Reincarnated Into a Pokémon World and Can See Their Hidden Potential?!

The battlefield lay silent for only a heartbeat.

Then Charizard moved.

With a beat of his obsidian wings, he shot into the air, flames dancing from his mouth, his tail blazing like a comet. Feraligatr roared and lunged with Aqua Jet, trying to gain momentum—its ferocity had not diminished, but its confidence had been shaken.

Ray's eyes were razor-sharp. "Charizard may be at a disadvantage by type, but he's stronger now. Faster. Smarter. Let's turn that aggression against him."

"Dodge and circle!" Ray commanded.

Charizard soared wide, ducking under the water-charged lunge. The speed was astonishing. Feraligatr pivoted, launching a Hydro Pump upward—but Charizard corkscrewed through the mist, diving with flame trailing from his jaws.

A Flamethrower burst forward, not to damage, but to obscure. It blanketed the field in a curtain of heat and light, creating disorientation. In that instant, Charizard struck—his claw ignited with Fire Fang, biting into Feraligatr's shoulder before vaulting away.

Feraligatr staggered, then roared in rage, slamming both fists into the ground and charging again.

Ray's eyes flicked to the battlefield terrain—there were slight cracks on the right flank from the earlier Hyper Beam clash.

"Lure him that way!"

Charizard understood immediately.

He dodged another Water Pulse, dragging Feraligatr in a wide arc toward the weakened side of the arena. Then, Charizard landed hard on the cracked stone, and just as Feraligatr charged for a final slam—Ray shouted:

"Up—NOW! Full force!"

Charizard flared his wings and launched skyward just as Feraligatr lunged—and the platform beneath the water-type crumbled.

Feraligatr tripped for a split second. That was all Charizard needed.

A blinding glow erupted from his mouth—a Dragon Breath enhanced by his new draconic strength. It blasted Feraligatr square in the chest, sending it flying back across the battlefield.

The crash echoed like thunder.

Feraligatr didn't rise.

Silence.

Then the referee raised his hand. "Feraligatr is unable to battle! Victory goes to Ray Virel and his Charizard!"

The stadium erupted.

Cheers, claps, even the judges stood in astonishment. Screens across Celadon showed the replay of the majestic black Charizard soaring above the battlefield.

Ray exhaled shakily, heart racing. "We did it…"

Charizard turned, eyes burning bright but calm, and gave a proud nod.

Ray ran onto the field as the platform descended. He threw his arms around his Pokémon, hugging his broad neck. "You were incredible."

Dragonair slithered beside them, battered but upright, curling affectionately around Ray. And finally, limping but determined, Pidgeotto arrived—his wing still bandaged, but his eyes shining with pride.

Together, they stood. The top 4 of the Intermediate Trainer Tournament.

Across the field, Donovan Lux was trembling with fury.

He recalled his Feraligatr, lips pressed into a tight snarl. He marched past Ray without a word—then stopped.

"You'll regret this," he hissed, eyes burning with venom.

Ray met his gaze calmly. "No. You'll regret underestimating your Pokémon."

Donovan's eye twitched, but he said nothing more. He turned and disappeared into the shadows of the stadium tunnel.

Later that evening, the night sky blanketed Celadon City in silence. But within a luxurious penthouse in the wealthiest district, a different kind of storm brewed.

Donovan was kneeling.

Head down. Hands clenched. His body trembled—not with fear, but shame.

"I… failed," he muttered.

Across from him, a man in an obsidian-gray suit stood at the window. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with sharp, hawk-like features, his aura was colder than ice.

"You didn't just fail," he said with quiet fury. "You embarrassed us."

Donovan said nothing.

"You ruined years of quiet planning. Our contacts, our scouts, our data gathering… all blown apart by your arrogance. We now have to delay the entire operation. Three. Full. Years."

Donovan finally looked up, eyes wide. "No—I can—!"

"SILENCE."

The voice cracked like a whip. The man turned, his eyes colder than steel.

"You're out," he said. "Effective immediately. Return home. Train. Grow. And maybe in three years, if you're still useful, you'll be allowed back into the fold."

With a flick of his hand, he motioned to the guards.

"Get him out of my sight."

As Donovan was dragged out, defeated and humiliated, the man sighed and pulled a phone from his pocket.

He dialed a private number. One ring. Two. Click.

A voice answered on the other end, deep and unreadable.

"…What do you want?"

The man straightened his tie.

"Our Celadon initiative has failed. The boy ruined it."

There was silence on the line.

Then the voice replied:

"Punish the failure. But you have three years. Make sure your promise is fulfilled."

Click.

The line went dead.

The man stood for a moment, the phone still in his hand. A bead of sweat rolled down his brow.

"…Damn it."

He walked across the room to a sleek, black desk, opening a drawer. Inside sat a thin dossier.

On the cover:RAY VIREL – UNREGISTERED VARIABLE

He narrowed his eyes.

"I don't like variables I can't control."

He closed the folder.

And the night grew darker still.