The second round of the group stage was set for Wednesday evening. Before that, though, Luke had finals to survive at Metro City University — practical exams for a handful of electives: Pokémon Rearing Studies, Pokémon Battling Studies, and Sinnoh Pokémon History.
Sinnoh Pokémon History wasn't even a contest. Given that Luke had already managed to fool Professor Rowan himself, topping the year's ranking barely qualified as news.
The other two exams fell on Monday and Tuesday — conveniently clear of Wednesday's match. Even so, Luke would've taken any legitimate excuse to skip the tournament entirely if one had presented itself.
______________________________
Monday: first-year Finance Department students sat their practical exam for Pokémon Rearing Studies. A white-haired professor paced the exam room, where four Berry mixers sat waiting, students clustered into groups of four around each one.
The task: produce a batch of Pokéblock. Every group stood tense around their rumbling machine, eyes locked in, terrified of a single misstep — Pokéblock production was a team effort, and one bad move could tank the whole batch.
"Haaah—"
Luke yawned into the dead silence, drawing every eye in the room.
The professor glanced over, unbothered. "Mind the clock."
Luke's group was only three people. Daniel wiped sweat from his forehead, aggrieved. "Bro, didn't you say you already knew how to do this?!"
Bob winced. "How was I supposed to know you'd screw it up this many times?"
Pokéblock quality tracked directly against the number of mistakes made during production — and doing it solo was already considerably harder than working as a team. Bob had assumed his own experience would carry Daniel through. Instead, Daniel hadn't just failed to help — he'd actively made things worse.
"Alright, you two step back, I've got this," Luke said, half-joking. "Go be useless somewhere else."
Bob lit up immediately and practically dove out of the way.
Daniel, on the other hand, kept a firm grip on the machine. "Absolutely not. We're a team."
Luke gave him an awkward smile and let it go.
______________________________
Ten minutes later, the professor pushed his glasses down his nose and examined the group's finished product, letting out a quiet, impressed "hm."
The block sitting in front of him — clear, glassy, a rich orange — was one small step short of perfect quality.
He looked up. "You three actually made this yourselves?"
"Of course!" Daniel thumped his chest. "Pure teamwork, all three of us, blood sweat and tears!"
The professor nodded, made a note. "Ninety points. All three of you pass."
Bob's jaw dropped. Ninety? Even the Pokémon Academy kids down the hall rarely scored that high.
Out in the hallway, still processing, Bob managed, "We got... ninety?"
"Could've been a hundred," Luke said, a little smug.
"Exactly!" Daniel jumped in. "If you'd actually participated instead of standing there, we might've gotten a perfect score!"
"...I guess I might actually have a talent for this," Luke admitted.
Daniel rubbed his chin, thoughtful. "Maybe I should minor in Rearing."
Luke just smiled and said nothing.
The system, meanwhile, quietly flagged something new.
[Energy Cube Craft has leveled up: Lv3 → Lv4]
[Pokéblock Craft Lv4: Modest chance of producing perfect-quality Pokéblock. Success rate increased by 70%. (Your technique now rivals a Coordinator Master's.)]
Luke had only just learned that skills could level up through raw accumulated practice. Lv4 sat squarely in master-craftsman territory — his Pokéblocks could easily command top dollar on the open market. The catch: selling them legally required a professional license, and Luke wasn't about to sink one or two years into a nutritionist or veterinary program just to cash in. For now, the benefits stayed firmly limited to his own Pokémon.
Results came back the same day — Luke's group took first place outright, Daniel still half-dazed by how well it had gone. Bob grabbed Luke's hand, beaming. "Brother Luke, next time I want to be useless again!"
"Same!" Daniel agreed, entirely too proud of himself.
______________________________
That evening, back at the apartment, Luke found Gastly staring hungrily at Koga's scroll — which was enough to send him into an immediate panic.
"Absolutely not — you do NOT touch that thing casually!"
Small mercy: Gastly hadn't finished devouring Blue's Breeding Manual yet. The day it licks that book clean is the day it starts gnawing on a Toxic Experience scroll, Luke thought, and shuddered.
He spent the rest of the evening testing his new skill on some Oran Berries — five attempts, zero perfect results.
"Guess 'modest chance' really does mean modest," he muttered.
Across the room, Gastly had already cleaned out an entire basin of Pokéblock in one enthusiastic sweep.
Gastly: (choking a little) (*⊙~⊙)
"You ate the WHOLE thing?" Luke stared. "You're going to keel over tonight."
Oran Berries, as it turned out, had a stimulant effect. Sure enough, well past midnight, ghostly wails started echoing out of the construction site next door — and reportedly didn't let up until sunrise.
______________________________
Tuesday morning, Luke rushed to campus for his Pokémon Battling Studies final, held at the university's Arena Center — nearly twenty thousand square meters of college-grade battle facilities, fully equipped and thoroughly regulated. Most of the venue stayed reserved for official competitions and wasn't open to regular students; even the entry-level fields required advance booking.
Luke arrived to find his whole class already gathered outside, waiting.
The new gym teacher, Coach Miller — baseball cap, whistle around his neck — blew a short blast and offered an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, everyone, we're going to have to push the exam to tomorrow."
A groan rippled through the crowd.
"I've got another class tomorrow!"
"We had this booked! Why's it getting changed again?"
Luke, sensing a legitimate excuse to skip the tournament forming right in front of him, fought down a rising grin and leaned toward Daniel. "What's going on?"
Daniel scratched his head. "Sounds like the Fighting Department needs the space for extra training and just took it."
"Nothing we can do about that — it's literally their department." He shrugged. "Come on, let's head back and game instead."
Luke was about to follow when a commotion broke out near the front of the crowd. A confident-looking Finance Department student had stepped up to argue. "We booked this slot first!"
"Fighting Department gets top priority. It's in the usage policy."
"That's during official competition windows! This isn't the College League!"
Coach Miller tried, repeatedly, to calm things down. "Everyone, let's not get worked up, we can talk this through—"
"Talk what through? You're just going to let them push us around?"
Just as things looked ready to boil over, a girl with a single ponytail walked out from the venue entrance.
"I'm a girl too. I'll talk it through with you."
Bob leaned in and murmured, "That's Elena — the Fairy-type family one I mentioned."
"It's not League season, sure," Elena said, "but school team members still get priority use of the venue."
"I'm on the team. First year." Her tone left no room for argument.
The whole crowd went quiet for a beat. A first-year on the school team. That alone said everything about how strong she had to be.
"So what, being on the team makes you special?" Daniel called out. "That's YOU, not your whole class!"
"Yeah, exactly!"
"We booked this first, that's what matters!"
Elena's expression didn't change. "Being on the team isn't something I'm bragging about." A faint frown. "Any of you want to beat me for the spot, go ahead. I'd happily give it up."
Daniel opened his mouth, found nothing to say, and quietly backed off.
Silence settled over the crowd again.
Coach Miller jumped in, trying to smooth things over. "Everyone, let's just reconvene later, there's still time to—"
That was when a burst of red light shot out of a Poké Ball on its own.
Gastly hovered there, eyes bloodshot, veins standing out, gasping for breath — apparently still riding out the effects of last night's Oran Berry binge, hours later and going strong.
Every head in the crowd swiveled toward Luke.
He smiled, faint and resigned, fingers tightening around the ball in his hand.
Gastly. You absolute menace.
Don't make me actually do this.