The rest of the qualifying rounds were a blur.
Enzo didn't need to unveil his other two pokemon. Deino and Krokorok remained safely locked inside their Poké Balls, their existence still a secret kept for the main stage. For the rabble that remained in the bracket, Zorua and Houndour were more than enough.
The psychological warfare he had waged with the Persian stunt had worked too well. The atmosphere in the waiting tunnels had shifted from competitive tension to palpable dread.
His next opponent, a nervous kid from Saffron City, forfeited before the referee could even flip the coin, mumbling something about his Kadabra having a stomachache.
The one after that, a veteran with a respectable Graveler, made a fatal mistake in the first ten seconds. He hesitated. He flinched when Houndoom barked. That split second of fear was all the opening Enzo needed to land a critical.
It was a massacre. A clean sweep.
But the real battle Enzo was fighting wasn't against other trainers; it was against his own body. The hangover was coming in waves, punishing him for every sudden movement.
Between matches, he didn't strategize. He slept.
He collapsed on the benches in the locker room, passing out instantly.
"Enzo. Wake up. You're on in two minutes."
Enzo groaned, opening one eye to see Steven Stone looming over him, checking his watch with a concerned expression.
Two matches later, it was Brock shaking his shoulder. "Hey, man. They just called your name. Unless you want to lose by default, get moving."
Enzo stumbled to his feet, muttering a sincere, groggy "Thanks," before running down the tunnel to terrorize another teenager.
Without their intervention, he would have slept through the quarterfinals. But thanks to them, he finished the day with another perfect score.
6-0.
He had secured his place in the semifinals.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your finalists!"
The lights in the stadium dimmed, focusing six blinding spotlights on the center of the battlefield. The crowd roared, a sound that vibrated in Enzo's chest.
He walked out, trying to look dignified despite the marker still stained on his cheek and the pounding headache. He lined up alongside the titans of the tournament.
To his left stood Brock and Misty, two of Kanto's most promising talents. To his right were Nessa and Bea, the rising stars from Galar. And at the center, radiating a natural, calm authority, was Steven Stone, the steel specialist prodigy from Hoenn.
And then there was Enzo. The outlier. The "rebel." The guy who looked like he had slept in a dumpster.
The giant screen flickered to life, showing a close-up of Daisy in the announcer's booth. She adjusted her glasses, her expression serious.
"Congratulations to the six of you," Daisy said, her voice amplified across the arena. "You have proven yourselves to be the elite. However, the path to the trophy only gets harder from here."
She paused for effect.
"You will have exactly one week to rest and train. You must present yourselves here next Monday for the official draw."
A murmur went through the crowd. A whole week of anticipation.
"Furthermore," Daisy continued, "this next round will be special. We are changing the format. The semi-finals will be Double Battles."
Enzo raised an eyebrow.
"Two Pokémon on the field at the same time," Daisy explained. "Individual strength is no longer enough. We want to see your synergy. We want to see how well you can coordinate a team."
Daisy leaned closer to her microphone, and her eyes on the giant screen seemed to lock directly onto Enzo.
"And Mr. Vance..." she said, her voice dripping with sweet, professional poison. "I hope that next week, there will be no delays. Punctuality is also part of being a professional trainer."
The crowd laughed.
Enzo didn't flinch. He didn't even feel annoyed.
Inside, he felt a wave of immense relief wash over him.
A week.
He had a whole week. Not to train for Double Battles, but to investigate the black hole that was his memory. He had seven days to find out what exactly had happened in the warehouse, check the security cameras, and figure out why he woke up with cake in his pocket and a lightning bolt on his face.
He let out a long breath. "Don't worry, Daisy," he muttered to himself. "I'll be there."
As the group dispersed from the central arena, walking back into the cool shade of the tunnel, Steven Stone fell into step beside Enzo.
"So," Steven started, hands in his pockets, looking effortlessly relaxed. "Since we have a whole week off, what do you say we grab dinner? There's a nice place near the Cape. We could swap some ideas about the double battle format."
Enzo stopped, adjusting his bag. His stomach grumbled at the mention of food, but his curiosity and anxiety were stronger.
He needed to get back to the warehouse. He needed to see the footage. He needed to know why there was cake in his pocket.
"Sorry, Steven," Enzo said, shaking his head. "I can't tonight. I have... pending matters to attend to."
Like finding out if I committed a felony against a bakery, he thought.
He turned to Brock, who was walking nearby. "You too, Brock. Thanks for the wake-up calls today. I owe you guys."
Brock gave a thumbs-up. "No problem, Enzo. Get some rest. You look like you need it."
"I'll call you tomorrow," Enzo promised Steven.
Steven smiled, shrugging. "No problem. I think I'll extend my stay in Cerulean for another day, then. Treat it as a proper vacation. Call me when you're free."
Enzo nodded and pushed open the exit doors leading to the street.
The wall of sound hit him instantly.
"ENZO! ENZO! ENZO!"
The crowd surged against the metal barricades. It was a sea of screaming faces, flashing cameras, and people waving markers.
Enzo took a deep breath and flipped the switch. The exhausted, hungover teenager disappeared. The "Dark Type Icon" took his place.
He walked up to the barrier, putting on a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. He signed a T-shirt for a teenager with blue hair. He signed a Luxury Ball for a shaking kid. He winked at a camera, flashing a peace sign.
"Mr. Vance! Mr. Vance! Is the lightning bolt a tribute to Lt. Surge?" a journalist shouted. "Mr. Vance! Any comments on the Double Battle format?"
Enzo ignored the questions completely, maintaining his air of mystery. He moved down the line, efficient and charismatic, until he reached the end of the barricade.
"Thank you all!" he shouted, waving one last time.
Before the press could corner him, he vaulted over a low fence and ducked into a narrow alleyway. He moved fast, putting distance between himself and the adoration.
As soon as he was in the shadows, the smile dropped. He broke into a run, heading straight for the industrial district.
He wasn't going back to celebrate. He was going back to the crime scene.
Enzo pushed open the heavy, rusted factory door. He expected silence, or maybe a tense debriefing about his reckless public behavior.
What he found was a picnic.
The scene was surreal. Proton, Ronnie, and Professor Leni were sitting in a circle on makeshift crates. In the center was a pile of smashed cardboard boxes containing the remains of the stolen cakes. They were eating chunks of sponge cake with their hands and plastic spoons, laughing hysterically at some inside joke.
And right there with them, leaning back in a folding chair with his combat boots up on a table, was Lt. Surge. He looked completely relaxed, as if he wasn't a Gym Leader skipping his duties to hang out with wanted criminals.
Enzo stood in the doorway, watching the absurdity of it all.
Surge jumped up, a wide grin splitting his face. "Look who it is! The man of the hour!" Surge boomed, his voice echoing off the metal walls. "Congrats on the qualification, soldier! I gotta tell you, seeing Daisy foaming at the mouth on the big screen because of your tardiness? Pure gold! Hahaha!"
"Here." Surge reached into the cargo pocket of his fatigue pants and tossed a small black box through the air. "Catch."
Enzo caught it one-handed. He popped the lid open. Inside sat a sleek, heavy-duty military watch. It was rugged, waterproof, and identical to the one Enzo had smashed during his blackout, only this one was brand new.
"Since I already congratulated you, take that as a gift," Surge said with a wink. "You're gonna need to keep track of time better next week."
Surge grabbed his bomber jacket from the back of the chair and threw it over his shoulder.
"Yesterday was a legendary night, kid. Seriously," Surge said, walking toward the exit. He stopped next to Enzo and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. "When you find out the date of your real birthday, call me again. We have to party even harder than that."
With a final salute and a booming laugh that shook the dust from the rafters, the Thunder Gym Leader walked out into the night, leaving Enzo standing there with a new watch and a growing sense of dread.
The heavy metal door slammed shut behind Surge, leaving a ringing silence in the warehouse. Enzo turned slowly to face his three subordinates.
Proton was licking icing off his thumb. Ronnie was trying to hide a giggle. Professor Leni was looking at the floor, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
They all had that look. The look of accomplices who knew a dirty secret.
Enzo felt a vein throb in his temple. "What the hell happened yesterday?!" he demanded, his voice cracking slightly. "Why is Surge acting like my best friend? Why is the warehouse destroyed?"
"Oh, so you really don't remember?"
A deep, gravelly voice answered from the pitch-black darkness at the far end of the warehouse.
Enzo froze. He knew that voice. It was the voice of nightmares. The voice of discipline.
"Let me refresh your memory..."
Footsteps echoed on the concrete. From the shadows, a tall, imposing figure emerged. He was wearing his standard black uniform, looking as terrifying as ever.
Instructor Viper.
Enzo swallowed hard. "Instructor... I..."
The TR Device
Viper didn't yell. He didn't strike. He simply crossed his arms and pointed at Enzo's pocket.
"Check your TR Device, Enzo. Check your 'Sent' folder."
Enzo fumbled for the device with trembling hands. He unlocked the screen and navigated to the messaging app.
His eyes widened.
Sent Messages to: Instructor Viper (130).
"One hundred and thirty..." Enzo whispered, horrified.
He clicked on the chat. It wasn't text. It was a stream of video files. He clicked play on the most recent one.
The video was shaky and out of focus. A very drunk, red-faced Enzo was holding the camera close to his face, screaming over loud music:
"INSTRUCTOOOOR! INSTRUCTOR! WE NEED REINFORCEMENTS! SEND TEN MORE BOTTLES! THE GOOD STUFF!"
Suddenly, Lt. Surge's face crashed into the frame, putting his arm around Enzo's neck.
" VIPER! BRING THE COLD ONES! DON'T BE CHEAP!" Surge bellowed.
The video ended with Enzo laughing maniacally.
Enzo turned off the device. His face drained of all color, leaving him pale as a ghost. He slowly looked up at Viper.
He scratched the back of his head, looking like a child caught stealing cookies. "Instructor... I... I am so sorry. That was... unseemly conduct."
Viper stared at him. His face was a mask of stone. His eyes narrowed dangerously. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Enzo braced himself for a punishment. A beating. A demotion.
Viper's lip twitched. Then, the mask cracked.
"BWAHAHAHA!"
Viper threw his head back and roared with laughter. It wasn't a cruel laugh; it was a genuine, belly-shaking guffaw.
"You should have seen your face just now!" Viper wiped a tear from his eye.
Seeing the terrifying instructor break character, Proton, Ronnie, and Leni couldn't hold it back anymore. The entire warehouse erupted in laughter, leaving Enzo standing there, confused, relieved, and utterly embarrassed.
Viper leaned against a stack of crates, crossing his arms over his chest. His expression shifted from amused to reminiscent, as if recalling a particularly violent yet entertaining play at the theater.
"I arrived here around 03:00 hours," Viper began, his voice deep and calm. "My intention was, quite literally, to crack your skull open for spamming my personal device with one hundred and thirty video files."
He chuckled darkly, shaking his head.
"But when I walked through those doors... the rage vanished. I couldn't have remained angry even if I wanted to. It was art."
Enzo rubbed his temples, dreading the details. "How bad was it?"
"Bad?" Viper scoffed. "It was glorious. When I entered, you were on your hands and knees in the middle of the floor, covered head-to-toe in blue frosting. You weren't human anymore, Enzo. You were growling."
Enzo covered his face with his hands. "Oh no..."
"Oh yes. And you weren't alone," Viper continued, enjoying every second of this. "Ronnie was on all fours on the opposite side. Surge was standing on a crate, blowing a whistle, treating it like a military drill. He was shouting commands: 'Bite attack, recruit! Show me your war face!'"
Proton snorted, trying to hold back laughter.
"And you," Viper pointed a gloved finger at Enzo, "were tackling Ronnie. You were actually trying to use Tackle on a man. And the best part? Professor Leni was running behind Ronnie, throwing empty beer cans at him and screaming, 'Target weakened! Deploying Ultra Ball! Capture imminent!'"
Leni pushed his glasses up his nose, his face turning bright red. "In my defense... the data seemed to suggest his catch rate was high."
Viper waited for the laughter to die down before his face grew slightly more serious, though the glint of amusement remained in his eyes.
"Then, things got... interesting. I saw you drunk so I ask about the Weepinbell you stole from that rich girl, Elise Grace. I made you a generous offer. I told you I'd buy it off you right there, cash in hand."
Enzo looked up. "And? Did I sell it?"
"Sell it?" Viper laughed. "You were deeply offended. You stood up, wobbling, I might add, and shouted that you were a 'Apex Predator' and that 'Vance doesn't share loot.'"
Viper mimicked Enzo's drunken slur perfectly.
"You pulled the Weepinbell out of its ball. The poor plant was hungry. Then you looked at your Haunter and screamed: 'Dinner time! Eat the salad!'"
Enzo's jaw dropped. "I told him to... eat it?"
"And he obeyed," Viper said, his tone bordering on macabre appreciation. "Haunter didn't just bite it. He enveloped it. He drained its life force right there in the middle of the party. It was savage. And apparently, that massive injection of bio-energy was exactly what he needed."
Viper gestured vaguely with his hands.
"He started glowing. Evolving. Right there, amidst the beer cans and the confetti. A Gengar born from gluttony." Viper smirked. "The look on your face when the light faded... you looked like you'd seen a ghost. Which, I suppose, you had."
"But the night wasn't over," Viper said, moving to the final chapter of the saga. "Proton here mentioned he had seen a specific Pokémon at a local bakery earlier that day."
Proton raised his hand, guilty. "The Sweet Scent bakery. I mentioned they had an Alcremie. I just said it looked... creamy."
"And that triggered you," Viper said to Enzo. "You slammed your fist on the table and declared: 'I want to taste that Pokémon. I bet it tastes like victory.'"
Enzo groaned, sinking lower into his misery. "Please tell me we didn't."
"We did," Viper confirmed mercilessly. "We marched down there. You, Surge, me, and Proton. You kicked the door in. We didn't take a dime. You guys just smashed the display cases."
Viper paused, his expression turning incredulous.
"I actually had to physically restrain an Executive," Viper said, shaking his head. "Surge had the poor Alcremie cornered. He was holding a plastic spoon like a combat knife. He was shouting, 'Hold still, cupcake!' I had to drag him away before he committed a crime against nature."
"And the cakes?" Enzo asked weakly, remembering the mess in his pocket.
"Collateral damage," Viper shrugged. "Since you and Surge couldn't eat the Pokémon, you decided to steal every single cake in the shop. You were stuffing handfuls of sponge cake into your pockets, shouting 'No evidence left behind!'"
Viper walked over and patted Enzo on the back, hard.
"You are crazy, Vance. A complete lunatic." Viper grinned. "I haven't been this proud of a recruit in years."
Viper adjusted his gloves. His face changed to fake sadness. "However... there is one last detail. The best part."
Enzo felt his stomach drop. "Worse than trying to eat a Pokémon?"
"Much worse," Viper replied calmly. "In your drunken genius, you decided to record the moment. You ordered Porygon2 to take photos of the entire night."
"Okay..." Enzo said, trying to stay positive. "I can just delete them."
"You could," Viper nodded. "If you hadn't already sent the whole album to Executive Nero."
Enzo stopped breathing. "I... I sent photos of me... covered in cake... attacking a bakery with a team rocket executive... to one of the High Executives of Team Rocket?"
"With the message: 'Mission Accomplished, Boss!'" Viper added helpfully.
Viper reached into his pocket and pulled out Enzo's missing smartphone. The screen was cracked, and it smelled like vanilla icing.
"You dropped this at the bakery before the cops arrived. I managed to grab it." Viper tossed the phone to Enzo.
Viper turned around, his heavy boots crushing the debris on the floor. "Hell of a birthday, Vance. I haven't had this much fun in years."
With a final wave, without looking back, the instructor disappeared into the night, leaving Enzo holding the phone like it was a live bomb.
Enzo stood there for a long moment, staring at the black screen of his phone. He slowly turned to look at Proton, Ronnie, and Leni. They were still laughing, wiping tears from their eyes.
Enzo rubbed his face, exhausted. He pointed to the corner of the warehouse where his makeshift sleeping tent lay in ruins. It wasn't just broken; it was shredded.
"So..." Enzo sighed. "Why is my tent destroyed? Did Surge attack it too?"
Proton shook his head, grinning. "Nah. That was a turf war. Apparently, Froakie, Sprigatito, and Litten got into a three-way brawl over a piece of cake."
"And the tent?"
"It got violent," Proton explained. "Weezing tried to stop the fight. He used Self-Destruct to knock them all out... but he missed the Pokémon and blew up your tent instead."
Enzo closed his eyes. Of course. The starters were fighting.
He took a deep breath and asked the final question. The one that had been bothering him since he looked in the mirror at the stadium.
He pointed to the crude lightning bolt drawn in permanent marker under his left eye.
"And this?" Enzo asked, his voice low. "Who drew this? Was it Surge? Did he brand me?"
The three subordinates burst into fresh laughter. Ronnie was laughing so hard he was slapping his knee.
"No, Boss!" Ronnie gasped for air. "You did that!"
"Me?"
"Yeah!" Leni chimed in, giggling. "You grabbed the marker, drew it on your face, and started crawling around Surge's legs. You kept screaming that you were 'Surge's Pikachu' and tried to use Thunderbolt on the wall!"
Enzo stared at them. The memory was a black hole, but the image was vivid in his mind.
He looked at the phone. He looked at the mess. He looked at the lightning bolt in the reflection of the screen.
"Okay," Enzo said softly. "I'm done asking questions."
He turned around and walked away. Some things were better left forgotten.
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