense to compensate for its naturally low stat in that area, its Rock and Ground moves hitting 30% harder than normal. The image was less of a Pokémon and more of a fortress.
The only remaining concern is Rhyperior's base Special Defense. It's still low in absolute terms. Even at two-times effective instead of four-times, a powerful Water-type special attack from a high-level opponent will still deal serious damage. But "serious damage" and "instant knockout" are very different problems. I can work with serious damage. I can't work with my Pokémon fainting before it gets a chance to move.
"Good work," Gary murmured, allowing himself a small, satisfied nod. Then he looked up at Rhyperior, who had been standing patiently throughout the enhancement process—its massive body stock-still, its small eyes watching Gary with attentive trust.
"Come back for now," Gary said. "I'll be using you for the Gym challenge later today."
"RHYYY!" Rhyperior rumbled with unmistakable eagerness, stamping one enormous foot against the ground hard enough to leave a crater-shaped imprint. The Drill Pokémon loved battle—loved the crash of stone against stone, the thrill of shrugging off attacks that would fell lesser Pokémon, the deep satisfaction of driving a Horn Drill into the earth and feeling the world shake. The promise of a Gym battle had it practically vibrating with anticipation.
Gary recalled Rhyperior in a flash of red light, clipped the Poké Ball back onto his belt, and turned toward the town proper.
Silvercrown Town was compact and quiet—the kind of place where everyone knew each other's names and the biggest daily excitement was whether the bakery had fresh bread. Gary released Cyclizar as his ground transport and rode through the streets at an easy pace, Eevee perched on his shoulder and enjoying the breeze.
It took about twenty minutes to find the Silvercrown Gym. The building occupied a lot near the center of town—a modest sports complex with reinforced walls and a League-certified insignia above the entrance. It wasn't flashy or imposing like some of the larger Gyms Gary had visited, but the construction was solid and practical, built to withstand the kind of seismic abuse that Ground-type battles inevitably inflicted on their surroundings.
Gary dismounted Cyclizar, recalled it, and walked inside.
The lobby was simple—polished concrete floors, a small reception area, a few chairs, and a television mounted on the far wall. The TV was broadcasting a Pokémon football match, the same sport Gary had noticed at the Pokémon Center earlier. Two teams of three Pokémon each were competing fiercely, with an Electivire and a Scizor leading their respective squads in a high-energy struggle over the ball. The sport—invented by Grings Kodai, of all people—was enormously popular in Sinnoh, second only to Pokémon battling itself.
A girl sat in one of the lobby chairs, utterly transfixed by the game.
She looked about twelve or thirteen, with short dark hair and lively brown eyes. She wore a yellow tracksuit—casual, athletic, the kind of outfit that suggested she'd been training earlier and hadn't bothered changing. Her entire body was angled toward the television, leaning forward so far that she was barely still sitting in the chair.
"Excuse me," Gary called out.
"AH—!"
The girl yelped and practically catapulted out of her seat, spinning to face Gary with wide, startled eyes. She clearly hadn't heard him come in.
"A-Are you a trainer?" she stammered, composing herself with impressive speed.
"Yes. I'm here to challenge the Gym," Gary said. "Is the Gym Leader available?"
The girl's expression shifted. "My father's the Gym Leader, but he's in Crown City right now—he had some business to take care of. He'll be back this afternoon."
"Can he accept a challenge when he returns?"
"Hmm…" She fidgeted, thinking. "I'm not sure exactly what time he'll get back. But I'll tell him a challenger came by as soon as he walks through the door. If you come back this afternoon, he should be ready. Worst case, come tomorrow morning—he'll definitely make time."
"Alright. I'll try again this afternoon."
Gary turned to leave. He'd barely taken two steps when the girl's voice stopped him.
"Wait—don't go!" She hopped off her chair and planted herself between Gary and the exit, hands on her hips, chin tilted upward with the defiant confidence of someone used to being the best trainer in her peer group. "Since you're already here, why not battle me? Just a quick match—think of it as a warm-up before the real Gym challenge."
"Vui?" Eevee glanced down from Gary's shoulder, mildly curious.
Gary looked at the girl. His system had already passively scanned the Poké Balls on her belt—low-level team, nothing that would challenge him in the slightest. She was clearly a beginner-to-intermediate trainer, likely the strongest among the town's younger generation, but nowhere near the level where a fight with Gary would be productive for either side.
"No thanks," he said. "I'm not interested in fighting you."
"Why not?" The girl looked genuinely baffled. In her experience, trainers always accepted battle invitations. It was practically a social contract.
"Because in my assessment, you're a third-rate trainer," Gary said. His tone wasn't cruel or mocking—just matter-of-fact, the way someone might note that it was Tuesday or that the sky was blue. "Battling you would be a waste of time for both of us."
The lobby fell silent except for the muffled commentary from the football match on the television.
The girl stared at him. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. The color rose in her face—not embarrassment, but the hot, bright flush of indignation.
"Third-rate…?!" Her fists clenched at her sides, knuckles whitening. She was the daughter of a Gym Leader. She'd trained under her father since she could walk. She'd swept every junior tournament in the region. And this boy—this stranger—had just dismissed her like she was a wild Caterpie that had wandered onto the road.
"My name is Yuko," she said, her voice low and trembling with barely restrained competitive fury. "And I'm challenging you to a wager battle."
Gary paused.
A wager battle. In the Pokémon world, trainer duels were broadly divided into two categories: casual battles, where both sides fought voluntarily for practice and sport, and wager battles, where each participant put something of tangible value on the line. A wager battle was a formal challenge—one of the most serious invitations a trainer could extend. Refusing one without a compelling reason was considered dishonorable.
Now she has my attention, Gary thought. The battle itself would still be trivially easy, but the wager format opened the possibility of acquiring something useful.
"A wager battle," he said, turning back to face her fully. "What are you offering?"
"This."
Yuko reached into her waist bag and produced a TM case—a slim, protective disc container marked with the League's official technical machine certification seal. She held it up like a weapon.
"What move?" Gary asked.
"Scorching Sands," Yuko said.
Gary's expression didn't change, but internally, his interest sharpened considerably.
Scorching Sands was a genuinely exceptional move. Classified as a Ground-type special attack with 70 base power, it had a unique secondary property: a 30% chance to inflict a burn on the target. The burn effect meant it functioned as a pseudo-Fire-type attack—Pokémon that were weak to Fire would take enhanced damage from the burn component, even though the move itself was technically Ground-type.
More importantly, Scorching Sands was a special attack—meaning it scaled with Special Attack rather than physical Attack. For Pokémon like Heatran, whose Special Attack was vastly superior to its physical Attack, this was ideal. And several Fire-type Pokémon in Gary's roster—Arcanine included—could learn it as well, giving them Ground-type coverage they wouldn't normally have access to.
It was rare, versatile, and genuinely useful. Not the kind of TM you found lying around.
The Gym's heritage is showing, Gary thought. Old Gyms accumulate valuable TMs over the generations. This girl's father probably collected it years ago.
"Interesting," Gary said. "And if you win—"
He reached toward his bag—outwardly casual, though he was actually pulling the item from his system storage—and produced a rough, dark brown block of compressed organic material. It was unremarkable in appearance: dense, earthy, slightly rough to the touch, like a clod of unusually compact peat moss that had been fossilized under pressure.
"—you get this," he finished, holding it up.
Yuko squinted at it. "What is that? A rock?"
"It's called a Peat Block."
"A Peat Block." Yuko repeated the words with audible skepticism, studying the unimpressive lump in Gary's hand. "It looks like dirt."
"Your family runs a Ground-type Gym," Gary said, raising an eyebrow. "And you don't recognize a Peat Block?"
Yuko bristled. She was a Ground-type specialist—had been for years, trained by her father, immersed in the lore and mechanics of the type since childhood. But she'd genuinely never encountered this item before. It resembled nothing in her experience, and she wasn't about to pretend otherwise.
"I've never seen one," she admitted reluctantly. "What does it do?"
"The Peat Block," Gary explained, "is an evolution item. Specifically, it's the key material required for Ursaring to evolve into Ursaluna."
Yuko's eyes went wide. Her mouth fell open.
"Ursaring can evolve?!"
Then the skepticism slammed back into place like a steel door. She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes, fixing Gary with the look of a girl who'd grown up in a region where Ursaring were a common forest-dwelling species and who was absolutely not about to be fooled by a fast-talking stranger.
"Hold on—Ursaring is a Normal-type Pokémon! I know what Ursaring is. Every kid in this town gets warned about them before they're old enough to walk to school alone. Don't think you can trick me."
"You're right," Gary said calmly. "Ursaring is indeed a Normal-type. But when it evolves into Ursaluna using the Peat Block, it gains Ground typing. Ursaluna is a Ground/Normal dual-type Pokémon—one of the very few Pokémon in existence with that specific type combination."