"The contestants for the first round are—"
Lee Jordan's voice boomed through the air, drawing out the last syllables so long that it teased every listener's nerves like a feather brushing across their hearts.
It wasn't that he was trying to be dramatic—he truly didn't know who the first pair of contestants would be.
Just then, the massive screens hovering above the stadium flickered to life. The faces of all thirty-six participants appeared at once.
A heartbeat later, the images began to shuffle rapidly, the portraits flashing across both sides of the screen so fast that even the spectators' eyes could hardly follow. Every student in the stands, as well as the trainers themselves, grew tense.
"What if I'm the first one up?" Ron stammered. "I don't think I'm ready yet—there are so many people watching today!"
"I think you'll be fine," Harry said encouragingly. "We've beaten a Houndoom before—and the You-Know-Who, remember?"
"But that was different! There weren't this many eyes staring at us!" Ron groaned, clearly unconvinced.
"You two better hope you don't end up against me, Potter."Draco Malfoy sauntered over in his green uniform, arching an eyebrow as he spat out his usual taunt.
Having once faced Voldemort himself, Harry was far beyond being intimidated by Draco. His retort came sharp and instant.
"I just hope you don't run off screaming again—like in the Forbidden Forest."
Draco's face flushed red. "You just wait, Potter!" he snapped before storming off, his cloak whipping behind him.
While the others laughed, the spinning images on the screen began to slow down—until finally, two portraits froze in place.
"Thank Merlin—it's not me!" Ron sighed in relief. Then he turned toward the display, curious who had been chosen.
Hovering above, Lee Jordan's eyes sparkled as he leaned toward his microphone.
"All right! It looks like our first-round matchup has been decided—and what a way to start!" he shouted. "Please welcome—the Boy Who Lived! Harry Potter!"
The Gryffindor section erupted in cheers before Harry had even stepped forward. The stands shook under the roar of applause.
Then, in a deliberately nonchalant tone, Lee added, "Oh, and also—Kelly Ralph, fourth year."
Instantly, the Slytherin stands hissed in protest. Boos echoed through the arena as the green-clad students made their displeasure known.
"Get off the stage, Lee Jordan!"
Kelly Ralph was one of their own—a talented Slytherin who had ranked first in the previous year's fourth-year selection round. To hear his name treated like an afterthought infuriated them. But the louder Slytherin jeered, the prouder Gryffindor became; by now, the lions were treating Lee Jordan like their new hero.
The noise grew so chaotic that it was nearly on the verge of a shouting match. Professor McGonagall's face tightened in fury—words failing her for once.
This was supposed to be a friendly, inter-school tournament. And now? Hogwarts' reputation was being humiliated before the entire international delegation—somewhere out there, their dignity had just fallen all the way to South America. McGonagall could only thank the heavens that Slytherin hadn't started throwing tomatoes.
"They do seem rather spirited, don't they?" Benedita Dorado said with an amused smile to Dumbledore.
By now, Harry and Kelly had both stepped onto the field. They weren't wearing robes but sleek, Quidditch-style training uniforms designed for movement.
Across the vast, empty arena, the two young wizards stared each other down in silence.
The massive central screen split into two live feeds, showing their faces side by side—this time not as still photos, but in real time.
"So that's Harry Potter?" Igor Karkaroff asked curiously.
Harry's name was well-known throughout northern Europe. Even though Voldemort had never spread his terror beyond Britain, his infamy had. Everyone knew that without Dumbledore, the British wizarding world would have collapsed—and that the dreaded Dark Lord had been defeated by this boy. Though his features were determined, he was still, unmistakably, a child.
"Yes," Dumbledore replied with a soft smile. "That's him."
"If I recall correctly, he's only a first-year, isn't he? Don't Pokémon tournaments separate by age?" asked Madame Maxime, puzzled.
Among traditional wizards, the gap between ages meant everything. The magical power of a fourth-year and a first-year were worlds apart.
"That," Dumbledore said serenely, "is the beauty of Pokémon. Age is no longer the defining measure of strength."
As they spoke, the central screen shimmered again—and the battlefield map appeared.
"Their battle arena will be—the Forest Field!"
At Lee Jordan's dramatic announcement, the entire stadium trembled as though struck by an earthquake. In the center of the arena, the bare earth split open, and a lush, towering forest began to rise from the ground!
Thanks to Charles Gold's Expansion Charm, the grounds were far larger than they appeared. The forest arena now stretched out as wide as a real woodland.
The moment the trees finished forming, Kelly Ralph vanished from Harry's line of sight.
And of course, the reverse was true as well.
Looks like finding your opponent—and staying hidden yourself—will both be crucial, Harry thought, his heart pounding with excitement. For the first time, it felt less like a tournament and more like a true wizard's duel.
"The rules are simple!" Lee's voice echoed through the forest. "Each trainer may use only one Pokémon. The first Pokémon to lose the ability to continue battling will determine the outcome!"
Harry's hand moved to his belt.
Which one should I use…?Houndour wouldn't do well here—it's too flammable for a forest. Pikachu's faster than Electabuzz, but Electabuzz is stronger overall…
After a moment's thought, his decision was made.
He unclipped a Poké Ball. "Pikachu, let's go!"
"Pika!"The yellow Pokémon leapt forward, sparks dancing at its cheeks.
Harry plunged into the dense foliage without hesitation.
"Pikachu!" he called.
With a spirited cry, Pikachu bounded up a nearby trunk and began leaping from branch to branch, using the high ground to scout the forest below.
Meanwhile, Kelly Ralph was far less reckless.
He moved slowly through the undergrowth, eyes sharp as he scanned the area.
After a few minutes, he stopped.
"This spot will do."
He spoke softly—and the dense brush around him began to rustle. A faint, metallic clink followed, like something sharp driving into wood.
"Patience," Kelly murmured, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Let's wait for the prey to come to us."
In the dim light, his face was half-shrouded in shadow—but the quiet menace in his voice sent shivers even through those watching the live feed.
High above in the stands, Ron's hands clenched tight as he whispered a prayer for his best friend.
(End of Chapter)