The key lies in moves and fighting with one's life on the line.
Those people of Stow-on-Side Gym only spar with Fighting-type Pokémon in simple training bouts. They don't use moves or engage in life-and-death battles.
So how can the true strength of a Fighting-type Pokémon ever be shown?
In the end, their strength is nothing but empty show.
Kabu's face was drenched in sweat. He could only clutch the towel around his neck, too afraid to wipe himself. He had spent a fortune on equipment and Pokémon, draining the wealth collected by Motostoke Gym over decades. He could not afford to fail here.
There was no escape, no way to run.
While he racked his brain in desperation, Shiro lunged forward once more. The distance between him and Machoke, standing with Hitmonchan at its side, was about ten meters, the perfect gap for a sprint.
At the moment his feet launched, the long legs of both Hitmonlee snapped forward like iron cords released together. Yet with nearly a dozen meters between them, Shiro had already anticipated the strike. A slight twist of his body carried him past the blows, and he charged on toward Hitmonchan at Machoke's flank.
The ground trembled as the grass swayed. His clothes lashed the air with a sharp hiss. By the time the Hitmonlee tried to retract their kicks, he was upon Machoke and Hitmonchan.
Hitmonchan excelled at boxing techniques, relying heavily on punches. Unlike the two Hitmonlee, its arms were injured but not broken, and with even one arm it could still attack effectively.
Machoke shifted sideways, dragging the two Hitmonlee with it.
Fear faded from Hitmonchan's eyes, replaced with determination. It had been waiting for this opportunity, gathering strength. Now, a fist shot upward from its side with blinding speed. The blow was in front of Shiro almost as soon as it was thrown.
The move: Bullet Punch.
It had made a clever choice, using Bullet Punch rather than Mach Punch. Both were lightning fast, capable of striking first, but Bullet Punch was Steel-type. That hardened energy could withstand a blade easily.
But Shiro had no intention of clashing steel against fist, nor was Hitmonchan ever his target.
In an instant, the psychic force of Unown G spread, freezing Hitmonchan in place for a heartbeat. Confusion filled its eyes as Shiro slid past, turning his blade on Machoke, who was still stumbling backward with the Hitmonlee in its arms.
Machoke had no chance to counter. It had barely retreated two meters before the short knife closed in, now less than half a meter from its throat. There was no time to set the Hitmonlee down and block.
And Hitmonlee's legs had not even fully retracted yet.
Shiro was simply too fast.
Machoke's face contorted, and in that moment of crisis, a strangled roar forced its way from its throat.
"Maaachoke!"
A squelching sound followed as the blade pierced its neck. Clamping its jaw tight against the weapon, it held on, refusing to fall.
Endure.
The move allowed a Pokémon to survive with a sliver of strength even after taking a fatal strike.
Shiro's eyes narrowed. He let go of the blade, spun, and kicked Hitmonchan, who was still bound by psychic power, toward the Sawk charging from the forest's edge.
"Hitmon…"
Hitmonchan was caught midair by Sawk, both stumbling back together. Its tough brown face twitched in pain, clutching its side where Shiro's kick had landed.
The agony was unbearable.
Sweat rolled down its face as it crouched low, shuddering under the strain.
Behind it, Sawk wasted no time. It pressed on at full speed. Its hand slipped from its bleeding throat, lowering its head as it charged. Blue blood still seeped from the cut, staining its gi.
Though Shiro's blade had sliced its neck, the wound was shallow. It had missed the vital cords. For a human, it would have been death. For a Pokémon, it was not enough.
Its powerful legs glowed faintly as it dashed forward.
Ahead, Machoke finally threw aside the two Hitmonlee it had been dragging. On hand pressed against the blade lodged in its neck, it threw a punch with the other at the human before it.
Mega Punch.
The gale of the strike rushed toward him, but Shiro didn't flinch. Instead, he stepped closer, calling in his mind.
'G!'
The powerful blow froze midair. Simultaneously, he yanked the knife from Machoke's neck and stomped down hard on the head of the Hitmonlee to his right.
Bang!
The Pokémon's skull sank deep into the earth. Its leg, which had just begun to lash out, went limp.
"Ma…cho…ke…"
Machoke's attack was broken. Blood pumped from its throat like a bursting valve. No matter how tightly it clutched the wound, it could not stem the flow.
Why had its punch stopped?
How was that possible?
What was happening?
The same thing had happened to Sawk, to Hitmonlee. Whenever they faced this human, their bodies locked up, freezing against their will. Was it some kind of special power?
Or was their training simply lacking, leaving them vulnerable?
The thought haunted it as its vision dimmed. With disbelief etched across its face, Machoke fell backward, eyes wide open, unwilling to shut.
Being a Pokémon, its reasoning in battle did not extend beyond questioning its own shortcomings. Though it sensed its opponent's strangeness, it never questioned what ability or power it was facing.
The real fault lay with Kabu. As a Gym Leader who specialized in Fire-types, his command over Fighting-types was abysmal.
If he had realized sooner, when Hitmonlee's kick struck, that there was a psychic restriction… no, if he had just understood how Fighting-types should fight, and entered the forest to guide them himself. With timely retreats, strengthening moves like Bulk Up, and coordinated two-on-two attacks, they would have overwhelmed Shiro.
And with Allister still in the mix, there had been countless ways to use him for pressure and threats.
Kabu had actually stood a strong chance, but his poor command had squandered it.
Bang!
Another thud echoed as Shiro stomped the second Hitmonlee's head into the dirt.
The Sawk that had just arrived froze in place, forced to stop. It was now the last one left standing.
From the first injured, to the very last still able to fight…
Sawk clenched its blue three-fingered fists. It did not retreat. Lowering itself into a half-crouch, it held its left fist at its waist while its right hand extended forward, palm edge vertical. The stance was one it knew by heart, the opening form of its martial art.
Blood dripped from its throat, staining its black-and-blue gi with twisting blue streaks.
"Heh." Shiro tilted his stiff neck with a crack and chuckled. "You've got spirit, I'll give you that. But…"
He drew out the words, and Sawk's muscles tightened.
The ring of steel split the air. The short blade spun toward it, filling its vision. It raised its hand, palm slicing out to deflect, preparing to counter with a crushing punch.
But a boot struck first.
Its palm had only just touched the flat of the blade, its fist still coiling power, when the kick slammed into it, lifting its body half off the ground.
"Saawk…"
Its eyes widened in shock.
Shiro's true attack had always been the front kick. The blade was just a distraction to draw its guard.
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