Back in the contestant lounge, the adrenaline was still humming through my veins.
As I sat on a plush bench, Flabébé floated down to rest on my knee, her tiny chest heaving slightly from the exertion. I looked at her, then at the "Sea of Flowers" still replaying on the monitors. We had put so much into that one performance.
People often forget that Pokémon moves aren't just "button presses." To get Flabébé to master Grassy Terrain—a move usually reserved for much more mature Pokémon—required months of specialized nutrient diets and thousands of repetitions.
We had spent weeks just practicing the "timing" of the seeds. If she released the energy a second too late, the flowers wouldn't bloom in sync with her dance; a second too early, and the stage would just be a messy pile of dirt.
The "Flower Tornado" was even harder. It was a masterclass in aerodynamics. If her Fairy Wind was too strong, it would shred the petals into confetti; if it was too weak, they would just fall flat. Every spin of her body was calculated to maintain that perfect, violent beauty.
But as I watched the other coordinators prepare, I knew the hard truth: the "Sky-filled Sea of Flowers" was a one-trick pony.
In a real battle, no opponent is going to stand still for forty seconds while you plant a garden and choreograph a twister. If I tried that against a seasoned Trainer, they'd simply command a Flamethrower or a Sludge Bomb and end the show before the first sprout broke the surface. Those moves were pure "Art"—developed specifically for the theater of the Contest.
Now, however, the theater was becoming a colosseum.
"That was seriously incredible, Julian," Aoko said, snapping me out of my thoughts. She walked over, her Piplup waddling beside her. "I've never seen a newcomer with that kind of control. You made that Flabébé look like she was part of the wind itself."
"Thanks, Aoko," I said, offering a tired smile. "But the first round is just about showing off. The second round... that's where the real pressure starts."
The essence of a Contest is a delicate balance. Judges don't just look for a winner; they look for how you win. You can't just power through with raw strength like a typical Gym battle. You have to be elegant. You have to use your opponent's momentum against them.
The unwritten rule of the Contest is "Comparative Advantage." A judge won't penalize a Pikachu for not being as "tough" as a Garchomp, or a Metagross for not being as "cute" as a Jigglypuff. Instead, they look at how well you showcase the specific soul of your species. For Flabébé, that meant being ethereal, precise, and surprisingly resilient.
I've always believed that a Top Coordinator—someone like Wallace or the Gym Leader Adam—is really just a high-level Trainer who refuses to be ugly. When Wallace's Milotic uses Recover, it isn't just a heal; it's a shimmering restoration of posture that makes the opponent look clumsy by comparison. That was the level I wanted to reach.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the wait is over!" Vivian's voice electrified the hall. "The first round is in the books, and thirty-two coordinators have been chosen to move forward. At the very top of the leaderboard, with a near-perfect score... Contestant Julian!"
The crowd roared. I stood up, gave Flabébé a determined nod, and walked back out into the light.
"The rules for the second evaluation are simple!" Vivian explained. "Five minutes on the clock. Reduce your opponent's points by landing beautiful hits, countering their moves, or showcasing your Pokémon's grace. If a Pokémon is knocked out, it's an automatic disqualification. Let the battles begin!"
On my left was a boy named Leo. He looked incredibly nervous, his eyes darting between me and the giant scoreboard. He'd clearly seen my performance and realized he was up against a "pro" masquerading as a rookie.
Ding-dong!
The timer on the big screen began to tick down from 5:00.
"I'm counting on you, Starly! Take the stage!" Leo shouted, tossing his Poké Ball.
The Starly was a fine specimen—sleek feathers, sharp eyes, and powerful-looking wings. He'd clearly focused on speed and physical conditioning.
"Flabébé, I'm counting on you," I said calmly. Flabébé floated to the center of the field, her blue flower held steady.
"Starly, we have to take the lead! Use Quick Attack!"
Leo was trying to blitz me. In the games, Quick Attack is just a priority move. In the real world, it's a blur of kinetic energy. The Starly turned into a grey-and-white streak, tearing across the stage with enough speed to whistle in the wind.
"Flabébé, don't move. Scatter Razor Leaf in a full circle."
Flabébé didn't panic. She waited until the Starly was halfway across the field—too fast to change its trajectory—and then spun once. A ring of sharp, glowing green leaves exploded outward in every direction.
Thwack-thwack-thwack!
Starly, locked into its high-speed charge, flew straight into the wall of leaves. The impact didn't knock it out, but it broke the momentum completely, sending the bird tumbling across the floor.
"Oh! An immediate deduction for Leo!" Vivian cried. On the screen, Leo's point bar took a significant hit. "Julian didn't even try to dodge! He used a 360-degree defense to turn Leo's speed into a liability!"
Leo gritted his teeth. "Don't let it get to you, Starly! If we can't hit her head-on, we'll confuse her! Use Double Team!"
The Starly shook itself off and took to the air. In an instant, the stage was filled with a dozen identical Starly, all circling Flabébé in a dizzying loop. It was a classic Contest move—intended to look flashy and drain the opponent's points through sheer intimidation.
I looked at my own point bar. It was slowly ticking down as the judges penalized me for being "confused."
"It's a beautiful Double Team!" Vivian narrated. "Julian is surrounded! How will he find the real one before his points run out?"
I chuckled softly. "Is that all? Leo, illusions only work if your opponent is looking at the wrong thing. Flabébé, ignore the eyes. Use Vine Whip and give me a 360-degree sweep!"
Two slender, whip-like vines shot out from the base of Flabébé's flower. She began to spin, the vines extending outward like the blades of a helicopter.
Snap! Pop! Snap!
One by one, the "afterimages" of the Starly vanished as the vines passed through them. Finally, the whips caught the real Starly in the midsection, swatting it out of the air like a literal fly.
Leo's points plummeted. The crowd gasped at the efficiency. There was no wasted movement, no panic—just a calm, surgical dismantling of his strategy.
"Another direct hit!" Vivian screamed. "Julian is playing this like a Grand Festival veteran! He's showing us that beauty isn't just about flowers—it's about the elegance of a perfect counter!"
Starly scrambled to its feet, panting. It was frustrated, and Leo was starting to lose his cool.
"You've had your fun," I said, my voice carrying across the quieted arena. "You've shown us two moves. Now... it's time for us to return the favor. Flabébé, let's show them what a real 'Beautiful Battle' looks like."
I adjusted my cap, the shadow of the brim covering my eyes. The "Doctor" in me was finished analyzing the opponent. Now, the Coordinator was ready to end the show.