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The next day.
It was the day of the quarter-finals.
The venue was a full three times larger than before, capable of holding two thousand people.
The spectator stands were almost full, and the atmosphere was so intense it felt like it would explode.
The host stood in the center of the field, his voice spreading throughout the venue via the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen—welcome to the P1 Pokemon Fighting Tournament Quarter-finals!"
The crowd cheered.
"The first quarter-final match is about to begin!"
"First, let me introduce our Blue Corner contestant..."
Anthony's photo and information appeared on the large screen.
"An old friend of the fighting world! Known for his quick punches—Shan... to!"
Anthony walked out from the contestant tunnel with steady steps, his chin slightly raised, a confident smile on his face.
He wore a white martial arts uniform, his arms were muscular, and his fists were wrapped in bandages.
Walking to the edge of the field, he raised his right fist to acknowledge the audience.
Applause and whistles rang out, but they weren't particularly enthusiastic.
After all, he was a familiar face, and the audience's sense of novelty for him had long since passed.
The host continued.
"Next, the Red Corner contestant!"
The large screen switched to Roy's photo and information.
"A rookie advancing triumphantly! Sweeping through with his explosive Primeape, Roy!"
Roy walked out from the tunnel.
The stands immediately erupted in cheers far more enthusiastic than before.
Primeape's matches had gained quite a following.
Misty shouted at the top of her lungs from the stands: "Roy, go for it!"
Delia clapped beside her, a smile on her face.
Aimi stood next to Delia, watching Roy walk onto the field, her heart rate unconsciously quickening.
The two men stood in the center of the field, face to face.
Anthony looked Roy up and down, his mouth curling as he spoke first.
"Kid, that Primeape of yours really has something. High fighting talent."
Roy looked at him without speaking.
Anthony crossed his arms, his tone carrying a condescending air.
"And, Aimi taught you quite a few fighting techniques, right?"
Roy didn't deny it: "Yeah, your family's fighting techniques are great!"
Anthony nodded, his expression showing a bit of approval.
"I know that, naturally. Those techniques are the culmination of my old man's life. You have good eyes to have learned them."
He paused and gave a crooked smile.
"To be honest, your Primeape combined with those techniques is indeed very powerful. If I wasn't in this Tournament, you'd likely be the Champion."
Anthony extended his index finger and pointed at Roy.
"But it's a pity."
His smile held an almost arrogant confidence.
"I've studied fighting techniques for so many years; what I've summarized is even more powerful than my father's."
"And Aimi is just a girl; her understanding of fighting techniques is limited."
"By learning fighting from a woman, you've fundamentally taken the wrong path for the basics of combat!"
Roy looked at him, his expression unchanged.
He just gave a perfunctory nod.
"You can say whatever you want."
"Can we start the fight?"
Anthony narrowed his eyes, staring at Roy for two seconds, then his mouth curled again.
"Come on then! Primeape kid—Roy, let me teach you what a man's fight is!"
The referee's flag dropped.
Anthony took the initiative, shouting: "Hitmonchan, Bullet Punch!"
Hitmonchan's figure blurred instantly.
The fist encased in the boxing glove turned into a streak of white light, moving with extreme speed and a whistling sound straight for Primeape's face.
This was a Fighting-type priority move, its speed taking precedence over most attacks.
Roy responded calmly, only issuing a simple defensive command: "Primeape, Swords Dance."
Primeape clenched its fists, its muscles tightening suddenly, and an almost invisible burst of energy erupted from its body, as if something had exploded inside it.
It didn't dodge.
Hitmonchan's fist slammed solidly into Primeape's chest.
Thud!
A dull sound.
Primeape took half a step back and stabilized its stance.
Hitmonchan's fist felt like it had hit a thick, solid wall; although it landed, it didn't cause much substantial damage.
Primeape bared its teeth, a flash of red light appearing in its eyes.
At the commentary booth, the announcer's voice rose.
"Roy's Primeape actually didn't dodge! It tanked Hitmonchan's Bullet Punch head-on!"
"What kind of fighting style is this? Is it not defending at all?"
Anthony frowned but didn't hesitate.
"Mach Punch!"
Hitmonchan's fist swung out again, even faster this time.
The wind from the punch howled, as if tearing the air.
The fist left an afterimage, slamming heavily into Primeape's abdomen.
Primeape took another half-step back, its abdominal muscles denting slightly but quickly bouncing back.
It bared its teeth and grimaced, but its eyes grew brighter and brighter.
The kind of brightness that comes from getting excited after being hit.
Roy continued to command Primeape to use Swords Dance.
Primeape exerted its strength again, its muscles tightening further, energy flowing over its body like an invisible layer of armor.
The announcer's voice grew even louder.
"Swords Dance again! Primeape has boosted its attack and defense twice in a row!"
"But the problem is, it's just taking hits!"
"What's wrong with Roy today? This wasn't his style in previous matches!"
"Is Anthony's offensive really so fierce that Primeape has no chance to fight back?"
As the announcer spoke, he began to believe it himself.
"Anthony truly is a veteran of the fighting world! This kind of pressure is indeed hard for a rookie to handle!"
The crowd also began to buzz with discussion.
"What's going on? Wasn't that Primeape really fierce before?"
"It's being beaten into submission."
"That old guy Anthony really has some skill."
Hearing these words, Anthony's mouth curled higher and higher.
He stood by the field, arms crossed, chin raised, his expression full of pride.
"Kid, do you see?" His voice carried a superior tone: "This is the gap in strength."
"Your Primeape is indeed good, and learning my old man's techniques is a plus."
He gave a crooked smile.
"But in fighting, techniques alone aren't enough. You need experience, the accumulation of real combat, and a true fighting heart."
"How could a brat like you understand these things?"
Roy ignored him.
His gaze remained fixed on Primeape.
Primeape had taken two sets of priority moves, but its aura, far from weakening, was growing stronger.
Swords Dance had been stacked twice, increasing its defense and attack.
More importantly, the stacks for Rage Fist were also building.
With every hit taken, the power increased by 50%.
Two hits meant a 100% increase.
Not enough.
Still not enough.
Roy calculated silently in his heart.
It could stack up to six times for a 350% power boost.
This was only two stacks.
"Continue," he said faintly.
Anthony mistook it as an invitation to continue his attack.
"Hitmonchan! Again! Mach Punch!"
Hitmonchan's figure shot out again, its fist leaving afterimages as it slammed hard into Primeape.
Primeape took a step back, but this time it moved even less than before.
Its body had completely adapted to this level of impact, its muscles as hard as steel.
The third attack was taken.
The red light in Primeape's eyes grew deeper.
It was a suppressed, accumulating rage.
Like a volcano with magma churning underground, waiting for the right moment to erupt.
The announcer was completely baffled now.
"Another Mach Punch! Primeape took it again!"
"That's the third time! Roy has no intention of counterattacking at all!"
"What on earth is he thinking?"
"Has he really been beaten senseless?"
In the stands, Misty was so nervous she gripped Delia's arm, her fingers digging in.
"Sister Delia, what's wrong with Roy today?" Her voice was laced with obvious anxiety: "Why is he just taking hits? It wasn't like this before!"
Delia also frowned, but she was more composed than Misty.
"Don't worry, let's watch a bit longer."
Aimi stood nearby, her hands twisted together, her knuckles white.
She looked at Roy on the field, her heart in her throat.
Misty suddenly thought of something and leaned into Delia's ear, whispering: "Sister Delia, do you think it's because of... that?"
"What?"
Misty's face turned slightly red, her voice even lower: "You know... that... bed stuff..."
Delia was stunned for a moment.
Misty continued: "I heard that if athletes don't vent before a match, their performance will decline."
"We've been staying at Aimi's house recently, and then at the hotel. Roy might have been cautious and hasn't... hasn't done it with us..."
She paused, her face turning redder.
"So today his performance took a huge dive..."
Delia was amused by this serious analysis and let out an embarrassed smile.
"Where did you hear such nonsense?"
Misty was genuinely anxious: "It's true! I've seen reports! They say if athletes don't release some fire before a match, it affects their condition and reaction speed! Roy hasn't... lately, he must be bursting!"
Delia didn't know whether to laugh or cry and reached out to pat Misty's head.
"Don't overthink it. Roy isn't the type to be affected by such things."
Misty held her head and puffed out her cheeks, clearly unconvinced.
Although Misty was being vague, Aimi, standing nearby, understood and her face turned red as well.
She stole a glance at Roy on the field and then quickly looked away.
Could it... really be because they hadn't recently?
During those few days at her house, Roy, Delia, and Misty had indeed slept separately.
Her house had poor soundproofing; she definitely would have heard if anything was happening.
After they got to the hotel, she had her own room, and no sound had come from next door.
So... Roy really had been holding it in for several days?
And so his performance really declined?
The more she thought about it, the more plausible it seemed.
She suddenly felt a bit guilty.
If it weren't for helping her, Roy wouldn't have stayed at her house, and he wouldn't have had to hold it in...
She bit her lip, her mind a mess.
The situation on the field continued.
Anthony was getting into a groove, Hitmonchan's fists falling on Primeape like raindrops.
Two more rounds of attacks.
Primeape took five hits head-on.
Five hits.
Swords Dance had been stacked twice, significantly boosting attack and defense.
Rage Fist had been stacked five times, increasing its power by 250%.
Primeape stood on the field, its muscles bulging, veins popping, its eyes red like two glowing coals.
Its aura had completely changed.
Before, it was like a irritable beast.
Now, it was like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
Calm on the surface, churning within.
Anthony didn't notice.
He was too smug.
"Kid, do you see? This is true fighting!"
He pointed at Roy, his voice growing louder.
"The things you learned from Aimi are too rigid! Too gentle!"
"In this era, fighting is about being fast! Being ruthless! Being desperate!"
"That's how I've won so many tough battles in the wild!"
His speech grew faster, his emotions more excited.
"The old man doesn't understand, and that girl Aimi understands even less. What can a woman know about fighting?"
"Only I, only I have truly realized the essence of fighting!"
He spread his arms as if embracing something.
"I am right! I am the strongest!"
"Victory in this match is mine!"
"One last punch! Hitmonchan, charge!"
Roy looked at Primeape, the corners of his mouth curling slightly.
"Now."
"Primeape! Rage Fist. Crush it."
A wave of energy radiated from Primeape's body.
Its body shot out suddenly, so fast it didn't even leave an afterimage.
Hitmonchan was still in its previous attack rhythm; its fist had just been retracted, and it hadn't had time to assume a defensive stance.
It was too fast, so fast that it had never considered the need for defense.
Now, it wanted to defend.
But it was too late.
Primeape's fist was already against its face.
This punch had been accumulating rage for a full five minutes.
Two Swords Dances had sent its attack power soaring.
Six hits taken for Rage Fist had boosted its power to 350%.
Added to that was the power-generation technique of the Bursting Boxing—power starting from the soles of the feet, twisting through the waist, delivered by the shoulder, the force conducting from the ground all the way to the fist.
All that power was unleashed at this single moment.
One punch.
Just one punch.
Hitmonchan's entire body flew out, as if hit head-on by a truck at full speed.
It traced an arc through the air and slammed heavily onto the other side of the field.
It rolled several times and stopped.
It didn't move.
The whole venue fell silent.
In the two-thousand-person arena, it was so quiet you could hear the sound of the air flowing.
The referee froze for two seconds before running over to check Hitmonchan's condition.
Hitmonchan's eyes were rolled back, foam covered its face, and its limbs were sprawled limply on the ground, motionless.
The referee raised his hand.
"Hitmonchan is unable to battle! The winner is Roy!"
The venue remained silent.
Then,
"Holy sh*t!!!"
"One punch!!!"
"Sent flying with just one punch!!!"
"What just happened!!!"
"What kind of punch was that!!!"
The voices of two thousand people exploded simultaneously, like someone had thrown a bomb into a calm lake.
Cheers, screams, whistles, and applause mixed together, making the venue's roof hum.
"Roy! Roy! Roy!"
Someone started it, and the whole crowd began to chant Roy's name rhythmically.
The sound was as synchronized as a trained army.
Misty jumped up in the stands, leaping high.
"Roy won! Roy won!"
She grabbed Delia, and the two of them hopped and skipped in the stands.
Delia was shaken so much she couldn't stand steadily, but she still smiled and held her.
"I see, I see! Stop shaking me!"
Misty didn't listen at all and kept jumping.
After a few jumps, she grabbed Aimi next to her.
"Sister Aimi! He won! Roy won!"
Aimi was pulled into a stumble, but she soon smiled as well.
She looked at Roy standing on the field, at the Primeape beside him glowing with red light, and the string that had been pulled tight in her heart finally relaxed.
He won.
He really won.
She took a deep breath and followed Misty in clapping.
The applause was light, but very sincere.
Delia stood by, smiling gently, her hands clapping softly.
Three women: one rowdy, one quiet, one warm.
On the field, Primeape stood in place, looking down at its own fist.
It seemed it hadn't expected the power of this punch to be so great either.
It froze for two seconds.
Then it raised its head and let out a long howl toward the sky.
It was the relief of releasing everything at once after holding it in for five minutes.
Roy walked over and reached out to pat Primeape's head.
"Beautifully done."
Primeape turned to look at him and grinned, revealing a row of white teeth.
On the field, Anthony was still standing in place.
He hadn't moved.
From the moment Hitmonchan flew out, he hadn't moved at all.
His expression was very strange.
It wasn't anger, it wasn't resentment, but a kind of... daze.
His eyes stared straight ahead, his pupils slightly dilated.
His lips were moving as if he were muttering something, but the sound was too low for anyone to hear.
His head began to twitch.
It wasn't an exaggerated twitch, but very subtle, one after another, as if something were jumping inside his brain.
"How is it possible..."
He murmured to himself.
"How can it be..."
"I... I am a fighting master..."
His voice was trembling.
"How could I lose to a kid who only recently started learning fighting..."
He raised his hand and looked at his own fist.
That pair of hands had fought so many tough battles he couldn't even count them anymore.
He thought he was invincible.
"I... I've been winning all the way..."
He clenched his fist hard, his knuckles turning white.
"In the wild, Hitmonchan won so many times... so many times..."
"And it's been winning all along!"
"I should have kept winning..."
His voice grew lower and more fragmented.
"How... how is it possible..."
He suddenly grabbed his head, fingers digging into his hair, pulling hard.
"Impossible! Impossible! Impossible!"
Anthony growled as he held his head and swayed, falling into a strange and somewhat terrifying state...