Steel Faculty – Room 1: a Klang got wrapped up in a flame vortex and fainted.
Gate Six: Steel passed.
Grass Faculty – Room 4: Ethan actually drew a Chikorita. Out of respect for the Starter Trio, he let Houndour toy with it for a few extra exchanges… then cheekily lit the big leaf on its head. Chikorita panicked, running in circles trying to put the fire out and stopped listening to its proctor.
Win again!
That said, this Chikorita's talent was legit—during the bout Ethan spotted two inherited moves, Grassy Terrain and Healing Pulse. Solid field medic material.
Gate Seven: Grass passed.
Afternoon—Fire Faculty – Room 2: the opponent was another of the same Starter Trio generation: a squinty Cyndaquil.
The World Alliance refreshes its "Starter Trio" every few years—the oldest being Charmander, Squirtle, Bulbasaur from when the Alliance first formed. Last year's Gen-8 trio hasn't been mass-bred across the Imperial Province yet.
Seeing the sleepy-eyed mouse, Ethan bit back a comment. Did this trio have status—trotted out so examinees could admire them? Or no status—doing shift work while their cousins lounge in breeder labs?
Once the fight began, he got the school's little trick: this Cyndaquil had Flash Fire.
Fire faculty match… fought with non-Fire blows.
It had inherited Crush Claw and brawled well, but Houndour's kit was deeper; he knocked Cyndaquil flat. Then the little faker played possum, popped up with Revenge (Rise-from-the-Dead), and nearly stopped Ethan's heart.
Houndour's own Revenge sense tingled—he popped Protect and stuffed the kill shot, then closed it out.
Gate Eight: Fire passed.
After so many "plants," Ethan smelled the pattern: the school was leaning on him—staying within the preset rules, but stacking tough pulls—hoping he'd slip and miss the round-three starter scholarship.
He wondered how Lana was doing, then pushed the thought down and walked into Electric.
They tossed a very familiar yellow mouse.
"I figured you'd throw Raichu at me," Ethan quipped.
No banter from the high-school proctor—just: "Pikachu, Fake Out!"
The yellow blur slapped Houndour twice across the snout. Compared to Persian's spooky, space-skipping Fake Out, this was textbook—fast, in-your-face, set the tone.
Houndour took it, lips peeling. Cats and rabbits could smack his face—mice could not.
"Thunder Punch!"
"Iron Tail!"
Lightning cracked against silvered steel—the clash held a beat, then Houndour's tail overpowered it and sent Pikachu tumbling.
"Back off—Thundershock, kite it!"
Pikachu skidded, braced with its tail, cheeks sparking—
"Sucker Punch!" Ethan snapped.
Houndour burst through the current, the 10% para never proccing, and hammered Pikachu, then tail-whipped it into the ceiling for good measure.
Price of face-slapping, Electric Rat.
Gate Nine: Electric passed.
Last of the day—Psychic – Room 3: a trembling little Spoink with a pink pearl.
Evil typing written in Houndour's blood made Spoink seize up. This was a level-8 with Thick Fat, carrying support like Reflect/Skill Swap, and attacks Zen Headbutt/Psybeam. It had crushed plenty of candidates with raw willpower.
Now? Muted. Its mental force turned sluggish; Zen Headbutt degraded to a clumsy bump. Houndour strolled through, evil aura pinning it down, then ended the farce with Iron Tail taps until it blissfully blacked out.
Ethan shivered, remembering the "Dragon-Slaying War" from history: damage immunity is obnoxious. Even physical hits get sanded down to near-nothing without typing. Good thing Fire/Evil can't be fully blanked.
Gate Ten: Psychic passed.
Ten for ten meant he now held a seat at Imperial Province First Trainer High—but he didn't smile yet. Four more tomorrow, four the day after. From here on out: no losses.
—
That night Ethan waited at the hotel for Lana. She didn't return until nearly ten; without her earlier text he'd have gone looking.
"You didn't drop one today, did you?" he asked.
"No. I… gained a lot, so I went shopping."
She unpacked Golden Pillow Berries and a big bottle of mental-training supplements.
"These are great for brain development—so I grabbed a few. The pills pair with meditation. Pricey, but at least supply's not throttled."
"Psychic hall today?"
Lana nodded. "I met a Kadabra willing to fight. Felt like an old human sage."
Ethan arched a brow. An unevolved Kadabra that really fights—beyond the Farmer's Three Punches and Knock Off, most just teleport. And pure Dark Persian should blank its moves…
"This one was different," she said quickly. "It's mastered Telekinesis, and—most importantly—it pre-learned Miracle Eye."
Ethan's eyes narrowed. Miracle Eye changes the whole calculus—lets Psychic land on Dark. That Kadabra was special; the match must've been… interesting.
"But you still won?"
She grimaced. "Not really a 'win.' It never once followed the proctor. It felt more like… a guidance bout."
Ethan thought of the rogue Banette. Same vibe: one side "fighting," the other "playing seriously." He couldn't deny it—these assessments were full of personalities.
"I'm getting more and more curious about Imperial Province First Trainer High," he grinned. "If the exam pool's this colorful, maybe I'll meet a truly compatible partner after enrollment."
Lana blinked—weren't we talking about Kadabra? She stifled a yawn. "Enough. It's not like it can become ours anyway. I'm crashing."
Ethan sketched out likely pulls for tomorrow, tuned tactics, and hit the lights. Houndour was already sawing logs.
—
Ice Faculty – Room 4: the school's malice returned.
The proctor threw a rare one: a half-meter-tall Cryogonal. (If they got any taller, nobody would need AC in summer.)
Genderless, no egg-inherited tricks—but high base stats. At level 8 it shouldn't have anything too crazy… right?
Wrong. As the bell rang, black and white fog billowed. Both trainers lost vision.
Cryogonal had opened with a pair that only more developed ones usually chain—Haze and Mist—hence the mixed veils. No wonder they saved it for last.
The student proctor quit calling; it wasn't his mon anyway. Better to let it cook.
Ethan had to lean entirely on rhythm and trust.
"Hou–oundour?"
Sight gone, Houndour didn't panic. He stood still, senses wide, feeding Ethan every scrap—sound, draft, Ice-dry tang.
Shrrrk… shrrrk…
Chains scraping. Cryogonal's preferred hunt: ice chains to bind and smother.
"Salt the fog," Ethan said. "Smog—make it filthy."
Houndour belched a thick purple cloud, pumping it until the whole field turned tricolor—black, white, and violet.