"Scizor is unable to battle. The winner: Black Sky and his Murkrow!"
The referee's call rang out while the Scizor's trainer slowly came back to himself, swallowed by a flood of regret.
He'd found the Scyther in a forest and raised it with plans to make it his ace,he'd even hunted down a Metal Coat for evolution. But greed for the ten-win mystery prize pushed him to force the evolution early; the trade-off was raw potential burned away.
He'd hoped to secure ten straight wins with Scizor, and instead he'd lost to a kid who looked barely old enough to shave.
All that remained on the stage was Silas, drinking in the crowd's adoration. Ten consecutive wins. The fans who'd watched from the first match roared the loudest. The host began the ritual of prizes: apart from the ₽200,000 prize pool, the main draw was the mystery gift-the ten-win reward.
"Now, let's invite Contestant Black Sky to open his mystery gift in public!" the host bellowed, winding the crowd up for every camera angle.
Silas accepted a delicate box from a booth attendant, inhaled once, and opened it slowly.
A stone dark as midnight gleamed back: a Dusk Stone.
Silas's brow lifted. He'd suspected the club might curry favor; Murkrow would eventually need a Dusk Stone to evolve into Honchkrow. Still, this one looked only mid-grade-not a top-tier gem stone.
Generally, stones with purity under 60% were low grade; 60–90% was mid; above 90%, high grade. This one seemed middling.
The arena's big screen zoomed in on the stone. Even a normal evolution stone could be worth hundreds of thousands of ₽-enough to buy decades of labor for many people.
With the ₽200,000 bonus added in, Silas had walked away with nearly a million Pokédollars in a single afternoon: from bets, prize pools, and now an evolution stone.
And the real prize still awaited: after ten consecutive wins he could challenge for the ring championship-the reward from that bout was the legendary Ability Capsule, an item rumored to rewrite a Pokémon's trait. The possibilities were enormous.
Silas felt Murkrow's eager glance from his shoulder and tucked the box away. Not yet-not the right time to force evolution.
He descended the stage and stepped into the contestant corridor, thinking that maybe he'd be back here for the ring championship sometime. At the betting table he collected his wagers: the ₽500,000 he'd staked came back, plus his earlier winnings. Altogether-almost a million from bets alone, and an evolution stone on top of it.
As he was counting up his haul, a staffer hurried over and pressed a small booklet into his hands. "Sir, a spectator asked that we give this to you."
"A manual?" Silas glanced down, puzzled. The staffer left before he could ask more, but not before relaying a single message: "They said 'Dark-type is the best type. Offense is the best defense.'"
The phrase echoed in Silas's head. He flipped through the hastily decorated booklet. Its pages were scribbled with aphorisms about Dark-type philosophies:
"Offense is the best defense…
The beauty of darkness, aesthetics of evil.
Dark Pokémon are often fierce and ruthless, but each hides a kind of crazy power ,whether it becomes strength depends on whether one can guide it out.
Speak freely, because strength is justice." —Sidney
The signature at the back stopped him cold: Sidney.
Silas's mind snapped to one possibility. Sidney was the name whispered in Hoenn's underground circles: one of the region's Dark-type elite, a figure of legend and fear. He checked the Battle Club network, then the Petalburg gym library for references.
The physical book he found contained old photos and one image matched the red-mohawk troublemaker in the stands almost exactly.
He remembered the kid's swagger now, the way he'd taunted the crowd: "Offense is the best defense!" Had the punk been Sidney in disguise?
Silas tried to track the boy after the break, but the arena emptied in a flood at halftime. The crowd swallowed the seats, and the red-haired troublemaker vanished into the tide. Night fell; Silas, exhausted, trudged back to the Pokémon Center with the booklet still in his hand, heart thrumming with disbelief.
Lying on the bed, he turned the pages over and over. He had really come face to face with one of the Dark-type elites and had the nerve to almost spar with them.
The idea that a member of Hoenn's Dark echelon might dress like a street thug and hand out manifestos was equal parts ridiculous and terrifying.
Silas smiled thinly in the dark. So every superstar has a side job these days-Researcher, archaeologist, actor… and apparently a hobbyist treasure digger? He laughed softly, folding the booklet back into his pocket.
For now, he'd savour the win, prepare Murkrow properly, and keep an eye out. If Sidney had taken note, the next move might come sooner than he expected.
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(End of chapter)