The temperature in the arena had been dropping steadily. The moisture in the air thickened and began to crystallize, tiny snowflakes drifting down from nowhere as the cold deepened around the floating Pokémon at the center of the field.
"Glalie, use Psybeam!"
A pale, ice-blue beam of energy gathered in front of the round, mask-like face of the Glalie, crackling faintly before it fired in a straight line toward the massive creature hovering at the far end of the battlefield. The shot was nearly point-blank. There was almost no room to react.
And yet, Salamence's expression did not change.
Its great wings beat once — a single, powerful stroke — and the air around its body shifted. Invisible currents gathered and swirled in its wake.
"Tailwind!"
Boosted by the rushing wind it had summoned, Salamence's enormous body moved with a grace that seemed impossible for something its size. It tilted, just slightly, and the Psybeam sliced past it by a narrow margin, cutting through empty air. The chilling aura that trailed the attack still washed over the Dragon- and Flying-type, and Salamence's scales bristled briefly at the cold. But it was not enough to slow it down. Not even close.
The moment it cleared the beam, Salamence was already accelerating. Its wings folded back as it surged forward, building speed with every meter, the wind roaring around its armored frame.
Then came the impact.
Bang!
Salamence's full weight crashed into Glalie with the force of a Dragon Rush. The sound echoed across the battlefield like a thunderclap, and Glalie, which had been trying to float backward out of range, had nowhere left to go. Mid-air offered no footing, no leverage, no escape. The sheer speed granted by Tailwind had made the distance between them meaningless in an instant. Salamence was simply too fast.
Glalie was sent spinning through the air before crashing down onto the arena floor. It did not get up.
The referee — a Rotom that hovered near the edge of the field, its mechanical voice calm and precise — announced the result for what felt like the dozenth time that morning.
"Glalie is unable to battle. The winner is David!"
David, standing on his side of the arena, said nothing. His face was still. He did not pump his fist or call out to Salamence. He simply watched the defeated Pokémon being recalled into its Poké Ball, his expression carrying the quiet indifference of someone who had done this many times already — because he had.
"What kind of Pokémon is that thing?"
"It's still a Superior-level Pokémon? That can't be right."
"How many battles has he won today?"
"I counted at least twenty-seven."
"Has anyone on the Sakura Alliance side even come close?"
The crowd gathered around the battlefield — trainers and observers from both the Cloudspire Alliance and the Sakura Alliance — murmured among themselves, their voices carrying equal parts disbelief and awe. A few had their mouths open. Most looked like they were trying to process what they had just watched.
It was not unheard of for a Superior-level Pokémon to punch above its weight. With the right strategy, the right matchup, or a moment of fortune, even a lower-ranked Pokémon could sometimes claim a surprise victory. That was simply the nature of battle.
But this was something else entirely.
David had not won by luck. He had not won by a clever last-second strategy or a favorable type matchup. He had won cleanly, efficiently, and repeatedly — twenty-seven times over the course of a single morning — with a Salamence that moved like it was in a completely different category from everything it had faced. The Tailwind strategy alone had shut down opponents that should have had the speed advantage. The Dragon Rush had ended fights before they could develop into anything meaningful.
Most of the trainers watching had never even heard of someone doing this at the Superior level. Witnessing it in person was something else.
The trainer who had just sent out Glalie quietly recalled his Pokémon and took a breath. He had known going in that the odds were against him. Somehow, seeing it play out was still worse than he had imagined.
"Since you put it that way," he said, managing a small, tired smile, "I held nothing back."
David gave a slight nod. His eyes had already moved — scanning the remaining members of the Sakura Alliance delegation who had not yet battled. Two of them.
Both felt it the moment his gaze landed on them. A chill that had nothing to do with Glalie's lingering cold.
Neither of them wanted to be here. That much was obvious. If they had been given any real choice, they would have stepped back without hesitation. But walking away now, refusing to battle without even trying — that was not an option. The consequences of returning to the Sakura Alliance having surrendered without a fight would be far worse than losing.
So they stayed. And they waited for the inevitable.
The brief field maintenance between battles ended quickly, and the arena reset. The next battle was ready to begin.
One of the two looked around at her teammates. Every single one of them had already been defeated. There was no one left to go before her.
She stepped forward.
"Hello." She kept her voice steady, though it took some effort. "My name is Jinguji Yoira. I look forward to our match, David."
She was one of the three leaders of the delegation — a petite girl, shorter than most of the others, with a composed expression that did not quite match the storm happening inside her head. From the moment she had walked onto the battlefield, she had not stopped thinking about Kuki Genichi.
If he had just been a little more decisive — if he had simply let the opponent take three wins early and ended the whole thing before it spiraled — none of this would have happened. Instead, they were here. The entire exchange delegation had been swept by a single peer-level trainer, and that news was going to travel back to the alliance whether she liked it or not.
The fallout would not be minor. Even with her Jinguji family name behind her, and even accounting for Kuki Genichi's standing as a direct descendant of one of the six Kyoto families, the internal response was not going to be kind. She had already stopped trying to imagine how bad it would get.
And now, on top of all of that, she had to go up there and get beaten too — because not going up would be even worse. She bit down on the frustration quietly, keeping her face neutral.
Could he not have shown even a little resolve?
She did not know, and probably never would, that Kuki Genichi — had he been aware of her thoughts — would have simply offered a cold, unhurried smile in response. He was already in deep enough trouble. Why should anyone else get to come out of this looking clean? If he was going down, the rest of them were coming with him. That was simply how things worked.
David, for his part, had not moved. He waited on his side of the arena with the same calm he had carried through all twenty-seven of the previous battles, watching Jinguji Yoira take her position opposite him. Salamence hovered at his side, its red-orange wings spread slightly, still carrying the energy of the last fight.
David glanced at Salamence briefly.
He would tell it to go easy.
She was clearly trying her best just by being up there. There was no need to make this harder than it had to be.
He waited for her to release her Pokémon, in no particular hurry. The last two were already here. Whatever came next, it would come.