Gateon Port.
Inside a palatial hall, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and aged wine. Wealthy gentlemen and socialites in elegant evening wear milled about, chatting in hushed, refined tones while holding crystal flutes.
Beside them, Pokémon adorned with glittering jewelry held their heads high, regally displaying their groomed coats and plumage to the surrounding admirers.
Giant screens were mounted across the hall, broadcasting live feeds from various locations in the desert. On every screen, crowds were surging.
A man looking every bit the professional host stood in the center of the hall, clutching a microphone with a practiced smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the competition is about to begin! Please join me in welcoming our guest of honor, the esteemed Mayor of Gateon Port—Mr. Erkin!"
The socialites erupted into enthusiastic applause.
On the second-floor balcony, a small, elderly man with frost-white hair and a short cane appeared. Wearing a benevolent smile and accompanied by a stoic Slowking, he slowly descended the stairs to the ground floor.
The host jogged over, beaming, and held the microphone just below Erkin's chin.
Erkin gave a gentle smile and began to speak. "My friends, it is time once again for our Annual Charity Pokémon Battle Tournament. I trust you are all as eager as I am. As Mayor and Chairman of this tournament, I wish to extend my deepest gratitude to all of you, our pioneers of philanthropy."
Clap, clap, clap, clap—
The applause grew even more fervent.
Erkin continued, "As we all know, the environment in Pyrite Town is incredibly harsh. There are children there living in dire straits, struggling just to survive from one day to the next. I am confident that this year's donations will be even more effective in improving their lives!"
"Well said!"
"Lord Erkin is so compassionate!"
"Such mercy! He is truly a saint in our modern age!"
The gentlemen sighed with admiration while the ladies dabbed at the corners of their eyes with silk handkerchiefs.
Erkin's smile widened. He raised his right hand slightly to quiet the room. "Thank you for your kind words, though I have done but a trifle. Allow me to be the first to set the example. In my own name, I hereby donate one hundred million to the Charity Battle Tournament!"
Thunderous applause.
"A magnificent gesture, Lord Erkin! I shall follow suit—seventy million from me!"
"Splendid! Put me down for thirty million!"
"Forty million from me!"
The elites of high society scrambled to pledge their wealth. Every time someone announced a donation, they were met with a nod of approval from Erkin. Many flushed with excitement, looking like fans who had just been noticed by their favorite idol.
In a quiet corner, a man holding a glass of red wine watched the scene with an indifferent expression. To him, it looked like a staged performance.
This so-called "Charity Gala" was nothing more than a scheme orchestrated by the Mayor of Gateon Port and the underworld bosses of Pyrite Town to amass wealth. The entrepreneurs and magnates present were merely fawning over them, participating—willingly or not—to watch a filthy, brutal display of Pokémon battling.
Charity?
True charity wouldn't involve forcing thirty teenagers to slaughter one another for prize money, with no option to surrender or withdraw.
Safety measures? None.
Rules against targeting vitals? Non-existent.
Every rule was designed to make the match "realistic," throwing humans and Pokémon into a cage disguised as an arena. They even had "Targeted Donations"—bounties placed by viewers on specific participants.
The man's knuckles turned white as he gripped his glass. He lacked the power to change any of it; in fact, he was forced to be a part of it. He was a beneficiary of this system. Tethered by family and business interests, his only rebellion was a hypocritical cry in his heart, a silent scream for justice, and a hollow ambition to change the Orre Region.
Many of the entrepreneurs being "fleeced" here had the right to despise this. He didn't.
Oh, Orre.
A forgotten corner of the Pokémon world, a desolate land far from all other regions. When will we finally see a truly clear sky above you?
"Gulp!"
The man drained his wine in one go and stepped into the crowd. Raising a finger, he shouted, "I shall donate fifty million!"
Clap, clap, clap, clap—
The amounts were all pre-arranged. The money would be paid out, but once the event was over, it would be kicked back to them—along with a "service fee" for their participation.
The "Donations" from the wealthy were returned in full; the "donations" from the common folk were split seventy-thirty.
Amidst the applause, the man looked up at the screen with a heavy heart. He quickly locked onto a slightly familiar figure.
Hm...
So, you're participating too?
It's been a week since you were promoted to a regular member. I wonder... do you still possess that same sincerity you had at the start?
The man withdrew from the revelry of the "Mareep and the Ranchers." He found a seat in the observation area and sat down, waiting for the opening of the games.
The Desert.
The countdown to the competition had begun.
The two teams were led to the entrance. First came the pat-downs and bag inspections; all devices capable of external communication were confiscated. Next, they were fitted with electronic wristbands. Under the organizers' direction, they took turns giving self-introductions—a segment designed for trash-talking and intimidation.
Kashiwagi had no intention of standing out. He said a few brief words and stepped down. Others, however, seemed desperate to win the "audience's" favor, performing as flamboyantly as possible.
When Kashiwagi finished, Otsuka whispered regretfully that he hadn't said enough. If the audience didn't remember him, he wouldn't get any Donations.
Then, it was Ken's turn to take the microphone. With a cold sneer, the Team Snarl member scanned the Snagem group. He uttered a sentence that left them in shock and the audience in a frenzy.
"One of you is quite the go-getter. You actually came to me with a 'request'—you want me to take off one of your teammate's legs."
"Ha! Take a leg? Hahaha! That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"
Ken laughed maniacally. "Don't worry. Set your hearts at ease! Every single one of you fifteen... I will catch you one by one. I'll snap your arms and crush your limbs. And when you're crying and screaming for your mothers, I'll rip your throats out!"
His contorted, monstrous expression and blatant killing intent triggered a roar of cheers from the bloodthirsty spectators.
The Snagem members looked grim. After being provoked to this extent, who could swallow their pride? Even if they were terrified inside, they couldn't let it show on their faces.
"It's a cheap trick to divide us! Don't believe him!"
"He's right! How can one guy take on fifteen of us? He's all talk!"
"Is Team Snarl only good at using their mouths? Bark all you want, you dogs!"
The shouting was quickly met with a rebuttal from the Snarl side.
"What the hell did you say?"
"Say that again if you've got the stones, you son of a bitch!"
Seeing the trash-talk segment devolve into a meaningless shouting match, the organizers stepped in to stop it. The two sides began attacking each other with glares instead.
In the crowd, Kashiwagi looked at Ken. Ken stared right back at him, his gaze locked for a full six or seven seconds before he shifted his eyes away with a cold laugh.
Well, that was direct.
It seemed the one whose leg was supposed to be "taken off" was him. But who had made the request?
Kashiwagi looked around curiously, taking in the shock, suspicion, panic, and fury on the faces of his teammates.
"I see..."
He rubbed his chin, gaining a rough understanding of the situation.
Beside him, Otsuka was starting to lose his nerve as the start grew closer. "Kashiwagi, we..."
"Don't panic. Like you said—if we can't win, we run." He patted Otsuka on the shoulder, signaling him to relax.
If this were like the entrance exam and he had strength to spare, Kashiwagi wouldn't mind helping the kid. But right now, his hands were tied. Ken from Team Snarl clearly had him in his sights. Even though Ken claimed he would "treat everyone equally," who knew if he was just boasting?
It was highly likely he was throwing up a smokescreen and intended to hunt Kashiwagi down specifically. Kashiwagi had to prioritize his own safety first.
Kashiwagi gripped a Poké Ball. He watched as the Snagem members were blindfolded by staff and led one by one into container-like "passenger cabins."
They weren't allowed to remove the blindfolds until they reached their drop-off point and their wristbands buzzed. Removing them early was a disqualification. No one was stupid enough to mess up now.
Nearby, the Team Snarl members were being processed as well.
When it was Otsuka's turn ahead of him, Kashiwagi glanced sideways. His eyes met Ken's once more.
"Heh!"
Ken grinned and made a slow throat-slitting gesture.
Kashiwagi's expression remained unchanged. He watched Ken and Otsuka enter different cabins. As the staff member approached him, Kashiwagi suddenly turned around and smiled at Watari, who was behind him.
"Good luck."
"Huh? Oh... yeah. Good luck to you too," Watari replied with a forced smile.