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And after N had left the registration, one more straggler arrived looking at the sign up rules. A straggler who looked almost like a youthful Santa Claus in monk's robes with a violin case and a strange wooden walking stick.

Blackbird Mcknight looked carefully over the rules, stroking his cotton like beard as he focused. "Well, I don't wanna have to hurt anybody," he said to himself, as there were only a few people around. Not that he cared if they thought he was crazy or not. "Pain isn't a key that I like to play in. But if this is how I'll get to see what sort of effort that little dragon has put into her life, I wanna see it first hand."

With a shrug, he signed up as Blackbird Mcknight. "A concert of fighters? It may not be music to my ears, but it's still a righteous jam."

And then the wandering musician spun on his heel and walked through town, whistling happily in the process. Sure is a nice night out!

Eunmi lifted her chin from her palm.

"Yeah, I guess I did," Eunmi said. "I didn't mean to- ah, whoops."

She laughed, "I occasionally get a free meal that way. Or at least a discount."

She flushed - even though she knew she flirted for the benefit of getting something out of it, she never really said it out loud before. It sounded... bad.

"Does that bug you or something?" she asked, hoping she hadn't offended Henrietta by appearing so shallow.

"N-no! Not at all! N-none of my business.." Henrietta looked back at her menu and then she'd, with a sigh, lay her arms on the table and her head on her arms.

"I-i should t-train some," she said, mostly to herself.

Any good horse trainer had their Pokemon properly outfitted, so when the Pansear struck his Blitzle's hoof, the monkey actually punched the horse's shoe, instead of the actually hoof. It would make his step awkward, but wouldn't actually damage the zebra any.

Snorting now in anger, the Blitzle broke off into a run, attempting to plow into the Pansear.

The eight year old girl skipped merrily down the creaky hallway of the dojo. Having just discovered a new technique, she was ecstatic. Her dad would be so proud that she had continued his legacy and turned it into her own. She had created an evolution out of something considered perfect. What more could she have asked for?

“Daddy!” she exclaimed happily as she slid open the sliding screen door. “Daddy, I have to show you something!”

A man who’s brown hair was starting to recede had his back to the door, diligently watching a Hitmonlee aim stretching kicks from across the large room at a punching bag. “Again,” he wearily commanded, and his Hitmonlee obliged. “Salieri, I need to train for tomorrow’s exhibition. It’s important for the school. Can you show me tomorrow?” Not once did he turn around to look at her face. A face that got more disappointed by the second.

“But Daddy, you said-“
“I know, I’m sorry we haven’t caught up in a few days. I’ve been so busy with work, Salieri. Tomorrow I promise. Again, Hitmonlee.” By now, it was clear in his voice that he had no time for his daughter. Silently, the little Salieri turned and walked down the halls.

Maybe her older brother would care enough to watch.

“Moze!” The girl knocked on the old wooden door. There was no response. “Moze?” The door creaked open, and the little Salieri stepped inside. The room was dark, except for the moonlight that shone through the open window. It looked like he had snuck out again.

She stared longingly at that window for a while. She wondered how easy it would be to get outside, to make the jump and leave. It was considered for a minute. But she couldn’t leave the dojo. No, her place was here. Wasn’t it?

Without looking back, the girl closed the door.

Little Salieri found herself in the basement, doing a routine on the punching bag chained to the ceiling. Alone. She looked like she was trying to be serene. But a closer look would show her facial muscles twitch, her breath out of focus. Everything was falling apart.

Her fingers met the punching bag, and then her fist followed in a one inch punch. The bag swung back as far as the chain would allow, and she stopped it as soon as it swung back.

She was training. For what exactly? Girls couldn’t lead the dojo. What future did she have outside this place? She was raised to fight, and in her future she knew that eventually she would be lost in this world she occupied. What else could someone like her do? There wasn’t another option.

The same power strike was inflicted on the punching bag. Again, it swung back. The chain creaked this time around. It was almost on it’s last legs.

No, there wasn’t anything else for her, was there? She had already been thrown away once. Discarded like trash. Now she was just more garbage waiting to happen. Nobody could fight forever. When she was done battling, what else would she do? Society didn’t have a place for brawlers like her.

The insides of her wrists met together as she pressed her palms flat on the surface of the punching bag. She closed her eyes. What was inside the punching bag? What was so deserving of getting beaten up all the time? She tried to visualize her problems as tiny grains of sand being bombarded by her fists. But no matter how much she attacked them, they were still protected inside there.

No one at school liked her.
Her father paid her no attention.
Her older brother was off in a fantasy land.
She never had a chance at being the school’s heir.
She never had a chance at being something outside of the school she couldn’t lead.
She never had a chance of being like her brother.
She never had a chance of being her own person.
She never had a chance.

One deep breath.

And then she screamed. She screamed, and while she did her fingers released all of her emotion. All of that rage turned into effort, all of that grief turned into power. The technique she had been practicing came out of her fingertip that clutched so tightly onto what she was trying to destroy.

The sandbag convulsed, like snakes had just squirmed their way through. And then it exploded. Torn to shreds. A humungous hole had been blasted through it at the contact point, ripping the sandbag apart. The sand bled out of the former punching bag like a broken hourglass, showing little Salieri just how much time she was losing.

And as that happened, it was as if random pores on her arms decided to give up. Blood squirted from her arms as if she had been slashed several times over. Her muscles felt raw as she allowed her numbs, bleeding arms to hang at her sides. The crimson liquid mixed in with the sands of lost time. Pain and time. It was all that existed to her.

Her breathing slowed down to a steady pace as she stumbled back to look at what she had done to her target. To herself.

The sand stopped spilling. It was all over the floor now. The room was silent, save for little Salieri’s breathing. And slowly, the Battle Girl began to smile through the pain.

“Wait till I tell-“

****

“-Moze.”

Salieri found herself back in Wayne’s room. It wasn’t eight years ago anymore. It was the present. And she wasn’t where she had fallen asleep before, either.

She was standing in front of his mirror with her wrists pushed together and her open palms held out in front of her, in the same motion that had appeared in her dream of the past. For a second, she panicked while she looked at her arms. No, they weren’t bleeding. They were fine.

“Ugh.”

The Battle Girl clutched her head. She had never gotten drunk before. It was never in her life plan. Alcohol was no good for a martial artist’s way of life. Except for Drunken Boxing, but that wasn’t her thing. Then again, that wasn’t all bad…

Her vision was still a little blurred. She felt groggy as the effects of the mystery stew she had created began to overtake her. “This isn’t my room,” she mumbled, looking around. She had no idea who’s room she was in. Scanning the area showed her that the only other sign of life was a sleeping Chen Zhen on the floor.

“Wait.” Her hands shot up reflexively to her belt. Her three other pokeballs were missing. “Oh crap.”

****

The door to Salieri's room burst open as the Battle Girl ran inside. A wave of relief flooded over her as she saw all three of her pokemon strewn about unconscious across the beds. Thank god they were where she left them.

"Sorry guys, let's go get some dinner," she told them, although they were too knocked out to hear her as she returned them to their pokeballs. Now that she had a full party once more, she could go out and get something to eat. Water came first. She felt more dehydrated than a Rock type, and she needed to be in a better mind set if she wanted to get anything productive done this evening. Perhaps a gym challenge? She'd have to see if her team was up to it, or if the gym was even open for that matter.

The Battle Girl turned off the lights and left her room in the pokemon center.

The Blitzle shook his head, clearing his mind from being kicked off of, and watched as the Pansear went airborne.

The fire attack started, and with a blur, the Blitzle disappeared into his quick attack before reappearing on the other side of the monkey. His mane charged for a second, before shockwaves were fired from the horn on his head.

The electric blast hit the ground powered Hidden Power as Pansear fired it by Chili's command.

Pokemon were chosen based on factors, the other pokemon's type, their skills, etc. This Pansear was chosen based off of the statistics of Blitzle, as well as for this type of Hidden Power.

As the attack was diffused, Pansear would land and release another Incinerate attack.