"How is this possible?"
For those with excessive pride, a blow is usually even harder to bear.
"It shouldn't be like this!"
Cross stumbled, almost unable to stand steady.
Thud.
Cross fell directly to his knees.
The arrogance from before formed a blinding contrast with his current wretched state.
He recalled his incapacitated Lycanroc in a daze, his movements stiff as a marionette.
Finally, his gaze—hollow yet mixed with pain and unwillingness—landed on the Poké Ball containing Charmander, which he had personally thrown away, now rolling lonely on the field.
A wake-up call?
No, for someone like Cross, a crushing defeat was more like a poison-dipped dagger piercing his inflated ego, releasing something even darker.
"Trash!"
"All of you are trash!"
Self-doubt poured over him like ice water, making him feel as if he had fallen into an ice cave.
His so-called strength turned out to be so laughable.
At this moment, Cross's mindset had already cracked with countless fissures, crumbling on the verge of collapse.
Bang—
He kicked the Poké Ball away.
He actually vented his resentment once again on the Poké Ball containing Charmander.
As for the Poké Balls containing Incineroar and Lycanroc, they were clutched tightly in his hand—he couldn't bear to part with them.
In the spectator seats.
Ash pulled the brim of his hat lower, the shadow obscuring half his face.
—So annoying.
He took a deep breath, his voice not loud, yet it clearly pierced through the silence of the arena:
"Indeed, you are the biggest piece of trash."
Blaming one's own mistakes and failures on others... it was truly a disgusting practice.
Ash preferred to face a bleak life head-on and then overcome it.
When encountering difficulties, you either live or you die.
There is no such thing as shirking responsibility.
Cross jerked his head up, his red eyes glaring at the source of the voice—that boy wearing a hat.
The two stood in confrontation.
Ash didn't like this guy in front of him.
Stubborn, ignorant, arrogant... and most importantly, stupid.
To actually dare to fight hard after offending the Gym Leader?
And even after failing, to commit such an act of taking anger out on his weakest companion?
It was clearly he himself who made the wrong decisions.
One must know that the challenge difficulty of the Celadon Gym has always been low... basically, as long as a Trainer has normal literacy, they can pass.
It could be called a challenge difficulty on the same level as the Cerulean Gym.
"The root of the failure is you," Ash emphasized again.
"Unbelievable. You actually let Charmander go into close combat with Victreebel? Were you afraid it wouldn't lose fast enough, or that the blow it took wouldn't be heavy enough?"
"Facing Miss Erika's 'stat-boosting flow' tactic, there are generally only two solutions."
Ash held up two fingers.
This was basic common sense for Trainers.
"First, use moves like [Haze] to clear the buffs."
"If you are skilled at it, you can not only resolve the crisis but possibly even trigger an energy backlash, making the opponent suffer the consequences of their own actions."
He folded one finger.
"Second, stall for time."
"Any stat-boosting flow, especially a combination that drastically increases abilities in a short time, places a huge load on the Pokémon itself. That is a kind of oppressive damage stemming from the power itself, difficult to heal quickly. As long as you survive the most dominant phase, the scales of victory will naturally tip."
"But what did you do?"
Ash's gaze was like a physical weight pressing down on Cross.
"You only knew how to make your Pokémon rush up recklessly, using their bodies to slam against a fortress that had undergone multiple buffs."
"You didn't even try to understand the opponent's tactics, didn't think about how to use technique to overcome force."
"You are simply not a qualified Trainer."
Overcoming technique with force—that is what the strong do to the weak.
But as the weak, one should think about how to use technique to break the strong's force.
Zzzzt—
Just then.
The Poké Ball that Cross had kicked away, due to the successive rough treatment, developed a crack on its shell. Electric light flickered unstable.
Finally, after a slight explosion, the Poké Ball broke completely, and white light forcibly released the Charmander inside.
"Char?"
Charmander lay weakly on the ground, shaking its somewhat dizzy head.
Its body still bore the wounds left from the previous battle, and the flame on its tail appeared somewhat dim.
At first glance, it saw its Trainer, Cross, kneeling on the ground with a painful expression.
A trace of worry flashed through the little guy's eyes.
It remembered that although this human was always fierce and the training was strict, he was, after all, its Trainer.
It struggled to crawl toward Cross step by step with limbs that were still somewhat soft, emitting a tiny whimper carrying a tone of comfort from its throat: "Char... mander..."
This is the attitude of the vast majority of Pokémon toward their Trainers.
Very pure, very friendly, isn't it?
Charmander extended a small claw, wanting to gently touch the hem of Cross's trousers, just as it had carefully done when Cross was in a slightly better mood before.
However, what responded to it was a concentrated eruption of all of Cross's pent-up rage, shame, and breakdown.
"Get lost! Trash! I don't need you!"
Cross didn't even look at Charmander's eyes filled with worry. He abruptly lifted his foot and, with full force, kicked Charmander viciously in its soft belly.
"Chaa—!"
A short, painful cry.
Charmander's body rolled backward several times like a rag doll, crashing heavily into the guardrail at the edge of the field before sliding down limply.
It curled up into a ball, letting out suppressed, intermittent groans of pain.
The flame on Charmander's tail flickered violently, almost extinguishing, its color becoming incredibly dim.
Miss Erika indeed hadn't intentionally harmed Charmander, but it was impossible not to get hurt in a Gym challenge.
The scene instantly fell silent.
This kick felt as if it had also struck the hearts of Misty and Brock.
Misty was so angry her face turned pale; she almost rushed down to argue but was held back firmly by Brock.
The Vulpix in Brock's arms also moved uneasily, burying its head deeper.
Cross panted heavily, as if that kick had exhausted his last bit of strength.
He suddenly turned his head, his red eyes staring fixedly at Ash in the spectator seats. All his displaced anger had found a new target.
"Just you?!" Cross's voice was distorted by agitation.
He pointed at Ash, a hideous smile mixing jealousy and disdain on his face. "Just you are worthy to lecture me? Huh?!"
"Don't think I didn't see it!"
He almost shouted it out.
"The Gym battle you fought before, and what I faced today, are not on the same fucking difficulty level at all!"
"What was that of yours? Playing house?"
In fact, if one were to say Ash played on Normal Mode.
Then Cross played on Hell Mode.
Victreebel had even changed its move set.
Can a Shield Mountain before mutation be the same as a Shield Mountain after mutation?
Heh.
"What right does a lucky guy like you, who relies on others going easy to get a Badge, have to gossip about me here?!"
Cross frantically tried to find a sense of superiority in Ash to maintain his shattered self-esteem.
Cross had thought he was a chosen one, yet reality told him... you are nothing.
Ash watched him quietly, watching his hysterical appearance.
He didn't immediately retort, only lightly pulling his hat brim.
"You seem to have misunderstood one thing, Cross."
Ash's voice wasn't high, yet strangely, it suppressed Cross's heavy panting, clearly entering everyone's ears.
"You are still entangled in victory and defeat."
"You still haven't figured out where you went wrong."
"If this is the case, then today's encounter will be your eternal future."
"Truly... naive enough to make one laugh."
Ash's gaze seemed to pierce through Cross's body, looking directly at that arrogant and distorted soul.
"I have already seen your fate."
"Your future will forever be this Hell Mode."
Ash tilted his head slightly, a trace of pity in his eyes—that pity was more unbearable to Cross than any mockery.
Cross's behavior was completely out of line with the League's mainstream tone.
If he didn't make a change, then... just like the routine cleanup of 'defective products,' he would become a weed pulled out by the gardener in passing because it was an eyesore.
"Your strength is just like your confidence—false things built upon sand."
"Look at you now..."
"Shattering at the first touch, truly pathetic."
"Trying to use the belittling of others to whitewash your own incompetence... Cross, when did you produce the illusion... that Miss Erika's assessment of you and me was on the same level?"
Why was that stage so simple for Ash?
That was because he had already passed the difficult stage!
Facing the Giant Tentacruel directly in Vermilion City... even if he didn't achieve any decisive battle results, his sheer strength was already enough to pass the Gym.
Miss Erika only wanted to see Ash's character and thoughts; the standard of the assessment was never strength at all.
Just as Erika answered Professor Oak—the step required for the future had already been crossed.
"You are angry not because of failure, but because in your narrow cognition, you don't even have the qualification to 'fail'; it appears so cheap and laughable."
"You accuse my level, yet you are unwilling to admit that it is because, in the Gym Leader's eyes, I at least possessed the... 'potential' for her to treat me as an 'examinee' rather than as a 'cleaner'."
Ash took a step forward.
Although in the spectator seats, his aura seemed to override the entire arena.
However, the spectator seats were indeed higher than the competition field.
And this downward gaze highlighted the gap between the two sides even more.
"You complain about the world being unfair, complain about the Gym Leader being biased, yet you have never lowered your head to examine your own hollow interior."
"Blaming failure on the Pokémon being 'trash,' blaming it on the opponent being 'serious,' blaming it on all external factors... the only thing you dare not admit is that the core, most unbearable 'trash' is standing right here, barking in the most incompetent way."
Ash looked at Cross's face, twisted by extreme anger and humiliation, and slowly delivered the final verdict:
"Fear, resent, and then take that pitiful pride of yours and struggle to flee."
"But, please remember—"
"From the moment you took your incompetence out on your weakest companion, your path as a Trainer had already... completely ended."
Ash was very certain.
If Cross didn't make a change, this would be his eternal fate.
"Aaaaaah—!! Shut up! You shut up!!" Cross broke down completely.
All his psychological defenses, all his excuses, were torn to shreds by these calm and cruel words.
Lies don't kill; the truth is the sharp knife.
He bent down abruptly, grabbed the Charmander on the ground that could barely move, and used all his strength to throw it viciously in Ash's direction.
"Take it! You trash Trainer!"
"Since you speak for this trash, then you are just trash too."
"You only deserve this kind of trash Pokémon!"
Cross's voice was hoarse and cracking.
"We'll see! Next time we meet, I will definitely step on you under my feet! Along with this useless thing!"
Charmander's body traced a helpless arc in the air, accompanied by the sound of wind, flying toward the spectator seats.
Uh...
One could only say that people in this world were indeed not ordinary humans.
Cross's confidence and arrogance were not without reason.
With this terrifying arm strength, he himself could perhaps fight better than this Charmander.
Ash's eyes sharpened, and he reacted extremely quickly, taking a step forward to steadily catch that small body.
He looked down at the shivering Charmander in his arms.
A Charmander whose eyes were filled with fear, pain, and the confusion of being completely abandoned.
Despair?
There was no despair.
It couldn't understand why this situation had happened.
Charmander felt it had already tried very hard.
But why?
"Char... mander?" Charmander looked at Ash—why?
The flame on its tail was already so weak that only a tiny spark remained.
However, Charmander could only see the lower half of Ash's face, an expression that appeared very serious when viewed from below.
Ash's gaze firmly locked onto Cross in the center of the field, who was acting like a madman.
"Causing a Pokémon to suffer the humiliation of defeat."
"You are the worst kind of Trainer."
No.
You don't deserve to be a Trainer.
In the air, invisible sparks seemed to collide.
Ash didn't say another word, but those eyes already explained everything—this feud was set.
Conflicts arising between Trainers due to different philosophies were actually a very normal occurrence.
As for the result, everyone would rely on strength to speak in the end.
Under Ash's calm yet storm-containing gaze, Cross felt an inexplicable palpitation.
"Heh heh heh heh..."
"Hahahaha!"
Cross laughed out of extreme anger.
"I only lost to Miss Erika, I didn't lose to you!"
"Where do you get the face to talk so big?"
Cross lowered his head and turned around.
"Trash Trainers just talk too much... it's all boring gimmicks."
Cross didn't stay any longer, turning to leave the Celadon Gym.
"If you have the skill, hide in the Celadon Gym and don't come out."
"I've got my eyes on you..."
His words were filled with malice.
Obviously, he harbored no good intentions.
This was almost a threat.
After speaking, Cross left. No one stopped him, but his retreating figure appeared wretched.
And in the box within Ash's embrace.
Ho-Oh's feather began to emit a faint light again.
This feather being stimulated to release power time and time again was enough to attract the attention of a certain existence.
Especially this time, the power was stimulated without direct contact; the intensity was much higher than before, and also purer.
In the shadows of the Gym, two red eyes appeared.
A black shadow flashed past, chasing after Cross.
Ash gently stroked Charmander's back.
"Pika..." Pikachu looked at Ash.
"Maa maa." Misdreavus watched Cross leave with a dark face, considering whether to strike a cheap shot.
Although her nature was mischievous, having followed the Thousand-Year Gastly for so many years, she had seen a few weirdos.
Some guys indeed deserved to die.
"..." Brock stroked Vulpix, thinking it over and over, deciding it was better to leave this matter to Ash himself.
The battle of philosophies between Trainers ultimately required one to take action personally for thoughts to be clear.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Misty muttered a complaint.
____
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