"Jibo..." Ritchie gazed at Charizard, who had been defeated, with a mixture of despair and helplessness.
A sinking realization dawned on him—the gap between him and Ash extended far beyond just the strength of their Pokémon.
Ash's grasp of tactics, strategy, and timing was leagues ahead, a chasm Ritchie struggled to bridge.
Every move he made, every thought he had, seemed to be anticipated by Ash, countered effortlessly before Ritchie could act.
It was as though Ash was reading his mind. For the first time, Ritchie felt truly powerless.
"Is he...really just a Poké Ball-level Trainer?" Ritchie whispered, his eyes clouded with doubt as he recalled Charizard into its Poké Ball.
He looked across the field at Ash, confusion and frustration filling his gaze.
In Ritchie's eyes, Ash's performance was nothing like that of a typical Poké Ball-level Trainer.
Even Great Ball-level Trainers lacked this level of precision and control.
Comparing Ash's demeanor and mastery to the Ash he had faced earlier in the tournament felt like comparing two entirely different people.
"Was he holding back the entire time?" Ritchie wondered. Had Ash been conserving his true strength throughout the qualifiers and even the semi-finals? The thought was unnerving.
And now, Ritchie found himself losing not just his Pokémon but his will to fight.
With a heavy sigh, Ritchie sent out his third Pokémon, a Venusaur named Los.
Though it wasn't in peak condition, he hoped its type advantage against Blastoise would at least buy him time to regain his footing.
Ash, observing Ritchie closely, noticed the cracks in his opponent's composure. Despite this, he chose not to recall Blastoise, confident in his Pokémon's versatility.
"Let's see how Blastoise handles a Grass-type," Ash thought, intrigued by the challenge.
However, the battle that followed was far from satisfying. Ritchie, distracted and hesitant, made small but critical errors.
Against an opponent like Ash, even minor mistakes were ruthlessly exploited.
Blastoise's mastery of Ice Beam turned the type disadvantage on its head, and Venusaur fell swiftly, leaving Ritchie with only two Pokémon remaining.
"Venusaur is unable to battle! Blastoise wins! Player Ritchie has lost three Pokémon, so we will now take an intermission!" the referee announced.
Ash glanced at Ritchie, who stood on the other side of the battlefield, his shoulders slumped.
Shaking his head slightly, Ash recalled Blastoise and walked to the resting area. Disappointment flickered in his eyes.
Ritchie had started strong, but by the second match, his composure had faltered. By the third, he was completely out of sync.
"I hope he uses these five minutes to reset his mindset," Ash murmured, sitting down and sipping water.
As the audience buzzed with excitement, the stadium's big screen replayed highlights from the previous battles.
The commentators broke down key moments, particularly the clash between Charizard and Blastoise.
"This level of dominance is rarely seen in regular tournaments," one commentator remarked.
"Ash's precision and control resemble what we usually witness during Elite Challenges!"
Meanwhile, Ritchie sat on the bench, his head in his hands. His mind churned with self-doubt, replaying his mistakes like a broken record.
He wanted to adjust, to focus, but the noise of the crowd around him was deafening.
He could hear fragments of conversations, whispers about his weakness, and the sting of imagined mockery.
"I can't do this…" Ritchie muttered to himself, a wave of hopelessness washing over him.
His grip on his Poké Ball tightened. He was afraid to even look at the replay, unwilling to face his failures or the scorn of others.
But just as Ritchie was about to sink further into despair, a voice rang out.
"Ritchie! Come on!"
He blinked, unsure if he had imagined it. Then he heard it again.
"Ritchie! Show them how strong you are!"
His head snapped up, searching for the source. In the sea of thousands, a small group of fans stood out, cheering his name with fervor.
"Ritchie! Ritchie!"
Their voices weren't the loudest, but they cut through the noise like a beacon.
Tears pricked the corners of Ritchie's eyes. These people believed in him. They hadn't given up, even when he had.
Clenching his fist, Ritchie stood up and raised it toward his supporters. Their faith rekindled a spark of determination within him.
"If I'm going to lose, I'll lose with pride," he thought. "I won't let them see me defeated in spirit, even if I fall in battle."
The commentators picked up on the shift in Ritchie's demeanor. "It seems Player Ritchie has regained his composure," one said. "This could turn into a real match!"
Ash, watching from his resting area, smirked as he saw Ritchie's resolved expression flash across the screen. "Good," he muttered. "This will be interesting."
The five-minute intermission flew by, and Ritchie stepped back onto the field with renewed energy. Standing across from Ash, he took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry for the earlier disappointment," he said, his voice steady. "But from now on, it's a real match. Get ready, Ash!"
Ash grinned, his excitement palpable. "Finally. Let's see what you've got, Ritchie."
The crowd erupted as the battle resumed, the air crackling with anticipation.
---
The stage is set for a turning point. Will this battle shift in Ritchie's favor, or will Ash's overwhelming strength extinguish the flicker of hope?
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