“Are you saying if we don’t have one last match, this won’t end today?” Reiji read the resolve in the other man’s eyes and asked, helpless.

“You can take it that way.” Taro nodded, deadly serious. He had to fight, or he wouldn’t sleep tonight—nor would his two brothers. Even if he lost, he wanted to lose convinced; there are plenty of strong trainers—if you refuse to accept each one, you may as well quit battling.

What Taro hadn’t realized was that after this fight, none of the three would be sleeping anyway.

Seeing the other’s insistence, Reiji fell silent for a moment, then said, “Five million. I’ll fight you—for that one match.”

A collective hiss rolled through the crowd. ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by Nove1Fire.net

Five million. The number alone stunned onlookers—tourists, trainers, every passerby within earshot. News of a single bout at five million spread like wildfire. Trainers from the other arenas stopped their own matches and flocked over. People hauled ladders, clambered onto rooftops—safety be damned; they had to see this.

“Fine. Five million it is.” Taro agreed without a beat, heaved a case onto the battlefield…and let it drop.

Thud.

The moment it hit, a visible ripple of greed and shock passed through the masses. Five million was enough to make fools risk their necks. But the one taking the money was a trainer—apparently a very strong one. Most onlookers swallowed their darker thoughts. A mere five million might tempt thugs, but not a near–Elite Four enforcer.

As the crowd thickened, Skinny and Chubbs were experiencing a scene like this for the first time; their legs had gone rubbery. Just standing to watch felt like an accomplishment. Reiji—who had just upped the stakes to five million—was the one fighting.

Awe replaced doubt. Skinny’s admiration, far from shattering, only grew. So that’s why no one had heard of Reiji before—he’d been keeping low. When he stepped out, it was thunderous.

Truthfully, it was the size of the pot that drew the crush, but still.

Police arrived to keep order. Even the Sailors’ Bar a few blocks away emptied; word of the five-million bout swept through and dragged the regulars out the door.

The bar’s old proprietor came himself, blinked at the ocean of bodies…and then spotted Skinny and Reiji on the platform. He clicked his tongue. Leave the kid alone for half a day and he pulls this. He’d be having words with that brat later. But since Reiji had just sent out Poliwhirl to collect the cash—and the old man had never actually seen him battle head-on—he stayed to watch.

Back at the arena, Taro eyed the Poliwhirl. “You’re using Poliwhirl?”

“Is that a problem?” Reiji countered mildly.

“…No problem.” Taro smothered his own awkwardness, glanced over his shoulder at his brothers: So, was it like this for you, too? He’d come late.

“Big bro, we both lost on type advantage. He even let us attack first…” the younger two muttered, heads sinking.

“Useless. You even squandered that much leverage.” Taro bit off, then pasted on a smile and threw his Poké Ball. His partner burst forth—Electabuzz.

Three brothers, three Electric types: Jiro’s Jolteon, Ejiro’s Raichu, Taro’s Electabuzz.

Seeing yet another Electric, Reiji cursed inwardly. Rich boys, all three—he dubbed them the Pay-to-Win Trio.

When Reiji didn’t so much as blink at Electabuzz, Taro smiled thinly. “Confident, aren’t you?”

“Average. It’s only five million. I can afford the loss.” Reiji yawned, lifted a hand to hurry things along. “You attack first.”

“Heh.” Taro finally understood how his brothers had managed to lose with everything going for them. Five million wasn’t ruinous—but to lose with last pick, first move, and type advantage? Embarrassing.

The stands erupted again—another off-type showdown. Debates crackled: who’d win this time? Wagers flew despite the bookmaker crushing Reiji’s odds as low as they dared.

Reiji, for his part, wasn’t about to tightrope this. He had five million, but losing it would still sting. He’d already leaned down to Poliwhirl before the send-out: no sandbagging—go all out, like we did in the woods.

To most eyes, Electabuzz clearly held the edge. Yet after two consecutive upsets, no one would swear on type charts alone.

“Electabuzz—Thunder Punch!”

“Good. Poliwhirl—Ice Punch.” If the opponent stacked Electric into Water, Poliwhirl could only meet it with frost. No gimmicks; no frills. This would be on Poliwhirl’s execution and will.

Reiji’s Rhino couldn’t be risked here, not for five million. Poliwhirl was his strongest—steady was best.

Yellow sparks flared around Electabuzz’s fist as it bounded over the broken ground. Poliwhirl stood its ground; thick frost grew over its fist, water sheathing it, then hardening to a blanched, brutal knuckle.

At four or five meters, water coiled at Poliwhirl’s feet detonated—stone tiles burst beneath its toes—and the frog launched like a shell, a streak of blue, driving that ice-white fist into Electabuzz’s crackling punch.

The instant they met—whump—a shockwave blasted outward. A gale tore through the stands, toppling rows of spectators. Reiji’s hood blew back; his hair whipped wildly. He clung to the rail to avoid being pitched off the two-meter dais. Skinny and Chubbs wrapped arms and legs around the railing and held on for dear life.

Airborne viewers wrestled their fliers back under control. Beyond the fencing, more fans went down like wheat in a squall, then stared, aghast. What kind of collision does that?

When the dust peeled away, Electabuzz was down on one knee below Taro’s platform, teeth bared, right arm trembling violently, knuckles scorched black.

Poliwhirl wasn’t unscathed—its own arm shook; a sheet of water around its body puddled away, a burst water-wall Reiji had taught it to soften the blast. The thickened ice had spared its knuckles the worst, but not all of it.

So even with extra layering, Ice Punch doesn’t fully nullify rebound, Reiji thought. And the encircling water cuts the blast, but not to zero. To truly blank the kickback, we’ll need Protect later.

While Reiji mapped out training, Taro stared, stunned. “How—how can it be mutual damage from one clash…?” He’d assumed hard trading with an Electric move into Water was suicide. Instead—this.

He snapped out of it. “Electabuzz, again—Thunder Punch!”

“Poliwhirl—don’t hold back!” Reiji barked. “Maximum Ice Burst!”

The outcome would come down to will.

Blue and yellow streaks crashed together again—split—smashed again. Fist to fist, meat and bone and bursting force. The crowd howled; the pure, savage rhythm of it was intoxicating.

After the first mega-blast, the subsequent Ice Bursts were tighter, the shockwaves smaller—clear enough for people to follow the pattern.

“They’re both so fast—especially that Poliwhirl. What’s that explosive burst move?”

“Why does it explode each time? Anyone get it?”

“It isn’t every time. Sometimes there’s no blast.”

“See the water swirling on Poliwhirl after the boom? Every time.”

“That’s its water wall to reduce the force.”

“Then Electabuzz is eating the full blast each time?”

“Not necessarily—Thunder Punch does extra damage against Water type. It’s not that simple.”

“And Poliwhirl’s Ice Punch? Looks way thicker than normal.”

“Probably to insulate against the shock and any stray current.”

Down on the field, Taro had the clearest read. After a dozen brutal trades, he’d pieced it together. The explosion triggered only when fists collided flush, and Poliwhirl was always making it happen—precise timing, enhanced punch, a water shroud to bleed off the blowback. Its instantaneous burst power was odd—he couldn’t see the trick, only its effects: even now, every launch still cracked stone underfoot.

Some kind of combined technique. Electabuzz was using one too—but nowhere near as polished. Dropping Thunder Punch for something else wasn’t an option; without it, he would be run over by that blue surge.

And so Taro gritted down and kept calling it. If the frog wanted to go head-to-head, he’d oblige—with lightning.

[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]

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