"Boom—"
The Hydro Pump struck the ground and the noise of it rolled out.
A moment later a soaking wet Charmeleon came out of it, bedraggled, the flame on its tail burning low.
"That... that shouldn't have happened."
The boy's face was blank; he plainly could not make sense of what he had just seen.
"How was that Gyarados so fast off the mark? And so accurate? That isn't what Teacher said at all."
But it had already happened out there, and there was no time for him to dwell on it.
"Charmeleon, are you all right?"
The boy paid no attention to anything else; the first thing he did was ask after his Charmeleon's condition.
Seeing that, Vance had the measure of the boy opposite him: plainly an academy-trained Trainer, short on experience.
The mark of that kind of Trainer was that they went by the book, which carried certain limits with it. Against ordinary Trainers they did well enough, but against Trainers of any real quality they did not stand up.
And because they came out of the academies, such Trainers did things that looked childish to outsiders — like this one, whose very first thought, when the Charmeleon was driven back, was to ask whether it was hurt.
And say what you like, it worked.
It probably came down to the environment they grew up in. The academies were nothing like the Rocket intake, where the strong ate the weak and your life was on the line at every hour; a great deal inside an academy was idealised, and most of the students they turned out were idealistic in their early days. Even their eyes were unlike an ordinary Trainer's, holding a clear, unclouded steadiness.
In those eyes you could see their love of life, their longing to travel the world, their eagerness to catch Pokémon, their support for the League, and their hostility towards the dark organisations, Team Rocket among them.
As this was an arena, Vance did not press the attack; he only watched the enemy in front of him with a smile on his face while the boy encouraged his Pokémon.
In the end, with the boy's encouragement, the Charmeleon got back to its feet.
"Yes! I knew you were the best, Charmeleon. Go on — the win is going to be ours!"
The corner of Vance's mouth twitched. Whose child was this? Life had clearly never given him a proper beating.
"Gyarados. Go easy on him. Three exchanges and finish it."
Vance gave that order mind to mind, then went on giving orders out loud as well, to keep himself covered.
"Raah, raah, raah—"
The Gyarados moved, went for the openings Vance named, and in three exchanges exactly he finished the Charmeleon and took the match.
Battle Points +28.
The Charmeleon opposite had decent aptitude and no low energy level: a level 23 Pokémon, only three levels under the Gyarados.
But against the Gyarados, never mind three levels down — an Advanced-strength Charizard would go the same way once the Gyarados opened up at full power.
"Charmeleon, this was my fault. I'm sorry."
The boy gathered the Charmeleon up in his arms and apologised.
The unconscious Charmeleon made a small sound in its throat; whether it was comforting him there was no telling.
"That should be the end of it."
Vance was about to recall the Gyarados and leave when the boy opposite spoke.
"Senior, I still have two more Pokémon."
"What, you want to keep battling?"
Vance turned back and looked at him.
"I do. I won't waste what Charmeleon gave to this."
Looking at the stubbornness in the boy, Vance smiled and said all right.
The Vigoroth's ball stirred; he had a mind to take a turn.
"Vigoroth, you're a special case. There are too many eyes here. Better not — next time."
Vance soothed him, and the Vigoroth let it go.
"Ponyta, I'm counting on you."
"Neiiigh—"
A Ponyta in fine condition took the field, fierce flames streaming off its body — flames which, so they say, do not burn those close to it, but feel warm to the touch.
Seeing another Fire type, Vance asked, "Don't you know that Water beats Fire?"
"I know. But these are all I have, and I believe that one day they'll break that matchup."
The boy's answer rang out firm.
"A hard-headed kid who's never taken a beating from the world. Loves Fire types, does he."
Vance thought it, and gave the Gyarados his order.
"Five exchanges."
"Rrraaah—"
Five exchanges later the Ponyta was beaten. Another Fire Pokémon came out, and it was beaten as well.
Battle Points +25. +23.
By now there was a fair crowd watching, and they were calling out words of encouragement to the boy.
He was a fine child. Backbone, and a head like iron.
Vance took on several more challenges from young Trainers and won them all.
It felt like coming back to the starter village with his levels already in. The way they used their moves, the way they fought, was far too stiff; to Vance as he was now, they were "beginners."
Battling them, Vance kept getting that feeling he had only ever had from the anime — the familiar second-wind roar, the steady eyes, the tactics that looked so green to him.
Having bullied a round of beginners, Vance judged the moment about right and took the chance to slip away.
Those battles had brought him over two hundred Battle Points, which was one of the reasons he had stayed at all.
All his points together now came to more than a thousand, enough to exchange for something decent again.
In the ballroom people stood in twos and threes, and to the lilt of the music couples turned in the dance.
Other groups were toasting one another, talking loudly and grandly, full of warmth.
And a few threaded through it all with sincere smiles on their faces, producing business cards as they met people, working to get into a circle, doing their best to build a network.
"I hear Celadon will be bringing in policy on the Pokémon resources trade. I wonder what there'll be in it for us."
"Have you heard? Something big happened over in Pewter. The League killed an Elite-Four-class man of Team Rocket's. Genuinely shocking."
"The mayor's been transferred. Who's the next one going to be? I've only just got my channels working and now it's all to be done again. Business is hard these days."
"It is. Year by year it gets harder."
...............
Scattered pieces of news came out of the mouths of these social elites, matters that ordinary people outside knew nothing at all about.
Just as expected: in a setting like this, intelligence came in far more quickly.
"Hm. Isn't that Ambrose? Has he changed partners?"
He had spotted Ambrose among the dancers.
The woman dancing with him was not that Lila from before, but another one, a little less striking to look at but with more charm about her.
The two of them were lost in the beautiful music, moving slowly through the dance, their lips barely moving as they said something to each other.
"I wonder whether madam might, this evening, explore its finer mysteries together with me."
Bending his attention that way, Vance caught only that one line of Ambrose's. The man had the makings of a warlord, no question about it — he certainly knew how to talk.
He looked elsewhere and went on drifting about, listening for news.
After that he took some food, found a table and sat down, and ate slowly and listened slowly.