Hugh Yarrow tried to undercut him again."With those rickety Fire techniques? Any halfway-decent human can reinvent them. Why would he need an 'inheritance'?"
Zane Yates wasn't the swallow-your-pride type. He shot back at once."Still richer than your Dark kit that never chains into a full set. Dark should play support—leave main DPS to Fire."
The powder keg was lit. Just as the two looked ready to start pitching Poké Balls, Director Gavin Zephyr cut in.
"Gentlemen—breathe. The Young Gym Head is present. Try not to embarrass yourselves."
Gavin palmed his face. Herding these captains was like juggling lit torches.
"Zane, tell them what the inheritance actually is. I didn't expect that old fossil to be sitting on something like this."
It was the first time Madam Juno spoke—and it tipped everyone that Zane's "manual" wasn't ordinary.
Zane swept the rail, then nodded."It's a field manual from the Dragon-Slaying War. Left by a Level 70 Mega Houndoom. Tell me he's not a fit. Or name someone better."
His voice was soft; the impact wasn't. Faces around the gallery froze in shock. A King-tier legacy… tucked inside a "mere" trainer high school.
"No one breathes a word," Gavin said, authority hardening his tone. He traded looks with the other leads and deputies until each gave the smallest nod.
After a quick sidebar with Hugh Yarrow, Lydia Vale, and Madam Juno, Gavin turned to Lincoln Granitehall, conflicted.
Lincoln spoke first."I spotted the kid early and fronted him a reward that's not shy of your manual. Call him my direct protégé. I want him to grow."
"Much obliged, Young Head," Gavin said with a dip of thanks.
Hugh sighed, long and unhappy. Once a King-tier chip hit the table, his bid for this seedling was second chair at best.
Gavin glanced at Hugh's fallen shoulders, then addressed the rail."Even so—we don't assign a major. Whether he lands with Fire is on your persuasion, Captain Yates. The rest of you can make your pitches too. We honor the candidate's preference."
Ethan had no idea the second-floor was sparring over him; all his focus sat on the last, fate-tipping test.
Across the stone, a Dragon-Dancing Totodile had one boost banked and murder in its eyes.
Regis's Aerodactyl had toyed with it because it could fly. Most Water Pulse users throw level with the ground; the dome is a blind spot. Houndour couldn't leave the floor—so sooner or later, the gator would tag him.
One comfort: this one's Ability was Sheer Force, not Torrent. Nasty, but less scary right now than a Torrent spike.
While Totodile danced, Houndour wasn't idle—he howled, aura climbing; Howl pushed his Attack a stage.
Then both sides went first-priority.
"Aqua Jet!""Sucker Punch!"
Ethan's mouth ticked. Houndour wasn't just better-bred—he'd been speed-trained.
The proctor's face fell, then leveled. With Sucker Punch in play, if Totodile committed to moves, he'd get clipped eventually; only question was who won the speed tie.
Totodile's cheeks swelled—water gathering—but Houndour had already turned into a streak of black, raking claws across the gator's back and booting it forward.
"Totodile—steady! Water Pulse!"
Prone, Totodile didn't rise—just pulsed the air, concentric ripples blooming everywhere at once. Omnidirectional. Annoying. Ethan went for damage during the wind-up.
"Hidden Power—Grass. Protect after!"
Green ordnance flashed and detonated on target, launching the gator. Gritting through the creeping vines of Grass-typed energy, Totodile still fired: Water Pulse rolled like a breaking wave.
Could Houndour eat it? Not today.
He set his stance and tapped the floor—Protect flowered up.
Fourth straight Protect.
Ethan's grin finally showed. God's favorite, today: four for four.
(Out of ten PP, my lab run hit seven.)
On the rail, the examiners exhaled in relief—then caught themselves. Weren't they supposed to be rooting against a pass here, to save a premium Starter and owe him a monster favor later? Eyes met; several men wore the same sheepish, scheming look.
Down on the edge, Lana hopped. If the Protect key was hot, Ethan had it.
The horizontal Water Pulse swept the field; only Houndour, pane-sheltered, came out dry. As the barrier shattered, he snapped another Hidden Power (Grass) into the just-rising Totodile, skipping it four or five meters.
Green sigils webbed the blue hide like cracked glaze. Totodile fought them—then sagged as the bind thickened, strength leaking away. Seconds ticked. It didn't stand.
The proctor recalled it and raised his arm."Sixth bout: Candidate Ethan and Houndour, victory. That's eighteen straight. He qualifies as a top-tier seedling."
"Let's go! Ethan, you're the best—Houndour!" Lana whooped. "Give me five!"
Ethan stepped off with Houndour, hand ready for the slap—when a sharp whistle of air cut in behind him.