Nobody organised these matches. There was no referee, no bracket, no entry fee collected at a table. It was simply a paved stretch near the river where Trainers showed up, waited their turn, and battled. The stakes were informal but real.
A few of the Trainers waiting on the sidelines glanced Nova's way as he approached. What they saw was a young man holding a small cat in one arm and a leashed puppy at his side, both of the Pokémon clearly very young. Combined with how he was dressed and how he carried himself, the general impression was of someone who had wandered over from a pleasant afternoon out rather than from any serious training routine.
They couldn't quite identify the species of either Pokémon — their knowledge had limits — but the size alone told them both were probably very recently hatched. They were happy to let him join the queue. They just figured they should warn him first, before he stepped onto the field and got a rude introduction to how these things actually went.
Before anyone could say anything, the situation sorted itself out on its own.
The current field holder stepped forward — a young man with a green mohawk, a nose ring connected to a thin chain, and the general energy of someone who had made a career out of being difficult. He planted himself at one end of the field and looked around for a challenger.
Street rules: anyone who wanted to fight raised a hand. If too many volunteered at once, the field holder picked. If nobody volunteered, the field holder picked anyway.
Half a minute passed. Nobody raised a hand.
The green-haired Trainer had a reputation in the local amateur circuit, and not the kind that attracted willing opponents. The other Trainers on the sideline suddenly found the ground, the river, and the middle distance very interesting. Eye contact was avoided with practiced ease.
Nova, who had no reputation here and no particular opinion of the man one way or another, simply watched. He wasn't trying to be provocative about it. He was just looking.
That turned out to be enough.
The green-haired Trainer swept the sideline, satisfied that everyone else was appropriately intimidated — and then landed on Nova, who was watching him with open curiosity rather than the usual careful disinterest. Something about that calmness read as a challenge.
He pointed.
"Hey. You — pretty boy. Stop staring and get out here. One on one."
Nova looked up. "Me?"
"Yeah, you. Standing there holding your pets like you own the place." He cracked his knuckles. "Come on. Big Brother will show you how it's done."
Nova stepped onto the field.
Playing the role of a confused newcomer, he looked around as if still working out the format. "How does this work exactly? How many Pokémon each?"
"Street rules," the green-haired Trainer said. "Three on three."
"I only have two with me right now."
"Not my problem. Three on three. If you run out before I do, I win — and you owe five hundred for the field and the prize."
Nova nodded as if this was all new information he was carefully processing.
He had no intention of paying five hundred. He also had no intention of sending out Nidoking or Corviknight, which would have made the whole thing pointless. These were amateur Trainers, their Pokémon well below Level 30 — perfect for giving Sprigatito and Growlithe their first real experience in front of an opponent who wasn't pulling any punches.
And as for the green-haired Trainer specifically — Nova had taken his measure quickly. The mohawk, the chain, the way he carried himself: someone who had come up through street-level battling, probably with a team that had actual experience in rough, unrefined fights. Tougher than the recreational Trainers around them, in all likelihood. A better test.
When the previous match wrapped up and it was their turn, Nova waited while the green-haired Trainer took his position.
He looked at Sprigatito, who had been sitting on his shoulder in a very deliberate state of controlled patience for the past several minutes — the kind that made clear she had been paying attention to everything happening on the field and had a great deal of opinions about it.
Ever since watching Nova's battle with Fay Peterson a few days prior, Sprigatito had been restless. She wanted to fight. She had made this known through increasingly insistent behavior, following Nova around and fixing him with a pointed stare every time he did anything that wasn't arranging her a battle.
The challenge was that sparring her against his own team carried real risks. The Jealousy trait gave her a significant power boost specifically against allied Pokémon — a one hundred and twenty percent damage multiplier against teammates. An in-house match with her was not a casual idea.
These amateurs were, as it turned out, exactly what he had been waiting for.
"Ready?" Nova asked.
Sprigatito's gaze shifted to the field. Her tail flicked once, sharply.
"All yours, Sprigatito."
She dropped from his shoulder in a single smooth motion and landed in the field, light on her feet, immediately alert. The movement was precise — clean body control, no wasted motion. Nothing about her suggested a Pokémon that had never been in a real battle.
Across the field, the green-haired Trainer looked at her and stalled.
The informal protocol at these street matches was loose, but most Trainers released together. Waiting to see what the opponent sent out first — especially against a beginner — drew immediate groans from the sideline. The crowd wasn't fond of the green-haired Trainer to begin with, and this didn't help.
Under the noise, he stared at the small green cat and tried to work out what he was looking at. He couldn't place the species. If he couldn't identify it, he couldn't call the type. And if he couldn't call the type, he was guessing.
He went with the most logical assumption. Green cat. Probably Grass.
He pulled out a Poké Ball and made his decision.
"Slugma — go!"
The Lava Pokémon materialized on the field, slow and steady, trailing heat. Nova's scan put it at Level 21 — ten levels above Sprigatito, with a type advantage on top of that.
The green-haired Trainer had chosen well by his own logic. Grass was doubly weak to both Fire and Poison. Slugma at Level 21 had Ember and Smog available. Ember had higher base power, benefited from STAB, and was the obvious pick against a Grass-type.
Nova didn't waste time thinking about it. The move order was predictable, and predictable meant he could act before it landed.
"Slugma, Ember!"
"Sucker Punch — now!"
Nova's call came half a beat faster.