"A veteran against a newcomer! Will the west bank claim one more soul today?" The experienced referee immediately began to rile up the crowd, who responded with boos directed at the veteran.
"Fight someone using a non-shitty tactic!" they shouted. The man's cheap methods were infamous—hit-and-run tactics and a battle of attrition exploiting Zubat's advantage in the air.
The man was also a performer. But to earn more money, he used this technique to rile up the crowd and grab attention, whether it was envy or hate.
Very well.
Luka gave a small bow, surprising the chubby man. But the man's expression quickly grew bloodthirsty. This wasn't just a Pokémon battle—it was one judged by the crowd. Public sentiment would surely play a factor in Luka's future here. If the crowd discarded him, the Dust Circuit would surely follow.
"FIGHTERS! THROW YOUR POKÉBALLS!"
The chubby man tossed out his Pokémon. A Zubat floated in the air, its Pokéball in pristine condition. Luka, on the other hand, felt the battered Pokéball expand in his hand as he threw it out, tracking its bounce perfectly. He caught it—not expertly, but with enough calmness to sell confidence to the crowd.
The chubby man laughed as Trubbish appeared on the field. "What's this shit? A trash bag Pokémon? Ha! Zubat will tear this fucker up in seconds!"
Luka's voice stayed calm, mimicking Ms. Quaker's tone when she spoke about Pokémon.
"What defines trash? In my eyes, you're far uglier than the beauty of this Pokémon," Luka responded calmly, placing the flute to his lips through a hole in his mask.
The flute held two advantages: the opponent wouldn't know what he was doing, and the input delay for commands was significantly smaller. He didn't have to shout commands aloud to Trubbish.
Would he be able to pull it off?
"Zubat, use Wing Attack!" The man clenched his fists violently as Zubat swooped down, its wings glowing with energy.
"Hm! I'm using my new move on the likes of you just for your arrogance!" the chubby man snorted as Luka played a sharp note, signaling a dodge. But the sound that escaped the flute was convoluted, and Trubbish remained in the same place.
Shit!
Trubbish barely avoided a cut from Zubat as it immediately retreated to the air. Luka began to lose his cool.
Why weren't the sounds from the flute coming out like he practiced?
"Bite!"
Zubat dove down again, its teeth surrounded by dark energy. Once more, the sound that escaped Luka's flute was garbled. Trubbish took the brunt of the attack, its body covered in bite marks, trash spilling out from the wounds. Zubat spat it out in disgust.
----
"What a waste of time," the demon mask muttered.
"I agree—" The snake mask was interrupted by a cold, cynical voice.
"Watch."
The two fell silent.
The king had spoken. His belief was law.
----
The fight was brutal. Trubbish was thrown and tossed around like a rag doll, and Luka's commands via flute continued to fail. But he couldn't speak—breaking his silence would destroy the reputation he was trying to build. The crowd cheered him on as the underdog.
He glanced toward Ms. Quaker in the crowd. Her usually closed eyes were open, revealing the white irises that hinted at deep wisdom.
The world seemed to go quiet around them. The crowd blurred away as their gazes met.
"Do you listen to it?" she asked simply. Luka froze, stunned. "It's trying to tell you something every time it moves. You're so busy trying to control it that you can't hear it."
An epiphany washed over Luka as he placed the flute back to his lips. He closed his eyes and played a soft, mellow tune.
It felt like he was looking at Trubbish in that cage again. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He was speaking directly to Trubbish—not with words, but through sound.
He didn't shout or reprimand the small trash bag. He simply said, "Follow the flow of the music. Do what you feel you need to do, and I will be your instrument."
His mind snapped back to reality.
The Zubat's wings once again glowed with energy. But Luka was composed, remembering Ms. Quaker's words.
"The world will try to take things from you—your sight, your voice, your dignity. But no one can take your bond. That's yours, and it's unbreakable."
Her wisdom steadied his hands. The notes from his flute came out perfectly, and Trubbish twisted its body in response. The trash bag's flaps glowed with a grey energy.
Zubat locked onto its flight path and swooped in, but missed Trubbish entirely. The trash bag countered, slamming its flaps onto Zubat's back and sending it crashing into the dirt.
Luka finally saw it. He wasn't commanding Trubbish—he was listening to it. Their bond transcended words, guided by mutual understanding.
The crowd roared as Zubat floated back into the air, its body limp and struggling. Zubat had inflicted significant damage, but Trubbish stood firm.
"Supersonic!" The chubby man's arrogance had vanished, replaced with desperation. Zubat emitted sound waves, but Luka's flute responded sharply and softly, guiding Trubbish to evade and release a cloud of poison gas.
A wise move—it blocked Zubat's sight.
"Ha! Zubat uses its hearing to see! Use Wing Attack!"
Zubat locked onto Trubbish's position in the mist. Luka, however, made no sound.
"Oh?" Ms. Quaker's expression revealed rare shock. "Perhaps he's even more talented than I expected."
The chubby man's confidence crumbled. If he lost, his reputation—especially to a newcomer—would be shattered. His eyes darted nervously toward the VIP box. Anxiety consumed him.
The clash erupted suddenly, a burst of dust and gas obscuring the field. As the poison mist faded, Zubat and Trubbish were locked in combat.
The finale.
Luka played a short, mellow tune as poison gas erupted directly from Trubbish's mouth into Zubat's.
What would win—a battered poison bat or industrial waste condensed into a single Pokémon?
"Ha! Zubat is also a Poison-type—" The man's words cut off as Zubat's body went limp and crashed to the ground.
Trubbish raised its arm to deliver a final blow.
"Wait! Please!" the chubby man screamed. "If you do that, it might never recover! Please!"
Luka looked at Trubbish. The Pokémon looked back.
Without a word, Luka turned his back on the arena and walked away. Trubbish delivered the final blow, then hopped after its trainer.
The referee ended the match.
"The black horse!"
The crowd erupted in cheers, but the noise faded in Luka's ears as he entered the changing room.
"Good work, Trubbish." Luka patted the trash bag on its head, just as the door opened. The demon mask man entered, carrying a bag, laughing heartily.
"What a fucking performance! Wow! That was one of the best fights I've ever watched!" His laughter abruptly stopped, replaced by a cold neutrality. "But watch out. Do not grow arrogant, like so many before you. You are not special." Then his tone shifted back to laughter. "Here, here! We give cuts based on bet odds and other calculations. This is for you."
Luka accepted the sack of money, placing it on the bench. He bowed slightly. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it. You'll know when your next fight is. In the meantime, you can use a side route to leave the arena without being followed. It's under the locker. We've told the two people you came with to head back and wait for you. Don't draw too much attention to yourself... Anyway, goodbye! Hahaha!"
The man left as quickly as he'd arrived, leaving Luka groaning in frustration.
Fucking eccentrics.