The moment Dominic's announcement sank in, a spark of excitement crossed the faces of nearly everyone in the room.
Class One already had the strongest overall Trainer roster in Imperial City High School, which meant the school team would naturally draw most of its members from their class. On top of that, the High School League wasn't just a competition — it was a showcase. Strong results, or even a single standout performance, could be enough to attract early recruitment offers from top-tier institutions. For most students, those two things alone were more than enough reason to pay attention.
The High School League had always been the clearest path for new Trainers without prominent family names to make a name for themselves. Across the East-Huang Alliance, it had launched the careers of countless Trainers who started with nothing but their Pokémon and their own determination.
"I wonder how many spots are even available on the school team," someone muttered under their breath, eyes drifting to the right-hand corner of the classroom.
That was where David and his group sat. David's seat in particular — back row, window side — was the kind of spot that practically announced itself. And everyone already knew that David was as good as guaranteed a place on the team, likely as captain. His group of five would probably fill five of the available roster spots between them. The real question was how many were left for everyone else.
The format of this year's High School League was reportedly a bit different from previous years, and nobody seemed to know yet whether the roster size had changed along with it. If the number of available spots was too small, competing for one might not be worth the time.
David, as if he'd already read the room, spoke up before anyone had to ask.
"Ten main roster spots, fifteen substitute slots. Twenty-five in total." He said it plainly, narrowing his eyes just slightly. "Plenty of room. Everyone should feel confident heading out there."
He'd found out from his parents earlier — Dominic hadn't mentioned the numbers yet, but it wasn't exactly a closely guarded secret. The format had changed this year, and with it, the number of available spots had gone up considerably from previous years. No reason to keep it to himself.
The reaction was immediate. A ripple of surprise ran through the class, followed quickly by relief. Twenty-five spots was a lot more than most of them had been expecting.
Then the thinking started.
With David's group of five essentially locked in, that left five main roster positions genuinely open. Add in a few Class One students from strong backgrounds and there might still be main spots to fight for. Classes Two and Three each had a handful of talented Trainers as well — maybe one or two who could realistically push for a starting position.
And even if a main spot was out of reach, a substitute slot was far from worthless. In early rounds against weaker opponents, substitutes were often the ones sent out to battle. Later in the tournament, if a main roster Trainer's Pokémon were too injured to continue, or their type matchups were simply unfavourable, a substitute could step up. A strong performance in those moments had historically been enough to catch the attention of university scouts. Substitute or not, the opportunity was real.
For a moment, the room buzzed quietly with the sound of people sizing each other up. Eyes moved from desk to desk. Small groups leaned together, voices low.
"All right, settle down." Dominic hadn't spoken again, but the class monitor didn't need him to.
Willow stood up from her seat and calmly took charge of the situation before it could get further out of hand.
"If you're planning to register for the selection, come sign your name now and then head to the sports field. If you're not participating, you can watch from the sidelines or stay in here for self-study."
Considering she had been class monitor for two and a half years, it wasn't surprising that the room responded to her immediately. The noise dropped off, and within moments, a queue had formed at her desk. Students stepped up one by one, wrote their names down, and then headed for the door in small clusters, eager to get moving.
Even a few who hadn't planned to register at all ended up following the crowd toward the sports field. Free Pokémon battles were free Pokémon battles — missing half a morning of classroom study wasn't exactly a hardship under the circumstances.
The classroom emptied out quickly. A handful of students stayed behind, but apart from them, the room fell quiet.
Over in the corner where the Sakura exchange students sat, Jingūji Yoira was still in her chair. She glanced at her two companions, expression bright and curious.
"So — are we going to watch?"
She seemed genuinely eager to see what would happen, showing no particular sign that the crushing defeat she'd suffered earlier in the week was weighing on her.
Kuki Genichi, sitting beside her, kept his eyes forward and continued spinning his pen between his fingers.
"What's the point? There's nobody worth watching out there. Except for that one, and we already know what he can do."
His mood was not difficult to read. He had been the first to step up against David, and he had been swept aside before he'd even had a chance to do anything meaningful. The scolding from his elders that followed over the phone had made a poor situation considerably worse. He had no particular interest in watching other people's battles right now.
There was also the matter of his position within the group. He, Jingūji Yoira, and Amatsuki Rosa all came from the six great families of Kyoto, but that was where the similarities ended. The gap between their respective standings was real.
The Jingūji family occupied a unique role within the Heavy Sakura Alliance — their responsibility was to oversee the sacred rites and maintain the bonds with the legendary Pokémon and Secret Realm Guardians housed within the alliance's shrines. By tradition, the head of each generation of the Jingūji family carried the title of Grand Priestess. Jingūji Yoira was one of the candidates being groomed for that position.
Amatsuki Rosa's situation was even more straightforward. She was the sole daughter of the Amatsuki family head. There was no ambiguity about her place. That was precisely why she, not anyone else, had been the one actually leading this exchange group from the beginning.
Kuki Genichi, for his part, was unquestionably talented. He was widely considered among the most promising of his generation within the Kuki family. But he had brothers — several of them — all competing for the same inheritance, the same recognition, the same standing in the eyes of the family elders.
Neither of the two young women beside him had to worry about that kind of pressure. He did. Coming to Cloudspire and returning with a humiliation of this scale had cost him standing he couldn't easily recover. Back home, behind closed doors, his brothers were probably enjoying themselves over it.
"Go."
Amatsuki Rosa answered Jingūji Yoira's question in a single word. She was already standing before she said it, and she walked out of the classroom without looking back.
"Ah — wait, Rosa!"
Jingūji Yoira scrambled up from her chair and hurried after her. The other exchange students from the Amatsuki and Jingūji families fell into step behind them almost immediately.
Kuki Genichi watched them go, his brow creased, the pen still turning slowly in his fingers.
A few seconds passed.
"...Fine. Let's go."
He set the pen down, stood up, and followed. The remaining students from his side of the group exchanged looks and quietly did the same.
The classroom was silent again.
Out on the sports field, the scene was entirely different. The space had filled up fast. Temporary battle arenas had been assembled across the grounds, neatly arranged and ready to go. Most of the people now crowding the area weren't there to compete — they were there to watch. The news that the Battle Major was holding school team tryouts for the High School League had made its way to every corner of the school before the morning was half over.
Students from other majors, drawn in by the noise and the promise of something more interesting than their coursework, had begun drifting over in ones and twos. It reached the point where the principal simply made a decision: for today, any student who wanted to attend, regardless of their major, was free to do so.
David stood near the edge of the field, hands in his pockets, looking at the equipment laid out in front of the arenas.
He tilted his head slightly, rubbing his chin with one hand.
"Hang on — what are those machines?"
He stared at the devices, a faint sense of familiarity nagging at him.
What exactly were they for?