Pokémon：Trainer's Gambit

Galar Region, The Isle of Armor

A solitary island on the southern frontier, blanketed in lush greenery.

The air was crisp, home to many rare Pokémon.

At the island's heart stood a striking dojo in the Tourian style—its aged wooden doors adorned with red lanterns, a grand plaque bearing bold calligraphy:

"Master Dojo."

The dojo's leader was none other than Mustard, a legendary Fighting-type master who had dominated the Galar Champion title for decades without a single loss.

Originally from Touro, Mustard had grown weary of the corporate league's underhanded dealings and retired, purchasing the Isle of Armor to establish his dojo.

His disciples had since risen to become top competitors across Galar's tournaments, spreading the ancient Eastern arts far and wide.

November 26th, Thursday.

Sunlight bathed the Isle of Armor in gold, leaves shimmering as Ambipom darted through the trees.

From the shore, a colossal Wailord could be seen gliding across the azure waves.

The dojo's wooden door creaked open.

Out stepped a woman in a bright green sweater, her makeup vibrant—Honey, Mustard's wife.

The unlikely pair had fallen in love at first sight, eloped, and built the dojo together.

While Honey was a devoted partner, her love for money often drew complaints from apprentices.

Still, she was a diligent mentor in her own right.

"Ah, what lovely weather."

Honey shielded her eyes from the sun, turning back. "Klara, fetch your Master. We've got laundry and bedding to hang."

Leaning against the doorframe behind her, a girl with pink, puffy hair and purple eyeshadow sucked on a lollipop, grumbling:"Master's gaming. You know how he gets—once he starts, he won't budge all day."

"Fine, let him be."

Honey smiled sweetly. "Next time, he can wash his own clothes."

Klara sighed, hands behind her back.

...Master's life isn't easy, huh?

With a lollipop still in her mouth, she retreated inside.

The dojo's interior was split—training grounds on the left, a lounge with leisure facilities on the right.

The lounge's shelves were lined with countless championship trophies, each one a testament to Mustard's legacy.

Inside, a spirited old man with wild eyebrows sat on a couch, facing a gaming console.

Wearing headphones, he burst into laughter.

"Leon, you're no match for me, ya hear? Another win for this old man!"

A resigned chuckle came through the headset.

"Master, simulated battles aren't really my forte..."

"Don't care! I'm climbing the ranks!"

Mustard rubbed his hands, grinning.

"A few more wins, and I'll be back in the global top eight!"

Leon, long accustomed to his master's quirks, replied warmly:"Well, I'll leave you to it. Got a league meeting to attend."

"Go on, Leon! "

As the call ended, Mustard leaned back, finally noticing Klara.

"Oh? Klara, how long've you been standing there?"

"Since you beat Mr. Leon."

She tilted her head. "Master, don't you ever get tired of that game?"

"Pokémon: Battleground?"

Mustard scratched his head, laughing. "Not till I hit world number one!"

But you've been sitting here from morning till night without moving...

Klara held her tongue, though she understood.

With Mustard's strength, finding a worthy opponent was rare.

Simulated battles, reliant on strategy and command, were his pastime.

Even Leon struggled to surpass him in raw fundamentals.

As dusk fell, Mustard wolfed down dinner and rushed back to his game.

"Don't mind him," Honey said flatly, setting down dishes. "He'll quit once he loses."

Wait for Master to lose?

Klara sighed.

This was the man who'd dominated Galar's league for over a decade—a Champion-tier trainer from Touro.

His command skills were unmatched.

His few losses? Only against legends like Leon and Steven Stone.

Hoping he'd lose confidence? Impossible.

Just as Klara mused, Mustard's voice suddenly boomed from the lounge.

"Why'd I have to match against THIS guy?!"

Klara blinked. Honey nudged her. "Go check."

Entering, she found Mustard gripping the controller, brows furrowed.

"Master... what's wrong?"

"Klara," Mustard chuckled awkwardly, "I just matched against the last opponent I wanted to face."

Glancing at the screen, Klara saw the ID:"Natsume-sensei, Are You Serving Dinner Today?"

"Is he strong?"

"Not that strong," Mustard mused. "About on par with Leon and Lance."

Klara's face twitched.

On par with Leon and Lance?!

Old man, what do you call STRONG then?!

On-screen, the battle began.

Mustard led with Kommo-o and Mienshao—likely aiming for a Fake Out into Dragon Dance setup.

Natsume-sensei opened with Grimmsnarl and Hitmonlee, a seemingly ordinary duo.

Klara frowned.

Doesn't look that tough...

Why's Master so tense?

Mustard took a deep breath, focus sharpening.

He'd faced Natsume-sensei before—losing more than winning.

His few victories? More due to Natsume's rotten luck than skill.

As a fellow Tourian trainer, though, Mustard felt a flicker of pride.

Another Champion-tier contender from the homeland!

"Let's see what you've got!"

Mustard grinned fiercely. "This old man's no pushover!"

...

Natsume's Perspective

The matchmaking screen spun, revealing a grinning old man in a green baseball jacket.

Natsume paused.

Mustard?

They'd matched a few times before, but Mustard had never seemed serious.

Most matches ended in easy wins.

Natsume knew Mustard as a gaming-obsessed hermit—the type who bought an entire island just to grind in peace.

Talk about disposable income...

"Wait, that's not some random scrub!"

"Mustard?! The gaming grandpa?!"

Chat erupted as Natsume tossed his Poké Ball.

"Fake Out!" Mustard called.

Mienshao's sleeves snapped shut in front of Hitmonlee, flinching it.

Kommo-o roared, scales glowing as Dragon Dance boosted its stats!

"Kommo-o's gonna sweep!"

"Can Hitmonlee handle this?!"

Without Dynamax mechanics, Hitmonlee lacked flinch immunity.

But so what?

Even a turn behind, Natsume-sensei would end this in one move.

"Swagger!" Natsume barked. "Hitmonlee, Close Combat!"

Normally, High Jump Kick was Hitmonlee's best move—but its 90% accuracy was too risky.

Mustard's brows furrowed.

"Mienshao, U-turn!"

But Hitmonlee's speed was unnatural, its spring-loaded leg lashing out before Mienshao could retreat!

Five rapid kicks sent Mienshao crashing into the wall, KO'd instantly.

Chat exploded.

"Natsume-sensei, THIS is your 'dirty fighting'?!"

"Lightning Five-Whip Combo! I'm in love!"

Mustard only laughed harder. "Kommo-o, Close Combat back!"

Kommo-o's fists blurred, wind pressure howling—

One clean hit could flip the entire match.

"Thunder Wave!"

Grimmsnarl's Prankster ability let it act first, paralyzing Kommo-o mid-strike!

The audience held their breath.

In a split-second decision, Natsume had shut down Mustard's sweep.

But with Natsume's infamous luck...

Would paralysis even matter?

Yet—

Kommo-o fully paralyzed, freezing in place!

"Natsume-sensei's Thunder Wave WORKED?!"

Natsume himself was surprised.

But now, it was 2v1.

Hitmonlee bounced on its feet, taunting.

Mustard tossed his next Pokémon. "Luxray, Psychic Fangs!"

The bristling Luxray bared its fangs—

Intimidate activated, lowering Hitmonlee's attack!

"Luxray's immune to paralysis. Old man's got tricks."

"Wait—Natsume-sensei's backup is THAT Pokémon!"

In a flash, Natsume swapped Grimmsnarl out.

"Braviary, go!"

Ability: Defiant.

When intimidated, its attack skyrocketed two stages.

"You DARE Intimidate my Braviary?!"

Natsume snarled. "Brave Bird!"

A golden aura erupted as Braviary's wings sliced through Kommo-o's scales like paper.

The chat collectively gasped.

In mere turns, the two masters had exchanged countless mind games.

Now, Mustard was down two Pokémon, while Natsume hadn't lost a single one.

"This is INSANE!"

"Natsume-sensei really WAS a P1 Grand Prix champ?!"

At the International Police Strategy School, "Handsome" narrowed his eyes.

Mustard, though retired, was still a former Galar Champion.

Yet Natsume had overwhelmed him effortlessly.

The battle raged on, tactics escalating beyond fans' comprehension.

"I can't even follow this..."

"You think Natsume-sensei's on floor one? He's in the stratosphere."

"Natsume-sensei's too OP!"

Minutes later, Mustard sighed as the score settled: 4-2.

Klara's jaw dropped.

He... actually lost?!

She'd assumed Mustard was holding back.

But no—he'd been utterly crushed.

"Hah! Still no match for Natsume, eh?"

Mustard chuckled, scratching his head. "Enough for tonight—midnight snack time!"

Klara frantically searched "Natsume-sensei" on her phone.

The openly available info only made his background more suspicious.

Staring at his photos, she wiped drool off her chin.

...Okay, Master losing makes sense now.

Meanwhile, Mustard cheerfully dug into a bowl of char siu rice.

"Losing calls for BBQ pork—cheers ya right up!"

Honey called from the kitchen. "Leon called earlier!"

"Leon!" Mustard's eyes lit up. "Ah, I'll just take his points later!"

When Leon called back, his tone was serious.

"Master, the Touran League's president invited you to discuss this year's Championship Cup."

Mustard stroked his beard. "Nah. Let the new generation handle it."

"Who'd you recommend?"

"Natsume," Mustard grinned. "Pretty sure he's from Touran!"

Leon's eyes sharpened.

Natsume-sensei...

The one Raihan had faced before?

"I'll inform President Masaru," Leon said. "But... you really think he's Champion material?"

"Leon, you'd better train hard," Mustard teased. "Or he'll surpass you!"

Leon chuckled, adjusting his cap.

"Losing to the strong is only natural."

But beneath his smile, a fire ignited.

A Touran League Champion, huh?

Can't wait to battle you, Natsume-sensei.

Might just be the greatest Champion moment yet.

...

Though Mustard's retirement dulled fans' shock, elite trainers reevaluated Natsume entirely.

In chat, a certain "The Battler" sent rockets, sparking frenzy.

Poison, Ghost, Ground...

Now, Fighting-type mastery?

"An ACTUAL Master of All?!"

"Natsume-sensei's REAL specialty is Dark-types—his mind's too twisted!"

With entertainment value peaking, Natsume wrapped the stream.

"Alright, time to play cards with Gold."

His instant log-off left chat spamming "???"

But abrupt endings were his trademark.

"All rise!"

"Thank you, Natsume-sensei!"

That night, Sylveon slipped through the cat flap, curling onto the couch.

"Sylveon~~"

"Midnight snack later?"

After a long internal struggle, Sylveon nodded weakly.

Natsume rubbed his chin.

...Maybe Eevee's weight gain isn't entirely its fault?

Preparing coffee and sandwiches, he opened his notebook to edit decklists.

Gold messaged: "Visiting the day after tomorrow."

"Cool. We'll battle."

"Uh... not today."

Having witnessed the Unburden massacre, Gold shuddered.

Natsume understood.

Men have those days too.

After some casual matches with Sinnoh fans Flint and Aaron, dawn crept in.

Togepi nestled into Natsume's hoodie pocket.

[Ding! New video uploaded.]

[Click to view: "Natsume-sensei Teaches Battling 12: Unburden Team"]

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