Steven pointed at Flint, who was standing off to the side with a long, dejected expression, and turned to President Goodshow with mild curiosity.
"Has he always been that... spirited?"
"Probably not quite to that degree," President Goodshow said, his smile somewhere between fond and helpless.
In the end, Flint had burned himself out trying to push Cynthia to her limit — and hadn't quite managed it. He had come close, though, and that counted for something. Among the Sinnoh Elite Four, Flint would eventually grow into the strongest. But that was still ahead of him. He was newly appointed, and it showed.
The math wasn't difficult to follow. Bertha was approaching retirement. Aaron's Bug-type team was at a structural disadvantage against Flint's Fire-types. And Lucian, for all his brilliance, tended to work through rest periods and keep irregular hours — being quietly surpassed was an occupational hazard when you never stopped long enough to notice someone gaining on you.
It was only a matter of time.
Another thirty minutes passed. Cynthia stepped through the door to face the third Elite.
The third member of the Sinnoh Elite Four was Bertha — a veteran Ground-type specialist, and one of the longest-serving members the League had.
Steven watched her figure on the screen with genuine interest. The Kanto Elite Four were famously reclusive. Almost no one in the wider world had ever seen them in person, and no photographs of them circulated publicly. But Steven had a good memory for names and faces from old League records.
Bertha's name bore a passing resemblance to Agatha of the Kanto Elite Four. And looking at her now — the white hair, the lined face, the unhurried manner — the resemblance didn't end with the name.
"President Goodshow," Steven said carefully, "does Bertha have any relatives in other regions, by any chance?"
Goodshow considered it for a moment. "Not that I'm aware of."
"I see." Steven let it go. A coincidence, then. They did happen.
On screen, Cynthia and Bertha's battle had already settled into a careful rhythm.
Whenever Cynthia sent out a Water-type, Bertha countered with Whiscash — a Water and Ground dual-type that neutralised the type advantage. Whenever Cynthia switched, Bertha recalled Whiscash and adjusted in kind. The exchange was methodical, two experienced Trainers reading each other's decisions in real time.
By the time it was nearly over, Bertha had only one Pokémon remaining.
Cynthia had three still standing, but all three were in poor shape.
Bertha's final Pokémon was a Hippowdon with dark grey skin — the colouring of a female. The moment it appeared, a Sandstorm rose automatically across the entire field, sand churning up from nowhere, reducing visibility and grinding away at anything that wasn't Rock, Ground, or Steel.
Steven's expression shifted into something quietly satisfied.
Garchomp, in its standard form, had the ability Sand Veil — the Sandstorm made it harder to hit. In its Mega Evolved form, that became Sand Force, boosting its attacking power in harsh sand conditions. The moment Bertha had sent out Hippowdon, she had handed Cynthia an advantage without realising it.
It wasn't a free victory. Mega Garchomp took damage holding its ground, and Hippowdon was not a Pokémon that fell quickly. But it fell in the end.
Steven quietly assessed Cynthia's remaining team. Spiritomb and Lucario were in the best condition of anyone left. Garchomp, Milotic, Gastrodon, and Roserade were all running low — thirty minutes of rest would help, but wouldn't be enough for a full recovery.
Worse, Lucario and Roserade were both vulnerable to Psychic-type moves.
The fourth and final Elite would be the hardest.
The rest period ended.
Cynthia walked through the final door with her eyes set.
The room beyond was quiet. Lucian stood with his back partly turned, the last page of a book open in his hand. He finished it, closed the cover, and set it aside before turning to face her — unhurried, composed, as though he had been waiting without any particular impatience.
"Impeccable timing," he said, a slight smile crossing his face. "I had just finished." He tucked the book under one arm, and a Poké Ball appeared in his other hand as though it had always been there. "I am Lucian, of the Elite Four. My specialty is Psychic-type Pokémon." His tone was measured. "Give this battle everything you have, challenger."
Cynthia raised Spiritomb's Poké Ball and released it in a clean arc.
Bang.
The Keystone slab materialised on the field. From the swirling gaseous mass that condensed around it, Spiritomb took shape — dark and layered, like smoke given intention.
Lucian's expression shifted with the faintest trace of amusement. "A Dark-type. That does make things more interesting." He raised his Poké Ball and threw it without delay.
The Pokémon that emerged was bronze-coloured and bell-shaped — a crossbeam across its crown, its mouth facing downward, ancient patterns etched across every surface of its body. Steel and Psychic. Bronzong.
"Then — begin."
Steven's gaze stayed fixed on the screen.
Spiritomb fought hard and took down two of Lucian's Pokémon before it was worn down. From there, the battle became increasingly difficult. The remaining Pokémon on Cynthia's side were either low on health or sitting at type disadvantages, and Lucian's team picked them apart one by one with the patience of someone who had seen every kind of desperation and simply waited for it to collapse.
It came down to one-on-one.
A Mega Garchomp, battle-worn and not at full strength, against a completely fresh Gallade.
Steven leaned forward slightly.
Gallade was a formidable opponent — precise, fast, and capable of dealing significant physical damage. But it had one consistent structural weakness: its physical bulk. Garchomp's durability, even injured, was considerable. It absorbed what it had to, and struck back.
Gallade fell.
President Goodshow rose from his chair beside Steven. "I'll head to the Champion's Hall," he said. "Wait here a moment." He pushed open the door and moved briskly down the corridor.
Steven stayed where he was. He exhaled, slow and quiet, and let the tension in his shoulders settle.
On the screen, Cynthia had crossed the field and dropped into a crouch, her arms around Garchomp. The great dragon Pokémon leaned into her, its usual fierce expression softened.
A small smile crossed Steven's face.
She did it.
He stood and made his way through the passage to the entrance of the Sinnoh League building, stepping out into the open air.
The sky was clear and wide. He looked up at it for a moment.
The promise has been fulfilled.
He had never been entirely sure why he had agreed to it in the first place — that childhood promise, made so casually, carried forward so steadily. If President Goodshow's proposal went through, Steven had plans. Other regions to visit. The Kalos region, in particular, was said to have an exceptionally rich concentration of Mega Stones still undiscovered. He wanted to see it for himself.
And Hoenn wouldn't be left without capable hands. Joseph could more than manage things on the excavation side.
His Pokégear buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to check.
A trending news notification had come through. He opened it, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
Professor Sycamore has published his research paper on Mega Evolution.
The paper included documented appearances of the Mega Stones corresponding to every known Mega-capable Pokémon. That explained the long silence from Kalos — the scope of it must have taken years.
Steven read through it carefully, pausing on a few entries.
Lopunny... Audino... He had forgotten those. The list was longer than he remembered.
He was still reading when something landed on his back.
Not gently.
"I did it! Steven!"
Steven caught his balance, put his Pokégear away, and reached back to support Cynthia's weight — hands beneath her knees, lifting her properly.
"Congratulations," he said, "on keeping your promise."
He began walking slowly. "You came out quickly. Was there no interview?"
"There was," Cynthia said. She rested her chin on top of his head, her arms looped loosely around his neck. "I said one sentence and left."
"One sentence?"
"Sleeping roulette." She said it with the particular satisfaction of someone who had been waiting for exactly the right moment. "And then I walked out."
"You're getting back at me for that interview, aren't you."
"I had something more important to do," Cynthia said simply, her voice dropping a little. "Something I wanted to say. Just to you."
Steven said nothing, but kept walking — past the building entrance, down toward the outer railing where the land dropped away and the sea stretched outward in every direction, dark and grey-green under the winter sky.
He stopped there, both hands on the railing, Cynthia still on his back.
He could feel the way her breathing had changed. The rapid, light rhythm of it. The heartbeat he could feel even through his jacket, quicker than it had been through any of the battles.
A pause.
Then she lifted her head.
She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted out over the sea — clear and open, as if the words were meant for the water and the sky and anyone or nothing at all.
"I—"
"Like Steven!"
"Especially — especially — especially like you!"
The wind carried it out over the waves. Her golden hair lifted and settled in the sea breeze. Her cheeks were flushed deep, and she held her chin high despite it, sitting straight on his back with the kind of deliberate composure that only barely concealed how much the words had cost her to say.
Winter had not yet let go. Spring had not yet arrived.
But in that moment, the cold didn't particularly matter.
Steven stood still for a long beat.
He had guessed. Of course he had guessed — and guessed the words themselves, probably, before she had said them. He had known for a while.
And yet.
He stood there, quietly surprised by his own surprise.
"I know," he said at last.
His voice was low and unhurried, meant only for her to hear, swallowed almost immediately by the sound of the sea.
"Just as I like you too, Cynthia."