There was almost no downtime between the final battle and the awards ceremony itself. Sam shook Franklin’s hand and walked off the field, where he was almost immediately met by a nurse. She led him into a side room that contained a smaller version of a Pokémon Center’s scanning system. His team’s Pokéballs were placed on it, and then they were released one by one to individually have their wounds treated.
Sam watched the entire healing process. To his surprise, the nurse mostly relied on Hyper Potions for this final post-battle session. Hyper Potions were ridiculously effective at treating wounds, so much so that trainers were told to only use them sparingly. Applying a Hyper Potion too often might not have obvious side effects, but it could have long-term consequences for a Pokémon’s immune system.
No, this was just a quick check over and treatment to make sure his team could be present for the awards ceremony. Everyone’s wounds were healed in a way to prevent them from getting worse, but they’d still need to rest later.
When the treatment had concluded, Sam left the room with his team snug in their Pokéballs. There, he found that the awards ceremony had already started. The field was gone. The lines and the damage from previous battles had been replaced by a smooth dirt floor, likely thanks to the work of local Ground Types. Where the field once was, there was now a small stage set up with a winner’s podium sitting in its center.
Three people stood on the podium. A few more stood off to the sides. Sam recognized Edgar in the spot representing third, and a fourth trainer next to him on the ground. Franklin, having lost to Sam, climbed a small staircase to enter the spot labeled for second place. The trio of announcers were there alongside the head referee, speaking proudly about Franklin as he stepped up.
Sam quietly watched until he heard his name be called.
It was his turn to go up.
He emerged for the final time to the cheers of the audience. People shouted his name. His Pokémon’s names. They cheered for both him and his team as he stepped out of the lower tunnel and moved towards where the ending ceremony was taking place.
He felt as though he was in a daze.
Sam walked slowly and robotically. He waved, trying to hide his disbelief at what was going on. A little voice whispered in his ear that a win like this shouldn’t have happened, but he fought it. His team deserved to win. They’d spent months honing moves and strategies and spent an entire week and a half going through intensive training just for this tournament. Sure, some of their strategies wouldn't work against a more experienced opponent, but this was a mid-level tournament. Why wouldn’t they be able to place first?
Sam was welcomed to the stage by all of the announcers at once. They clapped for him alongside the rest of the competitors and the audience itself.
“And our first place winner, Samuel Greyson of Dewford Town!” Mr. Pokémon shouted, his voice echoing throughout the arena.
Sam numbly moved forward to the center of the stage. Each person he approached turned off their mic to whisper congratulations as he shook their hands.
“Good work. Your battles were impressive, but perhaps you should strive to be on time more often, hm?” the head referee said.
“I can tell you and your Pokémon truly care about one another. Your bond with your team warms my heart,” Nurse Joy said with a genuine smile.
“If my father was here, he'd say something about wanting to battle you,” Falkner added. “I do as well. It's rare to see someone at your level fight with such a strong plan behind them.”
And finally, Sam reached Mr. Pokémon, whose smile caused the edges of his mustache to curl. He shook Sam's hand rather heartily.
“Sam, my boy, that was an incredible series of battles, and what an incredible showcase of strategy by you and your team!” he said.
“Thank you.”
“And what an interesting team you have, as well!” Mr. Pokémon continued, leaning in. “I say, it is rather curious that you have a Quilava and a Primeape on a Ghost Type team, of all things. Do you know? I’m not sure how much I can help you, but I've heard rumors of, well—”
He paused and chuckled.
“Now's not the time. Go, stand and collect your prize!”
Sam slowly pulled back his hand, openly gaping at the man as he walked towards the podium. Mr. Pokémon had asked if Sam knew without going into details, but now Sam was curious.
Does Mr. Pokémon know? About my team’s final evolutions?
Hisuian Typhlosion was a species from hundreds of years ago. Annihilape was apparently common to a foreign region, but Sam had no way of knowing if that was presently true. He wanted to talk more, but the man was right. Now wasn’t the time—they’d be able to chat once the tournament was over.
A set of stairs brought him up to the highest stand on the platform, and the crowd once more cheered his and his Pokémon’s names. For now, Sam put his thoughts on hold as his heart swelled with pride.
They’d done it.
They’d actually won.
As he waved to the crowd, a close-up of himself appearing on the screen above the field, a few officials moved onto the field. As one final piece of the show, the prizes began to be handed out.
One by one, the competitors received trophies. Sam wasn't sure why, but he hadn't expected any to be involved. The trainers in third and fourth received small bronze cups, Franklin received a slightly larger silver one, and Sam received a golden cup the size of his head.
I can’t travel with this. I’ll need to send it home.
It wasn’t real gold, but it was still pure metal. The plaque on its base listed his name and “Violet City Tournament Champion.” It was material proof that he had won, but the prizes didn’t stop there.
Of course, Sam was also allowed to choose from four TMs. These had weighed heavily in his mind across the entire tournament, as he wanted to make sure Redi got something for herself, too. He chose the Hyper Beam TM, a move that Ursaring would be able to put to great use. Meanwhile, Franklin chose Thunder. Edgar, having placed third, was able to choose Blizzard. The final trainer was left with just Fire Blast, but they seemed satisfied with it, at least.
The last prize was money. Sam held back a laugh upon seeing what was brought out. Two Xatu flashed onto the field with a Teleport, and between their wings was a comically oversized check. The number written on it wasn’t a mind-blowing amount, but it was enough to support both Sam and Redi’s team for at least the entire next month.
“And to all of you that are still here and to all of you tuning in at home, thank you for watching! With these prizes handed out, the Violet City Tournament has finally concluded. Won’t you all give one last round of applause for every one of our incredible competitors?”
The audience cheered, and thus, the Violet City Tournament ended. Sam and the rest no longer needed to stay, but he was quickly approached by local business owners and journalists, all rushing on the field and trying to grab his attention.
Trapped, Sam was stuck warding off interviews and offers from people trying to use his and his team’s likenesses to advertise their businesses. Edgar and Franklin both left rather quickly, but the fourth place trainer stuck around to chat with what seemed to be their parents.
Unfortunately, Mr. Pokémon was busy. By the time Sam managed to escape—he answered a few quick questions, but none of the deals were worth taking—the man had already left. Sam didn’t get the chance to ask for more information.
But, before he could go himself, there was one last thing to take care of—a picture for the local newspaper. Releasing everyone, he had his entire team pose around him. Misdreavus tried to flee, but he grabbed her. He held her in his arms in the center of the group, alongside everyone else.
She smiled.
Sam fled as soon as that was done with, not willing to use his own image to support a business he wasn’t familiar with, payment or not. He returned his team and rushed into the lower hallways. His plan was to collect his stuff and meet up with Redi before exiting the arena building.
He ended up skipping a step, as Sam found her in that private dressing room. She practically ambushed him, jumping out right as he opened the door.
“You did it!”
Sam didn’t expect to be suddenly wrapped up in a hug.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“I should have realized Franklin was pushing for an Alakazam. Ugh, if I’d realized he was going for an evolution like that, I could have warned you earlier! But Quilava was amazing! And then how Primeape fainted that Mr. Mime! And that jerk of a Hypno with Hypnosis! I want you to know I’ll punch that Natu for mocking Primeape if I’m ever given the chance, too. And Misdreavus was wonderful.”
Head spinning, Sam had to fight to parse her words. Redi spoke so quickly it was like she had said everything within a single second.
She pulled back, smiling brilliantly at him, and Sam was left blinking. After spending a moment to recover, he laughed, holding his chin up high.
“Yeah, my team did do it, didn’t they? They managed to defeat Franklin without even using that many Ghost Type moves! You should have never doubted me, and now that I have this Hyper Beam TM—”
“I never doubted you,” Redi interrupted.
Sam chuckled awkwardly and looked away.
“I know. Thank you.”
He grabbed his backpack from the corner of the room, depositing his prizes and rolling up that comically large check. It wasn’t real, only existing just for the show. He had actually been given a reasonable size check alongside it. He didn’t have to keep the large one, but he planned to send it home to his mother alongside his first place trophy.
It gleamed in the light as he carefully aligned everything just right so it fit snugly in his backpack. He stared at it for several long seconds, just thinking about everything his team had done to get here.
But we still have the Conference to get through. I’d call that our next step if we didn't have all those Gym Battles left, first.
His backpack was zipped closed, and Sam stood up, adjusting the bag’s straps. With this win, he felt like a real Pokémon trainer, now.
“So, someone said something weird to me when I was in the middle of that crowd,” Sam said, moving back over to Redi and closing the door of the room behind him.
“What happened?”
Something in Redi’s voice told Sam she was ready to punch whoever might have insulted him.
“...It was Mr. Pokémon,” Sam said. “Wait, hold on, I mean— He didn’t do anything bad, he just pointed out how weird it was that I had a Quilava and Primeape on a Ghost Type team. I think he knows about their evolutions, so I want to see if I can talk to him about that.”
“Really?” Redi blinked. “You think he knows about Ursaluna as well?”
“Maybe,” Sam said with a hum, walking alongside her down the hallway. “Other than that recommendation from Dr. Hale, the Ruins of Alph were kind of a bust. I’m thinking that instead of heading straight to Blackthorn, we swing towards Cherrygrove. Mr. Pokémon’s place should be along the way, and following that path should give us a nice break.”
Redi easily nodded in agreement.
“I’m down for an easier trip for once. There’s no Gyms in that direction, but we have time to explore,” she said.
“Yeah, that’s kind of why I’m not too against a detour. This part of Johto isn’t known for its strong Pokémon. We might have to worry about not having any tough trainers to fight and make bets with, but the tournament winnings should mean we’re good for a while. None of our Pokémon are set to evolve and need more food, and even with Misdreavus joining, her species still hardly eats.”
Sam might have been discussing money, but when he mentioned his winnings, Redi’s eyes flashed with excitement. For once, Sam had a feeling she wasn’t thinking about cash.
He let out an amused sigh, shaking his head.
“So...” she started.
“You wanna go buy a bunch of junk food then teach Hyper Beam to Ursaring?” Sam asked.
Redi could hardly stay still.
“Absolutely!”
Both of them ran down the hall, bursting into an impromptu race. Sam might have been tired, but he was willing to push himself for this. Spending the night watching Ursaring explode stuff felt like the perfect way to celebrate, at least until tomorrow when his team would be more rested. He had a Gym Battle against Walker coming up, made easier with his high placement allowing him to skip the Trial. At least for the next while, Sam expected his journey to be smooth sailing. He could look forward to being able to take it easy for once. After this win, it felt as though nothing could stand in his way.
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Jackson stabbed his fork into the steak and shoved a piece of meat into his mouth. When he chewed, he scowled.
It’s overcooked. Too dry.
He’d have spat it out if purchasing a real steak hadn't cost him so much. A security guard’s wage was a pittance. Heading to this restaurant was supposed to be a treat for himself, but now he was pretty sure he had just wasted his money.
He had been scammed. Meat wasn’t what it used to be when he was a kid, just a handful of decades ago. The great farms of northwestern Johto could hardly be called great anymore. A slab of beef cost at least ten times as much, with its true price varying depending on how it was sourced.
In Jackson’s opinion, too many groups had pushed for “humane” treatment of Pokémon. Now, if someone wanted real meat, it could only be sourced from Pokémon that passed away from natural causes. It didn't matter that wild Pokémon ate each other all the time. Humans? No, they had to hold themselves to a “higher” standard.
That meant lab-grown meat. Soy meats. Meats that could be regrown after being harvested. None of that tasted as good as meat from a Pokémon in its prime. Everything nowadays was too worn and tough. It lacked the tenderness it should have had.
Jackson took another bite, grinding his jaw together to force the food into something swallowable. As he ate, he did his best to ignore the sounds of a party from just a few tables away. He wasn't facing them, but he could still hear their shouts and cheers to celebrate a tournament that had gone so well.
For some reason, that head referee was popular. He was at the end of a long table, surrounded by the arena’s staff. What Jackson didn’t get was that if that head referee was so popular, why wasn’t Jackson invited? Why hadn’t Jackson been encouraged to come?
For a moment, he considered going over and butting in, reminding them of who he was and forcing them into an uncomfortable awkwardness. Then, he stopped that train of thought. He instead decided to not do that and distracted himself by considering ketchup for his meal. It’d make the meat more palatable in theory, but the idea of putting ketchup on a steak made Jackson sick to his stomach.
Someone at the other table called for a toast. Jackson ignored it and took a swig of his drink before slamming it down on the table.
The impact caused his utensils to clatter. He let out a breath and stared at the empty glass.
He really wished he had more.
“Excuse me?” a voice said.
Jackson dragged his head up to stare at the unexpected newcomer. The man wasn't familiar. He was at least a full decade younger.
“Mind if I sit here? I brought you a new drink as a bribe!”
Jackson was tempted to turn him down, but the younger man shook the glass of bubbling liquid a few inches away from his face. Trying not to smack his lips, Jackson debated shooing him away. But, when he heard a series of laughs at the other table, a single word slipped out before he fully realized what he was agreeing to.
“Fine.”
Jackson snatched the filled glass from the other man’s hands and chugged most of it down. As his newfound companion sat, he could at least appreciate that the drink had washed the horrid taste of that steak out of his mouth.
“I’m Pete,” the other man said.
Jackson rubbed his temples. He really hated today.
“Jackson,” he grunted.
“Any reason you’re off on your own? I’d have thought someone like you would have celebrated with the rest of them. Didn't want to join?”
“Wasn't invited,” Jackson said sourly. “Apparently a security guard for hire isn't ‘good enough’ to celebrate with the likes of them.”
Pete glanced over Jackson’s shoulder, and Jackson took another swig of his drink. There wasn't any question about it; Pete was definitely looking at the other men and women wearing uniforms identical to Jackson’s.
“Well,” Pete said, turning back and tapping his fingers on the table’s wood, “would have been annoying to be around that many people.”
“You’re telling me.”
Jackson finished off his drink.
A voice from above briefly caught his attention. A television on the wall of the room displayed an attractive young woman in the middle of an interview. She talked to a certain boy with piercing grey eyes. Normally, eyes that dull were easily glanced over, but there was something about the shadows of his hood that made his gaze stand out that much more.
Jackson scowled when he recognized who it was.
Pete, for some reason, smiled.
“Don't like him?” the guy asked.
“No,” Jackson said with a growl. “Bad experience today. Kid doesn’t know his place.”
“Really? Tell me more.”
Pete leaned in, and Jackson hesitated. However, that hesitation evaporated when Pete waved over a waitress to bring him yet another drink.
He took a sip of it before he started.
“Didn't think much of it at first,” Jackson said, staring into the amber liquid. “He snuck into a locked room. Went where he wasn’t supposed to. Noticed that on the cameras and sent someone his way. No, the real issue happened when his friend got involved.”
Another long sip.
“The friend attacked us. Had a Pokémon go after a fellow guard without even blinking an eye. Tried to spin some lie about not technically ordering the move, but my coworker was still knocked out in an instant. And then after...”
“Yes?” Pete said, the man’s full attention on Jackson.
“Had some kind of freak of a Pokémon,” Jackson said slowly. “Looked like a bird if a bird was made out of rigid plastic. Did something with our systems before running away. Had to give chase and only barely caught up when we reached a dead end.”
Usually security guards had Pokémon to help them, but that wasn't always the case. Jackson had a partner when he first took on the job years ago, but they were separated when people started to complain that Houndour was too ‘vicious.’
He missed that little beast.
“You know, it’s funny you described her Pokémon like that. I had a Pokémon that looked just like that, once,” Pete said.
Jackson raised an eyebrow. Before he even noticed it, another drink slid towards him on the table. He hadn’t even finished what he received previously.
“Problem was,” Pete continued, “it was stolen from me. Taken from right under a friend's nose. Sure, I hadn't expected to get it back in the first place, but it's the act itself that's offensive. People should know better than to take from responsible adults like us.”
Something rang in Jackson’s ears, and he felt himself briefly have trouble focusing. The sound was quickly drowned out by the continued noises of the party behind him, and he rubbed his eyes and tried to get a better look at the man seated across from him.
Pete had neatly cropped hair and a suit like some sort of businessman. His appearance almost seemed purposefully generic. Jackson doubted he'd be able to point Pete out from a crowd.
“Where did this happen?” Jackson said slowly, doing his best to pronounce each word before drinking from the newest glass.
“Goldenrod,” Pete answered easily enough. “Been trying to catch up for a while, but they’ve been speedy. Thankfully, there're only so many routes they can follow, y’know?”
“...You’ve been following them?”
Pete merely smiled.
Alarm bells started to blare in Jackson's mind. Something about this conversation felt off. It was almost too leading—too goading. It wasn't just that Pete had approached him randomly, it was the targeted nature of his questions and the cruel smirk the other man kept failing to keep down.
Jackson knew he wasn’t the nicest person in the world, but Pete shouldn’t have looked that bloodthirsty. They were talking about kids, for goodness’ sake!
“Is your name really Pete?” Jackson asked, forcing his question out through slurred words.
“No, but does that matter? You won't remember me in the morning.”
Jackson had a baton on his belt, a tool that replaced his Houndour when his friend had been taken away. An answer like that would have seen him immediately stand up, but his legs buckled underneath him. He crumpled into his seat instead of moving, and his head fell back.
He could see it now. There was something hidden in the rafters of the ceiling. He wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t fallen. It was dark, winged, and had a massive, fanged mouth that was wide open. He now realized there’d been a high-pitched noise ringing in his ears, and though Jackson rubbed them, the noise refused to fade.
“That’s Supersonic, by the way,” ‘Pete’ said. “It took forever to train the move to be so targeted. Went through a lot of Golbat before finding one that could make the attack work. It was worth it, in the end. No one else can hear it. And don’t bother trying to get help. I doubt you’ll be standing anytime soon.”
“You...”
Jackson slammed an arm onto the table, the only thing he could really do. Once more, his utensils clattered. A few of the other restaurant patrons looked his way—none of the partygoers, of course—but no one who glanced over seemed to be bothered. After all, their eyes lingered on the countless empty glasses on the table. From their perspective, why wouldn’t someone like Jackson be this clumsy?
“Here. For your time,” the man claiming to be ‘Pete’ said, tossing a clip of bills onto the table. “And that’s payment for your information as well. It’s nice to actually have confirmation for once.”
“W-what are you—”
Another ringing noise stabbed through his head, interrupting him before he could say anything else. Jackson grit his teeth, the world spinning. The bat Pokémon on the ceiling continued to silently scream his way, and everyone else continued to ignore the man who was clearly far too deep into his drinks.
“Thanks again,” ‘Pete’ said.
The world turned black around Jackson as the bat’s eyes locked with his own.
Hours later, he woke up to a waitress nudging him awake. His food and drinks had already been taken away, and the party behind him had vanished. He was dazed, and he could have sworn he had a conversation with someone. However, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember who it was with or what it was about.