After Houndour padded onto the field, the referee started the exam.
The student proctor across from him grabbed a ball that had been set aside and tossed it. That put Ethan on alert—this last round wasn't going to be friendly.
Same trick as that Pinsir in the Bug hall: a ringer to trip candidates.
Red light flared—and a hate-soaked shriek ripped through the room.
Ka… ka… ka…
Every Ghost hiding in the shadows to "set the mood" went dead quiet, shivering back into the dark. Ghosts can menace ghosts; they were terrified of what stepped out.
The laugh rolled into a wave that washed over Houndour. Feeling its defenses sag, Houndour bared its fangs at the gray, doll-like specter floating midair—Banette—but held position, waiting for Ethan's call.
"Piercing screech, right?"
Defense down two stages, but Ethan stayed calm, eyeing the student proctor behind the Banette.
The kid's face had already soured. He'd realized Banette wasn't taking orders.
"Banette—return!"
He tried to recall it. The red beam snapped out—Banette slipped it without even looking back, body quivering at high speed.
Its stitched mouth twitched open, revealing blood-slick teeth; a ragged tongue lolled out, red drops pattering on the floor.
Grim as it looked, Ethan read the intent in a heartbeat and snapped, "Protect, Houndour!"
The invisible shock hit—the shield buckled, then shattered.
Astonish—hereditary on this one.
If Houndour hadn't blocked, even a resisted Ghost hit into a -2 Defense could've hurt.
"Ember!"
Sparks fanned out; Banette weaved through them, then rolled its eyes—literally. The whites went sheet-pale and a trickle of dark red slid from the corner.
Lovely. Theater kid.
Seeing the fight was underway and they couldn't reel it in, the proctor and judge quit trying to halt the match and pinged the Ghost Hall lead.
"Hold for the opening," Ethan called. "Wait it out."
Starved for reactions, Banette decided to run its show anyway. First: lights.
It spat a glowing orb into the rafters; it popped into a kaleidoscope—Confuse Ray—washing the hall in dizzying hues.
"Try Protect. If not—eyes shut!"
Houndour got the shield up again—lucky proc. The colors made Ethan's stomach lurch; he squeezed his eyes closed.
"Your move, Houndour—Howl to prime, then look for a Sucker Punch."
Houndour amped itself, staying behind the shield line, watching for the tell.
Banette nodded at its own "lighting." Next: staging.
A white breath hissed out—rime crawled over the floor toward Houndour. Icy Wind—a favorite it had cribbed from some "big sis."
That was the cue. Houndour lunged through the chill as a black streak—Sucker Punch—and slammed its forepaw into Banette's face, driving it to the tiles.
Show over. No resentment in the button eyes—just regret it hadn't even hit act two.
The colors faded. The proctor finally scooped Banette back into its ball and opened his mouth to apologize—
Thock… thock… thock…
A cane tapped from the doorway, eerily footstep-less. An elderly woman with silver hair and a surprisingly smooth face stood there—Chrysanthemum vibes—and behind her loomed a massive Dusknoir, hands like palm-leaf fans, pressure rolling off it.
Level 59, Ethan's bracelet whispered.
"Is it handled?" the elder asked, gaze sweeping the room. Most heads dipped at once.
Ethan met her eyes and shrugged. "Handled. Just not sure if it counts."
"It counts," she said. "Though you might've flagged us first."
Ethan recalled Houndour, slid the ball away, and spread his hands. "I'm about to study here. No sense picking a fight over a hiccup."
"Your mag-card, please." He took it back from staff and walked out.
Ghost: passed.
After she watched him go, the elder's face cooled. "This one was Lin Jia's choice?"
Dusknoir's single eye glowed; the ball hopped from the proctor's hand to hers.
"Yes, Teacher Lin prepared it."
"Hmph." She tucked it away. "I'm taking this one. And for the rest of today, no 'higher difficulty' pulls in Ghost. Standard pool only."
A couple mouths opened.
"I'll deal with the administration," she said, and left with Dusknoir.
—
By the time Ethan reached the hotel it was near six. He knocked on Lana's door—no answer—so he fed Houndour a heaping bowl of pills, then worked its muscles loose. Outside of Pinsir and Banette, everything had been routine. Thanks to Protect, he was treating fatigue more than wounds.
Lana returned later, looking rattled. Like Ethan's Pinsir, she'd hit a planted wall: the "shame of dragons," Druddigon. Glare locked Persian up; Iron Tail nearly ended it—only Fur Coat kept them alive long enough to flip it.
Ethan medicated Persian and checked its readout.
"Level 9? It's carrying way more stored power than Houndour. Why hasn't it emptied? Didn't you get Lum—er, Pecha/Mago-equivalent—Mulberry fruit?"
Lana winced. "Couldn't source it. Online and the shops are sold out. Black market wanted 30,000. Alliance price is 10,000."
Poverty: original sin.
Persian butted her hand, purring reassurance.
Ethan chuckled. "You should've said. A classmate of mine has supply. I grabbed two—one left. It's yours."
He "dug in his pack," actually pulling a Mulberry Fruit from his Exchange, and pressed it into her palm.
"Thanks—8,000. I'll transfer." She sent it without argument, eyes bright.
"Dose Persian when we're back. Sleep, then it should pop by morning. Also, once we're at Imperial Province First Trainer High, find a breeder on staff—Persian's carrying a couple old knocks."
He kept going—usage notes, meal timing, rest. Maybe a bit mushy—but the starter scholarship shot in round three mattered.
Lana grinned. "You and Houndour better not trip, or we'll both be embarrassed."
—
Next morning they split for their sites. Lana's stride said the fruit had worked.
Ethan checked his schedule: Steel, Grass, Fire, Electric, Psychic. "Should be the easy day…" He cut himself off. No flag-planting. Yesterday was supposed to be easy—then a wild Pinsir happened. Respect the exam.