Latest Update:February 5, 2023
Summary:A person who appears in Pokémon world will do anything to get out, even using looked down upon strategies.
Link: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/the-most-evil-trainer-pokémon-si.1054896/reader/
Word count:58k
Chapters:10
Chapter One
The ground beneath my feet shook from the rumbling of a thousand voices cheering at the same time.
Or maybe that was just my body trembling.
I glanced up. The television on the wall remained stubbornly black, because it hadn't helped to watch, and the remote had been in my hand and I just wanted it to already be done and won.
Another burst of muffled yelling, even louder than the last one, said the wait time was ending.
I swallowed down the typical nausea. Pre-test nerves. Always had them, no matter how prepared I was for it. And I was prepared for this. I'd spent the months leading to the tournament alternating between intensive training and work, just for another shot at this.
I needed to win this. I needed the Elite-rank to get a chance to approach any of the time-space legendaries. Not even that. I needed the rank to be allowed the paperwork for the request.
And every chance that passed me by felt like a nail in my coffin. Soon, it'd be lowered into the ground, and I would either dig my way out or suffocate.
Goddamn, cheer up, you're DOING IT.
The light above the waiting room turned green, and I tried twice to stand before managing with wobbly legs. God, this had to work. I wouldn't… I wouldn't be able to do better than this.
The walk from my room to the entrance of the arena seemed to take forever, the light at the end of the tunnel a complete delusion. But somehow, I reached it anyway, and waited just outside its touch. Some echoing voice rang through the stadium, one I recognized from yesterday's matches.
"In one corner, a rising star of the circuit, every year since his debut, he has placed higher in the ranking, reaching top eight last year. Will this year be the year he finally breaks through the top four? It's Louis from Camphrier!"
They cheered for him less than my first two opponents, I noted. He was a strong trainer, but courting a sponsorship rather than riding one. I had to keep my guard up. I'd already seen at least one of his matches. He had gone on beyond what his last opponent had thought possible and snatched victory at the last second.
No pressure.
"And from the other corner, an… atypical challenger… From Nowhere, with consecutive victories that shocked every analyst, Max!"
The booing started instantly.
I don't care, I repeated to myself. I don't care. Nothing to care about. They don't matter. None of them matter.
It would be foolish to look. To try and read the faces of so many people wishing you to fail. From the disdain of some wrinkled grandfather to the disappointment of pouty kids. There was nothing to find, not one person thinking I had my reasons, that I had something to seek that went beyond a damn shiny prize.
But even without seeing it, the hate of a crowd wore you thin.
I stopped by the edge of the battlefield, into my designated little box of chalk. At the higher levels, or if you were that bloodthirsty, the trainers stayed close enough for stray hits. At least one professor had argued that the perspective from the higher stands, whilst safer for the trainer, could hinder reactions by milliseconds, and that was the kind of thing that mattered at the highest level of battle. I believe it was Diantha that instead said that to look at your pokémon from above skewed your understanding of what they saw and felt, in a way that being just behind them didn't.
Oak and Sycamore agreed that most pokémon just fought harder when they stood between an enemy and the human they cared about.
So, I breathed in, deeply, tried to reach for that sludge-like energy always slipping through my fingers, then dug my heels in. I could do this. I had done this. This was not the end point of my journey.
(I wouldn't be no one fading into obscurity.)
My opponent (Louis, the power type, I'd looked it up, watched yesterday's match) grinned, clutching a great ball in his fist. Even from across the stage, that fire in his eyes could not be mistaken for anything else. He saw himself winning this fight, and he wanted to give the public its due.
"First pokémon," the judge called from the sideline.
With well-practiced timing, I switched to the second pokéball on my belt and threw it in time with my opponent's.
"Come on out, Sponge!"
Light burst from our pokéballs and pooled onto the field before rising back again. With a secondary, smaller burst, the last of the light splintered and the fighters became fully visible.
Oh, I didn't like that bisharp's polish. Every piece of its helmets and blades glinted in the sunlight. That was a well-trained steel type. And, of course, a dark type.
At least, they're consistent about this.
"There it is, folks!" the announcer called above the jeers of the crowd. "The most infamous wobbuffet in Kalos! Having knocked out two fan-favorites this tournament alone, it's the one and only Sponge from, ahem, Trainer, ahem technically, Max! Can Louis' pick break the streak of tears left behind by this terrifying wobbuffet?"
I rolled my eyes at the announcer's timely 'cough'. Poor guy must have gotten sick.
Louis smirked at me. Then, the show-off blew a kiss to a pair of young women in the first row. They made a noise I suspected regular humans weren't capable of producing. It significantly lowered my remorse at what would happen.
"Both trainers, ready?"
We nodded.
"Three on three, regular tournament rule, one switch per battle."
Not that Louis would be able to use that with Sponge on the field.
"And no foul play," was added with a meaningful glance in my direction.
Acidic bitterness ate at the back of my throat. I had checked, I had read the rules for the Kalos cup! I hadn't even stepped on the line! I hadn't broken any rules!
But people speculated. Talked. Exaggerated.
Before long, I'd had the most stressful visit of my life the evening of the first match in my pokécenter room. Three members of the Kalosian league, with a mandate for license evaluation.
Instead of the high of my first League victory, after two years of prep, strategies, training, I'd had to justify myself hoarse before stone-faced goons in suits. I hadn't teared up, but only just, when it looked like they'd kick me out of the tournament over politics. Speculations, of all things.
They were just that. Speculations.
No evidence of rule breaking or pokémon abuse had been found.
But magically the fact that there'd been an investigation had leaked to the press. And lo and behold!
… Whatever. If the officials couldn't back the accusation, then it didn't really matter.
"Beg-"
"DARK PULSE!"
The time I wanted to spend cursing the early call was better used on making eye contact with Sponge's tail. A vague psychic impression of a nod appeared in my head.
Sponge's body lit up.
A fully realized world and a game couldn't be the same, but some things…
Special moves from dark types, physical moves from ghosts. The best workaround back then.
Even with the mechanics translating differently, dark was my pokémon's biggest weakness, and even his best efforts couldn't reflect the attack back as he usually did. Sponge slid a foot back, his body glowing red and the snarling mass of darkness twisting inches from his skin. With a shaken cry, Sponge lifted his arms in the air and froze the blow.
Behind the lightshow, I saw the bisharp's legs as it rushed closer.
This is taking too much time.
"Hold it, Sponge!"
Louis widened his stance, commanding. "Lancelot! The start of the tale!"
Lancelot slid to a halt, a good distance away from Sponge, his guard up. But he wasn't idly watching for our counterattack, a faint shimmer of energy surrounded him, and beads of sweat started to roll down the back of my neck.
I hated when they did that. Barely half the ace trainers I fought called out their attacks by their actual name. And from those that did, there usually was a much bigger problem headed our way. At least, I had a good idea what that glint on the bisharp's blades meant. There were only so many ways to deal with a wobbuffet.
Set-up came to mind.
As if.
"Now, Sponge!"
Sponge swayed back and forth, the dark energy following with. It never stopped being bizarre. And Louis' baffled expression matched the announcer's 'what's this?!' exclamation.
Aiming for the opposing trainer was an instant disqualification. Careless and accidental blows were a foul.
But yourself? Well, that came with a recommendation for a pokémon team therapy. I had two of them in my backpack.
Sponge swung back at full force, and the strengthened dark pulse exploded in the ground between us. Dust and wind whipped my face, loud enough to cover most cries from the bleachers. But I caught the tail end of the loudest '-his own pokémon.'
Focus on the fight. On the fight!
It left some scorch marks, true. But Sponge had more than enough health to spare. And, most importantly, he was always thrilled to do it. For a creature that spent most of its days moving at a slow walk, that could never escape from its predators, discovering that trick had been a revelation.
I'd have far more qualms about using that strategy if Sponge didn't beg for it on our off days.
The benefit? A pokémon known for being a sitting duck suddenly hurtling through the air at rocket speeds.
And Ace Trainers? Winners of the Gym Circuit? Those were breeds of trainers with well-honed reflexes. Too good, in fact. Louis pointed forward, a command already on his tongue when his eyes widened. He couldn't stop it with an attack, and that near slip of the tongue cut off the only real option.
"Block it!" he shouted desperately.
YES!
"Counter!"
Every bit of momentum Sponge had accumulated from that blast slammed twofold into Lancelot, amplified even further by his Sword Dance, and shot him straight into the stadium's forcefield. The impact shook the arena, sparks dancing in the air as the intensity was adjusted.
There was a thud, and a pokémon sliding to their knees.
"Bisharp is unable to battle!" the judge called out after a moment's hesitation.
"Wobbu wobbu!" Sponge yelled.
He was the only one that cheered and that mattered to me. He dashed back to my sides, which took him a good fifteen seconds, and when he reached me, I high fived my badass sandbag.
"Trainer Louis," the judge said, "select your second pokémon."
There it is, I thought, keeping my excitement off my face. Every time, every single solitary time Sponge managed to take out someone's pokémon, they bristled like I'd stomped on their pride. Which wasn't inaccurate.
In training circles, wobbuffets were rightfully known as the noob killers.
Sometimes, with more tragic consequences. One of your pokémon taken out at the wrong time could mean the difference between life and death while you struggled to find a place to heal in the wild.
Reflection Cave was a massive hurdle on Kalosian journeys.
One could not travel from Geosenge to Shalour without learning to deal with wild wobbuffets. Call it a rite of passage.
No serious ace trainer used wobbuffets, because everyone knew how to deal with them.
Or they thought they did.
But a wild wobbuffet and a trained one existed in different aneurysm-inducing leagues. To anyone watching, not aware or caring of the difference, the Elite looked like any other amateur.
So, of course, the next move would be…
"Go, Regal!"
An enormous nidoking materialized on the battlefield. He swung his tree-trunk arms, lashing with a tail that left deep, muddy trails in the ground of the arena. A low growl rumbled through his armored chest.
Louis barely waited for the judge to speak up. But I saw it coming this time.
"Regal! Toxic!"
"Safeguard!"
The noxious bubbles popped harmlessly against the veil of mist that surrounded my pokémon.
Louis let out a cry of frustration. "Overwhelming power!"
I didn't have time to wonder what this next combo would be. The nidoking spat out a stream of fire, then one of mud, as his horn spiraled with energy.
Ah, shit.
"Sponge! Juggle!"
Sponge leaned back away from the first attack, redirecting the flamethrower in the air, with a second to spare for the mud shot. The second blow skipped twice on Sponge's aura before shooting upward too.
And then the nidoking was stepping into Sponge's space, his horn all but ready to run him through.
"Hold him back!" I screamed.
The horn stopped so close I couldn't even tell if it had touched Sponge or not. But the beast stopped right in his tracks, his fangs gritted together and his body struggling into the psychic field. That was time enough.
Mud showered back on the nidoking and with a roar of pain, he stumbled.
Right into Sponge, who blasted him back with his own Megahorn's power.
"WHAT'S THIS?!" blared the announcer at ear-splitting volume. "A second KO in an instant. Louis' daring strategy only gave more ammo to Sponge the wobbuffet!"
While Sponge basked in the (lack of) admiration from the crowd, I eyed the few scratches on him. He'd avoided the worst of the damage, true, but the nature of his moves meant he was still taking some damage. And with this match being a two mons lead…
Red light caught on my wobbuffet. "Get some rest, Sponge."
I did not want Louis any more pumped up than this. Any more poking would be waking an ursaring. There was no point in giving back the momentum now by letting him knock out one of my team.
The judge waved a flag my way. "Trainer Max, second pokémon."
"Alright, Véloce, your time to shine!"
Some woman in the bleacher very audibly screamed "Not him! Cheap shot!" 'Cheap shot!' others picked up, like a new battle chant.
Véloce rolled back and forth, unbothered.
"There it is!" the announcer yelled, finally injecting some life into his commentary. "The Runkiller! The new Hopecrusher! The Electrode that grinds rhythm to a halt.. Véloce!"
"Trainer Louis, last pokémon."
"Arthur! Victory is yours to claim!"
A lucario. He'd definitely anticipated this one.
"Véloce! Let's finish this quick!"
Véloce snickered, bouncing left and right. Then, he was off, bulldozing through the shattered terrain like a demented pinball. Light trailed after him, as if he'd been using a priority move. Specialized training at its finest.
The same could be said of Louis' reaction time. "Detect!"
Thank God he was faster than me. I bit my tongue hard.
"Agility!"
My pokémon looked nothing more than a pink blur cutting the air.
"Hit him with your Aura Sphere."
The eerie cyan blast swerved around the battlefield, turning with terrifying accuracy. Nothing should be able to catch up to Véloce's midswing. But the lucario's paws somehow traced him through the afterimages without fail.
Let's give him something to focus on! "Thunder Wave!"
"Dodge it!"
"The herding trick, Véloce!"
"Elelelelec!" he replied, spinning and rolling faster than the eye could follow.
His pattern avoided the enemy entirely. He bounced off every corner, spreading sparks as he dodged the erratic Aura Spheres after him. It sputtered before long, a new problem growing more urgent now. Soon the entire field was dancing with stripes of electricity. There was nowhere to move to.
"Power through, Arthur! Detect!"
"Electro Ball!"
Electricity pulsed over Véloce's body. Gaining in strength for every bit of speed Véloce could put into the move, and with a paralyzed opponent, it ought to do the trick.
At the last moment, Arthur jumped aside, pinpoint perfect, and even I had to be impressed. Damn.
Still, Louis' pokémon was panting, one eye closed and one arm twitching from the stray sparks of paralysis. Véloce, when he landed, was all smiles, not a scratch on him.
It could already be over. But it was courtesy not to whale on a pokémon that struggled to continue. And I really needed at least the image of courtesy.
"Louis! Sponge is still good to go and I have one more pokémon in reserve!" I called out. "Your lucario can't beat all of them while paralyzed! Spare him the pain!"
Louis' determination wavered, his eyes flickering to his grunting pokémon. I saw him calculate their chances. Then, my sincerity, and that was when the outrage ignited, his glare not just angry but hateful.
"Arthur! Bone R-"
Véloce appeared right in front of the lucario's face with the most unhinged grin.
He was already shining white when I said, more out of habit than anything: "Kaboom."
Both our pokémon disappeared in a cloud of dust.
The entire stadium held its breath, and despite knowing, knowing, that it was already decided, I did the same. It worked. It had to work. And if it didn't, then Sponge can deal and I still have Deku, and-
The dust cleared, revealing two downed pokémon, one significantly more cheerful even completely unconscious.
The silence was broken by a handful of fangirls breaking into tears. "Louiiiiiiiiiis!"
"The…" came the echoing voice, "the winner is…"
"Say it," I gritted out, glaring at the announcer's box. "Say it already."
"Trainer Max! With a dominating Three-Zero win!"
The smatter of applause was swiftly overshadowed by even more booing. Were I a more daring man, I'd give them a piece of my mind. More foolish too, because I could have shown them every video tape of my training, and it still wouldn't make them think I was a worthy competitor. It was cheap. It went against the spirit of competition, the unspoken rules, they'd say.
Red light pulled my electrode back to his pokéball. "Thank you, Véloce. We're one step closer to the title thanks to you and Sponge."
I didn't waste my time with the public and made for the side exits. I would head back to the pokémon center a bit later, when there were less chances I'd come across Louis. If not him, then his fans would make a scene and I didn't have the energy anymore. Just thinking about it… it was like swallowing mud.
Let them. Don't care. I don't care. I don't care!
Top Four. Higher than three years ago. Higher than I'd gotten before. Almost there.
I can't lose again.
Link: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/the-most-evil-trainer-pokémon-si.1054896/reader/