Just as Nathan was about to give a command, a sudden release of gas filled the cage.
The gas was quickly inhaled by both Mewtwo and the opposing Pokémon.
"This gas is messing with my mood,"
Mewtwo said to Nathan, communicating telepathically—no one else could hear it.
"Can you still stay in control?"
Nathan asked.
"It doesn't affect me much. But I'd say my opponent has probably entered a berserk state,"
Mewtwo replied.
Just as Mewtwo finished speaking, the opposing Pokémon moved.
The crowd erupted into cheers—another exhilarating deathmatch was about to begin!
But the next moment left everyone stunned.
There was no so-called "deathmatch."
With a single finger point from Mewtwo, the opposing Pokémon was instantly suspended mid-air, unable to move.
"What the hell?! Wasn't this supposed to be an evenly matched death battle?"
"Are you kidding me?! Give me back my money!"
The whole arena erupted in chaos, with everyone shouting and demanding refunds.
This underground deathmatch arena made its money off of gambling bets.
Without them, how else would it turn a profit?
They had promised an equal-level battle. Now this sudden turn of events had completely infuriated the spectators.
In the control room, once the situation was noticed, security was immediately dispatched to clear the crowd.
As for the bets? Naturally, they'd be refunded.
Soon, large numbers of security personnel began clearing the spectators.
Amid a storm of curses and complaints, the crowd was driven out one by one.
In no time, only the security staff and Nathan remained in the arena.
"Kid, you came here looking for trouble, didn't you?"
A man in a leather jacket stepped up to the cage and stared at Nathan.
"You got that right. I'm definitely here to cause trouble,"
Nathan replied with a cold snort.
The man was stunned. He hadn't expected Nathan to admit it so directly.
Didn't this kid understand the situation? He was surrounded by dozens of people—so what if he had a strong Pokémon?
No way they'd lose to one guy!
"Kill him! He cost us a fortune in losses! Kid, you're not walking out of here today."
As the leather-jacketed man shouted, everyone around released their Pokémon.
These Pokémon were nowhere near the level of those in the military—or even those used by the Dark Organizations.
At least the Dark Organizations had brought 10–20 Elite-class Pokémon when dealing with Nathan.
But these guys?
It was honestly pitiful.
The strongest among them belonged to the leather-jacket man—a elite-level Pokémon at Level 59.
The weakest? Nathan actually saw a Level 9 Caterpie…
"Are you the boss around here?"
Despite the mob of Pokémon, Nathan remained calm and asked the leather-jacket man.
"Damn right I am. I'm Grog, boss of the Sandhide Gang. Kid, remember this—you're dying at my hands."
Grog sneered confidently. In his eyes, the worst Nathan could do was summon an Elite-class Pokémon.
Meanwhile, his strongest Pokémon was nearly at Champion level. How could this brat possibly compete?
Nathan could barely hold back a laugh.
Where did this guy get so much confidence? Anyone who knew would recognize him as Grog, leader of the Sandhide Gang.
But someone who didn't might actually think he was the leader of the Dark Organization or something.
"Hey, did you eat garlic for dinner?"
Nathan suddenly asked, totally off-topic.
Grog blinked.
How did this kid know he ate garlic?
"How do you know that?"
Hearing this, Nathan burst out laughing.
He couldn't believe how slow-witted this guy was.
"Hahaha! I was just saying your breath stinks, that's all."
"You mocking me, kid?!"
Grog finally caught on and glared at Nathan.
Ever since he'd become the Sandhide Gang's leader, no one had dared to speak to him like this.
Now this kid was openly mocking him?
"I was going to finish you off quickly. But now I've changed my mind. I'll make you wish you were dead!"
Grog roared in anger.
But the moment he finished shouting, he instantly regretted it.
Because Nathan released his Pokémon.
A Volcarona cloaked in blazing flames.
A Pangoro with an imposing and powerful build.
And the cool and agile Zeraora.
Seeing these Pokémon, even a fool like Grog realized who had just walked into his arena.
Wasn't this the national champion, Nathan Vesper?!
Why was he here—here of all places?!
Grog was dumbfounded.
This was way outside the bounds of normal expectations.
How did someone like him end up crossing paths with this guy?
"What was that you said earlier? Sorry, my hearing's not great. Why don't you say it again?"
Nathan took off his face-covering disguise and cupped a hand to his ear as if he were listening closely.
Grog was nearly in tears now.
It was over. He'd spent years building up this underground deathmatch arena, and now this god-tier figure had shown up out of nowhere.
All of it—gone.
He was doomed.
"Sir… tired? Would you like me to get you a glass of water?"
Grog said with a bitter smile.
As the Sandhide Gang's boss, he had clawed his way to the top and knew exactly when to fold.
"Oh, water? No thanks. Let's talk about your little deathmatch arena instead,"
Nathan said calmly as he walked slowly toward Grog.
Volcarona, perfectly in sync with Nathan, launched a fireball.
It struck the cage bars and, in seconds, melted a massive hole.
Nathan stepped out of the cage with slow, steady footsteps and approached Grog.
At this point, Grog's Pokémon had completely chickened out and darted back into its Pokéball.
As a Pokémon, it knew very well that the ones in front of it were on a whole different level.
"Say what you need to. I'm listening."
Grog was literally crying at this point.
The nearby security guards were also backing away in fear, terrified that Nathan might lash out.
Outnumbering someone only works if you're actually stronger than them.
And this was Nathan, national champion. His Pokémon were monsters.
Even the Dark Organization had suffered under his hand.
What were they in comparison? Nothing.
"Tell me—among all the underground forces in Grace City, what rank are you?"
Nathan had been wondering how to fix the city's corrupt atmosphere.
And now the answer had delivered itself.
Naturally, he wasn't going to let this opportunity slip by.
"Second. There's another group stronger than us—Black Sky Gang. They also run deathmatches,"
Grog answered honestly.
Though in his mind, he had a strange thought—was Nathan asking this because he wanted in on the business?
If so, wouldn't that be a golden ticket for Grog?
"Want to be the boss of Grace City?"
Nathan asked enticingly.
Grog's eyes lit up—a ray of hope!
Of course he wanted to be the top dog.
He'd just never had the strength to do it.
Now that he had this opportunity, he wouldn't let it pass.
He nodded eagerly and looked at Nathan with anticipation.
"Alright. Then I'll give you two choices,"
Nathan said with a smirk. He loved dealing with people who knew when to submit.
"One: you listen to everything I say from now on. Do whatever I tell you to do.
Two: I take you straight to the mayor. Pick one."
Nathan stared calmly at Grog, waiting for his answer.
Grog was silent.
This wasn't a choice—there was only one option.
Going to the mayor? That was a one-way ticket to prison.
Right now, Grog just wanted to vanish into thin air.
"I pick the first one…"
he said, utterly defeated.
(End of Chapter)