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Chapter 101: Prelude to the finals
🕑 Added 2025-03-03 14:55:13 +0000 UTC ----Vortex Family Hotel Room –
The hotel room hummed with the soft glow of the television, its screen flickering with the bold logo of Kanto News Network.
Erza Vortex lounged on the plush sofa, her fiery red hair spilling over the cushions, while Ben paced beside her, his eyes already glistening with emotion. The news anchor's voice filled the room, brimming with excitement as footage of Gladion's Machamp and Gwen's Gengar flashed across the screen.
"History in the making, folks!" the anchor declared, adjusting his tie with a grin. "The Vortex siblings from Moonwood Town have stormed the Indigo League, decimating the competition with ease to secure their spots in the finals! Gladion Vortex, with his powerhouse team, and Gwenyth Vortex, wielding her spectral might—both heirs to the legacy of War Hero Maren Vortex—will face off to claim Kanto's crown. Let's hear from the crowd outside the stadium—what do you think of these siblings?"
The screen cut to a bustling crowd, microphones thrust toward eager fans. A lanky teen with spiky hair and a Machamp T-shirt jumped into frame. "We're rooting for Gladion and his Machamp—youth for the win!! Guy's got those biceps and that spirit—pow, pow, pow!" He flexed comically, nearly knocking over a giggling girl beside him.
She shoved him back, clutching a Milotic plushie. "Oh, please! Milotic's where it's at—her beauty's to die for! Did you see that Surf? I almost drowned in my own swoon! Gladion's got style and power—sorry, Gwen, but your brother's stealing the show!"
A burly man with a Gengar tattoo elbowed his way in, grinning toothily. "Nah, Gwen's Gengar's the real champ—strong as heck and spooky to boot! It cackles like it owns the place like a boss. I'd bet my last Poké Dollar on her—Gladion's toast!" He mimicked Gengar's eerie laugh, only to trip over a stray soda can, sprawling dramatically. The crowd erupted in laughter, someone shouting, "Gengar'd dodge that, mate!"
Erza chuckled, leaning back as the TV switched to the analysts' desk. Ben, meanwhile, dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief, already sniffling. The analysts—a trio of bespectacled experts—leaned over a holo-table displaying Gladion's and Gwen's teams.
"Gladion's got the edge here," Analyst One said, pointing to Machamp's stats. "Magmar, Milotic, Machamp—raw power and versatility. He's only revealed five Pokémon, too—could be hiding a secret weapon."
Analyst Two adjusted her glasses, smirking. "Sure, but Gwen's Gengar is his Achilles' heel. Machamp's a beast, but against a Ghost-type ace? Good luck landing a punch—Gengar'll phase right through. Gwen's shown five too—her sixth could tip it. My prediction bar's leaning her way. And what is to say that they have more than one Pokémon hiding in their back pockets."
Analyst Three slammed a fist on the table, startling the others. "Hold up! Gladion's got two unrevealed Pokémon—could be a Dark-type or Psychic to counter Gengar. Gwen's got one mystery slot too—might be a curveball. This is a coin toss, folks—no clear winner!"
The debate devolved into a shouting match, pointers flying as the prediction bar wobbled indecisively. Erza's lips curved into a proud smile, her gaze softening as she glanced at Ben. He'd stopped pacing, now staring at the screen with a quivering lip, tears streaming freely.
"Aren't we in a dilemma over who to support?" Erza mused, her tone teasing but warm. "Our little terrors, all grown up and tearing up the League."
Ben let out a wail, collapsing onto the sofa beside her. "My sweet little babies have grown so much—wahhh!" He buried his face in his hands, sobbing with joy. "I still see them toddling around with Mr. Mime, and now they're finalists! I can't handle it!"
His Alakazam, ever the loyal companion, materialized beside him with a sigh. The Psi Pokémon levitated a spoon, gently patting Ben's head like a frazzled babysitter. *Pat, pat, pat.*[There, there, Master,] Alakazam seemed to say, though his telepathic voice was dry. [You'll flood the room at this rate.] Erza laughed, pulling Ben into a side hug as he blubbered into her shoulder, Alakazam's spoon hovering patiently.
"They've dad's fire," Erza said, her pride glowing. "No matter who wins, the Vortex name's shining bright."
---Elite Four Lounge – Indigo Plateau---
In a dimly lit lounge atop the Indigo Plateau, the Elite Four sprawled across plush chairs, a massive screen replaying Gladion and Gwen's semifinal highlights. Agatha, the Ghost-type maven, sipped her tea with a sly grin, her gnarled fingers tapping the armrest.
"I'm picking the girl," she rasped, her voice like dry leaves. "Gwen's Gengar's got that wicked edge—slippery, ruthless, my kind of spirit. She's got Maren's cunning too—bet she's hiding a trick up her sleeve. Gladion's muscle won't touch her."
Bruno, the Fighting-type titan, scoffed, flexing his massive arms as he leaned forward. "Youthful Machamp all the way! Gladion's Guy's a powerhouse—those fists'll smash anything Gwen throws at him! Gengar's a ghost? Pfft, he'll punch the air so hard it'll feel it! Strength beats sneaky every time!"
Agatha cackled, jabbing her cane at him. "Oh, please, you muscle-headed oaf! Ghosts don't care about your sweaty biceps—Gengar'll dance circles around that lumbering brute. Ever try punching a shadow, Bruno? You'd trip over your own grunts!"
Bruno's face reddened, and he shot up, towering over her. "Trip? I'd suplex that Gengar into next week! Guy's got spirit—youth and vigor! Your bony old ghosts can't handle real power!"
"Real power?" Agatha smirked, her eyes glinting. "My 'bony old ghosts' would haunt your dreams, boy. Gwen's got finesse—you're just cheering for Gladion 'cause he's got more arms than brains, like you!"
Blaine, the Fire-type sage, lounged silently by the fireplace, stroking his mustache.
Lance, the Dragon master, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his cape fluttering faintly. Neither spoke, exchanging a glance that screamed 'here we go again'. Blaine adjusted his sunglasses, muttering, "Kids these days—too loud for my taste."
Lance smirked faintly, content to let the bickering play out.
"Finesse is overrated!" Bruno roared, flexing so hard his shirt strained. "Gladion's got the guts to win!"
"Guts don't beat ghosts!" Agatha snapped, slamming her cane. "Gwen's my bet, and I'll hex you if you're wrong!"
----- Team Rocket Hideout – Unknown Location----
Deep in a shadowed chamber, Giovanni sat before a bank of monitors, the flickering light casting sharp angles across his stern face.
Persian purred at his feet, claws flexing as recordings of Gladion's and Gwen's league battles played on loop—Mystique's Surf, Gengar's cackle, Guy's Dynamic Punch. The Rocket boss steepled his fingers, his mind a web of schemes.
"Maren's grandson and granddaughter, huh?" he murmured, his voice smooth as silk but edged with menace. The Vortex name stirred old memories—war-torn fields, Maren's unyielding stand against Johto's Blackthorn Clan, a patriot's fury Giovanni had once respected, "I wonder if they've inherited their grandfather's patriotic spirit… and that festering hatred for Johto and especially the Blackthorns."
His lips curled into a faint, calculating smile. "If they have, I can use that to my advantage. A spark of old grudges, fanned into flame—Kanto's rising stars could be my pawns yet." His gaze lingered on Gladion's Machamp and Gwen's Gengar.
Persian growled softly, sensing his master's ambition. Giovanni leaned back, the shadows deepening around him, his plans to catch a legendary might have failed but he had more plans than one.
