The air in Vermilion City carried that harbor-exclusive smell—a mix of salty sea breeze and machine oil.
Towering cranes, rows of steel containers, the constant blare of ship horns… all of it traced out a hard-edged industrial silhouette completely different from Cerulean City.
Compared to the obviously industrial Vermilion, Cerulean felt like a tourist city.
And Pewter City? That was a mining city, with all sorts of ores being dug out of the ground every day.
Ash and the others worked their way through the busy streets until they finally spotted that familiar red roof—the Vermilion City Pokémon Center.
What they saw at the entrance made them stop dead in their tracks.
There was a line.
A long line.
Trainers stood shoulder to shoulder at the doors, anxiety written all over their faces. Some clutched Poké Balls to their chests; others had their Pokémon beside them—bandaged, limp, eyes dull.
Between the automatic doors sliding open and shut, they could hear hurried footsteps inside… and, every now and then, a stifled cry of pain from a Pokémon.
"What… is going on?" Misty looked around in shock. "Is the Vermilion Pokémon Center always this… swamped?"
Brock's brows knitted together, his expression turning grim. "Normally? No."
"As far as I know, Vermilion Gym is strict—but not this extreme."
Gym trainers working under the Leader were, nine times out of ten, just salaried workers.
A few hundred a month.
Who was going to risk their life and license for that?
And what if one of the kids they toyed with today turned into a monster-tier trainer ten years from now and came back to settle accounts?
Do your job, assess challengers—no one said you had to try to kill them.
So… if it was this bad, it probably wasn't just the staff.
This had Lt. Surge himself written all over it.
But as Gym Leader, he had no reason to personally crush low-ranking challengers all day.
…So what had happened to make Lt. Surge act this abnormally?
That was where Brock's train of thought landed after running the numbers in his head.
He was ninety percent sure.
Just then, the Center doors slid open again.
A very tired-looking Nurse Joy rushed out, pushing a cart piled high with medicines and supplies.
Sweat beaded at her temples. Her usual gentle smile was nowhere to be seen—her lips were pressed into a tight, thin line.
She practically half-ran toward the emergency ward, so focused she didn't even notice Ash and the others at first.
Ash stepped forward on instinct. "Nurse Joy, excuse me—"
She halted mid-step, finally registering the boy in the cap and the two kids behind him. Her shoulders sagged a fraction as she let out a weary sigh.
"New challengers?" she asked, voice strained. "You're here to challenge Lt. Surge, aren't you?"
She rubbed her brow, and when she spoke again there was clear helplessness in her tone—and a faint, carefully held-in irritation.
"Mr. Lt. Surge has been… unusually motivated lately."
"He's personally taken over almost all of the Gym's challenge 'evaluations'…"
"I know a Gym's job is to test and filter trainers, but… sigh… his Raichu's attacks are far too heavy-handed."
"Those with lighter injuries, we've asked to wait outside."
"The ones whose injuries can't be allowed to develop into long-term problems… I have to prioritize them immediately."
"Their lives aren't in danger, but Electric-type moves cause nerve damage and muscle tears that can take a very long time to fully recover from…"
"He's already sent in the seventeenth one today."
She glanced back at the line, then at them again.
"If you're going to challenge him, please… be mentally prepared."
With that, she pushed the cart and hurried away again.
Nurse Joy was working herself into the ground.
Misty sucked in a sharp breath. "Seventeenth?! Is Lt. Surge… completely out of his mind?"
She'd worked as a Gym trainer herself.
She knew what a "test" was supposed to look like.
At Cerulean Gym, plenty of challengers got knocked back. That was normal.
But some always left with badges, and even when they lost, their Pokémon usually weren't hurt this badly.
A bit of Potion, some short-term treatment at the Gym itself—that was enough most of the time. No need to flood the Pokémon Center.
If this many people were lining up outside the Center…
That meant there were even more whose injuries were "only" serious enough for in-Gym first aid—sent home battered but not broken.
Lt. Surge… was he trying to become some kind of ultra workaholic executioner?
And the pass rate was way too low.
If these trainers had earned their badges despite getting battered, they wouldn't be standing around here with their shoulders slumped and eyes dead.
Just looking around, you could tell: these were people who had been beaten badly and left empty-handed.
Yeah.
Both Brock and Misty had the professional awareness of trained Gym staff.
They were good at reading a scene and piecing together what had happened.
Ash spoke quietly. "Looks like Meowth's intel was right."
"This Gym Leader… doesn't seem to have any patience for 'weaklings.' "
Right then, a commotion flared at the back of the line.
"Move! Please, let me through!" a desperate voice called out.
A familiar figure shoved his way forward—sweaty, breathing hard.
Beast Tamer Ming.
In his arms, the Sandshrew they'd fought just days ago was now a wreck.
All that hardy brown armor was scorched black. Plates were cracked in several places. Its limbs twitched uncontrollably, and pale foam seeped from its mouth.
You couldn't see a trace of its former sharp spirit.
"Sandshrew! Hang in there!" Ming's voice shook as he pushed toward the front of the line.
"Ming?" Ash recognized him instantly.
Ming glanced up at the sound, disbelief flickering across his face for a heartbeat before urgency swallowed everything.
"It's you… Sorry, I don't have time to chat. Sandshrew, it—"
Brock stepped in without a word. "Nurse Joy just went into emergency. I'll take a look first!"
He knelt, hands moving with practiced precision as he checked Sandshrew's condition.
The more he examined, the tighter his expression drew.
"Full-body conduction burns…" he muttered. "The armor's defense was practically deleted."
"What a brutal Thunderbolt…"
"To take this much damage through type advantage…"
In his head, the conclusion clicked into place—
And it made him very, very unhappy.
This wasn't a "close match."
This was level difference.
Absolute stat crush.
What kind of Gym Leader used his strongest Pokémon to club rookies?
A Gym's job was to train, to teach, to make new trainers aware of their weaknesses and limitations—
To filter out those who weren't ready.
Not to break the ones who were.
And Beast Tamer Ming…
As a rookie setting out from his first route, his Sandshrew should not have been outclassed this badly.
For most trainers, a Sandshrew of his level should comfortably earn the first three badges with decent training.
If he couldn't even pass the first Gym, the difficulty curve was warped.
Ming isn't the problem, Brock thought darkly. Lt. Surge is.
Ming clenched his jaw so hard his teeth creaked, fists white-knuckled. "It was Lt. Surge's Raichu…"
"It only used one move… Thunderbolt…"
"My Sandshrew didn't even touch it. Harden and Rollout… were a joke in front of that strength…"
His voice was full of unwillingness and fear and just a hint of… being lost.
He'd worked so hard to build up that hundred-win streak.
He'd finally been ready to go out into the world, chest full of confidence—
And his very first Gym battle had ended like this.
Misty stared at Sandshrew's condition and couldn't hold it in anymore. "This is too much! A Gym battle isn't supposed to be a fight to the death!"
She didn't even know how to comfort him.
From her point of view, Ming's entire mindset had clearly taken a serious hit.
When people who don't put in effort fail, they can usually accept it more easily.
But someone like Ming, who had visibly worked hard—
If that kind of effort didn't pay off…
Then the pressure that built up inside them was huge.
If hard work doesn't bring results, then what's the point of working so hard?
Most people ended up thinking like that.
Ming's shoulders drooped. His voice was a whisper. "He said… 'If your Pokémon can't even withstand this much current, trash like you has no right to a badge.' "
Around them, other waiting trainers joined in bitterly.
"My Combusken went down in one hit too!"
"My Ivysaur held on for two attacks, now it's still unconscious inside…"
"He said it was 'necessary tempering'… Damn it, what kind of tempering is that?!"
The entrance of the Pokémon Center became thick with frustration and resentment.
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