Aqua Jet alone was never going to be enough.
The wall of rushing water Whiscash conjured met Meowscarada's Flower Trick head-on, and for a moment the two forces collided in a spray of petals and foam. Then the flower bouquet detonated, and the water column collapsed. The remaining force crashed directly into Whiscash's broad forehead.
It was not a hit that threatened to knock Whiscash out. The impact was blunted, spread wide by the burst pattern of the attack, and felt to the big catfish more like a firm slap than a serious blow. It rattled its senses without doing lasting harm. But that was more than enough to light a slow fuse inside the Water-type's temper.
Whiscash shook its head, furious. Around the field, the last traces of Grassy Terrain were thinning, the green glow fading from the arena floor as the Grass-type energy dissipated. Whiscash sensed the shift and began winding up, preparing to drive both fins into the ground the moment the terrain cleared. One Earthquake, without Grassy Terrain to absorb part of the impact, would have real force behind it.
It never got the chance.
Meowscarada had barely finished the first throw when its free hand, tucked behind its back, snapped its fingers. The motion was small and easy to miss. A second flower bud flickered into existence beside Whiscash, just outside its line of sight. Before the big Pokémon could stomp the ground, the follow-up bloomed and exploded with a sharp crack.
Whiscash flinched hard. The Earthquake died before it started.
Earlier in the fight, against Floragato, that same trick had barely registered against Whiscash's thick hide. The second strike always landed weaker than the first, and on a Pokémon that sturdy, it had felt like nothing. But Meowscarada was not Floragato anymore. Every stat had climbed with the evolution, and Flower Trick struck with the cold certainty the move was known for, finding its mark every single time. When the first hit broke through Whiscash's water barrier, the follow-up had real teeth. Whiscash staggered.
On the far side of the field, Gilbert frowned.
He had been tracking this pattern since the opening exchanges. Every time the little cat attacked, it attacked twice. He had noticed it early and had assumed at first that Nova had simply drilled it into some kind of specialized double-strike technique. The sort of thing a dedicated trainer worked out through long, careful practice.
But one or two instances could be explained that way. This had been four or five moves in a row, through two different evolutionary stages. It was not a trained technique. It was the Pokémon itself.
Gilbert squinted at Meowscarada across the field, the thought turning over in his mind. A second strike. Half the power of the first, by the look of it, but reliable, automatic, following every successful hit. He had seen something like it before, in a very different kind of battle.
Mega Kangaskhan. Parental Bond.
Was this the same principle? In a rookie's Pokémon?
He pushed the thought further. Setting aside the age and the level gap, was this Meowscarada actually lacking anything he would expect from a serious Pokémon? He ran through the match so far and found it difficult to name a meaningful weakness.
A Pokémon like that was rare. It was the kind that serious trainers spent months searching for in the deep wild areas and uncharted territories, hoping to find a partner with the potential to carry their team all the way to the top. Most never found one. Nova had apparently tripped over one by accident.
Lucky kid.
But gifted or not, Gilbert was an Elite Four member. He had competed at Championship level more than once. He had seen remarkable Pokémon burn bright in those matches, and the lesson was always the same: youth and a strong partner did not close the gap between an ordinary trainer and an Elite. That gap was earned through years of real battles, and it did not bend for talent alone.
The boy would not be leaving after today without some kind of arrangement. If he let a talent like Nova walk out of Layered Peaks free and clear, he deserved every regret that followed.
But first, a lesson.
Gilbert allowed himself a small smile. Youthful confidence deserved a proper answer.
"Starting to feel it, Nova?" he called across the field. "Clock's ticking. You might want to save some energy for comforting that cat of yours when this is over."
Nova's frown was faint. He filed the taunt away and turned his focus back to the field, because something had been nagging at the edge of his thoughts for a while now.
Something was wrong.
He ran back through the match. Meowscarada had dominated. Between the type advantage and the follow-up strikes, Whiscash had been on the back foot almost the entire time. But Gilbert had barely pushed back. Outside of that one Thrash, the commands from the other side of the field had been almost entirely defensive. Hold. Guard. Absorb.
Nova had read it as careful management of a bad position. But the more he thought about it, the less that fit. Trainers like Gilbert did not manage losing positions. They turned them.
What if the Thrash had not been an attack? What if it had been a gate?
If Floragato had fallen to it, the match would have ended and the question would never have mattered. But Floragato had survived and evolved, and the battle had continued, and Gilbert had gone straight back to defending.
What kind of strategy needed this much defense to work?
Across the field, Meowscarada launched another Flower Trick.
Whiscash met it with Aqua Jet.
The water gave way. The follow-up struck.
Whiscash stood its ground, visibly worn.
And then Nova saw it.
Not the impact. Not the move. The HP.
Whiscash had been soaking small hits for most of the match. Each one managed, each one absorbed, each one unavoidable because the follow-up always got through the defense. Hit after quiet hit, adding up without drawing attention. Nova had been watching his Pokémon win exchanges and had stopped watching the other side of the ledger.
Gilbert was not defending to protect Whiscash.
He was spending Whiscash's HP on purpose. Counting down to something. If he had let Nova attack freely without defending, Nova would have watched the health drop and read the intent at once. If he had used a recoil move like Take Down, Nova would have tracked the consumption from both ends. But steady, patient defense, soaking hits that looked like bad luck more than strategy, had kept the real picture completely hidden.
Whiscash was below half health.
Nova's stomach dropped.
"A little late to work it out, isn't it?" Gilbert said from across the field, his voice calm. "The outcome's already decided."