Alolan Ninetales lashed out with its nine tails, using Iron Tail to parry the Samurott's Razor Shell. The Samurott braced its blades against its chest, barely withstanding the crushing weight of the blow. Seizing a momentary opening, Ninetales exhaled a flash of frost, encasing the exhausted Samurott in a block of solid ice.
Just as Feng Che reached for a Park Ball to secure the capture, another Poké Ball sailed through the bushes, aiming for the frozen Samurott.
"Hmph. Trying to reap the harvest without sowing the seeds? Who gave you the courage?" Feng Che snorted. He pulsed his psychic power, crushing the mid-air Poké Ball into a flattened piece of scrap metal.
"You! You broke my ball!" A scrawny, rat-faced young man burst from the undergrowth. He looked distressed, but his eyes were darting greedily toward the Samurott. "My uncle is Duron, an Elite Four member on duty for the World League! I'm his nephew, Dutai!"
The youth puffed out his chest. "If you know what's good for you, you'll hand over that Samurott and pay me back for my ball!"
Ninetales, annoyed by the brat's whining, exhaled a cold breath. Jagged ice spikes erupted from the ground, racing toward Dutai. The youth's eyes bulged as the sharpest spike stopped less than five centimeters from his face. A warm, yellowish liquid began dripping down his leg, wetting the grass beneath him.
Even Ninetales took several steps back in disgust.
"You... you wait for me!" Dutai shrieked, clutching his pants as he scrambled away into the woods.
Feng Che shook his head and tapped the frozen Samurott with a Park Ball. Click.
Pokémon: Samurott
Gender: Male
Potential: Superior (Green)
Ability: Torrent
Level: 62
Special Note: A World League specimen. Its potential is decent—good for filling the Pokédex and scoring points in the assessment.
The Elite's Arrogance
Suddenly, the sound of heavy wings flapping echoed from above. A massive Pidgeot descended, its wings creating a gale that flattened the grass and sent leaves spiraling into the air.
On the bird's back sat the trembling Dutai and a man with a broad, seemingly honest face. However, to Feng Che's trained eye, the man's expression reeked of calculated greed.
"I am Elite Four member Duron of the World League," the man said, his brow furrowed as he glared at Feng Che. His gaze quickly shifted to the Alolan Ninetales, and a glint of avarice flared in his dark eyes. What a magnificent specimen. If I take this fox and gift it to my superior, my promotion is guaranteed.
"I haven't seen your face before," Duron continued. "Are you a spy infiltrating the League?"
"I am a Gym Leader here for the training camp," Feng Che replied coldly. "Don't listen to the lies of a coward."
"If you're a participant, show me your credentials," Duron challenged, determined to frame Feng Che as a criminal. Feng Che held up his Kanto-issued Gym Leader ID.
"Even so," Duron shouted, his voice rolling like thunder, "my nephew discovered that Samurott first! You can't just steal a Pokémon from its rightful discoverer!"
"I saw no one while I was battling," Feng Che smirked. "Throwing a ball after the fight is over isn't 'discovery.' Look at the craters and the ice—it's clear who did the work. As an Elite, you should value evidence over tantrums."
Feng Che turned to leave, but a blade of wind whistled past his head.
"Stop! Did I say you could leave? My nephew was traumatized!" Duron snarled. "As compensation, hand over the Samurott and that Ninetales, or I'll show you why they call me an Elite."
Duron knew about the camp, but he had only seen photos of the invited Elites. He assumed any Gym Leader he didn't recognize was a nobody from a backwater town.
Feng Che dodged the Pidgeot's Air Slash, which cleaved a century-old tree behind him in half. Had he been a normal person, that strike would have killed him.
"Go, Zeraora!"
The Mythical Pokémon emerged, lightning crackling across its fur.
"A Zeraora?" Duron's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "I suspect you are involved in a high-profile theft! Resisting arrest will only make it worse!" He lunged for the opportunity. "A Mythical like that doesn't belong in the hands of a commoner!"
"Zeraora, Plasma Fists!"
Zeraora lunged, its fist becoming a blur of golden light. It slammed into the Pidgeot, sending a high-voltage surge through the bird. The Pidgeot shrieked and plummeted from the sky, its wings paralyzed.
Duron's face twisted into a devious grin. "Under World League Law, if an officer on duty is attacked by a civilian, I have the right to use lethal force. You've committed assault on a superior officer!"
His tone shifted, a sliver of cunning in his voice. "But... if you hand over that Zeraora and the Samurott, I might just 'pardon' your crimes. What do you say?"