(Grey's POV)

  I lay on my old bed, staring at the familiar cracks in the ceiling of my childhood room. The air was thick with the scent of the floral perfume my mom brought home from work, a smell that usually meant "home," but tonight it just reminded me of the challenge ahead. For a moment, I wasn't a trainer with a Soul Badge and a growing reputation—I was just Grey, the kid who used to study at the pokemon centre to gain some extra knowledge.

  My mind kept circling back to why I was doing this. I'd told myself it was about petty revenge—proving the Celadon Gym staff wrong for rejecting my sponsorship application three times. But the truth was more layered. Erika probably didn't even remember the skinny kid with the intense eyes who'd applied years ago. To a Gym Leader, I was just a blurred face in a sea of applicants.

  I realized, staring at the shadows on my wall, that the broadcast wasn't for a "gotcha" moment. It was for my parents and the people who had supported me. I wanted them to see their investment—the years of scraping by and the extra shifts they took so I could afford the trainers' exam—finally pay off on a screen the whole city could see. I wanted to reassure them they were right to believe in me. But beneath that, there was a deeper thread: I genuinely admired Erika's craft.

  I remember being six years old, sitting in the high, humid stands of the main arena. It was an 8-badge level match, the kind where the air itself feels heavy with power. The challenger was some rich kid with a massive ego and a team that looked like it came straight off a black-market manifest: Arcanine, Ninetales, a Drapion from Sinnoh, Golduck, Rhydon, and a Murkrow.

  He was cocky, throwing insults I couldn't hear but could see in the way Erika's jaw tightened. She looked perfectly calm, but even back then, I was an expert at reading human behavior—I could tell she was pissed. What followed wasn't a battle; it was a clinical massacre.

  Erika was nothing like the soft-spoken version you'd see in a casual interviews or her outerwordly persona ; she was a commander. Her Venusaur was a behemoth— force of nature brought to life. It moved with a terrifying, heavy grace, mastering Synthesis instinctively under the sun. It unleashed a Petal Blizzard, but the petals weren't just for show—they were laced with spores that caused status effects and confusion on contact. It took down his Drapion, Rhydon, and Arcanine back-to-back. The massive frog stood alone at the end, towering over the cratered battlefield. The match had ended 4-6 with Erika still having 2 pokemon to spare, Erika at that time honestly felt she was similar to the Pokemon manga than the anime, and I had developed a massive respect for her as she was the first person to show me the level I needed to reach.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  That respect was why I'd never thrown a tantrum over the "girls-only" sponsorship rule. I accepted it as her gym's culture and moved my efforts toward the trainers' exam. I knew that even if I beat her tomorrow, it would be a hollow victory. I wasn't fighting her main team ,Yet. But I made a promise to myself: I'd finish the circuit, train my team specifically to handle that behemoth, and come back for the real 6-on-6 fight before the Conference.

  The next afternoon, I checked the Pokénet for Challenge Mode data while walking to the gym. The difficulty curve is a steep climb—the first match is a warm-up, but the last trainer is basically a Gym Leader lite with high-level Pokémon.

  "Arena 3," the receptionist told me, her voice professional but surprised I'd actually shown up for the gauntlet.

  The challenge matches happened in side arenas to keep the main floor clear for standard badge seekers. I walked into a smaller, grassy court and saw Jessica waiting. A gym trainer stepped up between us as the referee.

  "One-on-one match. Begin!"

  I was surprised by the restriction. Usually, early-badge matches allow the challenger a numerical advantage, but Challenge Mode probzbly forced a 1-on-1 limit for the trainer gauntlet.

  "Bellsprout, go!" Jessica called. "Shellder, frontline!" I told,

  "Poison Powder!" Jessica commanded immediately

  "Shellder, try the Counter-Shield!"

  Shellder tucked in and started to vibrate, trying to generate the high-speed rotation we'd practiced. But the grass was thicker than the rocks on Route 18, and the friction messed with his timing. He wasn't rotating fast enough to generate the wind pressure, and the purple spores drifted right through the weak water spray. Shellder lurched, a purple glow pulsing under his shell as the poison hit his system. However, one of the stray water jets from his wobbly spin caught the Bellsprout square in the face, staggering the spindly plant.

  "Absorb!" Jessica shouted, trying to capitalize on the poison damage.

  I was disappointed the shield failed—I'd really wanted to pull it off but I need to focus on the match "Forget the shield! Icicle Spear, now!"

  Shellder didn't hesitate. With his Skill Link ability, he fired five multiples of shards of jagged ice in a relentless barrage. Bellsprout was a glass cannon; it couldn't handle the physical impact of ice the size of daggers. It was pinned back against the arena wall and knocked out before the Absorb could even connect.

  "Bellsprout is unable to battle! Winner: Grey!"

  That was fast. I checked my phone—a small notification popped up showing a transfer of prize money. That was the real reason people did this; the payout for the gauntlet was actually decent and each trainer match also gave money, and I could already see my bank balance creeping up.

  I asked the referee to heal Shellder, and she pointed me toward the gym's specialized "Healers"—a Vileplume and a Bellossom. They used Aromatherapy and Refresh to scrub the poison from Shellder's system with practiced efficiency.

  Ping. My phone vibrated. [Next Match: 15 Minutes. Arena 3.]

  I looked at Shellder. He was healed, but he looked annoyed about the wobbly spin. "Don't worry," I muttered, patting his cold shell. "We've got time until the big one to get it right."