After working part-time at the Withered Gym for a year and a half, Nova had finally handed in his resignation to Mort. The old man's response? He called Nova an ungrateful little brat.
It was almost as unpleasant as the nickname those trainers back in Goldenlight City had given him: "The Peerless Schemer."
Nova had never quite understood that one. When other trainers earned a reputation in battle, they got cool-sounding names — things like "Withered Earth" or "Armed Mountains." Names that made people stand a little straighter just hearing them.
But him? He got "great schemer" and "little brat."
Maybe he was just too polite. Either way, after more than a year apart, the reunion between Nova and Mort was far from touching. It was, in a word, ridiculous.
Mort had barely said two words before flopping back down on the sofa, eyes already closing.
"So, everything I just told you went in one ear and out the other?" Nova asked flatly.
"Master Mort, there are trainers waiting outside to challenge you for a badge!" Nova added, his voice rising slightly. "Why are you lying down again? Aren't you worried someone will file a complaint with the Pokémon League?"
The old Gym Leader cracked open one eye. "Aren't you here? You know the ropes. Just take care of them for me — I need a bit more sleep."
"What are you talking about? I don't work here anymore. I came to visit you today. You can't seriously ask a guest to do your job."
Mort =let out a long, rumbling yawn. "Stop fussing. It's just a few battles. You know where everything is — the badges are in the box under the TV cabinet, and the Gym's Pokémon are in the battle hall. Help yourself."
He shifted on the sofa and pulled his arm over his face. "Even if you threw a dirty sock at me right now, I wouldn't get up."
"Fine," Nova said, crossing his arms. "Then I will throw my sock at you."
Mort didn't even flinch. "Go ahead. Aresdra does your laundry — your socks are probably cleaner than my face towel. I'll just pretend she's washing my face."
Nova stared at him. Unbelievable.
The old man had already started snoring — a low, steady rumble that filled the room like a Snorlax settling in for a long rest.
Nova stood there for a moment, jaw tight. He had nowhere to direct his frustration. As annoying as the situation was, he didn't actually want Mort to lose his official Gym status over a complaint. So, with a quiet grumble, he turned and headed back toward the battle hall.
Outside in the plaza, the group of challengers had been waiting with no real idea of what was happening. When they saw Nova march out of the Gym looking like he'd just lost a battle he hadn't agreed to fight, the heavyset trainer from Icefield City stepped forward first.
"Everything alright, young man? The senior didn't get upset, did he?"
Nova took a breath. It wasn't their fault. "He's still resting," he said calmly. "Come inside."
He turned and walked back in. The challengers exchanged glances, uncertain — but curious enough to follow. This young man had walked straight into the Gym Leader's bedroom without hesitation. Did he actually know Senior Withered Earth personally?
That would explain why he'd kicked the door open without a second thought.
If they'd known that, just minutes earlier, the old Gym Leader had been talking about using Nova's laundry to wash his face — well, their expressions might have been something else entirely.
The group followed Nova through to the Withered Gym's battle hall.
The name alone told you something about the place. This was a Class 3 Gym — modest, a little worn at the edges, and honest about it.
By comparison, Luma Gym had eight separate training fields. Four of them met the Pokémon League's Grade 1 arena standards and could run four Elite Four–level battles at the same time. Its Class 2 and Class 3 arenas were almost too many to count.
The Withered Gym had one Class 2 arena. And because there was nothing else available, it doubled as a training ground on days without official battles — every square meter used to its fullest.
The challengers had assumed they'd keep waiting. After all, Nova had said the Gym Leader was sleeping. At least now they were inside, out of the sun.
Then Nova dropped into the Gym Leader's chair, cleared his throat, picked up the microphone, and spoke in the flat, slightly tired tone of someone doing a job they hadn't planned on doing.
"Right. If you're here to challenge the Withered Gym, line up and come to the field one at a time. Who's first?"
A beat of silence.
"...What?" The serious-looking trainer's eyes narrowed. "Are you messing with us, kid?"
Nova didn't take the bait. Instead, he set the microphone down and decided a proper introduction would save everyone time.
"I'm Nova. I'm a licensed Professional Trainer, and I have a personal connection with Senior Mort of the Withered Gym. Think of me as the Gym's Battle Master. Senior Mort isn't available to battle today, so I'll be handling your challenge matches in his place. That's the situation."
It wasn't actually unusual — challengers just didn't always know how Gyms worked.
At a large venue like Luma Gym, or the Sand River City by Elite Four Gilbert Armstrong , there were hundreds of challengers every day. Gym Leaders had meetings, appearances, League obligations. Most trainers who walked through the door would never battle the Leader directly — they'd face a Battle Master instead. These staff members typically held Elite Trainer–level strength, more than enough to handle the average challenger.
The Withered Gym had never had that kind of setup. Apart from the year and a half when Nova had worked there part-time, Mort had always handled battles himself. So a Battle Master appearing out of nowhere was, understandably, a surprise.
The man with glasses, who hadn't said much until now, leaned slightly toward the others. "You know, there was a rumour going around locally a while back..."
The curly-haired woman perked up immediately. "Oh? What kind of rumour?"
"Apparently, about a year ago, a young trainer was working as a Battle Master here. That period also happened to be when the most Withered Badges appeared in circulation. People said he was quite strong — sometimes even handing out a badge to a challenger who lost, if the battle was impressive enough. Some folks speculated he was Cotterill's illegitimate grandson and would eventually inherit the Gym..."
Nova set down the badge he'd been idly tossing. "I can hear you. The arena isn't that big."
He stared at them.
They stared back.
"First of all — I am not anyone's illegitimate grandson. Second, there's nothing to inherit here. This Gym is drafty in three places and the ceiling leaks when it rains. Nobody's lining up to take it over."
He picked the badge back up. "Now. Are we battling or not? Because I have other things I could be doing."
To settle the matter, he held the Withered Badge up in the light — unmistakably real, the dull finish catching the glow of the overhead lamps — and gave it a slow, deliberate toss into the air before catching it again.
That did it.
The moment the badge was in plain sight, the energy in the room shifted. Whatever doubt had been in the challengers' eyes disappeared. They all wanted to go first.
In the end, the one who stepped forward was the quietest of the group — a girl with a slightly round face and a shy, reserved manner. She was the only one who hadn't said a single word since they'd arrived.
Nova had seen that type before. Quiet on the outside, sharp on the inside. He straightened in the chair, focus sharpening.
The first match was about to begin.