When Gabriel stepped onto Field 6, the crowd was sparse, just a few first-years clustered at the rails—but one figure stood out immediately.

  Irene Redstone.

  She was seated near the edge of the upper row, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded. Her Electrike—Kit, if Gabriel remembered—sat beside her, tail flicking in slow, rhythmic motions. Neither of them looked relaxed. They looked ready.

  Her gaze swept the field, sharp and still. For a moment, it brushed over Gabriel without surprise or acknowledgement. No smirk. No nod. Just an unspoken sentence in her eyes.

  I see you.

  Gabriel’s chest tightened, not with fear, exactly, but with something quieter and heavier. Like a hand pressing down from the inside.

  She’s watching. She’s studying him.

  Trish waved to him from across the field. “Hey! You ready?”

  He nodded automatically, stepping forward. Teddy followed beside him, every movement calm, ears twitching.

  The battle began.

  “Let’s make this a good one!” Trish had said, voice bright. Then, Lechonk stomped the ground with enthusiasm, snorting with determination.

  But he didn’t even remember the details. Not really.

  Lechonk charged. Teddy dodged. Gabriel called out Covet, then Baby-Doll Eyes, then Play Rough. Movements happened. Attacks collided. Trish shouted encouragement, and her Lechonk grunted and fought with admirable stubbornness.

  Gabriel’s mind wasn’t on the match.

  Every motion felt mechanical, efficient, and practiced. Teddy was fast, disciplined. He won the battle without flair.

  “The winner is Gabriel Santos,” the referee called out.

  He barely heard it.

  Five more points.

  Yet, the win felt hollow. Not because Trish had been an easy opponent but because none of it mattered. Not compared to what was coming.

  He looked back toward the stands.

  Irene was gone.

  But the ghost of her gaze lingered.

  Later, sitting beside Melody and Flavio, he barely registered the hum of conversation around him. The bleachers were fuller now, mid-morning brought most first-year students to watch, but Gabriel only half-listened as Melody stepped into her match against Lidia.

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  The Vulpix was calm and elegant, her Ice Shard dancing around the opponent. The Minccino darted and twirled, quick and agile. From the sound of it, Lidia was calling out in excited bursts, full of flair and energy. Melody didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.

  Gabriel was watching the match, but he wasn’t really there.

  Every move Meli landed sent a phantom pulse down his arm. He wasn't even sure why the nerves were hitting now.

  He had fought enough battles this weekend. But somehow this felt different.

  Irene was not just another opponent.

  The match ended. Melody stood calm. Lidia laughed, bright, irreverent, untouched by the loss, tossing a compliment over her shoulder as she returned her partner.

  “Good fight!” she called.

  Melody smiled. “Two points.”

  Flavio stepped down next. Koa leapt beside him, wings half-spread, energy bouncing off his feathers. Across the field, Hugo stood in his steady, quiet way, Petilil swaying gently at his side.

  It was a soft match, very measured, careful.

  Hugo wasn’t fighting to win, he was testing Petilil and himself.

  Koa didn’t overwhelm her. He just danced and put on a show.

  Gabriel watched the match, but it passed through him like wind through tall grass.

  So when Flavio claimed his one point, Gabriel was already checking the matchboard on his Pokédex.

  Irene Redstone vs. Rayches Uri – Field 3 – in progress

  He stood and Teddy followed.

  The viewing deck for Field 3 was higher up, carved from stone, with a clear view of the small practice arena below.

  Irene stood poised across from her opponent—a tall, nervous-looking girl with a shaggy mop of hair and a quiet Wooper at her feet.

  Kit was already moving.

  Gabriel didn’t speak. He leaned against the rail. Teddy hopped onto his shoulder.

  Rayches shouted something. Wooper launched a shot of mud, but Kit was already gone.

  A blur of green fur. A streak of speed.

  Kit slammed into Wooper with Quick Attack, circled, then struck again—Headbutt, sharp and low. Wooper staggered, tried to retaliate with Mud Shot, but Kit spun away, lashing out with another Quick Attack and Headbutt combination that cracked the air like thunder.

  The fact that Wooper was immune to electric-type didn’t seem to matter.

  Irene didn’t shout commands. She spoke low and clear, one word at a time. Kit followed like lightning in a stormcloud—focused, fast, and relentless.

  The match ended in less than a minute.

  “The winner is Irene Redstone.”

  No cheers. No applause. Just quiet respect from other first-years, and maybe fear.

  She stepped forward, knelt, and placed a hand on Kit’s head. The Electrike didn’t wag his tail or puff his chest. He just stood there calmly.

  Gabriel stayed silent.

  But inside his mind self doubt seemed to appear, ‘What if I can’t touch her? What if Kit’s too fast? What if—'

  Then, he noticed Irene turning towards the crowd, scanning, briefly, intentionally.

  And she looked at him.

  No surprise. No emotion.

  In her eyes he recognized the challenge.

  She nodded once, then turned and walked away, Kit at her side.

  The moment cracked something open. I wasn’t just watching anymore. I was there again—me. Gabriel. No longer drifting, no longer doubting. Just ready.

  There was no fear. Not even anxiety anymore.

  It was pure, sharp focus.

  Everything in my body buzzed, not from pride or pressure, but from clarity.

  This wasn’t about climbing the ranking. It wasn’t about the points or proving myself.

  It was about Irene. It was about me.

  Because for the first time, we weren’t just facing another student, we were facing someone who saw battles the same way we did. Serious. Focused. Inevitable.

  She wasn’t just my next opponent. She was the first who made the outcome matter.

  I looked at Teddy. His expression was unreadable.

  He looked back, tightened his paw around the training ball, then hopped off my shoulder and walked ahead.

  He paused. Looked over his shoulder.

  Come on, his look seemed to say. We’ve got prep to do.

  I followed.

  And for the first time all day, my heartbeat matched the pace of my thoughts.

  The storm was coming. And I was going to meet her head-on.