The crowd roared like a storm.
Shion blinked against the sunlight as he stepped back into the stands, the stone benches already packed with spectators. Mila sat beside him, Ren one seat down, arms folded, eyes sharp. Vince lagged behind, carrying a plate of candied nuts and looking far too cheerful for someone who had just watched Kaelan down four entire skewers and tell an ancient myth like it was a bedtime story.
But Shion didn't taste the air, didn't feel the breeze. His eyes locked onto the battlefield the moment they stepped in.
And there she was.
The woman with violet hair.
Loria.
The announcer's voice rang out, crisp over the crowd. "—and in this round, we have the mysterious and powerful Loria of Solares, versus Kosuke of kazahn!"
Shion's breath caught slightly.
Loria.
The name stuck in his ears. So did the image—Kaela, bruised and barely conscious in that clinic bed weeks ago, whispering through gritted teeth:
> "She had long violet hair… moved like smoke… laughed when she poisoned me…"
Shion narrowed his eyes. He didn't know for certain. Not yet. But the resemblance chilled him. Same coloring. Same eerie aura.
She stood tall on the arena's left side, dressed in a long violet mantle with silver-threaded edges. Her hair whipped in the wind like a banner of warning. Her eyes scanned the crowd once—sharp, half-lidded, knowing.
Then they flicked, ever so briefly, toward Shion's seat.
He stiffened.
Mila noticed.
"You okay?" she asked, quiet enough not to draw attention.
Shion blinked. "Huh? Yeah. It's nothing."
But his hand closed around the edge of the stone seat.
It wasn't just her.
It was him.
Across from her stood Kosuke. Calm. Tall. Motionless. He wore no expression. Just that cold, unreadable stare that never changed, no matter who he faced.
Bidoof stirred in Shion's satchel. "...Oh, him again."
Shion didn't answer.
His thoughts churned.
Kosuke holds a Plate.
Bidoof said he's bonded with it.
That's never happened before.
Shion's plan—his whole journey—had always been to collect Arceus's Plates, to help the god regain its strength. He'd assumed they were scattered, hidden, sleeping beneath ruins or locked behind sealed shrines.
But one was in the Royal Academy's vault.
And the other… was held.
Wielded.
By Kosuke.
And Shion knew one thing beyond doubt.
He couldn't beat him.
Not now. Not alone.
He didn't even know what Plate Kosuke had. Just that when he fought, the air changed. That when his Samurott took the field, people stopped breathing.
Shion stared at him now. Kosuke stood still as stone. But beneath that stillness…
Power.
Raw. Unyielding. Controlled.
Mila spoke again, softer this time. "You're thinking too hard."
Shion blinked. "What?"
"You've got that face again," she said. "The one where you start imagining the world collapsing."
He tried to smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes. "I was just thinking."
"You always are."
He looked over at Ren. The older boy hadn't moved once. His arms were still folded. His eyes never left the battlefield. Focused. Watching.
Shion followed his gaze.
The battle was starting.
---
"Trainers release your Pokémon!"
Loria moved first, sweeping her arm forward in a theatrical arc. "Chandelure, burn."
From her Poké Ball came a swirl of violet fire. The ghost lantern spun into being, its flames flickering unnaturally blue, its eyes sharp and hungry. It floated low, humming like a whisper from the grave.
Kosuke's motion was slower. Deliberate.
He pulled a dusk-colored Poké Ball from his belt and tossed it gently.
"Zoroark," he said simply.
A pulse of dark energy coalesced mid-air. The illusion fox emerged in a crouch, fur bristling like thorned shadows, crimson mane spilling over its shoulders like living fire. Its eyes glinted with something ancient.
Shion watched, silent.
There was no roar. No shout. Just presence.
Zoroark bared its claws.
The match began.
---
Loria struck first. "Will-o-Wisp."
Blue fire lanced toward Zoroark, curling like ribbons through the air.
Kosuke didn't move.
"Double Team."
Zoroark vanished. Dozens of shadowy copies blinked into view, racing across the battlefield. The flames passed through three—four—five, finding nothing.
Loria narrowed her eyes.
"Hex!"
Chandelure's body pulsed with ghostly energy. A wave of spectral force exploded from it, catching two illusions and ripping through them.
Kosuke's voice cut in.
"Night Daze."
The real Zoroark spun out of the haze—lower, faster, a twist of movement that ended in a concussive blast of dark energy that rippled outward. It struck Chandelure cleanly.
BOOM.
The ghost-type screeched, flames spiraling wildly as it was thrown back.
Shion inhaled.
Fast. That was fast.
Loria didn't flinch. "Calm Mind."
Chandelure righted itself mid-air, flames steadying, eyes glowing.
Shion's gaze flicked to Kosuke. He hadn't changed expression. Not once.
"Taunt," Kosuke said.
Zoroark blurred again—appearing directly in front of Chandelure in an instant. Its claws slashed in the air, sending a jarring pulse of mocking energy into the ghost's form.
Chandelure trembled violently—its aura unraveling.
"No more Calm Mind," Mila whispered.
"Smart," Ren muttered. "He's forcing her into a slugfest."
Shion said nothing.
He couldn't look away.
"Shadow Ball!" Loria barked.
Chandelure gathered dark energy and hurled it.
"Agility."
Zoroark vanished again. The ball of shadow passed through empty air.
And then—behind.
"Night Slash."
Zoroark reappeared in a blink, claws slicing through the ghost-type's center.
Chandelure let out a haunting shriek and collapsed to the floor, flames guttering.
The referee raised a hand. "Chandelure is unable to battle!"
The crowd erupted in cheers and shouts—but Shion barely heard it.
Loria barely reacted. Her eyes were calm. Smiling, even.
She raised a second Poké Ball.
"Let's make this fun, Gengar."
A pulse of black-and-purple energy spiraled out as the spectral trickster emerged, cackling. Gengar's eyes glowed like twin coals.
Kosuke simply nodded.
Zoroark stood, shoulders rising and falling once, claws dripping shadow.
"Hypnosis!" Loria ordered.
Gengar's eyes pulsed red.
"Counter with Illusion Dispel."
Shion blinked. "What move is that—?"
Zoroark's body shimmered. In that moment, it looked like a mirror—an echo. Its form blurred, and the red gleam of Gengar's hypnosis backfired.
Gengar blinked—then laughed, confused. Wobbled slightly.
"Shadow Punch!" Loria called, recovering.
Gengar darted forward, spectral fist drawn.
"Feint Attack."
Zoroark let the hit pass—then reappeared behind Gengar, driving a strike into the base of its spine.
The ghost flipped mid-air, laughing madly even as it landed rough.
And then—"Night Daze."
The shockwave caught Gengar in the face.
The laughter stopped.
And it didn't get up.
---
Silence.
Then the referee's voice boomed: "Gengar is unable to battle! The winner is—Kosuke of the East!"
The crowd erupted.
Shion felt nothing.
He didn't breathe.
Zoroark bowed slightly and returned to Kosuke's side.
Two-on-one.
And he hadn't taken a scratch.
Shion's mouth was dry.
Two still in Ravios.
And no path to reach either.
He tightened his grip.
What now?
Kosuke's Zoroark had already vanished into its Poké Ball, but the silence still clung to the group like smoke.
Shion sat in place, elbows on his knees, eyes on the cracked earth of the battlefield. His heart was steady—but only because it hadn't decided whether to beat faster from fear or frustration.
Ren exhaled through his nose, his arms crossed tighter than usual.
Shion glanced over.
Ren's jaw was clenched.
He looked shaken—and that was rare.
Kosuke had been the one to defeat him earlier. Shion hadn't seen the match, but Ren had come back from it quieter than usual. Still and heavy-eyed.
Now it made sense.
He hadn't just lost.
He'd been dismantled.
Even now, Ren's fingers tapped once, reflexively, against his gauntlet.
"…That guy," Vince muttered. "That guy's probably gonna win the whole thing."
He laughed half-heartedly, but no one responded.
Mila was quiet. Her eyes weren't on the arena—they were on Kosuke as he exited, flanked by tournament staff, expression unchanged. Not smug. Not satisfied. Just calm. Always calm.
"Do you guys…" Vince started, then scratched his head. "Do you think he's stronger than Sir Ares?"
That name.
Everyone stilled for a second.
Sir Ares—The Dragon Master. A myth walking in steel. The undefeated champion of the old Ravelle tournaments. Personal knight to the Queen. No one had seen him battle publicly in years.
Mila shifted in her seat, eyes uncertain. "We've never seen Sir Ares fight with intent."
Ren didn't answer at all.
He didn't have to.
The comparison was too dangerous to entertain.
---
Another match was already beginning below, but Shion barely heard the announcer. His thoughts drifted again.
Kosuke.
That man had more than strength. He had… presence. That kind of power didn't come from training alone. It radiated from him. Like a legacy. Like a title.
Shion stood abruptly.
"I'm heading to the baths," he said.
"Restroom," Mila corrected.
"Same thing."
Bidoof stirred in his satchel. "Finally. It's loud here."
Shion sighed. "You're not coming. I'm just "
But the rodent had already climbed out and plopped down with a grunt.
"I am coming. Do you know how many off-key trumpets I've had to hear in the last ten minutes?"
"It's the crowd."
"Exactly."
Shion rubbed his temples. "Fine. Just… don't talk."
"I always talk."
Shion ignore the rodent
---
The stone corridor leading to the bathhouse was dim and quiet, a sharp contrast to the stadium's roar behind them. The hall was carved with old Ravellan runes, faded and cracked with age.
Shion walked in silence.
He passed two noble trainers talking loudly about their odds of winning, a bard playing an out-of-tune harp, and a pair of guards stationed near the champion suites.
He didn't stop until he reached the tiled bath chamber tucked near the far end.
He did his business quickly.
Quiet.
Mechanical.
But the thoughts wouldn't stop.
I can't beat him. Not Kosuke. Not like this.
He had planned to win. Not for glory. Not even for pride.
For access.
To the Royal Academy —where one of the Plates was hidden.
But now, with his defeat, that door was closed.
And the only other Plate in the city…
Is in the hands of a man who didn't even need two Pokémon to win.
Shion washed his hands in the stone basin and stepped back into the corridor, drying them on his sleeve.
He paused.
Someone stood in the hallway.
Tall. Cloaked in black. Silver trim.
Face shadowed beneath white hair.
Shion froze.
Him.
Kosuke.
Of course.
Why would he be here?
Their third encounter. None of them planned. All of them strange.
Shion opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
He turned, deciding it was best to walk away, head down.
But the voice stopped him.
Calm. Cold. Precise.
"You."
Shion stopped mid-step.
Kosuke's eyes were sharp. Focused.
A pause.
Then
"Are you a platebearer."
Shion's breath caught.
He turned slowly.
"…What?"
---
Far from the coliseum, past Ravios's merchant district and up a narrow alley guarded by illusion wards, a hidden cellar opened beneath an abandoned winehouse.
Inside, the light was dim—no torches, only the glow of crystals embedded in the walls, their soft pulses creating long shadows.
A door creaked open.
A figure entered.
Long violet hair fell down her back, the edges of her dark cloak still dusted with coliseum sand.
Orla.
She didn't speak.
A man stood waiting inside.
Leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed, white hair sharp and shoulder-length, expression twisted in practiced displeasure.
"Orla."
His voice was ice.
She rolled her eyes. "Hello to you too, Arlon."
He pushed off the wall, his boots clacking against the floor as he stepped forward.
"You failed."
"I fought," she replied lazily, pulling off her gloves. "The guy's too strong. His Zoroark tore through everything. I didn't stand a chance."
"You were supposed to test him," Arlon snapped. "Not get wiped like a rookie. You had the subjects."
Orla's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Ugh. No. I'm not unleashing those freaks in public. They smell like rotted void."
"You think your comfort matters?" Arlon growled.
"I think I didn't sign up to babysit Ultra Beast experiments."
Arlon's eyes flared. "We're not babysitting. We're fulfilling a prophecy."
Orla waved a hand. "You and your prophecies."
"You forget," he said coldly, stepping closer, "that the man you fought holds a Plate. And another one is within reach—inside the Royal Academy. You were supposed to plant the beacon. Did you even do that?"
Orla's jaw tensed.
"I got… close."
Arlon scoffed. "Pathetic."
"Then go do it yourself."
"I have another mission."
"Of course you do."
The tension between them crackled.
A third figure coughed from the corner. The rest of the Apostles—cloaked, silent—stood in a ring around the room. Their faces obscured by hoods, their robes marked with faint sigils of darkness and flame.
Arlon turned, collecting himself.
He faced them.
Voice calm now.
"We proceed with Plan B."