Upper Deck
Madam Juno cracked an eyelid when Houndour landed Toxic, then shut it again. She wasn't taking Ethan as a pupil anyway—why fuss?
Lydia Vale watched, cool and silent.
The chattier examiners started murmuring.
"Did I misread him? He has a mentor?" Director Gavin Zephyr frowned.
"Toxic and Protect on a Houndour don't self-evolve out of thin air."
Hugh Yarrow shook his head. Zane Yates thought, then said, "Fire specialists rarely lean on Toxic lines. We're a Will-O-Wisp and Inferno crowd."
All three looked to Lincoln Granitehall. He spread his hands. "I dug a little—nothing off in his circle. He says Houndour was a gift from an unrelated third party. If there's a teacher, it could be the gifter."
Gavin nodded. "We'll verify later. For now—eyes on the exam. As long as his background's clean and he's not some reactionary plant, we don't lose sleep. We're a 'small high school' with zero human rights as is—we can't afford drama."
Lincoln's mouth twitched. Number one trainer high in the province and still calling it "small," huh? Why not rename to Kassel Academy and go slay dragons while we're at it…
Rest Area
When Houndour pulled Toxic + Protect, both Adrian Ashborne and Regis Granitehall stopped heckling, faces like they'd swallowed flies.
It was filthy—and lethal. Stall long enough and you will die. Only answer: delete the caster fast. Easier said than done when Protect might chain, you whiff once or twice, and chip ramps every tick. If Ethan added Substitute, most of them had no game.
Even Regis's Aerodactyl wouldn't love it; poisoned in a cagey match, its odds cratered—who knew what other knives the black dog hid? He stopped sniping at Ethan.
Lana, though, was bewildered. "When did you learn Toxic?"
Round Two – Rock
The proctor sent Nosepass. Same script: Stealth Rock to fence movement, then Rock Throw until collapse.
He also stayed wide, clearly spooked by the purple glob possibility.
Didn't matter. Hitting Nosepass is easier than hitting Machop. As Nosepass wound up, Ethan cut in:
"Sucker Punch!"
Houndour ghosted through the hazard lanes, proccing priority and appearing behind the compass-face statue. Rocks began to fall; Houndour's tail flashed steel—Iron Tail—shearing chunks mid-air and cracking Nosepass across the backplate.
Close the gap, stay glued—another Iron Tail, and the rock lump slumped.
Gate Rock: Passed.
Ethan stretched, casual. The proctor's jaw set as he white-knuckled the third ball.
In the bleachers, Regis stood. He'd seen enough. "I'll be back. Don't think I'm dodging."
"Don't run, Upper-Class," Lana sang after him. "Your lesson's coming."
He snorted and swept out. Adrian stayed put—no Granitehall safety net for him. Lysander Vexley just shrugged and kept chatting up Julian Glass and Naomi Stormvale. They ignored him: Julian was already modeling Houndour's kit on his laptop; Naomi was reading the packet Hugh Yarrow had handed her—first half the 24 Starter options, second half the dossier on the clingy Heracross that had chosen her.
Round Three – Ground
As expected: Phanpy. Classic Defense Curl + Rollout shell game.
Not this time. Protect was already off cooldown, but Ethan didn't gamble.
Houndour tapped a paw—pane up—the first Rollout caromed off and the chain broke.
Window found.
"Howl—then Iron Tail!"
A sharp cry—attack climbed—silver flashed—and Phanpy's eyes pinched with pain as the tail landed flush.
"Retaliate!" the proctor snapped.
Phanpy's honest gaze hardened; it lunged to Retaliate with vengeance power.
"Protect! Now!"