Chapter 157: That's It?
Xiu blinked his eyes open, staring blankly at the plain white ceiling of the Pokémon Center room. Morning light filtered through the window. A familiar internal battle commenced – the allure of the comfortable bed versus the ingrained discipline of routine and habit. With a reluctant sigh, he pushed himself up and began the morning ritual: preparing precise breakfast portions for Abra, Scizor, and Happiny.
Only after his Pokémon were attended to did he realize... he had absolutely nothing planned for the day. He'd already thoroughly explored the city during the first two days of the festival, absorbing local knowledge, observing vendors, buying stuff.
And then what? A sense of vague unease, bordering on boredom, crept in.
("You still suspect something is wrong with Viridian City, don't you?") Abra's telepathic voice echoed softly in his mind, interrupting his drift.
Xiu nodded slowly, his expression turning serious. "Yes. It's undeniably strange. I've confirmed it with several unrelated sources now – prices for basic foodstuffs, grains, fruits, vegetables... they've all seen abnormal increases recently. It's completely abnormal for seasonal market behavior, and doesn't seem linked to the festival itself."
A frown deepened between his brows. "In my experience," he murmured, thinking back to his previous life, "significant, illogical shifts in staple food prices are rarely random. If natural disasters aren't the cause..." His voice trailed off. ...then it's usually man-made manipulation. Hoarding, artificial scarcity, market corners... Things done with malicious intent. "It's even more concerning than a natural cause."
("Someone harbors ill intentions,") Abra projected, its mental tone uncharacteristically grave. Its large eyes opened, focusing intently on Xiu. ("Do you intend to intervene?")
Xiu shook his head slowly. "We're scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow. There's little we could realistically uncover or achieve in that timeframe." He spoke calmly, pragmatically. "Besides, Viridian has its own police force, Pokémon Center, and League presence. This isn't our jurisdiction, nor our responsibility." And getting involved invites scrutiny, risk.
Scizor, perched nearby, tilted its metallic head, observing the silent exchange between Xiu and Abra with its sharp, unblinking eyes. It didn't understand the nuances, but deferred to Xiu's judgment.
Xiu remained silent for another moment, then turned to the room's computer terminal and composed a brief, encrypted email to Xiaoyuan, outlining his observations about the price anomalies and instructing her to monitor commodity news from Viridian City.
Finished with that, he decided to seek out Professor Oak. Perhaps the older man had some insight, or maybe just distracting conversation. He stepped out and knocked on the adjacent door.
"Professor?"
Silence. Just like yesterday.
'Out again? Or perhaps never returned last night.' Xiu sighed internally. Discussing his concerns with Oak would have to wait.
He headed downstairs. As the elevator doors opened onto the lobby, he was met with an unexpected sight – a large crowd of people flowing purposefully towards the rear exit, the one leading to the Center's attached battle arena.
'Ah, right. The tournament battles start today.'
His earlier sense of boredom dissipated, replaced by curiosity. While Professor Oak often disparaged formal battles, Xiu saw value in them. It was a controlled environment to observe different Pokémon, trainer strategies, and the general standard of competence in the region.
However, he had no intention of fighting through the crowd. He turned towards the Pokémon Center's cafeteria first. Breakfast before battles.
His plan hit an immediate snag. Unlike the previous day's festival events, entry to the battle tournament required tickets. And, predictably, they were completely sold out. Xiu found himself momentarily at a loss – possessing funds but lacking the necessary access.
Fortunately, the staff member checking tickets at the arena entrance recognized him from the previous days. "Mr. Xiu? Professor Oak's assistant?" After a brief explanation of the sold-out situation, the staff, likely wanting to remain helpful to someone associated with the esteemed Professor, issued him an 'administrator' pass, granting him access.
The pass, however, came with an implicit expectation. Instead of finding a seat, Xiu found himself subtly guided towards the staff area near the arena floor, effectively drafted into helping maintain order near the entrance pathway as the last waves of spectators filed in.
He observed wryly, standing awkwardly at the edge of the battle field, watching the noisy, dense crowd fill the stands. Pulled into working crowd control.
Thankfully, the initial chaos subsided as people found their seats. The constant roar of conversation remained, echoing in the enclosed space, but the physical jostling lessened. Xiu took the opportunity to properly survey the Viridian City arena.
It was a classic circular design. The main battle floor, sunk below spectator level, currently showed three standard-sized rectangular battlefields marked out, though Xiu knew such arenas were often modular, capable of reconfiguring into a single, larger space for major matches.
Tiered seating rose steeply around the perimeter, easily capable of holding three thousand spectators, maybe more. Beneath the stands, presumably, lay the trainers' locker rooms, waiting areas, and support facilities.
It was significantly larger and more professionally equipped than the simple arena back in Fuchsia City. Viridian definitely has money.
His position, while technically 'working,' offered an excellent, unobstructed view of the action, closer than even the front-row seats above him.
Suddenly, a sharp burst of static crackled from the overhead speakers, followed by a clear tone that momentarily silenced the crowd's buzz. All eyes turned towards the center of the arena floor.
A man stood there, dressed in a flashy suit, holding a microphone. He raised his free hand high. "Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Viridian City Invitational!"
He launched into a long tirade of standard welcomes, sponsor thank-yous, and hype-building platitudes. Xiu tuned most of it out until the host finally circled back to the battles themselves, briefly outlining the tournament structure and mentioning a few highly anticipated participants. Cameras positioned around the arena indicated the event was being broadcast, likely regionally.
"And now," the host boomed, "let the battles begin! Please welcome our first competitors to the stage!"
The host retreated to the sidelines as an official referee in a crisp uniform, carrying red and blue flags, marched onto the central field, performing a quick check before taking his position. From opposite tunnels leading backstage, two young trainers emerged. They looked nervous, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old.
They took their positions, released their chosen Pokémon, and the first battle commenced.
Xiu watched intently, assessing. The tournament format was straightforward: initial rounds were one-on-one. Quarterfinals would be two-on-two. Semifinals and finals were best-of-three using three Pokémon each.
Matches had a fifteen-minute time limit; prolonged stalemates would be decided by referee judgment based on Pokémon condition. 'Standard League rules', Xiu recognized. Designed for efficiency and spectator engagement. It reflected the practical constraints most trainers faced – maintaining more than three Pokémon at a competitive level required significant resources, both time and money.
The first match concluded quickly. And disappointingly.
'Trash,' was Xiu's blunt internal verdict. The trainers seemed to be simply calling out attack names, their Pokémon charging forward mindlessly. There was no discernible strategy, no positioning, no anticipation, no synergy. It resembled, Xiu thought with dawning horror, a crude turn-based video game. You attack, I attack.
He suddenly recalled commanding Scyther in his early battles, shouting move names with earnest intensity. 'Did I look this... amateurish? Is this how Oak saw me?' The faint flush of embarrassment crept up his neck.
The next few matches were depressingly similar. Low-level trainers, likely locals who had signed up just for the experience, battling with poorly trained Pokémon. Most matches ended within ten minutes, often due to sheer statistical advantage or a lucky critical hit rather than skillful play.
What did impress Xiu, in a perverse way, was the commentator. The same host who'd delivered the opening speech now provided play-by-play, and his skill lay not in tactical analysis, but in pure, unadulterated hype. He transformed clumsy exchanges into "fierce collisions of power," simple tackles into "brilliant strategic maneuvers," basic elemental attacks into "displays of overwhelming force."
Ah. Xiu finally understood Oak's dismissal of televised battles, and the necessity of shouting move names. It's not for the trainers; it's for the audience. The average spectator, lacking deep battle knowledge, couldn't appreciate subtle tactics. They needed the commentator to tell them what was exciting, to frame the simplistic actions with dramatic language. Take away the shouted move names, the exaggerated commentary, and the spectacle would deflate instantly.
They didn't need understanding; they craved stimulation. The thrill of seeing Pokémon – creatures often feared or kept at a distance in daily life – clashing under human command. The vicarious release of watching controlled destruction.
'It's no different from the Colosseum in ancient Rome,' Xiu realized with a sudden, chilling clarity. Or cockfighting, dogfighting, boxing... Just packaged differently. He looked around at the cheering, shouting crowd, their faces flushed with excitement, completely engrossed in the mediocre battle unfolding below.
The sight struck him absurd.