However, the instant the Mud Shot volleys reached Jolteon, it sprang aside.

Pfft, pfft, pfft—

Another three shots chased it. This time Jolteon was still mid-air and all three struck home. With Sheer Force boosting the move, the hits knocked Jolteon out cold before it even landed.

Jolteon crashed to the ground, eyes spiraling. It was unable to battle.

Seeing his once-sleek partner now caked in mud, the pay-to-win kid (Jiro) slumped to his knees on the platform, staring blankly. He hadn’t just lost the match—he’d also lost one million.

“Ha ha—won! Kingler won!”

“I bet on Kingler! I did!”

“Me too, ha ha…”

With the battle over, certain gamblers in the crowd exploded with deafening cheers. Those who wagered on Kingler hugged anyone in reach. Those who bet on Jolteon looked like they’d swallowed mud themselves.

By typing the matchup and Jiro’s earlier dominance, Jolteon should have been favored. Nobody expected it to lose in a type disadvantage reversal, kited out by Kingler. Some rejoiced; others sulked…

Reiji recalled Kingler, listened to the buzz around him, and shook his head. Sure enough—where there’s a battle arena, there are gamblers. He returned Pelipper as well. A tidy million—time to leave.

Just then, a cool voice cut the roar in half.

“Hold it.”

Everyone turned toward Jiro’s platform.

“Ejiro? You’re here…” Jiro said hollowly. The newcomer was his older brother, Ejiro.

“Jiro, that trainer isn’t simple. I’ve already called big bro. First, recall Jolteon.”

“Okay.” Jiro nodded, red light pulling Jolteon back. He ceded the platform to Ejiro to win back some face.

The girl who’d been clinging to Jiro immediately let go and edged aside—right into Ejiro’s line of sight.

“She is?” Ejiro asked.

“M-my classmate,” Jiro muttered, not daring to meet his brother’s eyes.

Ejiro looked from Jiro to the girl and back, put two and two together, and lowered his voice. “Behave. We’ll deal with you at home.”

“…Got it.” Jiro shrank further.

Word that the tall, thin newcomer was the loser’s middle brother shot through the stands. The crowd understood: the gambling wasn’t done, and odds were already being adjusted. Since Reiji had proven himself by winning once, the house tweaked his line and waited.

“Friend over there—what club are you with?” Ejiro asked. He wore round glasses, black short hair, and—unlike his brother—looked studious.

“I’m not with any club. If you want a match, put money down. If not, I’m leaving,” Reiji replied. He had no interest in being a prop for gamblers.

“Fine. Let’s play.” Ejiro tossed a one-million stack onto the arena floor—pointedly making Reiji fetch it.

Reiji didn’t blink. He sent Kingler back out; Kingler flipped the cash up to him with a claw. After a quick count, Reiji stuffed the money into his pack. “Funds received. Send your Pokémon.”

“You’re using Kingler again?” Ejiro was taken aback—his opponent was handing him information for free. Just like he’d tried to belittle Reiji by throwing the cash, Reiji had just returned the favor. If Ejiro still lost… that would be a second slap in the face.

He wasn’t about to pass on an edge. He threw his Poké Ball. Raichu hit the field, cheeks crackling. Discover more novels at novęlfire.net

“Raichu, huh?” Reiji called across, calm as ever. “You take the first move.”

“You—this is the third time.” Ejiro clenched his jaw. Every trainer knows how important initiative is, and this guy kept handing it over like charity. Was he being looked down on? Ejiro would make him regret it.

“Raichu, Thunder Wave!”

“Rai—chu!” Arcs danced across Raichu’s cheeks and lanced toward Kingler.

“Dig. Stack Harden,” Reiji answered.

Same openers as the last fight. Ejiro smiled. Thunder Wave missed as Kingler vanished underground—but that was fine.

“Agility—run it down!” Ejiro barked.

Boost Raichu’s speed.

Don’t stand still where Dig can read your position.

Base Speed beats Kingler’s; even with boosts, Raichu stays ahead.

He’d use the exact kite Reiji used on Jiro.

Reiji read him at a glance. If Ejiro wanted to make it a speed game, then Reiji simply wouldn’t play speed.

The win condition lay elsewhere.

“Kingler, surface—CRABHAMMER into the ground, full power!”

If he wants speed, take the ground away.

“Ku-keh—!”

BOOOOOM— RRRRUMBLE—

Kingler erupted from below and hammered the arena. The whole field bucked like an earthquake. Spectators staggered; fans at the fence nearly fell.

The one hit hardest was Raichu. Sprinting at full tilt, it slammed into a ridge of torn-up terrain and skidded.

“Mud Shot!” Reiji seized the moment.

“Ku-keh— pfft pfft pfft!”

Three shots hissed out. One splattered Raichu before it could recover; then Ejiro shouted, “Raichu, dodge!”

“Close in—Smack Down those rocks!” (Kingler smashed through the broken slabs, sending shards pelting into Raichu.)

“Iron Tail!” Ejiro countered. Raichu’s tail gleamed silver and came scything down.

Reiji didn’t let Kingler trade. “Dig!” Kingler slipped underground; the steel strike whipped empty air.

Reiji had already seen through the setup: make contact with Iron Tail, then fire Thunder point-blank. It was a classic bait—one he’d seen champions use. He wasn’t biting.

Veteran onlookers nodded—solid battle sense. Newer spectators, after some whispers from neighbors, understood why Kingler avoided the clash despite maxed Harden.

Back on the surface, Raichu lost track of the target. With the ground warped, it couldn’t sprint freely anymore. It whipped its head around, trying to read Kingler’s angle.

Half a minute of ominous rumbling later, Ejiro still couldn’t tell what his opponent was doing—until Reiji’s voice cut through:

“That’s far enough, Kingler.”

“‘Far enough’…?” Ejiro’s eyes narrowed. A bad feeling hit—but he couldn’t say why.

Then the floor beneath Raichu collapsed into a wide pit.

Kingler burst from the wall, Mud Shot three-round burst landing mid-air, pinning Raichu against the dirt face.

“Move! Raichu!” Ejiro shouted, but there was no footing to push off from.

Kingler calmly added another three shots. Raichu slid down the mud, eyes spiraling—incapacitated.

Ejiro recalled Raichu in silence. Just like his younger brother, he’d lost a type advantage fight to this masked trainer.

He could only hope big brother had arrived.

Behind him, Jiro felt oddly relieved. If Ejiro lost too, then it wasn’t just his incompetence—the opponent was truly strong. Of course, with both brothers down, he was dead meat when Taro showed up.

The gamblers, meanwhile, detonated again. The house had kept nudging Reiji’s odds higher—Water vs. Electric, then Raichu on the field, then Reiji giving away first move—only to get blown up at the end. Bettors who’d ridden Reiji were rolling in it.

To Reiji, the mixed cheers smelled like cash more than admiration—but money was money. Kingler had fought twice; Reiji recalled it. Time to head home.

“Don’t go.”

Every head swung back toward Jiro’s platform—now occupied by a tall, lean young man who hadn’t been there a breath ago.

Whispers rippled outward: the eldest brother—Taro—had arrived.

Reiji felt the headache coming on. Was this going to be one of those endless “beat the little one, the big one comes; beat the big one, the elder shows up” farces?

“Who are you?” Reiji asked.

“I’m their big brother,” the newcomer said evenly. “I hear you beat my two little brothers and took two million.”

“Problem?” Reiji asked back. If it was a match, fine. If it was pressure and posturing, he’d walk—then pay them back later, on his timetable.

“No problem. They lost fair. But I want a match with you. Two million on it. Interested?”

“Not really,” Reiji said, impatience plain.

“Make it three million. One last bout. How about it?”

Taro had read Reiji’s mood, but today he would get the field back. Money was irrelevant—their family had plenty. What he lacked was face.

[End of Chapter]

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