The first match wrapped up, and the second got underway almost immediately.
Jacob ran through the lineup in his head and settled on it: Cinderace versus Shiny Gengar for the second match, Charizard versus Noivern for the third, and Diancie versus Indeedee for the fourth. Fraxure and Shelgon had already battled today, so they'd go last. As for Iron Valiant and Darkrai — well, if Darkrai wanted in at some point, the door was open.
Cinderace came onto the field with a light, effortless leap, using the natural spring in his legs to carry himself into position. That was typical of him — where most Pokémon led with their arms or claws, Cinderace's entire battle style was built around footwork and leg strength. Every move he used looked a little different because of it.
Shiny Gengar drifted onto the field from the other side, hovering easily above the ground, wearing the same wide, unreadable grin it always had.
Both Cinderace and Gengar had always been among Jacob's favourites on the team, separate from his Steel-types. Cinderace's Libero Ability was one of the most powerful in any competitive setting, and Gengar — well, Gengar needed no introduction. It was one of the most iconic Pokémon in the world for a reason.
"Second match — Cinderace versus Gengar! Pick your side."
The rest of the team shuffled into position. Since both Pokémon were evenly matched in overall strength, the crowd split almost perfectly down the middle.
If Jacob had to call it, he'd lean toward Cinderace — but only slightly, and mostly because of Libero.
The Ability was exceptional in a world without move restrictions. Libero changed Cinderace's type to match whatever move it used, which opened up a remarkable range of immunities on demand. Against Poison-type moves, a quick Iron Head shifted Cinderace to Steel-type and shut it out entirely. Against Electric-type moves, Sand Attack changed it to Ground-type and made it immune. Against Ghost-type moves — Gengar's bread and butter — any Normal-type move would flip Cinderace to Normal-type, and Ghost moves couldn't touch it.
That said, Gengar had an enormous move pool, and all it needed was to find the right move at the right moment. It wasn't without a path to victory.
"Begin!"
The moment Jacob called it, Cinderace moved. He flicked up a small stone with the tip of his foot, and Fire-type energy wrapped around it instantly. He began juggling it — one kick, two, three — each touch making the Fireball swell larger and hotter until it was enormous, roiling at his feet.
Then he drove it forward.
Boom.
A massive Fireball, right out of the gate.
Jacob smiled faintly. Fire-types had a reputation for leading with everything they had, and Cinderace was no exception. There was an enthusiasm to it — an all-in quality — that was very much his personality.
He turned his attention to Gengar, curious how it would answer.
Gengar used Protect.
Jacob's brow creased slightly. It wasn't a bad move exactly, but it felt hasty. Gengar had plenty of better options in that moment — Pain Split, for instance, or even just tanking the Fireball directly. Or Skill Swap: take the hit, steal Libero in the process, and shift the whole dynamic of the match in one turn.
Gengar's move pool was deep enough that Protect was almost never the only answer. It wasn't wrong, just a little wasteful.
The light barrier held. Cinderace's Fireball broke against it and scattered.
Then Gengar did something Jacob hadn't seen coming at all.
Perish Song.
Jacob paused.
A haunting melody rose from Gengar's throat — beautiful and eerie in equal measure, filling the arena. The moment it reached both Pokémon, the countdown began. After a fixed number of turns, anyone still hearing the song's echo would lose all their HP.
In a simulated battle, Perish Song was usually settled by who was slower — the slower Pokémon went down last and won. But in a real battle, if both Pokémon hit zero from Perish Song at the same time, it was a draw.
Which meant that by using Perish Song now, Gengar had guaranteed itself at least a draw. No matter what Cinderace did with Libero, it couldn't avoid Perish Song — it wasn't a move that could be typed around.
Jacob looked at Gengar. The lazy expression on its face told him everything he needed to know.
This Gengar doesn't want to win. It just doesn't want to lose.
He couldn't quite decide whether to be impressed or exasperated.
Gengar followed Perish Song with Substitute, settling in behind the decoy with the air of someone who had already decided the match was over and was simply waiting for the paperwork to clear.
Jacob let out a quiet sigh and found himself smiling despite it.
The matches so far had been genuinely informative — not just as training exercises, but as windows into his Pokémon's personalities.
Sceptile was composed and methodical, building toward victory step by step, never overreaching.
Dragapult was calm in a different way — underneath the stillness, there was a gambler's instinct. It had the strength to grind Sceptile down safely, and it chose Draco Meteor into Curse instead. High risk, decisive, unapologetic.
Cinderace didn't think twice — he loaded up his biggest move and launched it immediately. Enthusiastic, direct, impatient in the best way.
And Gengar, apparently, had decided that an unbeaten record of draws was worth more than a win that came with any real effort.
Jacob thought ahead to the remaining matches. Diancie and Indeedee, who seemed to find new reasons to bicker every other day. Charizard, who was somehow the most unpredictable Pokémon he owned despite having known it the longest. And eventually Fraxure and Shelgon, whenever their turns came.
He felt a low, familiar unease settle in. Without anyone giving commands, how far would some of them take it?
Noivern and Sceptile he trusted — both level-headed enough to keep things reasonable. But Charizard had been like this ever since it evolved. It was calmer as a Charmander, and still manageable as a Charmeleon. Evolution had done something to its personality that Jacob had never quite gotten used to. He could only hope that Fraxure and Shelgon would come out of their evolutions as Haxorus and Salamence with a little more restraint.
On the field, Perish Song's echo lingered over both Pokémon. The countdown was running. Neither Cinderace nor Gengar was going to knock the other out before it reached zero — that much was already clear. And Gengar, settled comfortably behind its Substitute, had no intention of trying.
In Gengar's mind, this was entirely reasonable.
A record of a hundred draws and zero losses was better than ninety-nine wins and one loss. Gengar had been with Jacob from the beginning, and in all that time, it had never once been beaten. That mattered. That was the record worth protecting.
Besides — they were all on the same team. What was the point of fighting to exhaustion? A draw was perfectly fine.