Chapter Text
Leaf is relentless. Her battle style, swift and hard-hitting, makes the battle fly by—two pokémon have fainted in under two minutes.
You, though—you are undeterred.
Victrebeel shrieks as Golisopod tackles it out of the air, smacking it to the ground. You step forward and back with the motion, as though your pokémon is an extension of your very being. It’s impressive to watch. Victrebeel faints, but not without leaving Golisopod behind with a heavy poison—you retrieve it back into its ball.
The battle shifts and spirals on, your quiet voice rising like thunder.
“Gengar! Sludge wave!”
“Butterfree, up!” You shout; you lift your hands to your mouth and sharply whistle.
Your Butterfree uses—Shadow Ball? Emmet stares as your flying bug-type spits out a vibrating blob of ghostly energy—Gengar shrieks and melts with a nauseating bubble of malignant poison, draining a good chunk of Butterfree’s health. You whistle another sharp command, clearly expecting it. You return Butterfree into its ball and switch it out for another; by the look in your eyes Emmet can tell you’re preparing to send out your ace.
A large group of people in the common rows start chanting and stomping their feet. You step forward, tossing the ball. A buzzing, crackling pokémon emerges with a flash of light—an electric-bug type, Emmet recognizes. It hovers, rising, shuddering with anticipation at your side. The pulsing, rhythmic thumping in the crowd sounds like a heartbeat.
“Venusaur!” Shouts Leaf. Type disadvantage. But she’s not going to give up so easily, Emmet can tell. “Pluck it out of the air!”
Ingo comes back and settles into his chair but Emmet barely notices, perched on the edge of his seat. The audience gasps at once. Emmet feels himself tingling to the tips of his fingers.
Venusaur roars, whipping its vines toward the hovering bug, but with another one of your sharp whistles, your pokémon dips under and dodges, looping to the side, right up in Venusaur's face.
“Bug Buzz!” You boom.
The resounding flash of light is all-engulfing; the stadium ripples with neon green energy. A gust of wind nearly blows his hat back—the bug’s trilling shriek overpowers Venusaur’s wobbling, fading cry.
Then silence.
Your ace hovers at your side as Leaf returns Venusaur into its pokéball with a sheepish smile. You stand, sure and still, as the audience erupts into roaring applause.
“Incredible!” Ingo explodes at his side, launching out of his seat and clapping loudly. “Bravo!”
Emmet sharply stands, his smile shaking. He stares at you waving modestly at the crowd with that big, lopsided smile on your face. He watches you throw your arms around your bug-type companion, nearly pulling it out of the air.
Ingo’s frown turns up at the corners. “Would you like to go down and meet them?”
Emmet’s uncertain why his brother even asked, because he’s sure he can read the expression on his face: an elated, sharp-grinned, palpable yes.
You perk up when you spot him, eyes glittering a warm, familiar color. You’ve put on a track jacket over your uniform and it’s much too big for you. You seem to like large jackets and coats—a bit like Elesa.
He strides toward you and it feels like he can’t get there fast enough. He notes the familiar pokémon flying next to your shoulder—the electric-bug type you used during battle. It sends him a curious buzz and flickers its eye-lights, hovering in place like a drone.
“‘Ello, Emmet,” You say his name and your eyes rest on him with your gentle, dimpled smile. You look a bit battle-worn but as warm as the day you saved his Joltik in the station. “I thought we’d meet again.”
Emmet is a man who runs strictly on schedules. When he finds a plan, he sticks to it, come what may. It is a skill of his he’s very proud of. He follows a scheduled route. Familiar tracks. He ran through, many times, the things he would say to you when he saw you again! Yet as he stands here in front of you, all his words hiss out of his ears like smoke from an exhaust pipe.
Ingo nudges him and only then he realizes he’s been standing here smiling at you like a lunatic.
“Don’t you look chuffed to see me,” You say, laughing into your palm. “Sorry if I surprised you.”
Chuffed. Does that mean ‘happy’? He hopes so, because if you’re telling him he looks like an absolute idiot right now he’ll run off the rails and wreck.
You introduce yourself, saying your name and holding your hand out to shake. “I’m the current Champion of Galar.”
As though the Jolitik in his hat has shocked him, static electricity travels through his fingertips to his face and he comes alive again. Introductions. Familiarity!
“I am Emmet! ..As you know!” He reaches out stiffly and shakes your hand. If you’re startled by his abrupt movements, you don’t show it. “I should be apologizing! I did not recognize you in Gear Station!”
“It’s quite fine. Was refreshing not to be the talk of the town, for once.” You tilt your head, a curious expression on your face. “Is this your brother?”
“Yes!” Of course the man in the matching outfit with identical features is his brother. Emmet takes the social cue to introduce him. “This is Ingo.”
“I am Ingo!” Ingo booms. In his station-master voice. Therefore, a yell. A booming yell that makes everyone in the immediate vicinity turn towards them. “It is a pleasure to meet you! I wish to congratulate you on your win today! You were composed and powerful, as expected of a Champion! Excellent work! Bravo! ”
Emmet does not mind the loudness, nor the curious glances. He gets looks like that on his own, being as boisterous and expressive as he is. So he is accustomed to many things that happen when he and his brother are together. Such as, polite forced smiles. Gentle ‘please-excuse-me’ escapes from conversation. He and his brother are, in two words: a lot. At work, they’re stars, in the battle cars, they’re as respected as the Elite Four. But in social situations, especially with strangers—they’re politely tolerated at most. Good at their jobs, but loud.
Verrry loud.
But you have not startled nor flinched. The gentle smile on your face hasn’t fallen. In fact, it’s only growing wider. You reach out and shake Ingo’s hand as well. “It’s a pleasure, Ingo. Thank you very much!”
You’re clearly trying to match Ingo’s enthusiasm and volume. Your quiet voice doesn’t allow for Ingo’s booming baritone, but it does command attention. A good station voice! Emmet praises your efforts!
Ingo, similarly, seems pleased. He looks like he wants to apologize for his volume—he’s got a pinch to his frown—but your unflappable grin is deterring that away. His gaze trails off and zeros in on the bug-type hovering next to your shoulder. “What type of pokémon is that? It was incredibly fierce in battle.”
“Oh, this is Vikavolt,” Vikavolt nudges you with its massive, sharp jaw that looks like it could snap your head off your neck in one swift bite. You don’t seem weary in the slightest, leaning towards your partner and pressing your cheek onto its shell. “She did wonderfully today. I’m real proud of her.”
Emmet can tell you are verry proud, just by watching you. Your arm wraps beneath your partner’s belly in a half-hug, supporting her as she hovers mid-air. Your gaze grows fond and infinitely patient as you stroke beneath Vikavolt’s chin. Vikavolt flutters close enough to bump your head and shoulder. She buzzes a long, low note, her eyes flickering like yellow light bulbs, shuddering happily when you rub a good spot.
“Vika!”
Vikavolt’s happy cry makes you laugh. Your fond smile lands on Emmet and he has to keep himself from jumping out of his skin, for some reason. “She’s an electric-bug type, like a Joltik,”
“Like a—” Emmet's ears feel like they’re burning. He reaches up and rips off his hat.
Your lips part in innocuous surprise. Ingo groans with a long-suffering sigh, like the woozy huff of a steam engine.
“Brilliant!” You gasp, then grin, so wide it nearly mirrors his own. The burning feeling is getting worse. “You had a Joltik in your hat the whole time!”
“I did. Optimal storage space.”
You laugh into your hand, trying to hide your smile behind your oversized sleeve. It doesn’t work, Emmet can still see it. You keep glancing up to the Joltik buried in his hair and back to his face, expression colored with giddy disbelief. Ingo rubs at his forehead in clear disappointment, likely realizing how happy Emmet’s Joltik Plan has made you. Serves him right for doubting!
Your eyes scrunch up as your cheeks pull even wider. “You’re..amazing!”
Joltik buzzes. Emmet feels bits of his hair stick straight up from the static. He hopes his proximity to the heater in the room can work as an excuse for how hot his face is getting.
“Joool,”
“Vooolt,”
Vikavolt hovers, rising, staring Joltik in the eyes. You watch this interaction with a pleasant smile. Emmet feels something sink in his gut—an omen.
Joltik jumps off Emmet’s head and onto Vikavolt’s face.
A bright, flickering crack of electricity. Vikavolt shudders with a startled shriek. Joltik buzzes cheerfully, sucking Vikavolt’s energy in, as the large, flying bug wavers and starts to sink to the floor.
“Oh–!” You jolt forward, reaching for your partner. Joltik, finally recognizing you and chirping with joy, pounces off of Vikavolt’s face and onto yours instead.
You let out a muffled yelp, stumbling back. Emmet reaches uselessly, stepping forward. Vikavolt whines, eyes dimming, as she lands on the floor in a heap.
Ingo’s voice, jarringly quiet. “..Emmet.”
The large, wide stadium has never felt so small. Emmet feels a large bead of sweat trickle down his forehead.
“I—” Emmet jerks his head between you and Vikavolt, frozen. “I am so sorry.”
“Tik!” Squeaks Joltik. Still on your face.
You reach up in a slow, stilted motion and pluck the fuzzy puffball off your forehead. There are tears in your eyes.
“I am so sorry,” Emmet grins until his face hurts. He feels like he’s going to cry.
You blink dumbly.
Then you double over and laugh.
You’re sputtering, falling over yourself, as Joltik trills at you and clambers onto your shoulder. Vikavolt buzzes in something like exasperation, still recovering on the floor.
“Oh– Arceus. Oh–” You can’t control yourself, curling over and bracing your arms to your stomach, sinking to your knees next to your fallen partner, still sputtering and giggling.
It’s a wonderful sound, as wonderful as Emmet remembers, and now he can hear it clearly without the sounds of loud chattering and squeaking brakes. He watches you as you keel over, clutch your hand to your chest, and try to catch your breath.
“..I am so sorry,” He repeats distantly.
“Please—Please don’t apologize,” You wheeze, grinning wildly, muffling your final hiccups in your fist.
“..I truly question your sense of humor,” Ingo says, but he’s got a twitching, frog-like smile on his face. He wants to laugh too. It’s stupidly obvious.
“Vi–Vikavolt,” You place a shaking hand on your partner’s shell. “..You okay?”
Vikavolt lolls sideways. “Vikaaa,”
You snort. Then slap a hand over your mouth.
Emmet frantically digs in his pockets—pokéballs, full heals—super potions. He falls to the floor next to you and jerkily shoves the glass bottle into your hand.
“Th–thank you,” You take it, still giggling. Your eyes are creased at the corners, and your twitching grin makes your dimples more pronounced. Emmet stares.
In a careful, practiced motion, you stroke the length of Vikavolt’s shell as she buzzes wearily, crawling onto you until she’s propped halfway in your lap. You uncork the potion and tip it, slowly, into her mouth.
After a moment, with a flickering glow, she comes to life again, chirping joyfully and fluttering her wings. You stand as she rises, smiling.
Emmet scrambles to stand, too.
The Joltik still perched on your shoulder, you turn to him. The full focus of your gaze makes him want to bury himself in a hole but he smiles at you regardless.
There is..there is one last step to his plan. Perhaps the only way to make it up to you, at this point. Emmet does not understand people very well. But battling? He’s verrry good at battling, and he likes winning more than anything else.
“Would you like to–”
He cuts himself off.
You rub your hand along Vikavolt’s side as she hovers next to you; you watch him, waiting. It’s.. verry nice that you wait for him. He works around the words, running his hand along the rim of his hat, back and forth, back and forth.
“Come challenge us at the Battle Subway?”
Your eyes shine.
“Champion! Champion of Galar!”
You jolt, exhale, and turn on your heel. A photographer with a large, bulky camera jogs over to you, a journalist at his heels. You send them a pleasant, careful smile—now that Emmet’s memorized your expressions, he can tell it’s obviously fake.
The photographer starts snapping photos of you. “Cha–Champion! Please stand still! I cannot–”
“Pardon?” You shift on your heel, moving slightly. The camera clicks. The photographer groans. “Ah, sorry. I’m incredibly un-photogenic.”
“How did you feel during your battle today, Champion?” The journalist shoves a microphone under your nose. Your eyes crinkle with your pleasant smile, growing wide.
“Confident,” You tell her shortly.
Emmet feels his chest tingle.
The journalist interrogates you but your answers are short and sweet. You are proud of your pokémon. You had fun. What you don’t say, though, is how ready you look to leave: fiddling with your oversized sleeves and adjusting the collar of your jacket.
“Champion, I don’t understand why I can’t get a good photo of you–”
“Maybe there’s a breeze in here,” You say placatingly, clasping your hands elegantly in front of you.
The photographer looks ready to cry. “What are you talking about? That doesn’t affect photos at al—”
Your phone dings. You pull it out of your pocket and wipe off the screen with your sleeve, eyes flickering as you read. You turn away from the photographer and journalist, effectively blocking them out. Emmet’s stare darts between you and the worn-out paparazzi with curiosity. They..backed off? So easily, too.
"Ah,” You sigh down at your phone. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you two tomorrow?”
Tomorrow? That’s a yes! You’ve coming–! Oh Arceus, you’re coming tomorrow? Do you—you don’t have a battle tomorrow, it says so on the massive billboard right above him—but that seems.. verry soon. Will he even be ready? He feels like he’s overheating. Steaming. Exploding.
Right. He’ll have his brother there. Ingo will be there—the second half to his two car train! With their engines running in sync, they’ll never be derailed!
..Probably!
On your day off, you take your pokémon to the park, have a picnic, and battle a few stray trainers before you finally, finally remember about the Subway Bosses when a blown-up picture of them appears on an electronic billboard near the edge of the tree line.
You blink dumbly at the colorful advertisement, where letters spell out ‘Subway Bosses Ingo and Emmet' and then lists the address of Gear Station. It flashes again, right above you as you sit on a park bench and Golisopod snatches a cucumber sandwich right out of your hand.
“That’s right,” you blurt flatly, hand sans sandwich and clutching at the empty air. “..I forgot.”
Vikavolt buzzes a slow, low trill that’s full of exasperation, but she nudges your shoulder with clear fondness. You throw back your head with a muffled sigh. The tail end of your scarf flops over the back of the bench and dangles behind you.
Golisopod trills happily, likely covered in the remains of your cucumber sandwich. Guess you’re going without lunch. At least he’s gotten more comfortable, you reason. Your trip to the park has accustomed him to his new surroundings.
You huff and sit forward, amusement coloring your tone. “..Sorry, Vikavolt. And Golisopod, you just ate the last sandwich.”
Vikavolt chirps in a cheerful manner from where she’s perched on the back of the bench, and you know your friend doesn’t really mind. Golisopod buzzes, happy and satisfied and—yes, absolutely covered in breadcrumbs.
You watch the billboard change, flickering to advertise Castelia Cones—a local delicacy you’ve yet to try. The foliage framing the brilliant blinking lights of the city are muted yellows and browns; the icy bits of mud around your boots crunch as you shuffle your feet. Vikavolt titters teasingly while Golisopod chimes in a few notes that are muffled by the sandwich crusts in his mouth. You watch them fondly as they chitter and bask in the afternoon sun, full from many, many cucumber sandwiches.
“Vikavolt, Golispod,” Your partners turn to look at you, the latter still completely coated in breadcrumbs. “Could you go fetch the others? They’re playing in the leaves over there,”
Instantaneously, Centiskorch bursts from a pile of leaves with a cheerful yelp, bits of foliage scattering every which way. Ribombee flits about, busy stacking a large pile of sticks and brown, crumbly leaves onto Crustle’s back. Crustle snores, unbothered and fast asleep; Ribombee settles himself into the mess he’s created on the rock-type’s stony shell. A nest, perhaps?
“Sorry to interrupt!” You call, cupping your hand around your mouth. Raising your voice like this somehow makes you uneasy. You’ve managed to avoid being bombarded by fans and journalists so far but still..you need to stay cautious and not draw too much attention. “..We ought to get going if we want to battle more today!”
Like you’ve flipped a switch, your pokémon immediately crawl and fly back to your side, cheering and chattering. Centiskorch thankfully doesn’t engulf you in a constricting hug this time. With a beaming smile you give each of them a pat and return them to their pokéballs, hooking them onto your belt under your oversized winter coat. You stand from the bench and make your way to the sidewalk.
You’ve gotten used to Nimbasa city, at least enough to navigate. The roads aren’t as packed today, though there are still pokémon battles in the most inefficient places. Nimbasa certainly has its own type of aesthetic, though-it’s the type you don’t think you’ll ever get used to.
The central plaza’s decked out in every sci-fi trope imaginable. Holographic maps for backpackers and travel-goers, billboards that play music and videos on every skyscraper around, massive glowing arches over the roads, colorful banners hanging from every pole and window, and fluctuating, fluorescent beams of light round the stadiums and theaters.
It’s incredible—so exciting.
The ferris wheel looks over the city, colored with blinking lights. You spot it out of the corner of your eye when you meander over a bridge spanning across one of the plaza’s many canals. You’ve never been on a ferris wheel, not even on the Eye in Wyndon, but you reckon it’s fun. The queue for the ride stretches down the street, full of kids and couples, most from out of town.
The subway station isn’t excluded from the central plaza’s glamor. The building itself has an incredible, ornate entrance with great, shiny marble pillars designed to look like a museum. A balcony draped with banners overhangs the doors which require quite a bit of force to get open.
After descending a long, wide set of stairs that click under your boot’s heels you enter into a dome so massive your jaw nearly drops open.
The inside of the Subway is no less impressive, it seems. You’d ignored it the first time, focused on getting out of the station and into your hotel bed as soon as possible—but now that you have the energy to look around, you never want to stop.
The ceiling's all metal, arched upwards in a massive, shiny dome with overhanging lights that sparkle as you walk. The tiles are shiny and clean. Signs of all languages and colors line a multitude of tunnels surrounding you on all sides—the different tracks, most likely.
“Hello! You, there! Do you need some help?”
You pause, eyes flitting toward the sudden voice. In the center of the dome is a circular station full of..secretaries, it seems. One of them, looking to be a young woman, is waving to you behind a pane of glass.
You approach, careful to avoid travel-goers rushing all about you. Once you make it to the secretary’s window, you try to get a better look at the woman inside. She smiles widely, dressed smartly in a blue uniform and matching hat. She seems to be about middle-aged.
“Hello!” The secretary adjusts the microphone hooked to the side of her head. Her voice comes out of a tiny speaker that’s adhered in the glass. “Welcome to Gear Station! I’m Susie, and this is the help desk. Do you need directions to your station?”
“‘Ello,” You adjust your scarf. You’ve actually got..no idea where you’re supposed to go. “I’m here to change the Battle Subway..?”
“The Battle Subway? Wonderful!” Susie reaches into her cubicle and shuffles through some papers. “You’ve come to the right place. May I have your trainer card please?”
You nod. You dig your trainer card out of your wallet and hesitantly slides it under the gap in the glass. Susie grins at you, brings it close to her, and stares at it for a long, stilted moment. Her eyes dart from the card to your face.
“Ah–you’re–you’re Galar’s Champion!” Susie scrambles for a phone and pulls one off the wall next to her, furiously shoving it to her ear, hissing to someone. “The Champion—no, don’t announce it just contact—yes! Immediately!”
She jolts, as if remembering you’re there, and smiles at you sheepishly. She hangs up the phone in a single jerky movement and shoves your trainer card back under the glass. “Ah—please go to Double Line One, the–the Bosses will meet you there!”
You stuff the card into your coat pocket.
“To, uhm, repeat, it’s Double Line One,” Susie states, fiddling her hands together. She glances up at you and then back at her desktop, blushing. “The first tunnel on your right. Your challenge will begin in–uhm–exactly four and a half minutes..”
You keep your smile pleasant, and bow your head in thanks. You turn on your heel and wander to the tunnel with the sign reading in bright red: DOUBLE LINE ONE.
You enter an empty platform, one you’ve never been on before. It’s painted mostly gray, with accents of yellow on benches and poles. The lights are bright and fluorescent. You look left and right but the large platform is empty of any other people. Odd. Perhaps they get less challengers on Sundays?
Or perhaps you’ve been sent here for something specific..?
You’re startled from your thoughts as a voice crackles to life on the intercom.
“For the safety of our passengers and pokémon, please stay behind the yellow line.”
You blink towards a speaker hooked to a concrete pole to your right. It’s a human voice, likely recorded. You look down at your feet and spot the yellow line at the edge of the platform, just before the tracks. You’re not anywhere near it.
“Welcome, Passengers!” The same voice booms. It’s distinct and strangely familiar. Ingo? “Your train is arriving! Please wait for the train to come to a complete stop before boarding!”
You tuck your hands into your pockets. There are a few black and white posters scattered about with random advertisements—one of which shows a person you recognize, vaguely. Elesa. A trainer, as well as a model–Sonia and Nessa are fans of hers. Your eyes trail from the poster to a splotch of graffiti on the wall across the train tracks.
Again, the intercom repeats: “For the safety of our passengers and pokémon, please stay behind the yellow line.”
You stare at the unintelligible graffiti for very long at the quiet, dark station before a train rushes by with a wind so great your scarf whips at your arms. The screeching of brakes and metal rings in your ears for a good solid minute after they stop. With a strange sense of trepidation, you stare at the two closed doors of the subway car in front of you as you wait behind the yellow line.
With a creaking huff the doors pull open on their own and puff up against the sides of the car. A metal step extends to the platform. It creaks a little when you step onto it, and again when you step off onto the solid metal floor of the train cart.
You walk in. It’s not much different from the passenger carts you traveled in yesterday, but this one has no seats whatsoever. The ceiling handles look as though they’ve been recently replaced, or never used. There is a white line on the metal floor that seems like it is meant for you to stand on. Your boots look very scuffy in such a clean place. You meander to stand on the white line and stare straight ahead to see the bosses watching from the other end of the subway car.
They are watching you very quietly. It’s strange because yesterday they were quite loud. The doors slide shut with a suctiony whoosh that kicks up a wind and bouys your coat around you.
“‘Ello,” You introduce yourself again, digging your hands further into your pockets.
Somehow your slow and gravelly voice cuts through the tension and brings them to life again. Like puppets, they lift their arms in unison, pointing at you and away towards the ground. That you recognize from the tellie. How exciting!
“I am Emmet!” Emmet introduces, smiling so tight it looks painful. You can’t tell if he’s elated, or very, very nervous. “I like winning more than anything else!”
“I am Ingo,” Says his brother. His frown is a perfect crescent on his face. “Do you understand pokémon well? Can you hold on to your principle? Will you go on to victory or defeat? All Aboard! ”
They’ve said their script, just like they do on the tellie. It’s very cool but you need to stop getting distracted.
“The rules of this battle will be as follows!” Ingo straightens, which isn’t really possible because his posture is already so perfect. “You will challenge us both in a double battle! We will have four pokémon total! You will have four pokémon total! The first to run out of pokémon loses!”
So you can’t use all of your pokémon—and you’re against two people at once. The perfect handicap, you suppose, for a Champion like yourself.
“Understood,” You reach up to tug your scarf a bit higher to better cover your excited grin.
Emmet smiles at you, sharp and confident. “We will depart at once! Please brace yourself.”
You nod. You reach into your coat. A great whistling begins and stops just as abruptly, before the subway car creaks and chugs forward, air puffing into the car and brushing back your hair.
“Crustle. Centiskorch.” You throw out two netballs.
“Haxourus!” Shouts Ingo.
“Klingklang, go!” Emmet exclaims.
You begin with a simple stealth rock, courtesy of Crustle. Centiskorch curls into himself and prepares. Your commands make Emmet’s smile pinch. By the look on his face you know his battle style will be a mixture of strategic or hard-hitting, with no in-betweens. Ingo is harder to read. He seems emboldened and incredibly serious. Perhaps he’s more of an item user type. Or perhaps..they both are?
“Haxourus, Dragon Dance!“
“Klingklang, Giga Impact!”
“Centiskorch, slay low! Fire Lash!”
You don't get time to think much, either. Both bosses are extremely experienced in battle; neither have a moment to spare before shouting their next line of commands. You have to be quick on your feet, both hard-hitting and subtle, if you want to win this.
The car erupts into bright, golden flame as your first commands collide. Centiskorch takes out Emmet’s Klinklang Before it is quickly taken out by Ingo’s Haxourus. You send out Vikavolt.
“Dragon Tail!”
You whistle sharply into your hand. Vikavolt flits to the side at the sound. “On your left, Crustle!”
Crustle dodges, but not before hurtling a piece of its stone shell into Haxourus' big golden face. Emmet returns his fainted Klingklang into its pokéball before releasing a pokémon you’ve never seen before. It’s a strange, aquatic looking creature with yellow accents on its rubbery looking skin and it writhes like an eel out of water. Its movements are graceful but also spontaneous and erratic, as if it’s charging power beneath its short, translucent fins.
It’s an electric type.
You feel yourself shifting, stepping forward and back as Vikavolt buzzes eagerly off to your side.
“Bug Buzz!” You shout. Haxorous isn’t swift enough to dodge, being surrounded by the rocks Crustle hurtled at its face. It faints with a roar and a flash of Vikavolt’s neon energy.
The next pokémon Ingo sends in, a Chandelure, by the looks of it, and it takes a significant amount of damage from Stealth Rock. Crustle raises its claws with a pitchy cry, trembling in exertion.
“Thunder Wave!” Commands Emmet. You whistle into your hand—Crustle skitters out of the way and the burst of electricity hits Vikavolt instead, who eagerly soaks it all in.
“Shadow Ball!” Shouts Ingo. Crustle takes the hit with a strangled cry.
“Get out of your shell!” You yell to your Crustle over the tearing wind.
Crustle’s tremors increase exponentially. Parts of its rocky shell fall away as it separates itself from it. The move makes it near defenseless, but increases its attack, special attack, and speed exponentially. If you time things right—
“Thunderbolt!” You command, gesturing towards Chandelure; Vikavolt’s great burst of electricity makes your hair stand on end and your fingertips tingle. When the light clears it’s obvious that the Chandelure has dodged most of the blast, but it’s quivering and covered in electric sparks. You take the chance.
“Crustle!” You shout over the dust storm, “Earthquake!”
The subway car rumbles as phantom stones emerge from the metal floor and tear up the ground beneath Chandelure and Elecktross’ feet. Chandelure, paralyzed, is unable to levitate itself out of the mess. Elecktross can do nothing but flop around, shrieking, before tumbling over into the settling stones.
Both pokémon return to their trainers in a flash of light.
You’ve won.
You blink hurriedly in the dusty cab. There are dents in the floor from the battle. A few of the ceiling handles have been seared off as well. You now see why there aren’t any chairs in here; they would’ve been destroyed.
Vikavolt turns to you, buzzing, covered in soot. She makes a concerned noise at the gobsmacked look on your face.
“ Vika?”
“Wow!” You burst. You press your hands to your face. “Oh—wow!”
You run toward your partner and press a big, sloppy kiss to her jaw. Then Crustle—”you were the MVP!” —you flop onto his big, crumbling back and get absolutely caked in rock dust. He chirps joyfully beneath you. “You both did—so well! Absolutely brilliant!”
Vikavolt knocks herself into your back so hard you can tell you’ll bruise, but it only makes you choke a laugh, loud and joyful.
Ingo’s frown seems very pleased as he tucks his hands behind his back. “Bravo!! Really excellent. You and your pokémon, together, are incredible!”
“Congratulations!” Emmet bursts. He folds his hands behind his back with a brilliant smile. “I wanted to win! But you won. You are a strong trainer! I’m verrry proud of you!”
“Thank you,” You say, elated. “I..I can’t believe I won,”
“You are a Champion, after all,” States Emmet warmly.
Your hands slightly shaking, you reach into your coat to return Vikavolt and Crustle to their netballs. You hook them on your belt and keep your posture relaxed in a way you certainly do not feel. That was the most excited you’ve been in battle since—well, yesterday, actually. All of your battles in Unova have been simply exhilarating so far.
“Oh!” You fall back to earth and thump your fist into your open palm. “I almost forgot,”
Ingo and Emmet watch as you dig through your coat pocket. After a moment, you dig out two small, shiny cards. You approach the bosses, carefully to avoid stray rocks strewn over the floor.
“This is my League Card,” You tell each of them. You hand over two glossy cards with your signature and challenger number on them. “It’s customary in Galar to hand them out after battle.”
The ones with my signatures sell for thousands online, your brain supplies—not that you’re going to tell them that. It feels kind of embarrassing.
Leon had designed your photograph, and Nessa helped. So it looks a bit like a modeling photo, since you’re wearing a short cape and full Champion uniform. Luckily you’d controlled the herd and insisted on it be a photo with your pokémon—so the end result was taken during one of your battles with Leon. You’re in Wyndon stadium, one hand outstretched, your posture poised as Vikavolt charges with electricity at your side. Except—you’re mostly blurry, partway in motion. It’s probably the only clear photo of you around since you can see half of your face.
Emmet holds the photo up and turns it slowly, watching it glitter in the fluorescent light. He lowers it, eyes wide.
“This is awesome,” He tells you, beaming.
The photo is, admittedly, kind of awesome. But it doesn't make you less embarrassed. You smile back and tug sheepishly at your scarf.
“Very cool.” Nods Ingo. “I see why this is a tradition in Galar. It must be nice to have photographs of all the trainers you have battled. Emmet and I will give you our cards as well.”
At Ingo’s announcement, both twins reverently tuck the league cards inside their uniform coats, which makes your grin widen. They dig through their pockets and you watch, curious, as they each come across what they’re looking for.
They hand you what seem to be two business cards.
You reach out and take them in your hands. There’s an obvious stock photo of a train printed small above their numbers and names. You chuckle. “These are great,”
The train rumbles on the tracks and you adjust your weight to keep from falling over.
“I would like to–!”
You blink, pocketing the cards. Emmet, who’s just spoken, has cut himself off and is adjusting his hat. You stare at him and wait—he seems to be working words around in his mouth.
Ingo elbows him in the side. Very obviously.
“—I would like to apologize.”
“For what—?” A beat. “..Oh.”
“My Joltik exhibited poor manners.” Emmet runs his hand along the rim of his hat, back and forth, back and forth again. He’s looking at everything but you. “I am at fault, as her trainer. So I am sorry. For my actions.”
You reach up and hide your smile behind your sleeve. When you do, Emmet ducks his head and pulls the brim of his hat over his eyes.
“..You don’t need to apologize.” Your grin spreads wider, because—really, he doesn’t. That was genuinely the funniest thing that’s ever happened to you in your life. Perhaps he can tell you’re amused, because every time he glances up at you under the rim of his hat, he stares back down at the floor with a flush on his face.
“..Regardless, I would like to make it up to you.” Emmet stops fiddling with his hat to fold his hands behind his back, his gaze locked at his feet. “..Would you like to join us for a coffee break?”