Kanto Region, Mt. Moon—

On the windswept plateau, cold gales howled endlessly across the mountain peak. The frigid air carried a sharp bite, making the towering summit feel all the more desolate. Standing tall against the wind, Logan, draped in the Champion’s Cloak, faced the tempest without flinching.

The long coat fluttered violently, snapping against the storm, while his half-length hair streamed like black fire in the gale. His hands rested calmly in the pockets of his inner jacket, leaving the wide sleeves of the Champion’s Cloak hanging empty. The high collar parted slightly at the chest, baring his collarbone to the wind—a lone figure exuding both majesty and solitude.

The cloak itself bore intricate embroidery of a dragon, sewn by the League’s finest artisans—a masterpiece of symbolism and craft. Along the collar, inset in two neat rows, gleamed all eight Kanto Gym Badges, trophies of Logan’s past victories. They shimmered faintly in the mountain’s chill light, whispering of conquests already achieved.

“HAH!!”

From the plateau ahead came the explosive thrum of fists meeting flesh, heavy sounds booming like muffled thunder. Two figures clashed at blinding speed, their movements so sharp and swift that fleeting afterimages lingered in the air. Each collision disturbed the atmosphere itself, shaking the winds into violent ripples.

“RAAAAAHHHH—!”

One of the fighters let out a rising, primal roar. Just a short distance away, another man stood barefoot, clad in plain clothing. His bronzed body rippled with corded muscle, and in his calloused hands spun a pair of nunchaku, each swing carving through the air like a hurricane. The weapon blurred, leaving streaks of afterimages behind.

This was none other than Bruno—one of the Kanto Elite Four!

“Return, Machamp! You’re done for now—your turn, Hitmonchan!”

With a sudden motion, Bruno’s nunchaku extended, revealing that its ends were in fact mounted with Poké Balls. The weapon shot outward, the ball striking one of the battling afterimages with unerring precision—recalling the exhausted Pokémon in a flash of red.

At the same time, Bruno pivoted with a thunderous stomp, the other end of the nunchaku snapping outward. The ball burst open mid-flight, unleashing his next fighter—Hitmonchan, fists glowing as it leapt into combat.

The fight resumed instantly, its rhythm unbroken.

Logan, meanwhile, spoke no commands. His expression was calm but grave, his footwork nimble and precise as he wove in sync with Bruno. He didn’t need to shout—the power of a Dragon Master bound his emotions directly to his partner, Garchomp. With only intent and feeling, Logan guided the dragon into the perfect responses, every strike and dodge flowing in seamless unity.

“STOP!”

At last, after another earth-shaking clash, the fighters disengaged. Bruno raised a hand sharply, calling for a halt.

“What’s wrong, Bruno? You don’t want to keep going?” Logan exhaled slowly, his mind and body both taxed. The battle had demanded utter concentration, leaving his brain humming with exhaustion.

Across from him, Bruno was drenched in sweat, his bronze skin gleaming under the thin mountain sunlight. His massive muscles shone as though carved from stone.

Logan’s Champion’s Cloak, however, remained immaculate. The advanced weave of the League’s finest tailors wasn’t just regal in appearance—it absorbed heat, wicked sweat, and kept its wearer perfectly balanced in temperature. No matter how fierce the combat, Logan seemed untouched, composed, invincible.

“HAHAHA! There’s no need to continue, Logan. It’s been a year and a half—you’ve mastered every one of my fighting techniques. Even the Ultimate Secret of Steel Fist is yours. There’s nothing left I can teach you!”

Bruno shook his head, breaking into hearty laughter.

Logan’s heart eased at those words, a weight lifting.

For the past year and a half, he hadn’t lived solely atop Mt. Moon training with Bruno—but those grueling sessions had pushed him harder than anything else. Only he knew how much pain, sweat, and endurance it had cost.

“The Secret of Steel Fist and the Secret of Gentle Flow… the twin pillars of Fighting mastery. My old comrade—my junior brother—chose the path of softness, but you… Logan, you’re like me. A man’s man. For you, steel is the way. The hard path. The straight path. And you’ve mastered it.”

Bruno plopped down cross-legged on the ground, his tone easy and proud.

“From knowing absolutely nothing of martial arts, to now mastering every technique and ultimate form of Fighting… Your effort has been relentless, your spirit indomitable. You are worthy of being called Champion.”

Logan was deeply moved by his praise.

In both lives—past and present—he had known nothing of martial combat. Training Pokémon was where his natural genius shone, almost like he’d been gifted a cheat by fate itself. But in martial arts? He had no shortcuts. No inborn gifts.

He had built himself from the ground up. With nothing but grit, perseverance, and countless trials, he had achieved the impossible: he had learned all of Bruno’s life’s work, distilled from over thirty years of blood and bone.

Compared to the victories he’d achieved through talent and power, this success tasted far sweeter. Because this was proof—Logan himself was strong. Not just his Dragon Master’s aura. Not just his gifts. But his will. His body. His own two fists.

He had transcended himself.

Over this year and a half, Bruno had also taught him how to build and temper his body. Once, Logan couldn’t even keep up with a morning run. Now, his physique was honed—solid muscle beneath a lean frame. He wasn’t as monstrous as Bruno, but his body had been reforged. A living weapon.

With this control, Logan thought back to past battles—like the disaster in Saffron. Had he been this strong then, he wouldn’t have been thrown helplessly from Garchomp’s back by the impact of an enemy’s attack. He would have held his ground. Stood tall.

If trainers were allowed to battle without Pokémon… Logan knew, with a thrill of confidence, he could defeat almost anyone. Only physical titans like Bruno himself would still outmatch him.

Though Bruno often dismissed the title of “teacher,” Logan had already taken him as one in his heart. Bruno had held nothing back, shared every secret, every technique. He had filled the hole in Logan’s armor—his one true weakness.

“Sit. Rest a while.” Bruno chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow. “If you and I fought all-out now, even I couldn’t beat you. I used to scoff at the League’s Champion title. But if every Champion were like you? The world would have no choice but to respect it! HAHAHA!”

He lifted a water flask, gulped deep, then poured the rest over his head, water streaming across the sculpted ridges of bronze muscle.

“Can’t believe it’s been a year and a half already. With you as my sparring partner, I finally broke through the plateau I’d been stuck at for years. For that, Logan—I should be thanking you!”

Bruno set his hands on his knees, gazing into the mountain winds with a rare note of reflection in his voice.

——————–

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