Saving by Destroying ?

With the smell of scorched earth still lingering in the air and crackling static energy fading into silence, the battlefield had finally quieted. Everyone had left except for David… and about two dozen very traumatized Ursaring and a flock of severely overcooked Gyarados.

The two Pokémon groups stood frozen, eyeing David with the same expression one might give a war criminal in a teddy bear costume.

David blinked.

"Uh… anyone wanna snack?"

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a shiny ziplock bag of freshly handmade energy cubes—this particular batch labeled "Jet Flavor: For That Speedy Aftertaste!" He waved it in the air like a pizza delivery guy trying to calm down a pack of wild dogs.

"You guys like cubes? Come on, don't be shy."

But the second those energy cubes were exposed, every single Ursaring recoiled like they'd seen a ghost. They scrambled back ten meters, trembling with flashbacks of Pikachu's earlier electrocution spectacular. One particularly chunky Ursaring threw itself into a bush and refused to make eye contact.

The Gyarados weren't any better. The moment they caught a whiff of that cube-infused trauma snack, they hissed and flinched like cats from a cucumber. They backed up in sync, shaking their heads vigorously as if to say: "Please, sir, no more."

David tilted his head, puzzled for half a second… then his face lit up.

"Oh yeah!" He smacked his forehead like he'd just remembered he left pizza in the oven. "Gyarados can fly!"

He turned to the towering sea serpent floating in the air like a balloon made of vengeance. "You can fly. And I'm tired of walking."

With a snap of his fingers, he pulled out Gyarados's Poké Ball, popped it open, and the massive creature re-materialized in front of him with a majestic roar that made every Ursaring pee a little.

David, looking as serious as someone playing air guitar in the shower, pointed dramatically to the sky like a shōnen protagonist on a sugar high.

"Gyarados! Set course for the garrison camp! It's time to make an entrance!"

"Rooooaaaarrr!"

Gyarados obeyed instantly, soaring into the sky like a jet-propelled sausage. David jumped onto its back like a surfer catching a tsunami, wind blasting through his hair as he struck a heroic pose.

Back at the garrison camp, things were… not great.

Alliance reinforcements had finally arrived. A bunch of stiff-looking soldiers and senior Trainers stood at the edge of the camp, their jaws slack as they took in the battlefield.

Or what used to be a battlefield.

Now it looked more like someone had hosted a barbecue for kaiju monsters in the middle of a minefield.

The outer edges of the Mystery Zone had been bombed into oblivion—craters the size of houses dotted the landscape like acne on a teenager's forehead. Smoke was still rising from several locations. Trees were flattened. The sky smelled faintly of Gyarados breath.

One of the higher-ups stepped forward, looking like someone had just insulted his entire bloodline.

"What… happened here?"

No one answered immediately. Mainly because the only Trainers who weren't unconscious or hiding were busy cleaning up the world's worst-smelling garrison.

Even the cleaning crew looked like they were rethinking their life choices.

Jake, meanwhile, was in a separate section of the camp, sitting on a folding chair and looking more miserable than someone forced to rewatch their middle school talent show. Two garrison officers stood over him, frowning suspiciously.

"I swear," Jake groaned for the eighth time, "I don't know that guy! I have nothing to do with the giant bear attack! Or the Gyarados that tried to sky-slap us! I was just here to look for rare berries!"

The officers exchanged glances.

Jake pointed to his own singed hair and the smear of ash across his shirt. "Look at me! Do I look like someone who hangs out with a Criminal in disguise?!"

He had a point. Jake looked like a marshmallow that lost a fight with a microwave.

But the suspicion lingered. First Ursaring went on a rampage. Then Gyarados dropped in like an airborne war crime. Then a mysterious black-robed figure showed up, throwing around ancient Pokémon and genetic monstrosities like it was his day job.

And then the garrison camp turned into a crater with Wi-Fi.

Coincidence? Maybe.

Unlucky Jake? Most definitely.

Just then, Aron and Grant arrived on the scene.

Grant's face was doing that twitchy thing it always did when he was one small annoyance away from turning into a supervillain.

One of the officers walked up to them and whispered a quick report, explaining Jake's situation and the resulting chaos. Aron listened, sighed heavily, and pinched the bridge of his nose like someone who'd just been asked to babysit a dozen Muks in a swimming pool.

"Well," Aron said, "that explains it."

Grant nodded slowly. "You two can let him go," he told the officers. "He's just a very unfortunate bystander in a Pokémon apocalypse."

Jake immediately collapsed onto the ground, clutching the dirt like it owed him emotional support.

As the garrison tried to pull itself together, one thing remained unaccounted for.

The true cause of all this destruction?

Still on the way.

Riding a flying, overly dramatic, emotionally traumatized Gyarados.

****

The sky darkened again over the garrison camp, but not because of storm clouds.

No.

This was worse.

A massive, unrelenting wave of Gyarados filled the sky like a terrifying aquatic parade. Their serpentine bodies shimmered under the sunlight, and every single one of them looked… emotional?

They weren't attacking—yet—but they definitely weren't here for hugs either.

Turns out, the Gyarados army had come to see off their unofficial captain—David, the guy who tamed one of their own and rode it into the sunset like some kind of Pokémon cowboy.

From the ground, it looked like an airborne apocalypse was unfolding.

Inside the camp, panic erupted like soda shaken for twenty minutes.

One Trainer shrieked and pointed upward. "IT'S HAPPENING AGAIN!"

Another screamed, "SOMEONE GET ARON! TELL HIM THE SKY IS HAVING A MELTDOWN!"

A third bolted toward the tents like his pants were on fire. "WHERE'S THE GARRISON CAPTAIN?! I AM NOT CLEANING UP THIS MESS TWICE!"

Meanwhile, Aron and Commander Grant stood grimly at the edge of the camp, staring up at the nightmare parade. The sun vanished behind the swarm of Gyarados, and the air grew chilly with tension. The collective pressure from the hovering army was enough to make even battle-hardened Trainers start sweating through their boots.

Aron squinted at the sky. "Why are they all here? Did someone poke their nest?"

And then they saw it.

Sprawled lazily on top of a majestic, red-scaled Gyarados, legs crossed like he was on a beach chair, was David.

David.

That smug expression on his face didn't help. Nor did the relaxed way he was casually waving at people below like a celebrity on a parade float.

Grant's face went from "mildly concerned" to "I need a tranquilizer."

The entire garrison camp broke into chaos. Some Trainers screamed and ran for their lives. Others dove into tents. A few just curled up and waited for fate to do its thing.

David, completely unbothered, leaned back and sighed like he'd just had a spa day.

In his ear, the system chimed softly.

[Received Negative Emotional Value from Grant: +200]

[Received Negative Emotional Value from Aron: +2000]

[Received Negative Emotional Value from Jake: +100]

"Huh?"

David's eyebrow twitched.

"Jake?" he murmured. "No way. Is that the Jake I know?"

He peered over the edge of his Gyarados's back and spotted a small, trembling figure below who looked like a man reliving a trauma documentary in real time.

Sure enough—it was Jake. And judging by the way he was shaking like a wet Pidgey, the guy was still suffering flashbacks from earlier incidents involving rampaging Ursaring, electric sky-lizards, and large-scale panic.

David rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then sat up and casually called out to the camp with a cheerful grin:

"YO! Who's down there playing with poop?"

Silence.

Then rage.

[Received 100+ Emotional Value notifications in rapid succession]

Every Trainer currently holding a broom or shovel stopped in their tracks, slowly turned to glare at David, and collectively radiated enough murderous intent to power a small city.

"What do you mean 'playing with poop'?!"

"We're cleaning the battlefield, you lunatic!"

"You wanna come down here and try it yourself, you clown!"

David, of course, only smiled wider.

Jake, meanwhile, stared up at David like he'd seen a ghost riding a dragon.

"U-Umm… David? Why are you on a Gyarados?!"

David leaned down and gave him a wink. "Why do you think? It's my Gyarados."

He patted the Pokémon affectionately, which roared in agreement, causing three Trainers nearby to faint.

Jake's face fell into the color of mashed potatoes. His lips curled into a bitter half-smile that screamed "internal screaming."

Every time he thought he had a chance in the Mystery Zone, life kicked him in the Pokéballs. First Ursaring chased him. Then Gyarados electrocuted everything. Now he was standing under the guy who apparently tamed the source of his suffering.

David noticed the pain in Jake's expression and tilted his head, pretending to be curious. "Wait, don't tell me… you haven't caught anything?"

Jake's lips quivered. He looked down, remembering every time he'd been forced to flee, hide, or cry into his sleeves. He shook his head slowly, and tears started welling up again like someone had left the emotional faucet running.

David reached over and patted him on the shoulder like a concerned motivational speaker who'd never suffered a day in his life.

"It's okay, Jake. As the saying goes… whatever doesn't kill you now—will probably kill you next time!"

Jake whimpered.

David continued, blissfully unaware of the mental damage he was inflicting. "Look at me! I didn't even break a sweat. I tamed a Gyarados with near-Elite potential, picked up a Larvitar that's descended from a champion's bloodline, and added both to my party. My treasures are only worth… I don't know, a few hundred million coins?"

He let out a theatrical sigh, as if he was the one missing out. "Man, Jake, I really envy you. Such a humble, down-to-earth experience."

Jake stood there motionless, tears pouring from his eyes like a leaky faucet. His soul was exiting his body in slow motion.

In the distance, Tom and Luna were watching this exchange with looks of pure horror.

"Wait…" Tom muttered. "Doesn't this sound familiar?"

Luna blinked. "Yeah. That's basically what we went through too…"

Their expressions dropped as they realized that David's AOE emotional damage had just hit their mental health bars as well.

[Emotional Value from Tom: +300]

[Emotional Value from Luna: +400]

Back up front, Aron and Commander Grant were seething.

They knew what had happened. They knew that the Gyarados and Ursaring rampage wasn't Jake's fault. They knew the cause of the disaster was sitting right there on a flying Leviathan, grinning like an idiot.

But they couldn't act.

Because Alliance protocol said, do not publicly punch rising talent in the face.

Still, Aron's eye twitched violently. Grant's hand clenched so hard his knuckles turned white.

If this weren't an official military operation, and if they didn't have an image to uphold, both of them would've yeeted David straight into the Mystery Zone volcano without hesitation.

This kid…

Was insufferable.

And he was just getting started.

****

"David! Get over here right now!"

Aron's voice boomed across the camp like a furious Giga Impact to the eardrums, sharp and explosive. His face was so dark with rage, it looked like he'd been dunked headfirst into a vat of Poison Jab. Standing next to Jake, David blinked, acting like he didn't hear the obvious murderous intent in Aron's tone.

The fact that David—riding on the back of a Gyarados like some kind of self-proclaimed dragon emperor—had the audacity to mock battlefield cleaners and tease poor Jake, who was clearly suffering from severe post-traumatic Ursaring disorder, was just too much for Aron to bear.

Seeing Aron's eye twitching with visible veins bulging, David wisely decided this might be the right time to descend from his mighty flying sea serpent before someone threw a Poké Ball at him.

He gave Gyarados a gentle pat and whispered, "Thanks for the ride, big guy. Time to land before I get Flamethrowered by human authority."

With a reluctant groan, Gyarados slowly descended from the sky like a majestic blimp. As soon as they touched down, David hopped off obediently, walking over with the cautious expression of someone approaching a ticking Voltorb.

Before Aron could speak, David leaned in dramatically and whispered, "I have contributed to the Alliance. I've bled for the Alliance. I'm still a student! I'm the blooming flower of the Alliance's youth! It's a federal crime to beat up a flower!"

Aron's eye twitched again. He stared at David like he was seriously weighing the legal consequences of punching a student in the middle of a disaster zone.

"…Now you remember you're a student?" Aron hissed through gritted teeth, "When you wrecked half the Mystery Zone, did you remember you were a student then?!"

Without waiting for an answer, he raised his hand and brought it down on David's head with a dull bonk that made several nearby Trainers flinch in sympathy.

David covered his forehead, wincing and mumbling, "I-I'm a hero… I risked my life for the Alliance. I faced down a mad scientist and two borderline Champion-level Pokémon while you were still packing your bags!"

Grant, standing nearby with arms crossed, looked at David like he wanted to throttle him with his clipboard.

Aron, meanwhile, inhaled deeply like he was about to pop an aneurysm, then let it out in a long, drawn-out sigh. As infuriating as David was—and oh, he was maddening—Aron couldn't deny the truth behind his words.

If David hadn't stepped in and rescued the injured Tyranitar from Giovanni's brutal experiment… If he hadn't helped hold off those powerful Pokémon for nearly thirty minutes, the garrison wouldn't have found a field—they'd have walked into a graveyard.

And the defenders' analysis confirmed that the wild Pokémon rampage, while chaotic, had ironically saved lives. It kept most of the Trainers from charging back into the heart of the Mystery Zone during the battle, which meant fewer casualties when Giovanni unleashed his destruction.

So yes, David had technically saved the day… but also caused a Pokémon stampede, pollution on a scale not even Muk would tolerate, and left the landscape looking like a Snorlax had gone bowling with meteorites.

Aron gazed out at the Mystery Zone—once a thriving exploration site, now a landscape of giant potholes, scorched earth, collapsed trees, and the unmistakable stench of Ursaring pooo.

The smell alone could've been weaponized.

He sighed again, heavier this time, rubbing his temples like he regretted every career choice he'd ever made.

"Grant," he muttered, "Close the Mystery Zone temporarily. Pull everyone out."

"Right away," Grant said, not even waiting to hear the rest. Honestly, the moment David showed up riding a fleet of Gyarados like Poseidon's heir, Grant had mentally submitted a resignation letter to the universe.

"We'll wait until the Alliance sends in restoration crews," Aron continued, "Only once they've fixed this disaster do we reopen the West Lake Mystery Zone."

The cleaning crew, by now, had grown tired of David's commentary. One of them—a grizzled older Trainer with a Machoke—finally shouted, "Hey! If you're not gonna help clean, at least stop calling us poop-sweepers!"

David held up his hands defensively. "I didn't call you that! I said 'soil recovery specialists'! It's a term of respect!"

Another ding went off in David's ear.

[Gained 400 negative emotion points from field cleaners.]

[Gained 250 from Jake.]

[Gained 1000 from Aron.]

David winced. "Man, if I had a Poké Ball for every grudge I've earned today, I'd have a full party and a storage box."

"David!" Aron snapped. "Go stand in the corner. Preferably one far from me, the Trainers, and anything remotely flammable."

David gave a mock salute. "Yes sir. Just remember—when the documentaries are made about today's battle, I want the heroic background music, not the circus theme."

Aron didn't answer. He just turned away, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "Send this kid to Unova and lose his passport."

And so, with the battlefield still stinking, the Mystery Zone shut down, and everyone within ten feet of David wanting to either punch him or bury him alive in a Dunsparce pit, the day finally began to wind down…

Even heroes, it turns out, are hard to clean up after.

****

Outside the camp, a sizable group of Elite Trainers had already gathered, their eyes scanning the dense forest that surrounded the garrison. All around, Pokémon were creeping closer—large and small, wild and wary, their eyes fixed in a single direction.

From the tree lines to the open edges, it looked like the entire forest had surrounded the camp.

Grant, who had now lived through not one, but two full-on Pokémon riots in this Mystery Zone, watched as the wild creatures crept ever closer. His face turned a very specific shade of purple—not quite rage, not quite despair, but something in between that said I should have taken a desk job.

His narrowed eyes turned, slowly and venomously, to David.

David, who was just standing there casually, immediately noticed Grant's resentful glare from across the clearing.

He raised both hands in defense and quickly said, "Not me! I swear, I didn't bring that many laxatives!"

Grant's jaw locked tight. He said nothing. His soul just quietly withered.

At the head of the wild Pokémon group were three familiar figures—tiny ones that David had encountered way back at the beginning. Right next to them was a large, towering Ursaring, clearly the leader of the pack. All of them looked toward the camp… or more specifically, toward Aron.

Their eyes carried a deep reluctance. It was clear they didn't want to say goodbye.

Aron stepped forward slowly, his face unreadable. He reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a Poké Ball, one that gleamed under the midday sun. With a silent press, a burst of brilliant white light exploded from the capsule.

BOOM!

And there she was—Tyranitar, tall, scarred, and glorious. She stepped forward with heavy footsteps and stared out at the group of Pokémon that had come to see her off. These were the Pokémon she'd once defended in this Mystery Zone. The ones she'd protected for years.

David blinked as he watched Tyranitar stand there, flanked by wild Pokémon of all kinds—powerful, weak, small, absurd.

Something about the scene felt...off.

Hold on a second. You—David's gaze shifted to Tyranitar—you're a desert tyrant! A mountain-leveling, full-blown monster! You want to be a forest guardian now? He glanced back at Aron, eyebrows raised.

But then again... she was Aron's Pokémon. Technically. So maybe this made sense? Sort of? Possibly?

At that moment, Aron spoke.

"Tyranitar," he said, his voice calm, "they seem to be really attached to you."

His eyes scanned the collection of Pokémon at the edge of the camp. Some were strong—just shy of Elite-level. Others were still fresh little creatures, like Oddish and Clefairy—barely evolved, clearly newborns. Yet somehow, all of them got along.

And in a Mystery Zone, that kind of harmony was rare.

"You can stay here and protect them if you want," Aron said at last.

There was a brief pause, then—

"RAH?"

David's head jerked back.

"Excuse me," he asked, genuinely confused. "Do you also have a Pidgeot or Butterfree lying around? Want to release it to guard a flock while you're at it?"

Aron stared at him.

"What comparison are you even trying to make? I'm a Grass-type Elite now. Do you think I have a Pidgeot?"

David blinked slowly. "Bro... you're really about to just leave your Champion-tier Tyranitar here like she's a Charizard heading to the Charicific Valley to train with its ancestors? You sure you're not turning into a budget version of Ash Ketchum?"

Honestly, he half-expected Aron to pull out a Pikachu and start shouting about friendship and the power of believing in yourself.

But Aron wasn't doing this out of sentimentality alone.

In truth, he'd been thinking about this decision for a while.

Tyranitar had been his main force—his tank, his hammer, his queen on the chessboard. But after being seriously injured, she could no longer handle high-level battles. Meanwhile, Aron was gunning for a position in the Alliance Elite Four—a lofty post that demanded specialization.

He had chosen Grass-type as his domain. And in a team full of blooming leaves and venomous vines, a massive Rock/Dark-type like Tyranitar was simply out of place. She'd sit on the bench more often than not.

So, after long thought and no small amount of pain, Aron had made this call.

The West Lake Mystery Zone was rated A-level, requiring a powerful guardian to keep wild Pokémon from going rogue. The Elite who had previously handled the post had been reassigned five years ago, and no replacement was ever sent.

Now that Tyranitar had healed, this would be her official new role—Guardian of the Mystery Zone.

This also worked as a kind of retirement with benefits. If Tyranitar stayed here, she wouldn't just be resting—she'd be defending the balance of the Zone and watching over those same Pokémon she once protected. And if Aron needed her again? He could always return and bring her back.

Tyranitar seemed to understand all of this.

She looked at Aron silently for a long time. Then, with a solemn nod, she turned her back to him and faced the group of Pokémon. Her expression relaxed, and a small, peaceful smile appeared on her face.

"RAH!"

The Pokémon outside the camp cheered in unison.

The heavy atmosphere lightened immediately, and even the garrison troops seemed to exhale all at once.

Grant patted his chest, nearly sobbing with relief.

At this point, he'd been one jump-scare away from retiring to a beach shack to sell Magikarp skewers.

Meanwhile, David knelt down and released his own little buddy—Larvitar.

"Go on, kid. Say goodbye to Mom."

"LARVI!"

The tiny dinosaur waddled over and happily bit down on Tyranitar's leg like a dog greeting its owner.

"RAHH!! (MY CHILD IS A CANNIBAL!!)" Tyranitar roared in pain, hopping backward in panic and shaking her foot wildly.

The scene was so absurd, everyone burst out laughing.

Even Aron let out a rare chuckle.

Tom, however, was in a world of his own.

Eyes wide and shining like a man possessed, he scanned the gathering of Pokémon with laser focus.

"Ralts... Ralts... where are you, my sweet Ralts..."

David turned slowly to look at him, completely deadpan.

"Tom, my guy... you do realize Ralts can sense a person's heart, right?"

Tom didn't even blink.

David sighed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Maybe that's why it runs away from you every time. Senses the perv."

Tom gasped.