"Are you the punk who said Fighting-types have no future?"
Caleb: ?
"And claimed with a straight face that playing Fighting-types isn't as good as following your Poison tactics?"
Caleb: ??
"Even had the nerve to say that even if I showed up in person, you'd still take me down?"
Caleb: ???
Staring at the bony old man who was pressing in step by step, Caleb broke into a cold sweat.
Who even are you, old man?! Do we know each other?
Just then, Caleb's gaze slipped past the old man and landed on a familiar face standing behind him.
It was none other than Box, the challenger from that morning.
You little brat—it was you spreading crap about me behind my back!
The gym's reputation was already in the dumps, and now you're piling on?!
Noticing Caleb's piercing look, Box quickly averted his eyes, not daring to meet his gaze.
Though to be fair, it wasn't entirely his fault.
Originally, Box just wanted to exaggerate a little, hoping his grandpa would come teach Caleb a lesson. But he'd poured too much oil on the fire—and now Grandpa was fully lit.
He was dead set on tearing this gym down.
Sure, Caleb was an annoying gym leader, but the referee girl was actually kinda cute. If the gym got wrecked because of this, that'd just be tragic!
"Sir, we don't believe in rumors or spread them here. Everything in our gym is under surveillance—I swear none of that ever happened."
Caleb spoke solemnly and confidently.
Thank goodness he'd listened to Miss Ivy and installed security cameras all over the place.
He'd originally done it to catch thieves—who knew it would come in handy like this?
"For real?"
The bony old man asked, half-convinced.
"For real. If you want, I can show you right now. To be extra safe, I even had audio installed on the cameras—100% legit." Caleb pulled out his phone, ready to prove his innocence.
Screwed!
Hearing that, Box shrank back instinctively, a sinking feeling washing over him.
If Grandpa really found out, he'd definitely be in for a world of hurt.
Box's face turned pale at the thought. Tiny beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
The old man turned to glance at Caleb, then slowly shifted his gaze toward his grandson.
A long silence passed before he finally sighed and said:
"Forget it. Looks like I jumped the gun."
"I owe you an apology, Leader Caleb."
Hearing that the old man could be reasoned with, Caleb finally relaxed and smiled.
"That's good to hear…"
But before he could finish his breath, the old man spoke again: "Still, the fact remains that you beat my grandson. And since I'm here already, how about letting me test you out myself?"
"So you're here to challenge me?" Caleb asked, eyes lighting up.
"Hahaha, a challenger, huh? It's been ages since anyone called me that. These days, folks usually call me 'Elite Four.'" The old man chuckled.
Now that the misunderstanding was cleared up, he actually seemed pretty easygoing.
Wait a second...
Did he just say Elite Four?
"Wait, what?! The Elite Four?!" Caleb exclaimed.
No way—you're the real deal? I thought you were just bluffing!
He quickly pulled out his phone to check.
And what he found left him speechless.
He was legit.
But it was all bad press.
Worse than the Solaceon Gym's, even.
"The Weakest Elite Four in History Gets Wrecked by a Bug Catcher at the Championship."
"Creepiest Elite Four Nabbed for Harassing Officer Jenny on the Street."
"Most Shameless Elite Four…"
"Most Perverted Elite Four…"
"Most…"
"Most…"
There were tons more like that—some of the terms were so embarrassing, Caleb couldn't even bring himself to read them out loud.
Didn't want to get banned or something.
Looking at the old man in front of him, Caleb started to have doubts. Was this really him? Maybe it was a Ditto in disguise?
He held up his phone and double-checked.
"Hahaha, I bet the internet says a lot of nasty things about me, huh?"
"Some of those words probably even make you blush, right?"
"You… you know about that?" Caleb was stunned.
That calm? Seriously? Some of those words were so explicit they'd get censored online—weren't old people usually really concerned about their reputation?
"Just rumors, nothing worth mentioning," the old man said with a relaxed smile, shaking his head.
"You're not even mad?" Caleb couldn't help but ask.
The old man tilted his head slightly and sighed before saying:
"If it were back then, sure, I'd have had feelings about it. But now… it's all just a bit of weathered storm."
With that, he turned around, leaving Caleb with a slightly hunched but resolute figure.
Like a wise old master who had seen through life's chaos and could now remain calm no matter what the world threw at him.
He had that serene, back-to-you vibe going on.
Thankfully, Caleb didn't believe a single word of it.
…
"2v2 okay with you?" Caleb asked.
Now that he had more Pokémon in his gym, 1v1 battles were no longer the default.
Eventually, once he had a wider variety, he'd move up to the standard 3v3 format.
"2v2, huh… Brings back memories." The old man squinted, seemingly lost in thought.
Oh great, here we go again.
Ever since Caleb learned this guy was an Elite Four, he hadn't stopped going on about "the good old days."
Nostalgia this, nostalgia that.
If you miss it so much, then get back out there! Challenge the Championships! What are you doing here, trying to prove something in my little gym?
Of course, Caleb kept all that to himself. Weak or not, this guy was Elite Four-level. He probably still had serious skills.
"Don't worry, I won't bully you—I won't be using my main team," the old man said with a grin.
As a former member of the Elite Four, it was impossible he only had one lineup. He probably had a second string, maybe even a third or fourth team if he had the energy for it.
"I'll start with this one. Go, Machamp!"
With a low growl, a muscular humanoid Pokémon with four arms appeared on the field.
Machamp, huh? Wonder if it's female… Wait, why do I even care?
Snapping out of it, Caleb enlarged the Poké Ball in his hand and tossed it behind him.
"Then I'll go with this guy. Let's go, Rotom!"
With a flash of light, a strange orange Pokémon shaped like a washing machine appeared on the field.
"Rotom?"
Box, watching from the sidelines, blinked in confusion. Wasn't this supposed to be a Poison-type gym?
And that Gliscor from before—even though it knew Toxic, it wasn't actually Poison-type, right?
This was the same Rotom from Caleb's phone. In fact, the phone also housed a Porygon, though that one was shy and preferred staying in cyberspace.
Rotom, also known as the Electronic Ghost, was pretty obscure until electronic devices became widespread. But once Rotom phones hit the market, it started getting more attention.
As for Porygon, being entirely artificial and able to freely move through digital space, it was strictly regulated by the League.
It wasn't an exaggeration to say that Caleb's phone—with both Rotom and Porygon—was worth an astronomical amount.
The next moment, a faint wisp of flame rose from Machamp's body.
"It's… burned?"
Despite the burn, Machamp didn't look pained at all—if anything, it seemed even more hyped up.
Seeing this, the old man smirked proudly.
"Hmph, I knew you'd try to use Toxic. Too bad—this Machamp has the Guts ability."
"It's also holding a Flame Orb, so your Poison tricks are useless against me."
Guts: When affected by any status condition (except fainting), the Pokémon's Attack increases by 50%, and burn no longer halves the power of physical moves.
"Focus Energy, then Brick Break!" the old man commanded confidently.
In the real world, status effects weren't as simple as in the games—a Pokémon could be afflicted with multiple conditions at once.
Poison, burn, paralysis, confusion, freeze, sleep—any combination was possible.
But the more status effects a Pokémon had, the weaker each individual one became. They'd dilute each other.
For example, if you poisoned a burned Machamp, the Toxic effect would be heavily reduced—basically just normal poison damage.
But who said I was using poison?
"Rotom, use Trick."
"Huh?"
The old man visibly froze.