The sudden eruption of flames and the swirling ash filled the sky, shrouding the entire stadium of seventy thousand people in a dense black haze.
Fortunately, Psychic-type Pokémon stationed around the battlefield projected barriers that filtered out the fiery energy lingering in the smoke. Without that, just inhaling the searing fumes would have scorched human lungs into fragments.
Rumble—
Above the arena, dark thunderclouds rolled in. A clear, resonant dragon's cry pierced the sky, and then came the roar of a storm. Sheets of torrential rain came crashing down, engulfing the massive battlefield in a deafening downpour. Slowly, the rain began to suppress the thousand-degree inferno that had engulfed the arena.
When fire and rain collided, thick white steam blanketed the area, obscuring everything from sight. Spectators raised handkerchiefs to cover their mouths and noses against the choking dust, waiting anxiously. Only after a long while did the mist and smoke finally disperse.
By then, even the announcer had fallen silent. The Fire Blast from Logan's Dragonair had been like the eruption of a volcano—so overwhelming, so destructive—that people doubted whether Iris was even still alive inside that wasteland.
Everyone knew: without a Pokémon's protection, even the smallest touch of that attack would have reduced a person to cinders.
When the fog cleared, the crowd's eyes fixed on the center of the ruined battlefield. Logan's Dragonair stood tall, the orbs on its neck and tail glowing faintly. Rain poured from the skies, but not a single droplet touched Logan. The water veered away at the last second, sliding off to the sides as though repelled by an unseen force.
Those who understood gasped in awe. This was Dragonair's mastery of weather manipulation pushed to the absolute peak—control so fine it bent storms themselves around its master. To those who didn't understand, it was no less divine. At that moment, Logan seemed a god of storms, untouchable even by nature's wrath.
And then, when they spotted the kneeling figure of Iris before him, clutching herself but alive, the spectators finally exhaled in relief. At least there had been no fatality.
But the thought was chilling: if Iris had died here, the world would not blame Logan—it would blame Iris for her arrogance, for overestimating herself against the Champion of Kanto. After all, they had all just witnessed battles where Logan hadn't hesitated to strike trainers directly. Today, everyone saw clearly: trainers were terrifying beings, wielders of power that transcended laws and common sense. Human life itself was trivial before the strongest among them.
Iris trembled on her knees, palms pressed against the ground. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, her vision spinning. She clutched her chest with a shaky hand, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat, nausea rising from her stomach to her throat.
A moment ago, she had truly believed she was going to die.
That explosion—earth fire and sky thunder combined—was not something a human body could ever endure. Yet, mysteriously, the flames of Dragonair's Fire Blast had skirted around her, consuming everything in a circle except her. She knew. Logan had deliberately spared her, twice now.
"…Excadrill!"
She remembered. Panic surged as she thought of her Pokémon. Iris stumbled to search through the wreckage, ignoring the rain-soaked clothes clinging to her and the tears mingling with raindrops on her face.
She soon found her Excadrill. A short while ago, it had been proud and confident, roaring defiantly at Logan. Now it lay sprawled on the ground, barely twitching.
Its once bright, fearless eyes were now full of terror. When it heard Iris's voice, it didn't respond—only whimpered pitifully, body shaking uncontrollably, as though its spirit itself had been broken.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… It's all my fault. I was too weak, too arrogant… and you all suffered because of me…"
Iris collapsed forward, crawling on her knees to embrace Excadrill, Axew, and her fallen Dragonair, who barely floated in the ruined pools of water. Hugging them tightly, she broke down into sobs.
Her tears blended with the rain until no one could tell where one ended and the other began.
Gradually, the downpour slowed and stopped. It had been a sunny day, after all—the storm was only Dragonair's doing. When Dragonair released control of the weather, the dark clouds dissolved into nothing.
Still kneeling, Iris clung to her Pokémon and wept bitterly. The sight was so pitiful that even the referee swallowed hard, unable to raise his voice to declare Logan's victory. Like the rest of the audience, she stared at Logan with an expression full of fear and reverence.
Logan, for his part, was satisfied. That was what he wanted—not applause, not fame, but fear. Respect built only on strength. Let them never dare to provoke him, let them never dream of approaching him. Fear was enough.
He stepped forward, looming over the sobbing girl. His shadow fell across her. Iris shuddered at his presence.
"Do I still need to teach you something at this point?"
Logan clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze cold and detached. No guilt for the brutality, no wild cruelty—just chilling indifference.
"…Wh-what else do you want to teach me?" Iris stammered, clutching her trembling Pokémon.
In truth, she knew. From the start, Logan had been teaching. Every blow, every strike, was a lesson in what it meant to be a true trainer.
And his most important lesson was the cruelest: never challenge an opponent leagues beyond you. It wasn't bravery. It was stupidity.
Her tears blurred her vision. Anger and despair churned in her heart, but deep down, she admitted—it was her fault. Her arrogance, her failure to control her Pokémon, her obsession with that so-called "ninety-nine-win streak." She had walked into this disaster herself.
"It's all my fault… all my fault… uuuhhh…"
Her body's wounds hadn't broken her spirit. But the sight of her Pokémon, broken and beaten because of her pride—that was unbearable.
Logan's voice cut through her sobs, merciless as ever.
"Instead of bawling here, call the doctors. Your tears won't heal them."
He gestured toward the edge of the battlefield, where medical teams had been waiting nervously. Intimidated by Logan's presence, they hadn't dared to approach. But when he beckoned, they rushed forward gratefully, spraying potions and feeding berries to Iris's Pokémon, while also tending to her injuries.
"Hey, Champion of Kanto," a voice called nearby. "Don't you think you're being too harsh on a little girl?"
Logan turned. The voice belonged to Alder, the Champion of Unova. His face wore its usual carefree grin, but his tone carried clear disapproval.
"Hmph," Logan snorted coldly. "This is just an exhibition match. I didn't kill her. But if I don't crush her illusions now, her pride will get her killed out in the wild before she even knows it."
His sharp eyes flicked up at Alder, his tone flat. "…And next, my opponent is you, Champion. You'd better worry about yourself."
"Ha! Cocky, aren't you?" Alder laughed, slapping his chest. "Don't cry, little girl! Uncle Alder will teach this arrogant brat a lesson and get revenge for you!"
He beamed, thinking he had found the perfect chance to play hero. After all, the girl was dark-skinned like him—it felt fated.
But Iris didn't even look at him. She lowered her head, clutching her Pokémon tightly, following the medics out of the ruined battlefield.
Alder scratched his head awkwardly. "…Well, that didn't go how I imagined it."
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