I, Gary, Want to Become a Pokemon Master

Chapter 666 - 666 — Gary vs. Tony

When Tony saw Gary enter the contestant seating area, he only glanced up once.Gary returned the look—brief, calm, unreadable—and then sat down without saying a word.

They didn't talk. They didn't even bother with polite greetings. And it wasn't because of hostility. It was because Tony was already drowning in despair.

He wasn't a child who didn't understand what a name meant.

Gary Oak—the Trainer who had won the League Conference championship three times in a row—wasn't a rumor. He was history. He was a record that followed him like a long, dark shadow. Tony had watched Gary's old battles the moment he started taking this League seriously. He hadn't needed to watch many. A few matches were more than enough to understand the gulf between them.

That's not a Trainer I can beat.

Yesterday, when the bracket had refreshed and Tony saw his opponent's name, he had known immediately that his road ended here. This was the wall. This was the point where effort alone couldn't close the gap.

He sat there with his hands clenched in his lap, his face carefully blank, trying not to let the panic show.

Across the room, Gary looked composed as always, as if he hadn't even noticed the dread rolling off the boy beside him.

He's calm because he's used to this, Tony thought bitterly. He's used to being the favorite.

Gary, for his part, didn't need to read minds to understand the mood. The tension in Tony's shoulders, the way his eyes lingered a fraction too long on the battlefield, the tight set of his mouth—none of it was subtle.

He's already convinced he'll lose, Gary thought. That's either going to make him crumble… or make him do something reckless.

The second possibility was the one Gary cared about. Reckless Trainers didn't always fight well—but they sometimes fought in ways that were annoying, disruptive, and unpredictable.

And the audience had money on the line.

That alone could turn "reckless" into "dangerous."

At exactly nine o'clock, the third round of the preliminary stage officially began.

The announcer's voice echoed through the stadium, crisp and energized.

"The third round of the preliminaries is finally here! Let's invite the players of the first match to enter the field!"

A beat later, the next announcement came.

"Trainer Gary and Trainer Tony, please enter the arena!"

Gary rose first, his movements smooth and unhurried. Tony stood a half-second later, as if his legs had to remember how to move. They walked down from the spectator area and entered the battlefield through opposite tunnels, arriving in the command zones at either end.

The host spoke brightly, filling the space with words as the cameras panned.

"Trainer Gary's performance in the first two rounds was terrifying—both times, he defeated all three of his opponent's Pokémon using only one Pokémon!"

Cheers and laughter rose from the stands. Tony felt it in his bones—the weight of being introduced as the "other" side of someone else's highlight reel.

"And although Tony performed well in his first two matches," the host continued, his voice turning slightly teasing, "facing Gary… can he perform as well as he did earlier? Let's leave it to the referee!"

It wasn't cruel. But it wasn't kind, either. It was the truth delivered with a smile.

Tony swallowed hard and kept his eyes forward.

The audience, meanwhile, had opinions—loud ones.

"Hahaha! Tony's strength is just average! Master Gary's going to sweep again—easy money!"

"Tony, have some dignity! Don't pull dirty tricks like Destiny Bond!"

"If you dare use a Pokémon with Roar, I'll curse you for the rest of my life!"

The last line drew a wave of laughter—then a wave of anxious murmuring.

Gary's eyes flicked toward the crowd.

So that's what this is about.

He knew the sports lottery existed. He knew there were side bets and underground odds. But the way these people shouted made it clear what had become the "real" game for them.

Because Gary was too strong, the official odds on him winning were laughable—lower than bank interest. Some matches weren't even open for betting because "Gary wins" was treated as a guaranteed outcome.

So gamblers created a different question: Would Gary win with a three-for-one sweep? Would he defeat all three of Tony's Pokémon using only a single Pokémon without switching?

That was where the odds lived. And that was why the crowd was unstable.

If Tony used a Pokémon with Roar and forced a switch, the "three-for-one" bet would be ruined even if Gary still won. If Tony tried Destiny Bond tactics to drag one Pokémon down with him, it could also disrupt the pattern.

Tony heard the shouts and felt his face heat with humiliation.

They don't care if I win. They care if I "behave."

He tightened his fists.

I'm still a Trainer. I'm still going to fight.

The referee stepped forward, raising a flag.

"This is a three-on-three match. The battle ends when all Pokémon on one side are unable to battle."

He gestured to the field, where soft green turf had been laid over the arena base, surrounded by shrubs and low plants—an artificial Grass terrain that smelled faintly of damp earth and cut leaves.

"The terrain for this match is Grass. Now—both Trainers, please send out your Pokémon at the same time!"

Both of them moved.

Tony threw first with a quick snap of his wrist.

"Go—Yanmega!"

The Poké Ball burst open.

"Yan—MEGA!"

A large dragonfly-like Pokémon shot into the air, its wings beating so fast they became a transparent blur. The sound was a high, constant whine, like a motor revving. Its red compound eyes locked onto the field below as it hovered, steady and alert.

[Yanmega ♂]

[Level: 47]

[Potential: Gym-tier]

Gary's gaze sharpened immediately.

Speed Boost.

That was the meaning behind Tony's choice. Yanmega wasn't meant to overwhelm with raw power. It was meant to spiral upward in speed until it became untouchable. If Gary allowed it time, it would become annoying.

Tony's heart pounded. If I can stall even a little…

Then he saw Gary's response and felt his stomach drop.

"Electivire!"

A Poké Ball flew.

"VIRE!"

Electivire landed with a heavy thud, its thick arms flexing as electricity crackled faintly across its body. Its eyes were calm—almost bored—as it looked up at Yanmega circling overhead.

Tony stared. He hadn't expected this.

Not because Electivire was weak—far from it—but because Gary hadn't used it earlier in the League. Tony had watched Gary's previous matches. He knew Gary tended to reveal only what he needed.

So why now?

Then the second realization hit him like a shove.

Electivire threatens Yanmega. Electric-type pressure on a Flying-type insect. A direct counter.

Tony's throat went dry.

The referee's voice rang out.

"The match—begin!"

Tony moved instantly, refusing to waste even a second.

"Yanmega, use Double Team!"

"Yan—!"

Yanmega's wings screamed as it accelerated and split—one became many. Illusions fanned out across the air, multiple Yanmega forms circling in chaotic patterns. Their wingbeats overlapped into a dizzying roar, making it hard to track which one was real.

Tony's plan was clear: delay, stall, let Speed Boost build. Let the battlefield become a mess of motion until Electivire couldn't reliably strike.

Gary watched it all with a steady gaze.

He's trying to buy time.

He raised a hand, his expression unchanged.

"Use Rain Dance—then Thunder."

Tony's eyes widened. Rain?

Electivire lifted its arms and drew in power. Dark clouds rolled in unnaturally fast, gathering over the Grass terrain like a curtain being dragged across the sky. The light dimmed. The air cooled. A thick scent of wet earth rose immediately as the first drops fell.

Rain poured down in sheets, heavy enough to soak the field within seconds. It hit Yanmega's clones like bullets. The illusions blurred, then dissolved, washed away by the simple physical fact of water and wind.

One by one, the false images vanished until only a single Yanmega remained—hovering, exposed, real.

Tony's breath caught. "No—!"

Electivire's eyes narrowed.

"VIRE!"

It thrust one hand upward, as if grabbing the storm itself. The clouds answered. Lightning gathered in a violent pulse, the air crackling with a sharp metallic scent.

A bolt formed—thick, blinding, and immediate.

Tony screamed his next order with everything he had.

"Quick! Use U-turn!"

"Yan—MEGA!"

Yanmega's body flared with green light as it dove, converting speed into a sharp, decisive strike. U-turn meant hit and retreat—a clean tag meant to reset momentum. It streaked toward Electivire, closing the distance so fast it left a faint green trail behind.

For a split second—Tony thought he might make it.

Then the sky tore open.

Lightning fell.

It wasn't "fast." It was instantaneous.

The bolt slammed down onto the green streak mid-dive, exploding into a web of light that swallowed Yanmega completely.

"YAN—!!"

The cry was cut off, drowned in thunder.

Yanmega's U-turn was interrupted in the most brutal way possible. The green light shattered. The Pokémon fell out of the air blackened with scorch marks, its wings twitching weakly as it crashed onto the soaked grass.

It tried to rise. Its legs buckled. Its eyes spun once—then went still.

The referee raised a flag.

"Yanmega is unable to battle. Electivire wins!"

The host sounded genuinely impressed, his voice rising in excitement.

"That was incredible—another one-hit knockout! Electivire's level must be extremely high!"

Tony stared at his fallen Yanmega, shocked despite expecting to lose.

One move… No chance at all.

But the battle wasn't finished. He inhaled hard, recalled Yanmega, and gripped his next Poké Ball.

I'm not done, he told himself silently, his jaw tightening. Not yet.

"Go—Ferrothorn!"

The Poké Ball burst open.

"Fer—ro!"

Ferrothorn appeared, its iron body hovering slightly above the ground on thorny vines. Its eyes were cold, defensive, and its spiked plating looked like a weapon designed to punish anyone foolish enough to make contact.

[Ferrothorn ♂]

[Level: 50]

[Potential: Elite-tier]

Tony felt a flicker of confidence.

Ferrothorn was strong in theory—especially in competitive simulations. It could punish physical attackers. It could control space. It could force cautious play.

But reality was different from theory, and Tony knew that too. Moves didn't always land the way they did in sterile calculations. Trainers flinched. Pokémon hesitated. Power could simply overwhelm structure.

Gary's voice cut in before Tony could settle.

"Electivire, Dynamic Punch."

"Vire!"

Electivire surged forward, water spraying under its feet as it dashed across the rain-soaked Grass terrain. Its fist began to glow with spiraling energy, the air around it warping as the punch built destructive force.

Tony's eyes sharpened.

Don't let it get close.

"Don't let Electivire approach—Power Whip!"

"Ferro—!"

Ferrothorn's vines snapped together, twisting into thick, whip-like cords covered in sharp leaves and thorny ridges. They lashed outward in a brutal arc, cutting through the rain with a wet crack.

The whips came down toward Electivire's chest like falling logs.

Electivire didn't dodge. It met them.

"VIRE!"

It punched forward, its fist colliding with the whipping vines. The impact sounded like wood splitting, but it wasn't wood—it was hardened vine and steel-thorned plant matter being crushed by raw force.

The vines buckled. They snapped apart mid-swing, shredded into wet fragments that scattered across the grass.

Ferrothorn's body was pulled forward by its own attack's momentum, and in that instant, Electivire closed the remaining distance.

Gary's eyes narrowed. "Chase and finish it."

Electivire didn't need to be told twice. It lunged, the spiraling energy still wrapped around its fist like a storm.

WHAM!

Dynamic Punch landed.

Ferrothorn was launched backward, its spiked body smashing into the energy shield at the edge of the battlefield with a heavy metallic clang. The barrier rippled, absorbing the impact, then Ferrothorn bounced and fell onto the grass in a wet heap.

Its eyes rolled. Its vines twitched once. Then stopped.

The referee raised a flag, sounding almost numb.

"Ferrothorn is unable to battle. Electivire wins."

The host's voice dipped into reluctant amusement.

"Another single blow… Tony is down to his last Pokémon. It doesn't look like a comeback is possible."

As the arena's host, he felt the boredom creeping in—these matches were too one-sided to dramatize. It was the same problem with Tobias. A Trainer so strong that commentary became repetitive: "one-hit," "overwhelming," "no chance."

Tony recalled Ferrothorn, breathing hard through clenched teeth.

The rain continued to fall, pattering against his hair, dripping down his forehead. His hands trembled slightly—not from fear alone, but from frustration.

So this is the difference…

He looked up at Gary, who stood calm and still, as if he were watching a routine spar rather than a League elimination match.

"I won't give up," Tony said aloud.

It wasn't a speech for the crowd. It wasn't for pity. It was for himself.

He drew his final Poké Ball with a firm grip and threw it forward with everything he had left.

A bulky, humanoid pig-like Pokémon appeared, its body thick with muscle. Blue flames flickered around its neck like a burning collar, the heat visible even in the rain as steam hissed from where droplets struck the fire.

"BOAR!"

[Emboar ♂ (Shiny)]

[Level: 49]

[Potential: Gym-tier]

It was rare to see Tony's final Pokémon—an Emboar, and specifically a Shiny Emboar.