Close-quarters!
The terastallized Crabominable didn't pause for a heartbeat. The moment Liquidation landed, its massive body was already on top of Jason. It raised its right claw high—edges gleaming like ice—and, without a wasted motion, brought it hammering down on Jason's head with crushing force.
The blow whipped up a savage gust.
Facing that heavy, full-power strike, Jason finally stopped turtling. Using Brute Bonnet's thick, powerful limbs, he sank his weight—then snapped both arms up, crossing them to meet the falling claw.
Clang!
The clash rang shrill; a visible shockwave rippled out from the impact. Water splashed, stones flew—the most primal, straightforward contest of strength was on.
Every swing from the Tera Crabominable was wide and violent, brimming with power; each arc of those great pincers dragged surging water currents that pulled everything nearby into the wash. Jason, in contrast, took them all with Brute Bonnet's seemingly clumsy but rock-steady frame. His limbs were like old roots sunk deep in the earth; every block, every counter, was composed and heavy.
For a while, the field was nothing but the thunder of two giants colliding—water, dirt, and rubble churning together into chaos. The fight jumped straight to a boil. Everyone held their breath—even Kofu. They were waiting.
They were waiting for Jason to Terastallize.
Since he'd gotten official Trainer status through Geeta, he must have a Tera Orb too. What would his Tera be? Pure Grass to amplify his moves? Or something even more unexpected?
No doubt, Jason's Terastallization would decide the match.
Commanding the pounding onslaught, Kofu bellowed between orders, voice at full blast: "Come on, challenger! Stop holding back! Show me your full strength—let me see your final choice!"
In his mind, Terastallization was the most glorious, heavy stroke that punctuates a battle. He'd served his "signature course" already; he was eager to see the countercourse.
What happened next blindsided everyone. Faced with Kofu's roaring challenge and the raging assault, Jason kept to defense and the occasional counter. He never so much as reached for a Tera Orb. He watched the fight calmly—without a hint of tension in his eyes—like a spectator admiring a beautiful, ferocious performance.
That gaze brimmed with absolute, unquestionable confidence.
The poise, the composure—it confused Kofu. Confusion turned to shock… and a little sting of indignation.
Why?
Why not go all out? Facing an opponent who'd pushed everything into their ace and Tera—how was he this calm? Did he think he could win as he was?
In that moment of roiling thoughts, the tide on the field shifted. Another roaring Crabhammer scythed in; Jason slipped it with a sidestep. The pincer smashed stone beside him, gouging a crater. For an instant—as the claw bit into the tiles and before it could be drawn back—there was the briefest of openings.
Jason took it.
"Now."
Spore.
The giant cap he'd been using as a shield shuddered hard. Even denser, heavier sleep spores than he'd thrown at Wugtrio erupted like a volcanic plume. At point-blank range, with its claw still stuck in the floor, Crabominable couldn't dodge; the thick cloud swallowed it whole.
It had no choice but to breathe in the haze. Its rampage slowed. Anger and unwillingness flashed in those upturned eyes; it strained to fight off the invading drowsiness—futilely. Movements dulled, eyelids sank—and with a low, unwilling rumble, the giant swayed and crashed to the tiles, asleep.
Silence fell again. Only Kofu's quickened breathing echoed in the open space.
Jason gave the sleeping, defenseless Tera ace no room to recover. No mercy.
Brute Bonnet flared with dazzling green light. A vast, heart-thudding Grass-type energy swelled around him. His ability let him trigger the Grass strongest finisher without charging in the sun—
Solar Beam.
All that power gathered at the crown of his massive cap, a blazing orb like a miniature sun. Brighter. Larger. Then it slammed down as a colossal pillar of light, purging everything in its path—at zero distance—into the prone, sleeping crab.
BOOM!
The blast dwarfed every clash before; the glare drove eyes shut on instinct. A shockwave and boiling mist rolled across the field; white vapor swallowed the center.
When the glow faded and the steam thinned, the scene resolved: the crystal crown was shattered to glitter in the air. Kofu's ace lay at the bottom of a fresh crater, shell spidered with cracks, eyes spiraled—unable to battle.
Jason let the form fall away. The hulking, ancient Brute Bonnet shrank in a wash of pink-violet light—back to one small, harmless-looking, jelly-soft Ditto. He stood at the rim of the pit and looked to the dais at a Kofu who'd gone stone-still with shock.
He'd crushed the proud ace head-on—with the simplest, cleanest type advantage.
Kofu stared a long moment from the little lavender blob to his fallen partner. "Impressive!"
Then he laughed—first a twitch of the mouth, then out loud. "Ha—hahahahaha!"
The laughter rang with genuine relief and joy. He clapped hard. "I lost—and gladly!"
Jason stood quietly, accepting the praise. "You're strong too," he said, levelly—not empty flattery. Without type edge and Spore, brute-for-brute, even Brute Bonnet wouldn't have had it easy.
Kofu shook his head, smiling. "A loss is a loss. But getting to see a Pokémon like you? Worth it."
He hopped down from the dais, strode up, and offered his hand. "Name's Kofu—a cook, part-time gym leader."
Jason extended his soft body to shake. "Jason. Trainer."
"Haha, good!" Kofu released, patted his apron. "Battle's over, and now I'm starving. To celebrate a match like that—and welcome a strong guest—I've got to show you my real craft."
He winked at Jason and the others. "Come on. Cooking's what I do best."
He turned and led them out of the battle-scarred arena—not by the way they'd come, but through a side passage—to an enormous, almost extravagant kitchen.
A chef's paradise: one wall a gleaming battery of pots and pans; opposite, a long prep bench lined with knives and appliances; a giant fridge stuffed with fresh ingredients—mostly seafood. Everything immaculate, the air scented faintly with spices and fresh produce.
"Grab a seat anywhere," Kofu said, tightening his apron and pulling ingredients from the fridge. "Won't be long."
Beside the kitchen sat a cozy dining nook with a solid wood table and a few chairs. Jason and the others took places. Soon the kitchen sang—knife on board, food sizzling into hot oil, a spatula's clatter—an orchestral rhythm.
Kofu threw himself into it, focused and precise, every motion fluid and necessary. Here he looked less like a gym leader than an artist in love with cuisine.
Gast floated to the doorway, clinging to the frame, nose twitching at the growing aroma; drool threatened.
The wait wasn't long. Kofu emerged with a huge tray. "Thanks for waiting—try my craft!"
He set steaming bowls and plates before them: fish fillets roasted golden and crisp, dusted with bright green herbs; a glossy seafood risotto simmered in rich broth; and a milky, savory chowder thick with shellfish and vegetables. Every dish looked and smelled divine.
"Dig in—don't be shy," Kofu grinned.
Gast snapped first—scooping a heaping spoon of risotto into her mouth. The rice soaked with broth, flavor deep; springy shrimp and squid rings popped against her teeth. Her eyes lit up to slits of bliss; she chewed fast, swallowed, and scooped again in a hurry.
Miraidon eyed the spread, a glint running through its optics like it was analyzing composition. It bent and carefully tried a bite of fish—crisp outside, tender inside, no fishiness, a hint of herb. It paused—then sped up.
Iron Valiant moved last. It raised a fork, lifted a piece of clam, and tasted. No expression—but the slight nod and quick reach for a second bite said enough.
Watching them, Kofu wore a satisfied smile—diners' approval is a chef's highest praise. He glanced to the only one not yet eating. Jason smiled, took spoon and bowl, and tried the chowder. Bright savor bloomed across his tongue: layered shellfish umami stitched to vegetable sweetness, depth balanced and clean.
"Delicious," he said, honestly.
Kofu's smile shone even brighter.
"They all think so too," Jason added, glancing at his trio digging in. He looked at the most enthusiastic eater. "Gast says it's even better than mine."
Mouth full, Gast looked up, mumbled agreement, stuck out her tongue at Jason with a giggle, and went back to work.
"Exactly," she said around another bite. "Why can't I tell the truth?"
"When did I stop you?" Jason sighed, helpless.
Amused, Kofu watched the banter. "Oh? You cook too?" His eyes brightened. "Then should we trade a few techniques?"
As a chef, he longed to swap notes with a kindred spirit. Jason waved both hands, still mid-bite. "I don't—that doesn't count as cooking," he admitted. "I just rely on seasonings."
"Seasonings?" Kofu frowned slightly. Spices matter, but they're support; the cap is still fire and ingredients, he believed.
Catching his doubt, Jason set down his spoon, reached into his storage, and placed several little jars neatly on the table in front of Kofu—the secret Herba Mystica he'd gathered on his travels across Paldea: five flavors—Sweet, Salty, Sour (Spicy/"Fury"?), Bitter, and Spicy.
~~~
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