Black, white, and purple fog rolled across the room. Ethan, the proctor, and the staff all shuffled back—no one wanted a lungful of Smog.
Inside that tricolor haze, the chain-scrape slowed. Cryogonal clearly didn't like the poisoned air.
"Finish it fast—full assault!"
The student–proctor read the situation and called it the moment Cryogonal hesitated.
Shrrrkk… shrrkk…The ice-chains multiplied, dragging from every angle, knitting a kill-net around Houndour.
"Trying to box us in?" Ethan muttered. "Houndour—Flame Wheel into Flame Vortex! Shelter up!"
Flames roared. With Flash Fire, Houndour stepped straight into his own spinning wall of fire. Six baby-arm–thick ice chains punched at the vortex from different sides like white vipers.
Houndour spat fresh sparks; the vortex swelled—three meters high, nearly four wide—then punched through the fog to the rafters. Good thing this classroom was flame-proofed, or the whole building would've gone up.
Outside the blaze, everyone could finally see: a whirling column of fire shredding the fog; glints of ice-chain flashing, then liquefying to billows of white steam. Humidity spiked. The black-and-white veil thinned under the heat, while the purple Smog cooked into sooty particulate—more like smoke than mist. Ethan clocked the change, filed it for later. First: end this.
"Houndour—run the vortex! Mop the fog!"
Guided by Flash Fire, the fat-looking funnel moved like a tornado. In breaths the haze burned off, and Cryogonal hung fully exposed before the fire.
"Icy Wind!"
It tried—but after that heat bath the air wouldn't crystalize. Nothing formed.
Houndour grinned inside the flames, drove the vortex over Cryogonal and yanked clear.
"I yield—withdraw it!" the proctor blurted.
Ethan snapped a hand signal; the fire unraveled back into Houndour. A half-melted snowflake clattered to the floor, barely conscious. A few more seconds and it would have died.
Gate Eleven: Ice passed.
—
Dragon Faculty – Room 1. Across from Houndour stood a homely, rough-skinned Druddigon. Ethan sighed. Of course they wouldn't let 100% come easy.
Dragon resists Fire/Grass/Water/Electric, so Ember/Flame Vortex would tickle at best. Add Rough Skin and both Sucker Punch and Iron Tail become trade-downs—more like we lose a thousand to deal eight hundred.
Annoying.
"Smog."
Purple fog spilled out, swallowing sightlines—his newest package, ready-made. Step one: block Glare (lesson learned from Lana). Step two: be shameless.
Houndour circled in the murk, refusing straight trades. If contact was forced, Protect, disengage, and vanish back into the soup. All the while, keep pumping Smog, thickening it.
Five minutes in—even with shallow breaths—Druddigon was poisoned. In a 50-square-meter box, the haze hit max value.
Ten minutes: stagger, vertigo. Fifteen: the student–proctor surrendered, tossed a Pidgeotto to Defog the purple blanket, and hauled Druddigon out.
Cheap? Maybe. Effective? Definitely—and it opened a whole tactical branch Ethan intended to explore.
Gate Twelve: Dragon passed.
—
Dark Faculty – Room 2. A fox went down easy to Houndour.
Had the school eased off? No trap here?
Gate Thirteen: Dark passed.
—
Fairy Faculty – Room 4. Out came a Granbull with Intimidate, flashing the "three fangs" package. Big mouth, big base Attack… tiny legs. It couldn't catch Houndour, got kited by Ember, burned, and finally clonked by a discounted Iron Tail.
Gate Fourteen: Fairy passed.
With that, Ethan and Houndour completed Round Two perfect, 14/14.
—
When he turned in his mag-card, the intake clerk did a double take, then, instead of filing it, walked Ethan to the main monitoring room in the admin building.
Inside, five staffers watched a wall of feeds. A dignified, bespectacled middle-ager stood and greeted him.
"Welcome. I'm Rowan Kingsley, Director of Student Affairs at Imperial Province First Trainer High. Your Houndour made an impression."
He offered Ethan a seat.
"Jiang Sheng—candidate," Ethan said simply.
Director Kingsley smiled. "You know the year's policy. Round Three starts 9:00 a.m. tomorrow at the Obsidian Rock Gym on the outskirts of Westreach City. Will you participate?"
"I will."
"Good. Keep your mag-card; muster is 8:30 a.m. outside the gym for check-in—don't be late. Lastly, we'll do our best to help you succeed—and earn the Starter Trio we've prepared."
—
Lana got back earlier than he did for once, grinning—until he asked, "Confident for tomorrow?"
The smile fell; she rolled her eyes. "Who knows? Today's level-8s were already nasty. If tomorrow's exam mons are the elite genetic pulls, a clean sweep'll be rough."
"You only face Bug, Fairy, and Fighting. Lean on Protect; between Swift and Iron Tail, it's doable. You've got this."
She cocked her head, palms up. "I'll take the blessing."
—
That night Ethan skipped last-minute drills. He set Houndour a heaping bowl of nutrition mix. As the pup scarfed, Ethan ruffled his head.
"Tomorrow, I'm counting on you."
"Lubi!"
—
At dawn they cabbed to the Obsidian Rock Gym. It wasn't even 8:30 yet, but five others were already waiting—three guys and two girls.
Closer… oops. Four guys, one girl. The "misleading" one was the gym's young master—Regis Granitehall (Lincoln's rich-kid brother).
The check-in lead waved them over. "Seven total—since everyone's here, we'll start. This isn't a formal round; it's a benefit. No need to cling to the posted time."
"Info recording" turned out to be a cheat sweep and a final consent: if you pass and take the Starter slot, you must enroll at Imperial Province First Trainer High, with a signed agreement (break it and you're liable).
While they verified IDs, Ethan clocked the roster:
Adrian Ashborne — tall, neat, with a confident Charmander.
Miles Cipherwright — short, pale, glasses, a laptop bag… and an ultra-rare Porygon. Serious family pull.
Naomi Stormvale — the only other girl besides Lana, dressed simply like them. Her partner: a hulking blue Heracross. Ethan muttered, "Bug-Catcher Girl?""Ethan, your nicknames are wild!" Lana blurted.Heads swiveled. Ethan shot Lana a look and gave Naomi an apologetic smile. The shy girl ducked her head, mortified.
Julian Ravenshade — curly blond, artsy white floral suit, brown loafers. His mon: a Honedge. Ethan practically drooled.
Regis Granitehall — on brand for the clan: a juvenile Aerodactyl. The ancient sky-lordling locked on to Heracross immediately.
To its credit, Heracross didn't flinch—stared right back like, if you're not convinced, we can settle it now. Naomi, feeling the air crackle, hurried it into its ball. Ethan rubbed his chin—if her Heracross had Moxie and happened to inherit Rock Blast, that'd be a golden-legend roll.
With Heracross recalled, the Aerodactyl wheeled up and screeched in triumph.
After Ethan and Lana cleared their checks, the coordinator led all seven inside the Obsidian Rock Gym to begin the final selection.