In a corner of the arena, Honki's forehead bulged with veins. He pointed at his younger brother, Honmura, who was still flailing about on the field, and spat out a spray of saliva.
"You idiot! Just you wait! See how I deal with you later! Still playing the fool? You think I can't tell?"
Honki was so angry his lungs felt like they were about to explode.
Those little tricks might fool an amateur, but how could they possibly be hidden from him, the older brother?
At the same time.
Inside the central monitoring room of the Ever Grande Conference.
Dozens of high-definition screens divided the walls, presenting every corner of the arena in minute detail.
Drake, the highly respected Elite Four member, was currently leaning back in a leather chair at the main control console without any regard for his image, legs crossed in a relaxed posture.
His gaze didn't fall on the intense Pokémon clash on the main screen; instead, it was locked onto an inconspicuous corner sub-screen.
On the screen, Ariel's Malamar moved with an ethereal grace. During a seemingly ordinary dodge, those hypnotic lamp-like eyes dimmed for a split second.
Almost at the same moment, on another screen, Honmura's movements suddenly stiffened.
It was too fast and too well-hidden.
That Confusion attack was invisible and intangible, coming from a bizarre angle. It was like the most delicate cut under a surgeon's scalpel, accurately hitting Honmura's head.
"Heh."
A low chuckle escaped Drake's throat. Then, the laughter grew louder, eventually turning into an unmasked, hearty laugh.
"Hahahaha! As expected of my disciple! Well done!"
The laughter echoed in the quiet monitoring room, carrying a sense of satisfaction and appreciation.
Drake had a complete report on how much grievance Ariel had endured and how many disgusting things he had encountered during the Ever Grande Conference.
If someone trips you up, you have to pay them back silently like this.
If it were his younger self with his fiery temper, he probably would have rushed up to start a fight long ago. He didn't have this kid's level of forbearance and craftiness.
Yes, craftiness.
But Drake liked this craftiness!
"The angle of that Confusion attack, tsk tsk, it was really devious. Even I almost didn't see it clearly. In just a blink of an eye, the job was done."
Drake muttered to himself, then turned his head. His large, fan-like hand slammed down heavily on the shoulder of a Middle-aged man next to him with a "thud."
"Little brother, don't you agree?"
The man he slapped was none other than Honki and Honmura's master, Master Yamato.
As one of the organizers of this Ever Grande Conference and possessing the strength of an Elite Four Candidate, he was a figure of some importance in the outside world.
But at this moment, under Drake's seemingly light slap, Master Yamato's entire face scrunched up like a bitter melon.
He felt like he hadn't just been slapped, but had been rammed in the waist head-on by a Drednaw.
Half of his body was numb.
Lord Drake... you call this "little brother"?
At my age, I could be your grandson!
Master Yamato wailed in his heart, but he didn't dare show a hint of it on his face.
His head was buzzing now, completely blank.
It's over.
Everything is over.
That worthless disciple of his, and his even more worthless brother—what a massive hole they had dug!
Of all the people to provoke, they had to provoke Drake's personal disciple!
Who was Drake? A member of the League's Elite Four! The Dragon-type Elite! The man standing at the very top of the pyramid in the entire Hoenn region!
His disciple was basically a crown prince!
Tripping up the crown prince—were they tired of living?
"Dra... Lord Drake..."
Master Yamato's Adam's apple bobbed as he forced out a smile that looked worse than crying.
"Your... your disciple... is truly... truly... decisive in action and strikingly handsome! Haha, haha..."
He could only follow Drake's lead. Besides praising him, what else could he do?
"Oh?"
Drake raised an eyebrow, seemingly pleased with the answer, and slapped Master Yamato on the back again, with even more force than before.
"Thud!"
Master Yamato staggered, nearly failing to keep his footing.
He felt like his internal organs had been shifted out of place.
"You have good eyes."
Drake nodded in satisfaction and tilted his chin slightly toward the main console, pointing at a bright red virtual "Delete" button on the screen.
"Delete it yourself."
Three simple words, devoid of any emotion.
But Master Yamato's scalp tingled when he heard them.
The meaning was too obvious.
Do it yourself: destroy the evidence of my disciple's dirty move and keep this matter buried in your stomach.
Master Yamato didn't dare hesitate for a second. He practically crawled to the console. Because of his nervousness, his fingers trembled, and he had to tap the virtual keyboard several times before shakily dragging that segment of the recording into the trash and pressing permanent delete.
"Confirm deletion?"
"Confirm!"
As the data stream was completely pulverized, Master Yamato felt that mountain-heavy gaze on his back move away.
His entire body went limp, and cold sweat had already soaked the clothes on his back.
At this moment, there was only one thought in his mind.
Pray.
Pray that his precious disciple and that idiot brother of his would absolutely, positively not cause any more trouble for him!
Otherwise, next time, what Lord Drake slapped might not be his shoulder.
...
Meanwhile, outside Honmura's room.
Honki's footsteps were hurried and heavy, like an enraged Tauros. Each step on the floor made a dull "thud-thud" sound.
A fire was suppressed in his chest, burning so hot his internal organs ached.
While he was walking, the large screens were still looping the highlights of the day's matches.
When he saw the recording of Honmura being thrashed by Ariel, the vague looks of sympathy and ridicule from the surrounding passersby were like needles pricking his entire body.
He lost.
That worthless brother, using the Blaziken he was most proud of, actually lost!
And it was a crushing defeat! He didn't even manage to touch a single hair on the opponent's Pokémon!
This was no longer a matter of winning or losing; this was a disgrace! A disgrace to him, Honki!
Bang—!
With a loud bang, the door to Honmura's room was kicked open by him, wood splinters flying everywhere.
The remains of the door lock hung weakly on the frame, swaying.
"You brat!"
Honki's roar exploded in the room. He rushed in like a gust of wind, his gaze immediately locking onto the figure on the bed.
Honmura was wearing his contestant uniform, sitting blankly on the edge of the bed. His eyes were lifeless, staring straight at a point in the void, with a suspicious trail of glistening saliva hanging from the corner of his mouth.
Seeing this pathetic state, the fire in Honki's heart surged even higher.
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