Chapter 7: R16 | Cocaine Bunny
Mouthful of Combusken spicy wings Lachlan Nguyen still managed: "The demographic question becomes even more interesting when you open it to all IPLs, from 1 to 64." The excess barbeque sauce he smudged on his khakis. "There have been 64 winners, or rather 43 if you count duplicates. Like yourself, of course—yourself most notably."
He tossed bones now divested of flesh onto the plate and seized another wing. Viscous red ran down his lips.
"The 43 winners come from a total of only 20 regions. The world has 2,064 regions. Only 20 have ever produced a winner. That's fascinating, isn't it? There has to be an explanation. Everything has one. No matter what, a reason always exists—otherwise, we can only imagine dumb luck as the cause of everything, and if that was so, how could anything in this universe exist that wasn't entropic dissolution?"
Long ago he drained his cup of milk tea. Now he downed the wings one after another, allowing the spice to accumulate in layers, thickening upon his lips, his tongue, his throat. His eyes watered, flashing as they did between the one to whom he spoke and the battle.
"Part of the answer lies in the tournament's history. The Interregional Pokémon League originated with only four regions: Kanto, Johto, Sinnoh, and Hoenn, regions picked due to geographic and cultural proximity. But that number expanded to 73 regions in IPL 17, then by IPL 35 it encompassed every region in the world except Galar, which joined in IPL 52—only 12 years ago. Yet Galar has already won three IPLs. My region joined in IPL 17. Never won. Jinjiao's region joined in IPL 17. Never won. Why? Luck? No. There must be an explanation. On a good day I can beat anyone. I beat you, after all. I would've been eliminated if I didn't. If I can beat you I can beat anyone. If luck was a factor, my region would win eventually. Is it simply sample size? We think the IPL has determined the course of battling history, but in reality, it's only existed for 64 years. After another century, will my region win? Or will the world end before it?"
The only other person in this box, Red Akahata, leaned against the wall and said nothing. With his brim pulled down over his eyes, he might have been asleep. Lachlan tossed another bone onto the plate, brought another wing to his mouth, and spoke.
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On the arena floor, two Pokémon stood. One side: Bruised but dignified in its refusal to stoop, the ancient dragon known to the people of far-flung archipelago Alola as a defender, a totem, an entity of spiritual significance, whose scales were once saved for the headdresses of queens, and who still served an essential function in the island's coming-of-age ritual—even if that ritual was gradually transitioning to the more IPL-typical gym circuit.
The other side: a common rabbit.
My hopes rest on you, Jinjiao Zhang thought. No—the hopes of the Bohai region.
At three years old, Jinjiao was a Pokémon trainer. Not officially—that would be illegal. But he lived with Pokémon, worked with Pokémon, befriended Pokémon, learned moves, learned techniques, learned strategies. They called him a prodigy, they said he was naturally gifted like Red Akahata, but they didn't know the core of his life coiled around Pokémon like the twin helixes of a DNA strand. They knew nothing of the blood and sweat he expended, the nights kept awake in the frigid cold to instill into his mind discipline, the memorization and mathematics exams his father forced him to take. Anything less than 100 percent led to rulers against his knuckles.
"Our region is worthless," his father said. "It has never won. A laughingstock. Are we simply lesser? Are we simply too lazy, too stupid as a people? No! I refuse to accept it! We'll win. We'll create the person who can win!"
Father wasn't here now. He died, of cancer, before Jinjiao's tenth birthday. Since then, it was only Jinjiao the prodigy, because the dead become something that never existed if their name isn't etched on that copper-plated wall.
Sweat ran down his brow in waves. His eyes stared dead alive through the holoscreen. The chant of the people behind him—his people apparently, though he never knew them (a representative asked him to give a signal at the start of the match)—became his heartbeat.
He never made mistakes. How did he get here? Where was his mistake? (If he'd brought in Lopunny right away, then sacked another, then brought Lopunny in again... Why didn't he do that?) He already heard them on the analyst desk, he already heard his father: Lazy, cocky brat. Underestimated his opponent. Poor prep. Poor play. What else can you expect? That region will never win.
No. He didn't underestimate her. He didn't! He studied her with the same rigor he studied Raj Viswambaran. More, even, because he hated her, hated everything she stood for, all the steps she skipped to get here. So how?
Through bleared eyes he realized.
He wasn't battling Aracely Sosa.
He was battling her father.
Domino Sosa stood there, behind her, a ghost himself, the ghost from twenty years past. Domino Sosa returned from the dead to avenge his own slaughtered corpse, the blood his throat spilled in sacrifice on the altar of that cruel goddess Luck. Jinjiao saw him. Saw him on the platform, slim in a well-fitted cream suit, fedora on dashingly slick hair, carnation to catch all color in a film reel turned sepia.
Possessing her lifeless shell. Cancer in the father passed down to the progeny...!
"KEKAYIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN," he screamed to the sky. The crack to still the chant, to still his beating heart.
His tongue lolled out. On it balanced the small round stone he'd been sucking the past three minutes. The stone began to gleam.
The matching stone his Lopunny, Kekayin, wore on her collar gleamed in kind.
Lopunny could never win this tournament. For years they thought that. It was simply too weak, too fragile. Some one thousand Pokémon discovered in this world and less than two hundred have ever been used in the Top 16. Are they all simply too lazy, too stupid?
Heh. All Pokémon evolve eventually.
Kekayin took one slow motion step that midway transformed into an effortless leap propelling her fifty meters skyborne spinning twirling, sweeping with long legs and longer ears airy wisps of cloud behind her until they converged to envelop her still-spinning body in a mist through which she plunged dead downward. Her body in that instantaneous moment of occlusion was changed. Slimmer, more angular, limber as her foot extended a sharpened karate kick into the dirt, her landing framed by thick sweeping plumes of dust as she brushed back her ears and reclaimed her full height. Her legs, black with brown markings, formed into kicking position, while her head hung low and her eyes with their pitch black sclera scythed the field.
All her brain's lapine adrenaline, designed for a wild Lopunny to put on a spurt of speed and flee its many predators, surged through her. Via Mega Evolution, the instinctual flight response transformed into fight. Maddening fear became maddening fury, chemical-induced rabidity, mouth frothing, musculature twitching, an overdrive that would kill her if allowed to continue until she breached the limits of her body's endurance. Only a truly elite trainer could command a Lopunny in this state, and that was what Jinjiao Zhang was, and what Aracely Sosa would not be—once exorcised of her father's spirit.
Jinjiao pushed up his glasses. "Kekayin—heed your master now! Fake Out!"
Kekayin blitzed when Aracely's command was only halfway out her mouth. The speed was incredible; the attack was barely more than a feint. Kekayin dropped in front of Kommo-o's eyes and slashed her arms in an X across the face, minimal damage—minimal even before factoring in Kommo-o's elevated defenses from Clangorous Soul—but Kekayin danced back in as swift a flash as she came and Kommo-o staggered with a gruesome flinch. The word Aracely shouted—"Boomburst!"—went unmet, shaken as Kommo-o was.
"Kekayin—heed your master! Hold!"
He had to scream that, or she'd continue the onslaught before the appointed thirty-second break, until Kommo-o was a bloody pulp.
Kommo-o tilted. Moment by moment its health had been chipped down. Every contribution mattered: Stealth Rock on switch, the self-inflicted reduction from Clangorous Soul (twice), the Surfs Toxapex managed to spit out before she fainted. And, most crucial of all, the defense drop from Clanging Scales.
It was over now.
"Boomburst," Aracely yelled again.
"Heh." The spirit of history flowed through him. "Kekayin, heed your master! QUICK ATTACK!"
One of the weakest and most common moves. Known by even a wild Pidgey.
Kekayin darted like a wraith, crawling over herself, flowing across the battle-scarred terrain, between unearthed shards of rock, through puddles left behind without her paws leaving a print, and then, fast as an eyeblink, one foot extended, a sharp kick to the jaw.
The final totem of Alola twisted. Its head tilted to face the swirling sky. On one leg it remained standing, remained standing, remained standing—
And it fell.
Kekayin stood hunched over the body, knuckles dragging against the dirt, body heaving with breath.
The people behind him went insane. Jinjiao clamped his teeth down on his tongue until he tasted blood.
The match wasn't over. Aracely—Domino Sosa—still had five Pokémon to Jinjiao's three. With what would Domino decide to fight Jinjiao's ace? This finalist, this one-inch-away winner as hungry for blood as Kekayin herself.
To Jinjiao's complete bafflement, Aracely sent out Aegislash.
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The bones formed a stack higher than the uneaten wings. Lachlan leaned forward. "Does she not know?" He glanced at Red as though Red held this world's answers. "Does she not know about Scrappy? Has she never fought a Mega Lopunny before?"
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Domino Sosa screamed into his hat. Brittany pleaded, desperation in her eyes, for him to calm down.
"Trash," said Yui.
"I don't believe it," said Raj. "Just like versus Toril. She's gonna fucking throw it."
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What is this thing, Cely thought. What is this freaking Pokémon. The holoscreen said normal/fighting type. It used Fake Out and Quick Attack—two normal type moves. So she sent out Aegislash, a ghost type, immune to both normal and fighting.
Why, then, did Jinjiao get so excited?
"Kekayin! Heed your master now! Close Combat!"
Close Combat, a fighting type move. It didn't affect ghosts. Why—?
That gourd-cracked creature slithered on boneless limbs, mad eyes affixed to Aegislash like it intended to devour the sword whole, maybe it did as a ravenous maw enmeshed by strings of saliva opened, but the instant it closed the distance its legs shot out in a twin kick from which it flipped in midair to deal the blade a full-fisted punch.
It punched a ghost.
Its fist clanged like Kommo-o's scales, a crack in the vortex of silence that enshrouded the arena. Aegislash shuddered, its arms went slack, its shield dropped, and it fell straight down into the dirt, where its blade embedded to leave it standing, unconscious.
Naked hunger flashed in Lopunny's face. Aracely knew that eye: murder. Jinjiao screamed for it to heed him and fall back, and it did, and Aracely returned Aegislash to its Poké Ball.
Her hand was shaking.
("The logic behind Jinjiao's team construction," said Toril, "is simple. The walls are the vanguard. They sit there. Slowly, but surely, they whittle you down. They inflict statuses, chip away at defenses. Once your fighters are softened up, he brings out the sweepers. Gholdengo and—I'm sure—his mystery final Pokémon. Maybe you survived his walls. But are you alive enough to handle what he's held in reserve?")
She stared at her remaining Pokémon. Momokins was effectively already fainted—his remaining sliver of health was gone the instant he stepped onto those sharp rocks. Gliscor and Tangrowth were in decent shape, but they were walls themselves, lacking firepower. And lastly.
Her hand wrenched the Poké Ball from its notch.
"Wake up already, Slowking!"
Her sleeping Galarian Slowking appeared, arms folded placid behind its back, eyes shut. This was her chance. Lopunny already showed three of its four attacks. Two weak priority moves and a fighting move that Slowking resisted. That freak on the field couldn't wipe him out in one shot. She knew. She believed.
He would wake up.
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He wouldn't wake up.
Jinjiao knew. He knew Pokémon better than he knew people. He'd seen them in all states, all forms, all shapes. He'd witnessed their demeanors, their moods, their emotions.
The bond between Aracely Sosa and her Pokémon was weak. Maybe they listened to Domino Sosa. Maybe if it were Domino Sosa on that platform and not this shell he possessed, they would hear his voice and awaken. Their sleeping hearts would burn at the voice of their master and friend.
This was Jinjiao Zhang's secret. This was how he truly never made mistakes. Sure, he memorized the flowcharts, tables, spreadsheets. But the real reason his decisions always worked was because he could look at a Pokémon's face and read it.
That Slowking wouldn't wake up.
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"Heh," he said, though it was only a pant now, an intake of air down vocal chords throbbing rawly red. "Kekayin—heed your master! Ice Punch!"
Kekayin's fingers hooked as the air around them plummeted sub-zero within a matter of moments. The versatility of a normal type, a blank slate onto which change came so easily, allowed her to master this technique that otherwise met her nature most unnatural. From braced stance she vanished and reappeared immediately before Slowking. The punch plowed into his body, dragging out no mindless cry or even the slightest flinch, but the holoscreen registered the palpable hit with a significant chunk of his health.
"Wake up and do something, Slowking!"
Slowking rocked gently on his heels, a byproduct of the frigid impact that crackled on his tough underbelly. He ceased rocking. His eyes remained closed; he snored.
Jinjiao called Kekayin back, and she dutifully complied. Another hit like that and Slowking fell. Basic mathematics.
The sky shifted by degrees. Sun starting to set. Oblique rays reflected off the signs behind him and glazed the whole arena red. Red, within which shimmering wisps of gold flicked their tails.
Gold was his color.
"Kekayin, heed your master. Ice Punch, again!"
"Slowking, return. Go, Momokins."
Predictably heartless. Aracely hoped to make use of Slowking's Regenerator ability, which quickly restored his vitality after leaving the field. Jinjiao knew this ability well; two of his Pokémon used it.
Perhaps it was a mercy that poor Meowscarada succumbed to the jagged stones that drove into his paws the moment he entered the field. He fell before Kekayin had a chance to inflict her wrath upon him. It took a sharp cry to call her back from annihilating Meowscarada's prone body, but she listened.
"Go, Slowking."
He reappeared, healed. Still asleep, though this time Jinjiao knew he would wake up, not out of devotion to his master, but because sleeping spores only lasted so long. Aracely knew this too, hence why she sacrificed Meowscarada to buy time.
The "correct" move was to switch, predicting Slowking's attack. But—no. No. He made correct moves before and Domino Sosa showed he knew the game well enough to anticipate them. Now, Jinjiao relied on his more primal strength.
His eye caught Kekayin's glancing back at him, awaiting the command she desired. Meowscarada fell too quickly, she was antsy, she needed to hurt and maim, to unleash pent energy. Her mind and his linked at that moment and he understood she was ready to exceed her limits.
"KEKAYIN! DESTROY HIM WITH A CRITICAL HIT—ICE PUNCH!"
In the red field, weaving through strands of Jinjiao's color, she flew. All her lines glowed within her wild cry. The ice built around her fist into the point of a drill. When the point struck Slowking, it exploded. Shards shot everywhere, stealing the golden hue.
And Slowking dropped. Exactly as Jinjiao called: a critical hit.
Aracely Sosa was down to two Pokémon, Tangrowth and Gliscor. Tangrowth lacked offensive power and Gliscor was hopeless against Kekayin's Ice Punch.
He stooped over the console, exhausted. His sweat dripped through the holographic screen and shone in his eyes. Kekayin heaved breath in tune.
He really... called a crit. Why did he do something so risky?
Well, it worked. All he needed now was to make no mistakes. This battle was his.
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Raj patted Domino's shoulder. The gesture looked reassuring, but Raj's grin rendered ambiguous his true sympathy. "That psychopath Jinjiao. He really called a crit. And it worked, the lucky bastard."
"If top seeds battle like this, I'm winning the tournament," said Yui.
"I would never call a fucking crit," said Raj. "I also would never be in this situation."
"Toril wishes she could say the same."
"That's for sure," said Raj. "You look miffed, Toril. Sad your girlfriend's cooked? Chin up. At least—"
"She," said Toril, "is not my girlfriend. She is not my friend. Okay? Do you get that? How many times do I need to say it?"
"GFs for sure," said Yui. V to her lips and tongue flicked out.
"Wanna die?"
Yui popped a gummy. "Kill me then bitch."
"You talk about girlfriends," said Toril. "You seem to know Cynthia pretty good—"
"I'm from Sinnoh idiot. Yeah I know Cynthia."
"Bit more than that. I've seen your team."
"The fuck does that mean?"
"It means Aracely's not the only one getting teambuilding help," said Toril. "Except Cynthia's not your mom, so what exactly is she to you?"
"Toril," said Raj, "tad out of pocket, no?"
Toril wheeled on him, hand flung out, her missing fingers more present in her mind than ever before. "Shut up Raj, go fuck Iono or something—"
"Bro. What are you even saying?"
"Sex obsession," said Yui with a smile. "Incel."
"I'll cut you—"
"Shut up!" Domino Sosa's fist slammed the plexiglass. It shook the whole pane and his trenchant sweep warded Brittany from pacifying him. "I am TRYING to watch my daughter battle." His head sank. "All of you out. You're eating my health."
"Bruv it's not your private box," said Raj.
"Out. Please. Out. All of you—"
The loudspeakers crackled with the voice of a trainer below: Jinjiao. The sound of him calling for his Lopunny to act had become commonplace over the past few minutes, but he said something different now.
"You should've fought me yourself, old man. Not sent your daughter."
Domino's head twisted. The sun's glare made it hard to see onto the trainer platform and its layers of holoscreens, so he pulled his hat back on his head and shaded his eyes. He glanced at Brittany.
"Was he talking to me?"
Brittany shrugged. He glanced at the others.
"Was he talking to me?"
"Who else?" said Yui.
A smile cracked. A laugh followed. Domino's back pressed to the glass and he slid to the floor half-held by Brittany. He laughed, and laughed. "He was talking to me!"
Toril looked from the tiny form of Jinjiao to the tiny form of Aracely. Is that what Jinjiao thought? He was fighting the father?
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Both of Cely's remaining Pokémon were weak to Ice Punch, but Tangrowth was less weak, so out it went. Gangly pile of vines through which great googly eyes sometimes emerged. Lopunny probably failed to finish it one hit.
This cannot be over. It cannot. She rejected that reality. That line of history, the one where she loses, was not the real line. It was something MOTHER saw, not her. MOTHER, where are your soothing words now. You're watching, aren't you? You must've received the flash drive from Nilufer. What did you think that meant? That was goodbye. And you must know the reason. Please. Mom didn't understand, Haydn and Charlie of course not, Dad thought he did but didn't, but you—you—you at least knew, didn't you? You were the only one who'd ever split open her skull and crawled inside.
Jinjiao Zhang didn't understand either. He stood across, smugly superior, mouthing a breathy heh that came as static through the microphone, awash in an all-red world. The arena a bowl brimming with blood, pooling and drowning all: Tangrowth, Lopunny, the whole human horde loosing their final cries as a collective shriek of delighted anxiety. Those holding the signs, seeing the effect of their reflected light, redoubled their effort, the holes in the formation sealed, and all became bloodier.
What did Cely not understand? She didn't understand Lopunny. It was a crazed beast. It punched the intangible, turned the unreal real.
She understood Jinjiao Zhang.
His elation dwindled. The weird crap he yelled at Dad of all people was a cover. He felt certain of his victory, but also—yes, she kneaded the feeling within her fingers, tested its pliability—also shame. Shame he was brought this far to the brink. (He needed it to be Dad, not her, but Dad, someone he could respect.) Shame also, in his fading high, at what he just did: get a lucky crit.
No, not only that. He banked on a lucky crit. Depended on it.
He did not believe he controlled fate. He believed it the moment he called that move, but now he didn't. Now as his victory was certain, he rejected the self that rolled the dice. His mind realigned. It moved in new directions—
She stared at Tangrowth's four moves. She saw what she saw and she saw what Jinjiao saw and she saw the idea his mind formulated.
"Kekayin, you will heed your master and return. Go, Xiaojin!"
"Knock Off!" Cely said. "Knock Off, now!"
"No!" Jinjiao tore off his glasses. "No, how! How?!"
As a Pokémon, Tangrowth functioned like Jinjiao's Amoonguss. It put the enemy to sleep, leeched their health, ate attacks with strong defensive typing, and regenerated when off field.
If it put Lopunny to sleep, Tangrowth might get lucky enough to win. Anticipating Sleep Powder made sense, and Jinjiao's two other Pokémon, Gholdengo and Umbreon, both had defenses against sleep. Gholdengo was literally immune to it. ("Never forget Good as Gold," Dad said. "Never, ever forget it or I'll disown you I swear.") Umbreon's ability was even nastier: Synchronize. When Umbreon went to sleep, so did its opponent.
Given Jinjiao held the advantage. Given Cely only had two usable Pokémon. Putting Tangrowth to sleep, even at the cost of Umbreon, was majorly beneficial to him. ("Once Jinjiao gets an advantage," Toril said, "he only needs to trade evenly. You'll think you're making progress, taking out one of his Pokémon in exchange for one of your own. You're not. Because when you're 5 and he's 6 and you each take off 5, he's 1 and you're 0. Get it?") Everything screamed that switching Umbreon into a predicted Sleep Powder made the most sense.
But he was ashamed. He was ashamed he got lucky.
And he was afraid Cely would get lucky next. He was afraid of the possibility that, if Tangrowth went to sleep, it would wake up immediately, nullifying the trade.
He was trying to eliminate the entire concept of luck.
He was trying to not make a mistake.
He made a mistake.
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He didn't make a mistake. He didn't. Why would she—why that move? She was that confident he would switch to Gholdengo and not Umbreon? Against Yinying, Knock Off did nothing, no, worse than nothing, it would have removed that obnoxious Choice Band, it would have solely benefitted Jinjiao! She was willing to take that risk?
Is this what Domino's flowcharts told her? Is this what his spirit commanded her to do?
The long arm of vines wriggling out Tangrowth's side lashed. Tangrowth itself didn't move, it was too slow, but its swipe carried solid power as it smashed into Xiaojin the moment it appeared. It aimed for the balloon on its head, which popped before it could be knocked off, but took a sharp smatter of coins with it. They danced across the arena, fanned like a smear of blood in the red light.
Xiaojin, no longer supported by the balloon, plummeted to the ground and stuck a wobbly landing on its skateboard. The attack did disgusting damage, but Xiaojin was still able to fight. What else did Tangrowth have? Giga Drain? Worthless!
"Recover," said Jinjiao.
"Earthquake," said Cely.
Xiaojin's speed saved it. As Tangrowth lifted its vines skyward in preparation to split the earth, Xiaojin stuck a wobbly arm toward its shed coins and with magnetism drew them back. Its full shape returned right before the cataclysmic quake struck, spraying as many coins as it reclaimed.
"Recover," Jinjiao muttered, and Cely called Earthquake again.
He said it to buy time to think. He needed to think. This jam was not fatal. How did she read him? This jam was not fatal. Domino Sosa gave her some flowchart, if Jinjiao only comprehended it he could outplay it.
"Recover!"
"Earthquake."
Did he sack Xiaojin here? Use a powerful attack to hurt Tangrowth, fainting in the process? No. Not when Tangrowth regenerated health whenever it switched. Not worth it. He needed a clean switch on Tangrowth, that was all. Right. Tantalize her. Give her what looks like a play. Bait and switch—
"Xiaojin, return! Go—Yinying!"
Part of him thought somehow she would anticipate this switch, occurring at an entirely random time in their dance of Recover and Earthquake. He waited for Aracely to shout Leech Seed, but she simply said Earthquake. Yinying absorbed the hit, though his legs faltered. Cely would see this as a place where she might gain an advantage. If she kept Jinjiao pinned by continuously spamming Earthquake, he wouldn't be able to safely switch until Yinying fainted. A free Pokémon for her. She'd take that 0 for 1 trade.
"Put that thing to sleep, Yinying," Jinjiao said. "Yawn!"
Yawn was delayed. It only put a Pokémon to sleep after a turn passed. Aracely would need to decide between letting Tangrowth fall asleep and switching. Unless she wanted to make an insane gamble, she'd switch. With only one Pokémon left, Jinjiao knew exactly what she'd switch to and when.
Except—
Except immediately as Jinjiao commanded Yawn, Aracely commanded Tangrowth to return. Yinying plopped on his haunches and yawned cutely, but the sleep-inducing contagion struck the worst possible Pokémon: Gliscor. Gliscor couldn't go to sleep; she was already poisoned. The masochistic pleasure Gliscor felt from poison kept her awake.
Jinjiao's fist clenched. His glasses shattered inside it.
The red light abruptly ceased shining on the arena. He thought that all of them, disgusted, lowered their arms in unison, tossed aside their signs. But it was only that the upper wall of the arena eclipsed the setting sun. For a moment, all became dark, and Yinying briefly melted into the abyss before him. Then the stadium's floodlights snapped on, and a far worse sight awaited:
Aracely Sosa, burning bright, arms extended outward, eyes shut serenely.
She ceased looking at him, at anything. Yet he felt her gaze burning into his forehead. Burning into his skull. He felt her eyeballs inside his brain.
She's reading my mind!
"Shut up," he said to himself. His words broadcast to all. "Shut up." Her next move. Her next move would be—Domino's flowcharts—his next move—
Toxic. Gliscor would use Toxic. Safe against Yinying, devastating if Jinjiao switched to Kekayin, his most logical move. Domino was reading his logical and his illogical moves, it didn't make sense, no mathematics prepared for this, but if he reclaimed tempo, all he needed was tempo—!
"Xiaojin!"
"Earthquake," said Aracely.
A ravenous pit opened in Jinjiao Zhang's soul. When did he make the first mistake?
His eyes stared skyward as the ground shivered. Xiaojin fainted, of course, and unconsciously Jinjiao performed the rote motions to return it to its Poké Ball.
She shone so bright on her platform. Like a goddess. In her aura, no trace of Domino Sosa. Had Jinjiao been wrong? All along, wrong? It wasn't Domino Sosa he battled. But it wasn't Aracely Sosa either.
What exactly was this thing, consigning him to the depths of hell?
Kekayin came out. She used Fake Out, a free move on switch, and Gliscor used Protect. She used Ice Punch; Gliscor survived on a fraction of health and used Toxic. Jinjiao ceased watching. He glanced behind him. The signs were still held high, all of them, not a single sign missing. Their chants washed over him:
GO JINJIAO GO! SON OF BOHAI, GO!
He still had a chance. He breathed deep and focused.
Kekayin, poisoned, sagged severely, but her intensity remained undiminished. She too would fight to the end. Aracely's next move would be Protect to stall, so—
"Yinying, go!"
"Toxic," said Aracely.
Was she actually good? Or was he simply broken?
Gliscor used Earthquake. Yinying used Wish.
Next, she'll expect him to switch Kekayin back in, to heal from Wish. She'd use Earthquake.
"Yinying—Wish again," he said.
"Gliscor, return. Go, Tangrowth."
Under the light, the goddess blazed brighter than all. She slipped out her tongue and slathered it over his brain. His every thought came to her.
She'd use Leech Seed next, anticipating him to swap to Kekayin.
"Yinying, Wish again," he said.
"Tangrowth, Leech Seed."
Whether he played optimally, whether he played suboptimally to trick her, she knew. She always knew.
One hope remained. One solitary hope. For himself, for Bohai region, for father, for his Pokémon. He only needed luck. Tangrowth survived a hit from Kekayin—a regular hit.
Not a critical hit.
If Tangrowth fell, Gliscor would too. He only needed luck. No, not luck. It wasn't luck, remember? He understood his Pokémon. He understood their spirit, and they his.
"Kekayin, you're back in. Ready yourself!"
"Leech Seed."
Only Kekayin's spirit mattered now. Only Jinjiao's spirit mattered now. The spirit of an entire region funneled through him, their manifestation of himself as a symbol the strings threaded through his skin. Utter fatigue wracked him, this battle had gone on forever—his battles tended to, whether they went well or poorly—so he sought deep for the final reserve.
He screamed:
"KEKAYIN! NOW IS THE TIME! IN A SINGLE STRIKE! CLOSE CCCOMBAT!"
The final word emerged as a death rattle. All his soul escaped, a blast on the night air, visible as white wisps within the floodlight beams. He slumped onto the console, his feet sliding out from under him. Over the edge of the platform, he stared as his spirit transferred to Kekayin.
She was a mess. Her own reserves of adrenaline depleted. Toxins flowed freely through her veins. She ignored it, ignored her diminishment toward zero better than he his own. For he was mind, and she body, he the breath and she the organ that respired it. Her pains dropped away.
Out of the ground, into the air, out of the air, into the dirt she flew. Her body flipped in midair to launch her foot down like a missile upon the mushy mass of vines vague of clear center. But she found the center, the muscles in her leg delivered the impact unto it, the vines bent and the creature within crooned pain, the eyes from their blank space shut, and the Rocky Helmet buried within scraped the skin under Kekayin's fur. Kekayin bounced back and caught herself on all fours, then scurried back a limping step until she could rise on her good leg and leave herself prepared again to kick.
The mass of vines bubbled. Jinjiao pulled himself off the console to see his holoscreen and watched Tangrowth's biometrics. Health plummeted. Down, down, down. Down. Down.
"Keep going," he whispered.
It needed to be a critical hit, an especially powerful strike. Kekayin performed the motions, put all she had into it, and he needed now—only a little—luck—
Through the flickering screen, Aracely Sosa blazed bright.
The health bar stopped going down.
Tangrowth remained standing.
"Earthquake." Aracely's voice came pitiless and unvoiced, as though she didn't speak at all, as though someone much older spoke through her. Much older.
The ground shook. When it stopped, Kekayin sagged to one knee. Then onto her hands and knees. Her long ears trailed randomly. Her health bar depleted to zero.
She tried to rise, her body one unified quiver. She took her first step. Her head lifted, and her eyes aimed madly at her quarry.
"Trainer, our biometric indicators deem your Pokémon no longer fit to continue without serious risk of permanent harm," a mechanical voice in his earpiece intoned. "They are considered fainted for the purposes of this battle. Return them or you will be disqualified."
He told his hand to move to Kekayin's Poké Ball. It only quivered, the same quiver that ran through her body.
A mad thought reached him. Forget Tangrowth. If Kekayin charged up the trainer platform instead. A human—a human against a Pokémon was—
Heh, heheh, hahahahahaha!
End the cancer once and for all. Save them from her, from the full terror at her back, from the billionaires' armies of catchers and coaches, from the disintegration of the last true metric of meaning in this world...!
"Kekayin! Heed your master now—"
His voice, he realized, was gone. It came out as a croak. But the microphones and loudspeakers did the work. The tournament was arranged not to fail.
"Heed your master now. And—return."
A shaking arm extended her Poké Ball. A beam of light shot out, enveloped Kekayin, and she disappeared.
All left now was Umbreon. Poisoned, Choice Banded, at a sliver of health. A mathematically zero chance of victory.
Aracely Sosa watched eagerly. Her lips broke into a smile.
He refused her the satisfaction.
"I———I forfeit."
He dropped onto the floor of his platform and curled. The stadium erupted in sound. In the reflective shine of the holoscreen, blanked by the single word DEFEAT, he saw them—the signs—hold strong a moment more. Then one fell, another, then they cascaded like dominos into oblivion, and his symbol with them, until nothing remained.
----------------------------------------
Lachlan Nguyen tossed the final bone onto the plate. The plate contained now only bones, no meat.
"That's that I guess." He wiped his hands and looked over his shoulder, but Red was gone.