Although the previous two matches—both in process and outcome—had far exceeded everyone's expectations, allowing the audience to witness firsthand the bloodshed and cruelty of real combat, the result was not merely fear or dread toward Trainers.
Instead, it ignited an even greater frenzy.
This was violence etched deep into human DNA.
Men roared hoarsely for the sake of blood and destruction. Women screamed for the heroic bearing of powerful men. World-shattering力量, scenes straight out of ancient myths unfolding before their eyes—such spectacles were more than enough to seize every heart and command every gaze.
Yet in Logan's eyes, these deafening cheers were less about excitement and more about catharsis—an outlet for fear. Because through his actions, he had proven one simple truth:
Trainers are not to be defied.
If anyone felt truly exhilarated, it was the Trainers watching from the stands.
Their eyes locked onto Logan—some filled with admiration, some with worship, some with burning ambition to challenge him… and some, buried deep beneath pride, with fear.
"The battlefield's a bit of a mess," Logan said calmly as he strolled across the arena, now reduced to rubble and shattered stone. "Hardly befitting our status—but I assume the Champion of Unova won't mind."
There was no flat ground left beneath his feet. Craters and broken stone made even standing difficult.
He recalled Dragonair and zweilous into their Poké Balls. Only Eevee remained, perched comfortably on his shoulder, nuzzling his cheek with a bright, ever-present smile.
"Hahaha! I've never cared much about the battlefield!" Alder laughed loudly.
But his slightly hunched posture and tightly coiled muscles betrayed him. His heart was far from relaxed.
Looking at the young man standing before him, Alder couldn't help but smile bitterly.
Logan was like an impregnable fortress—sealed so tightly that not a shred of emotion leaked through. Worse still, that fortress rose like a mountain, towering and oppressive. Just meeting his gaze—cold, detached, merciless—made one's heart tremble.
This was a man seasoned by countless battles.
A man who would never show mercy.
Those eyes told Alder everything: Pokémon or human, anyone who stood in his way would be erased without hesitation.
Alder sighed inwardly.
He was no sheltered Trainer obsessed with league matches. He had survived true crises, brushed against death countless times—and once, his closest partner Pokémon had died protecting him.
That moment had changed him forever.
Since then, Alder had drifted—traveling aimlessly, living freely. Even his Champion title had been won on a whim.
His heart had grown calmer, more detached, as if returning to simplicity—but his strength had declined.
A Trainer's life was like rowing upstream.
Stop moving forward, and you fall back.
Only a rare few could maintain relentless progress for a lifetime. Most Trainers, as they aged and found peace, abandoned life-or-death battles and settled into quiet routines with their Pokémon.
That was the fate awaiting most Trainers.
And that was why elderly powerhouses were so rare in this world.
If strength increased naturally with age, the world wouldn't belong to young monsters like Logan.
Alder knew it.
He was already standing at the edge of decline—not physically old, but spiritually past his prime.
One day, a rising star would take his title.
Perhaps that Psychic-type girl from Unova, who had been eyeing his Champion seat for years.
He didn't want to admit it—but he had already begun to fade.
Still, today, he was the Champion of Unova.
And as long as he held that title, he would fight—for Unova's honor, and for his own pride.
He stared at Logan solemnly.
This young man shone like a rising star, brilliance spilling across the sky, expanding endlessly, threatening to eclipse everything else.
Compared to that radiance, Alder's own light felt unbearably dim.
How enviable.
To be young.
To fight beside one's beloved Pokémon.
To still chase dreams without compromise.
Compared to those who never gave up, Alder felt ashamed.
But he had made a promise—to teach this arrogant brat a lesson.
And a Champion keeps his word.
"Come forth—Volcarona!"
Alder's fingers slid across the Poké Balls hanging at his neck. His eyes widened as he selected one and released his strongest partner.
Logan stopped walking.
He turned slightly, arm bent, glancing over his shoulder. A Poké Ball rested in his palm. When Volcarona appeared, Logan smiled faintly.
"Don't let appearances fool you. Before every battle, I investigate my opponent—their tactics, their Pokémon. I never fight unprepared."
Alder's heart skipped.
This is bad.
Logan's prior actions made him seem arrogant, reckless—perfect bait for a counterattack.
Alder had planned to exploit that arrogance.
But now he realized—
This man wasn't arrogant at all.
He was terrifyingly rational.
"So that's your strongest Pokémon," Logan continued evenly. "Which makes sense. With only ten minutes, any sensible Trainer would open with their best."
"Which means…" His eyes narrowed. "…you already know which Pokémon I'll be sending out."
He tossed the Poké Ball lightly.
"Come forth—Garchomp!"
A savage dragon roar split the air.
Garchomp's feral gaze locked onto Volcarona, which answered with equal defiance.
Logan stood sideways—full of openings.
Yet Alder hesitated.
Years of surviving on instinct screamed at him—
This is a trap.
Unseen danger lurked here.
At some point, Logan's right hand slipped back into his Champion's cloak. Another Poké Ball rested there—unlike any standard design.
Its casing was translucent violet.
And emblazoned across it was a bold, unmistakable "M."
You haven't had a chance to fight in a while, have you?
This Unova Champion will do nicely as your stage…
Mewtwo.
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