Everyone on the beach froze. The delinquents. Serena. Even Fennekin, still sprawled on the sand, lifted its head to stare.
One moment Fearow had been charging Hurricane, about to deliver the killing blow. The next, it was lodged in a boulder ten metres away, unconscious.
Who did that?
"Bullying a Pokémon that can't fight back, and ganging up on a girl who's trying to help it." A clear, bright voice rang across the sand. "Do you three have any shame at all?"
A broad back appeared in front of Serena. She hadn't seen him approach. He'd been nowhere, and then he was there, standing between her and the delinquents like he'd materialized from the sea breeze.
He was on her side. That much was obvious from his words. But something else was happening in Serena's chest that she couldn't explain.
She couldn't see his face. She'd never met this person before; her rational mind was certain of that. And yet, staring at the back of his head, at the set of his shoulders, something deep and wordless stirred. Not memory, exactly. More like recognition. The kind that didn't come from the brain.
I know you. I don't know how, but I know you.
The contradiction made no sense. She filed it away and kept watching.
"Who the hell are you?!" Delinquent A jabbed a finger at Ash's back. "Nobody interferes with the Delinquent Trio! We're going to challenge the Southern Cross and dominate the Orange League!"
"Dominate the Orange League?" Ash didn't even turn his head. "With your strength, you wouldn't last a single move against any of the Southern Cross. I'm not trying to insult you. That's just the truth."
The Orange League was the weakest league structure in the world. It functioned less as an independent league and more as a dependency of Johto and Kanto. No Elite Four. No formal Conference. The Southern Cross consisted of four trainers who served a role equivalent to Gym Leaders in other regions, though their status was closer to Elite Four in the Orange Islands hierarchy. Above them sat the Supreme Trainer, Drake, who occupied the Champion's seat.
Drake was said to be the strongest trainer in the Orange League's history. Undefeated since taking the position. Under different circumstances, Ash would have loved to challenge him. But this trip wasn't about league battles.
The point was simple: even the lowest rung of the Orange League's competitive ladder was far beyond what these three could touch. Their Pokémon looked intimidating to a beginner like the girl behind him, but Ash had already scanned all three.
Hitmonchan was Low High level. Flashy punches, decent experience, garbage stats.
Beedrill and Fearow were Mid Low with stats so poor they'd clearly never been trained, just dragged through wild battles until their levels climbed on their own. High level, zero training. Like a sword that had never been sharpened.
The novice girl's Fennekin was Low level. To her, Hitmonchan looked like a final boss. In reality, half a month of proper training and she could have handled all three of them herself.
"You're looking down on us?! Zitai, get him!" Delinquent A's face was red with fury.
Fearow was down. That left Hitmonchan and Beedrill. Two against one. In their minds, the advantage was clear.
"Beedrill, Twineedle!"
Beedrill screeched and dove toward Pikachu from the right. Hitmonchan charged from the left. A pincer attack, closing from both flanks.
"Pikachu, Iron Tail."
Silver light coated Pikachu's tail. Its four paws touched the sand, and it vanished.
Beedrill and Hitmonchan converged on empty air. Both Pokémon spun, searching, finding nothing. The only clue was a circular gust of wind swirling around them, generated by something moving too fast to track.
A Pikachu is doing this? That's impossible...
Pikachu appeared between them. One Iron Tail, sweeping in a single fluid arc, connected with both Pokémon at once. The metallic crack echoed across the beach.
Beedrill flew one direction. Hitmonchan flew the other. Each crashed into its respective trainer, taking them off their feet and burying them in the sand.
"Like I said." Ash's voice carried no heat, just flat certainty. "The Southern Cross would eat you alive. But honestly, your Pokémon aren't the problem. Your character is. People who treat Pokémon the way you do have no right to call themselves trainers."
He meant it. Strength wasn't what made a trainer worthy of the title. The delinquents were worse than Team Rocket in this regard. Jessie, James, and Meowth were criminals, sure, but they'd never abused a Pokémon. James, in particular, had something genuine inside him. Ash had always sensed it, an upright heart buried under the wrong uniform.
These three? Just cruelty wearing bravado as a mask.
"You... you brat... you'll pay for this!" Delinquent A crawled out from under Hitmonchan's unconscious body, face twisted with humiliation. He grabbed every Poké Ball on his belt and threw them all at once. The other two followed his lead, dumping their entire rosters onto the field.
Couldn't win two-on-one? Fine. Fifteen-on-one.
"Watch out!" Serena started to call his name and realised she didn't know it. The familiarity she felt was deep and disorienting, but she couldn't attach a name to the boy who'd appeared from nowhere to shield her. "Maybe we should grab Lapras and run!"
It nagged at her. Serena's memory was sharp. She could recall faces, voices, details from years ago with precision that surprised even herself. So how could she feel this certain about someone she couldn't name? The contradiction sat in her chest like an itch she couldn't reach.
"Don't worry about the numbers. Fifteen-on-one is nothing. Right, Pikachu?"
"Pikapika!"
Three minutes later, the beach was a graveyard of fainted Pokémon.
Fifteen of them. Scattered across the sand in various states of unconsciousness. One Pikachu stood in the centre of the aftermath, arms crossed, looking satisfied.
The three delinquents sat among their fallen partners, snot running freely, staring at the carnage without comprehension.
"How... all of them... one Pikachu... that's impossible..."
Behind Ash, Serena's eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open, her mind trying and failing to process what she'd witnessed. A single Pikachu had dismantled fifteen Pokémon in three minutes without taking a scratch.
Ash tilted his head toward the delinquents. "Take your Pokémon to the Centre, get them healed, and don't let me catch you doing something like this again."
Pikachu nodded in firm agreement, tiny arms still crossed.
"We'll remember this! You'll pay!" The leader recalled his Pokémon with shaking hands and bolted, his two lackeys stumbling after him.
The beach fell quiet. The morning sun and the remote stretch of sand had kept the brawl private.
Ash was already at Lapras's side. He knelt, placed his hands on its head, and let Tokiwa Power flow into the injured Pokémon.
"How is she?" Serena dropped beside him, worry plain on her face. Misty was right behind her.
"She'll be fine. Fatigue, some surface abrasions, minor internal damage. But these injuries weren't from the delinquents. They couldn't have done this without using Pokémon." Ash's eyes narrowed as his power mapped the damage. "Most of this is storm damage. She got caught in rough seas."
Underneath the storm injuries, there was something else. Burn marks. Gunpowder residue embedded in the tissue. Deliberate. Man-made.
"Poachers," he said quietly. His hands kept working.
Lapras's data surfaced in his mind.
Lapras.
Female.
Water/Ice.
Mid level.
Ability: Water Absorb.
Stats: Attack C (potential B). Special Attack C (potential S). Defence B (potential A). Special Defence B (potential A). HP A (potential A). Speed C (potential A).
S-rank potential in Special Attack. On a random, injured Lapras found on a beach. The kind of talent that appeared maybe once in ten thousand, possibly a hundred thousand, across the entire world.
If those delinquents had seen this Lapras and chosen kindness instead of cruelty, if they'd healed it instead of tormenting it, this Pokémon might have chosen to follow them. Even with their garbage training methods, an S-rank Lapras would have made them formidable.
Instead, they'd kicked it while it was down, and a boy with better eyes had found it first.
Good choices led to good outcomes. Bad ones led to Iron Tail.
"Um... shouldn't we take Lapras to the Pokémon Centre?" Serena's voice was small, uncertain.
"No need. She's already healed. Look."
Ash lifted his hands from Lapras's head and stepped back. Serena blinked, then looked at the Pokémon. The wounds were gone. The abrasions on its skin, the bruising, the dull, cracked texture of dehydration, all of it had vanished. Lapras's breathing was steady and deep. Its eyes, glazed with pain minutes ago, were clear.
The boy in front of her had done that. With his hands. In minutes.
When he turned to face her, Serena saw him head-on for the first time. The face didn't match. Whatever disguise was in play, the features she was looking at belonged to a stranger. Ordinary. Unremarkable. Not the person she was expecting.
But the back was the same. And that smile, the one he'd just given her, warm and easy and completely without pretence, was exactly the same as the one from her memory.
"You're Ash. Aren't you?"
Ash's expression froze.
Mewtwo. Did the disguise drop?
Impossible. My psychic field has been active and stable the entire time. That girl should not be able to see through it. Even a Champion-level Pokémon couldn't penetrate this camouflage.
Mewtwo's voice held genuine bewilderment. Whatever had just happened, it wasn't a failure of her technique.
Ash made a snap decision. He signalled Mewtwo to release the disguise. His real face surfaced, replacing the fabricated one.
"How did you know it was me?"
Beside him, Misty was watching the exchange with sharp eyes. Something had shifted in the air the moment this girl had said Ash's name with that much certainty.
A feeling Misty couldn't name but could feel rising in her chest. Not quite jealousy. More like... a warning signal she hadn't expected to receive.
The source was this girl. Misty didn't understand why. But it was there.
"It really is you." Serena's eyes were shining now, relief and joy flooding her face in equal measure. "You don't remember me?"
Ash's mind went blank.
Misty's head snapped toward him. Her expression said everything: Where did you leave this romantic debt?
Ash had no idea what was happening. When had he met this girl? He searched his memory and came up empty. Which was strange, because a face like hers wasn't the kind you forgot.
People left lasting impressions for two reasons: striking beauty or striking ugliness. This girl was the former. If he'd met her before, it should have stuck.
Unless...
The eyes. Light blue, bright, intense. The flaxen hair. The way she'd stood her ground despite being terrified.
A memory stirred.
"Are you... the girl from the summer camp?"