After Yuko's upset win and shock advance into the final four as the most unexpected dark horse of the tournament, the atmosphere in the entire arena was pushed to a new peak.
Immediately after, Shiba's semifinal officially began.
His opponent was Makoto, a genius Trainer who had carved his way up from the civilian class.
Even before the match, this name had already been brought up again and again by countless spectators.
He had no illustrious family behind him, no top-tier resources. What he did have was a tactical mind as vicious and tricky as a viper.
By weaving together the abilities and moves of his different Pokémon, he constructed invisible webs on the battlefield, dragging his opponents into the tempo he set and then slowly strangling them. This was the method that had made him famous.
In previous rounds, several overwhelmingly well-born and well-funded powerhouses had already become ghosts under his tactics.
"Makoto's style is so dirty! I watched his last match. He started with Leech Seed and then stacked Toxic on top—he literally stalled a pseudo-legendary Dragonite until it dropped!"
"Exactly! And the worst part is that Magnezone of his. Its Magnet Pull ability is every Steel-type's nightmare! Once it locks you in, you can't even switch—you just stand there and get fried."
"Shiba's Shiny Metang is probably going to slam into a brick wall this time!"
The chatter in the stands rose and fell, louder than it had been for any match before.
Everyone craned their necks, eyes glittering with excitement and anticipation.
They wanted to see a real clash of titans.
They were hoping this civilian-born prodigy could use his endlessly shifting tactics to give the unstoppable, near-mythical Shiba some real trouble—maybe even drag him down off his pedestal.
In the end, though, they underestimated Shiba.
And they even more greatly underestimated how pale and weak any delicate calculations and setups look when they're facing a flood of absolute power.
"The format is three-on-three! The battle starts now!"
The referee's flag sliced down.
"It's you—Shiftry!"
Makoto threw his Poké Ball almost at the exact instant the words left the referee's mouth.
With a flash of red, a Shiftry holding a big leaf fan and wearing a sly, cunning expression appeared on the field.
The sunlight itself seemed to grow hotter the moment it arrived—sign that its sun-boosting ability had passively activated.
Makoto's plan was loud and clear.
He would use harsh sunlight to change the weather, limiting the Dragon-types Shiba was highly likely to send out, while creating an advantage for his Grass-type moves and opening with a perfect tactical setup.
Shiba, however, only lifted his eyes calmly and tossed out the Poké Ball in his hand.
Without a hint of hesitation.
"Rrroooaaarrr!"
The roar that answered was not a dragon's cry so much as the bellow of some primeval beast claiming its hunting grounds.
The violence and bloodlust packed into that sound turned into a physical shockwave that ripped across the arena, making every eardrum buzz.
A savage, oppressive silhouette slammed down into the field, reflected in pupils that had all shrunk to pinpoints.
Gabite.
"What?! He's leading with Gabite?!"
Makoto's heart was seized in an instant by an invisible hand, squeezing so hard it nearly stopped.
All the rehearsed "perfect openings" he'd simulated in his head were torn to shreds the moment Gabite appeared.
His mind went blank. Before he could even start to build a new set of commands, Shiba's cold, emotionless voice was already echoing through the stadium.
"Sandstorm."
The command fell.
Gabite's rough, clawed arms slammed down into the ground.
Boom!
A raging sandstorm erupted from where it stood, shooting toward the sky. Yellow sand rolled and boiled, blotting out the sun.
The harsh sunlight created by Shiftry's ability was swallowed and overwritten in an instant by that brutal curtain of sand.
In just a few seconds, the entire battlefield had become a hunting ground that belonged solely to Gabite, filled with the stench of death.
"Finish it. Dragon Rush."
Shiba's voice sounded again, as indifferent as if he were simply describing a foregone conclusion.
Makoto still hadn't managed to pull his thoughts free from the shock of the Sandstorm.
Within the swirling grit, that blue silhouette—half-hidden, half-revealed—was already moving.
Gabite turned into a blue meteor that split the sky, wrapped in an irresistible, annihilating force. It tore through the raging storm and locked, with perfect precision, onto the Shiftry whose face was frozen in sheer terror.
"Boom—!"
The explosion was so violent it made the whole arena shake.
One hit.
Just a single hit.
One-shot.
The color drained from Makoto's face in an instant, leaving it paper-white.
He forced down a swallow, hand trembling as he sent out his second Pokémon.
Magnezone.
His final hope was pinned on Magnezone's powerful Electric-type attacks—maybe they could at least deal some meaningful damage to that monster.
"Earthquake."
Shiba's command was as concise as ever.
Gabite threw back its head and roared again. A brutal surge of Ground-type energy exploded from beneath its feet and poured into the earth.
The entire battlefield started to shake wildly, violently.
The ground split open. Wave after wave of brown energy surged up from beneath Magnezone like the earth itself was turning over.
Four-times effective.
The Magnezone that Makoto had put all his hopes on didn't even manage to fire off a single spark. With only a single, shrill scream, it was blasted into the air by that raging shockwave and hurled clear across the field.
Another one-shot.
By the end, Makoto's eyes were completely empty.
He could no longer think at all. Like a machine, he sent out his last hope.
Donphan, famed for its staggering physical defense.
"Dragon Claw."
The words had barely dropped.
Gabite's figure vanished into the spinning sand.
The next second, it was behind Donphan as if it had simply teleported.
Its razor-sharp claws, gleaming with a cold light, rose high, leaving only a chill afterimage in the air.
The claws fell like the scythe of the Grim Reaper itself—cold, merciless, dealing judgment.
Three seconds later, the battle was over.
One versus three.
Gabite had taken the field and, in the purest, most savage way possible, crushed the so-called tactical genius from the civilian ranks—along with all his plans, all his pride, and all his hopes.
The entire arena was silent.
Every spectator stared blankly at the Gabite slowly straightening up within the sandstorm, standing tall and unmoving like some demonic god.
A chill, a despair that rose from the depths of the soul itself, tightened around every heart present.
(End of Chapter)
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