Pokémon: Sandstorm Sovereign

Chapter 27: First Visit to the Club

The school day quickly ended. Basalt happily rode his bicycle away from the school and stopped in front of a high-end office building. Looking up, he saw the conspicuous sign on the third floor: Meteor Club!

Park the bike, take off the helmet, lock the bike—the motions were smooth and seamless.

Basalt ran a hand through his hair. Just as he was about to enter, a luxury car pulled up by the roadside, and a sturdy-looking young man with slightly tanned skin got out.

"Well, well! Handsome Basalt, you came by bike? What a coincidence!" Frank sneered, glancing disdainfully at Basalt's bicycle.

First, there was the matter of the girl, and then he had lost to Basalt three times in a row. Frank had long since considered Basalt a thorn in his side. It would be a miracle if he could speak to him nicely. It was a good thing this was a society governed by law. If this were the world of the Pokémon Adventures manga, the grass on Basalt's grave would be a meter high by now.

"Can't be helped. My family isn't well-off, unlike Young Master Frank who has a chauffeur. But I think riding a bike is green, healthy, and a good workout." Basalt was not one to take an insult lying down and immediately retorted, "Unlike some people, who look like they're five or six months pregnant. Hey, you know, you and your Munchlax really do look like a married couple!"

Frank looked down at his own small potbelly, then at Basalt's tall and slender figure. He let out a cold snort and said no more. He had discovered that ever since the school year began, Basalt seemed to have become a completely different person. His previous simple and honest demeanor was gone, replaced by a sharp and witty tongue. In a verbal spar, Frank hadn't managed to gain the upper hand even once.

Since Frank had fallen silent, Basalt was happy to have the peace and couldn't be bothered with him.

In the elevator, the two teenagers stood side by side, each staring straight ahead, acting as if the other didn't exist.

Basalt suddenly felt annoyed. Frank had an annual pass to the Meteor Club. Did that mean he would have to run into him every single day from now on?

Ding!

Third floor.

A gentle chime sounded from the elevator. The two of them stepped out at the same time, neither willing to be a step behind the other.

Frank: Swiped his card, entered.

Basalt: Swiped his card, was asked to register, then filled out a pile of forms, and was finally allowed to enter.

Walking into the club, Basalt saw that it was divided into several areas, such as a training zone, a battle zone, and a leisure zone.

The training zone was a place specifically for Pokémon training, filled with all sorts of equipment that Basalt had never seen before. The battle zone consisted of several standard battlefields, each equipped with a professional referee. If club members wanted to spar or test their training results, they could do so here. As for the leisure zone, it was an area with a bathhouse, a swimming pool, pool tables, computers, and more. When trainers were tired, they could relax here.

To be fair, the facilities here were very comprehensive, and everything was high-end. Correspondingly, the fees were also high. While filling out the forms at the front desk, Basalt had seen the membership fees: a monthly pass was 20,000, a quarterly pass was 45,000, a half-year pass was 75,000, and an annual pass was 120,000.

"So, this first place I won is worth 20,000 Pokédollars?" Basalt clicked his tongue in amazement. It seemed the school had really invested a lot. But it made sense; giving good resources to good students made it easier to achieve results. And once a student was admitted to a top-tier university, the school wouldn't have to worry about its promotional materials for next year's enrollment. Overall, it wasn't a loss for the school.

Perhaps because it was still early, there weren't many people in the club, only about a dozen scattered around. Basalt saw that Frank had already released his Munchlax and was training hard on a strength-training machine. It looked a bit like a bench press but seemed different somehow. Next to Frank was a bald, middle-aged man who was quietly instructing Munchlax, constantly correcting its posture and how it exerted force.

So that's a private coach? Doesn't seem that different from a gym back on Earth, Basalt thought, blinking.

Soon, Munchlax finished a set of training. The bald coach led them to the next machine, happening to pass by Basalt.

"What's wrong? Don't have a private coach, so you don't know how to use the equipment?" Frank stopped and looked at Basalt mockingly.

Hearing this, Basalt felt a little awkward. Frank had hit the nail on the head. Many of these machines were electronic, and they had strange shapes. Basalt really didn't know their function or how to use them.

"Young Master Frank, is this your friend?" the bald coach asked.

"Sort of. A classmate. His name is Basalt," Frank said with a pout.

"Oh, a classmate." Seeing Frank's indifferent tone, the bald coach nodded and said no more. It was obvious the two didn't have a good relationship.

"Who says I don't have a private coach? I'm looking for Coach Miles!" Basalt glared, determined not to back down.

"You've booked Manager Miles?" The bald coach was astonished.

Coach Miles was the supervisor of the Meteor Club, a Professional-level trainer, and also their star coach. Many people hoped to receive his guidance. However, Coach Miles was very busy and also had high standards. He couldn't be bothered to teach a high school student like Frank, who had just gotten his starter Pokémon, because their foundation hadn't even been laid yet. Building a foundation was something any private coach could do. Why would someone of his caliber need to be involved?

For the young man in front of him to have hired the manager, his background must be quite impressive! The bald coach's face lit up with a fawning expression. He wished he could immediately give Basalt a tour to get familiar with him. But with Frank there, he didn't dare to be too obvious. He only changed his tone to address Basalt and Frank as equals.

"Basalt, are you bluffing? You think Coach Miles would agree to train you?" Frank was unconvinced. He knew Basalt's background—just a kid from an ordinary family with a monthly pass he won from a competition. How could he possibly afford to hire Coach Miles? Frank's own father had previously pulled some strings to try and hire Coach Miles, but the moment he heard Frank was a novice trainer, he refused without a second thought, unafraid of offending anyone. Because a Professional-level trainer was a top figure in a small county town and had the confidence to back it up.

Hearing this, Basalt's heart sank. From the bits and pieces he gathered from Frank and the bald coach's words and tone, he could tell that this Manager Miles was a big deal. Did Ms. Anya telling him to find the coach mean there was a risk of being rejected?

This was so frustrating! I'm the customer! I'm the king! But from what Frank was saying, it seemed that was indeed the case. Basalt's confidence instantly evaporated. But in front of Frank, he didn't want to admit defeat.

Basalt stammered, not saying a word, his mind already racing for an escape plan. Make an excuse about dinner? Or the bathroom? If this went on any longer, his cover would be blown.

But just then, the bald coach suddenly waved his hand and shouted, "Manager! A trainer is here for you!"

His knees went weak, and Basalt almost peed his pants. Being caught in a lie—this had to be a major public humiliation, right? The key was, Frank had such a big problem with him. Wouldn't he go back to school tomorrow and broadcast this to everyone?

This is so damn frustrating! Pride really does come before a fall. The ancients were not lying! Basalt felt a sharp pain in his teeth. If he could, he would love to dig a hole and crawl into it to hide from the fallout.

Basalt forced himself to turn his head. He saw a handsome young man in his late twenties striding over. He was tall and slender, with thick eyebrows and large eyes.

Coach Miles looked at the bald coach and Frank, then at Basalt, and asked tentatively, "Basalt from Seaside County Second High?"

Coach Miles's voice was a little deep, but to Basalt, it was like the sound of heaven, a moment of enlightenment that instantly cleared his mind.

"Yes, yes! I'm Basalt!" Basalt quickly replied. No matter the reason, he had to climb up the rope that was thrown to him.

Coach Miles nodded and smiled. "I didn't expect you to be here so early. Come on, I'll take you to my instruction room. I'll get a sense of your current level first."

"Okay, okay, no problem!" Basalt nodded like a chicken pecking at rice.

Watching Basalt and Coach Miles walk away side-by-side, chatting and laughing, Frank was suddenly frozen in place.

Basalt's private coach… was really Coach Miles!

At this moment, he suddenly realized that Basalt's background was not as simple as it seemed. First, he received a Drilbur, which was only available overseas, and now he had secured guidance from Coach Miles. This was something an ordinary person could never achieve.

"Damn it! That Basalt kid is a wolf in sheep's clothing!" Frank thought for a moment and had a sudden realization. Then, thinking back on all his unpleasant encounters with Basalt, he felt a headache coming on. "No," he thought, "I have to find a way to mend my relationship with Basalt…"