The Poké Ball flew forward, striking the massive Gyarados. Without resistance, it was drawn inside, the capsule snapping shut with a click.
Catching the ball as it bounced back into his hand, Logan exhaled softly, gazing at the Pokémon within—its condition was near fatal.
Though the Gyarados was on the verge of collapse, the advanced technology inside the Poké Ball suppressed its injuries for now. Once taken to a Pokémon Center, the healing machines would restore it with ease. Such was the marvel of human science.
Logan could tell this Gyarados had spent countless years fighting in the wild. Its body was riddled with hidden wounds that time alone could never mend. No matter how resilient a wild Pokémon was, its natural recovery could never rival the precision of human medical technology. If this Gyarados had been raised by a Trainer from the start, its condition would have been vastly different. Instead of withering so soon, it might have thrived and grown even stronger.
The difference in lifespan between a Trainer's Pokémon and one left in the wild was immeasurable.
If not for the existence of the Legendary Pokémon that stood like gods in this world, humanity might have already completely subdued the Pokémon race. Yet precisely because of those beings, humans remained cautious—restricted to their own corners of survival.
Standing atop Dragonair's head, Logan pocketed the Poké Ball. "I'll hand this one over to Professor Oak later. At least it'll spend its final years in peace."
Silence blanketed the beach.
When Logan turned, he found thousands of tourists staring at him. Some swallowed nervously, others shrank back in fear. Their expressions were a mix of gratitude for saving them, admiration of his strength—but above all, terror.
Logan had just demonstrated the vast, undeniable gap between ordinary people and powerful Trainers. He had shown them that a true Trainer, with a single Pokémon, could perform feats beyond human imagination.
To control weather, to split oceans and shatter earth—such things weren't acts of men, but of gods. And Logan had proven that with ease.
For most people, Pokémon battles were something seen only in tournaments broadcast on television. There, battles were confined by rules, with Pokémon holding back their most savage powers. But today, a wild Gyarados had revealed its unrestrained fury—and Logan's intervention had displayed the terrifying reality of what a true Pokémon could do when unleashed.
To the spectators, it was like witnessing a myth come alive.
Logan didn't care for their fear or awe. He was no saint. In truth, admiration mixed with fear was exactly what he preferred. From the very beginning, he had known he was different from ordinary humans—he belonged to the small circle at the very top of this world's hierarchy. And as one who had seized that place, he would gladly accept their fear.
"…Th-thank you."
The soft voice came from the girl in his arms.
Logan lowered his gaze, finding a small girl staring up at him with watery, red eyes. Though fear lingered in her trembling body, she had tried her best to suppress it, forcing herself not to cry.
Logan's first impression of her was simple: a quiet, strong-willed child.
"No need to thank me. It was nothing. Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice softer now.
The girl clung tightly to him, still trembling. The encounter with Gyarados had shaken her deeply—after all, its natural ability Intimidate was terrifying enough to make even weak-willed Pokémon collapse. For a child, it was crushing.
"I-I'm fine… But big brother, are you hurt?" she whispered.
Even at a time like this, she was concerned for him. Logan's heart stirred at that. She was clearly raised well, a girl of discipline and kindness.
Looking closer, he judged she was only about eleven, a little older than Yellow. Dressed in a frilly princess-style dress, she looked fragile and pitiful, like a trembling squirrel. Yet beneath that delicate appearance was a beautiful face, already showing the makings of a striking beauty when she grew older.
Logan chuckled. "Just a wild Gyarados. How could it possibly hurt me?"
With his current strength, unless he faced a Legendary Pokémon—or a swarm of powerful wild ones—ordinary opponents stood no chance.
"Eevee, eevee!"
A cheerful cry broke the tension.
The girl, whose name was Sophia, blinked as she saw a small, foxlike Pokémon scamper onto Logan's shoulder. Its big eyes sparkled as it curled up comfortably.
She gasped in shock. She could have sworn this was the very same Pokémon that had unleashed a storm of lightning earlier, towering at nearly two meters tall, with a mane like a thundercloud. Yet now, it looked tiny and adorable.
"This is Eevee. My Pokémon," Logan explained, scratching its chin. The little creature purred contentedly before turning to bark twice at Sophia, then lost interest and ignored her.
Unlike humans, Pokémon didn't care for appearances like beauty or ugliness. To Eevee, the only one who mattered was its Trainer.
"Sophia!!"
The desperate cry came from the beach below. Logan looked down to see a man in casual clothes running through the crowd toward them.
"You're Sophia? That man is—?" Logan asked gently.
"…My father," the girl murmured.
Logan nodded and directed Dragonair to descend, hovering just above the sand. He leapt down with Sophia in his arms, setting her gently on her feet.
"Father!!"
Sophia ran forward, flinging herself into the man's arms. At last, she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. She had held back her tears throughout the terror, afraid her cries would distract Logan in battle. Now, safe at last in her father's embrace, she let everything out.
"It's okay, it's okay now," her father, Professor Birch, whispered, hugging her tightly as tears welled in his own eyes.
After a long while, he finally turned to Logan, bowing deeply. "Thank you so much! Without you… If Sophia had been harmed, I… I don't know what I would have done." His voice shook with raw emotion, his eyes brimming with tears.
Logan waved it off. "It was nothing. Just lending a hand. Anyone would have helped such a sweet girl."
But inside, he felt genuinely pleased. Being thanked always felt good.
"To you, it may have been nothing. But to me, it was saving my entire world," Birch said earnestly. Then his expression shifted with realization. "You're… Logan, aren't you?"
Logan inclined his head. "Yes, that's me."
He wasn't surprised. His name was known, though not always positively. Recognition was expected.
But Birch's next words caught him off guard.
"I've heard Professor Oak mention you. To meet you here… what a fortunate day."
"…Professor Oak?" Logan blinked. His first thought was of "that Oak," but he quickly realized the man must mean Professor Samuel Oak.
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