Agumon's next Pepper Breath came out messy—too fast, too desperate. Charmeleon slipped past it and raked Agumon across the shoulder. Agumon yelped, more surprised than hurt, but the sound hit Tai like a slap.
"Agumon—!" Tai barked, and the word came out harsher than he meant.
Agumon looked back again. Fear and loyalty tangled in his eyes.
Matt's voice carried across the broken geometry. "Tai. You're not helping."
Sora called, "He's scared. Not of the Pokémon. Of you being mad."
Tai's face burned hot with embarrassment and anger and something worse—guilt.
Agumon's body shook. A surge rolled through him like a wave hitting a shore.
"Tai…!" Agumon's voice was small.
Then his shape detonated into light.
Greymon roared into existence, huge and sudden, shaking dust out of the coliseum's ancient seams.
Etemon practically melted with delight. "THAT'S it, baby! Give me the fireworks! Give me the big monster! Give me the ratings—mmhmm!"
Greymon's size flipped the fight instantly. One sweep of his tail knocked Charmeleon back. The Pokémon skidded, claws scraping stone.
For the first time, Tai saw the silent boy move more than a fraction.
One step forward.
Not aggressive. Protective.
The boy lifted his device again.
Charmeleon glowed.
Charizard emerged like a shadow made of wings—massive, confident, and suddenly the arena felt smaller.
Tai's throat went dry. This wasn't a Digimon. It didn't digivolve. It evolved. But it was happening here, in this place, responding to that device like the Digital World had decided the rules were optional.
Izzy was talking fast, hands fluttering like he was trying to catch the explanation midair. "It's like command-triggered transformation, but it's still bond-linked. The device is forcing a compatible pathway—"
Tai barely heard him.
He watched Charizard tilt its head toward the boy, tail flame steady, awaiting instruction. The boy didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. He just… stood. Present. Sure.
Greymon lunged.
Charizard met him—caught him—held him for a single impossible moment.
And then the boy finally spoke.
One line. Quiet. Clean. Not a shout. Not a threat.
"Seismic Toss."
Charizard spun Greymon with brutal grace and hurled him across the arena like a thrown boulder.
Greymon slammed into the coliseum's stage area beneath Etemon's perch. Stone exploded. Dust blasted outward. Etemon shrieked and danced back, almost getting clipped by debris.
"WATCH where you're throwin' the merchandise, baby!" Etemon yelped, smoothing himself like embarrassment was a stain. "This is a performance venue—mmhmm!"
But the impact did more than wreck Etemon's dignity.
It cracked the glowing "goal" structure.
Light flickered. Stone fractured.
And then—like a glass bulb shattering—every goal alcove burst apart.
Barriers dropped. Corridors opened. The DigiDestined stumbled forward onto the arena floor, finally free.
Tai didn't feel relieved.
He felt exposed.
Because now everyone could see the fight.
And Tai couldn't stop looking at the silent boy and thinking:
He's not just strong. He's not just a good battler.
He's smart.
And he's got something Tai doesn't.
Why?
That question hooked into Tai's chest like a barb.
And the moment Charizard angled its head and inhaled—ready to finish Greymon—
Tai answered the question the only way he knew how.
By running straight into danger.