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The training grounds of Blueberry Academy were never quiet, but today, the noise felt… distant. Like the world itself knew better than to get involved. Students battled across the open field, commands echoing, Poké Balls flashing open and shut like sparks in a storm. The usual rhythm of competition pulsed through the air… Sharp, alive, relentless. And then—
Thunk.
A footstep, heavy. Deliberate.
Thunk.
Another.
Heads began to turn, one by one, like a ripple moving through water. Ophelia didn’t walk. She stormed. Her boots struck the ground with enough force to make her presence known before her voice ever could. Each step carried the weight of something barely restrained, like a blade dragged across stone, sparking, threatening to catch fire. “…Unbelievable.” Her voice slipped out under her breath, low and venomous. “Absolute bulshit! What the hell was that?”
A student nearby hesitated mid-command, their Pokémon faltering as Ophelia passed. Another instinctively stepped aside. No one said anything. No one dared to ask anything. Because her expression, which wasn’t just anger, it was pure rage. Her jaw was tight enough to crack teeth. Her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides like she was actively negotiating with herself not to punch the nearest wall…or person. “Banning her?” she muttered, louder this time, the words laced with disbelief. “For what? Calling him out? Existing? Breathing too loudly? Or did his highness just wake up and decide—” She cut herself off with a sharp exhale, dragging a hand down her face. “—Arceus, what a dick.”
Students parted more obviously now. The battlefield lanes cleared like she was some kind of oncoming freight train…and honestly? That wasn’t far off. Because at the far end of the training ground, there he was. Kieran… Standing tall, composed, issuing commands with that cold precision that had become his trademark. Every movement is controlled. Every word measured. Champion of Blueberry League.
Ophelia stopped. And just for a second, her eyes locked onto him, and the air around her seemed to tighten, like the calm before disaster strikes. “…There you are.” Her voice dropped quieter now. But somehow worse. Because it wasn’t just anger anymore. It was focused. And then she started walking again. Faster this time, but not stomping or pacing… but Hunting.
“KI—ER—AN!”
His name tore through the training ground like a whip crack, slicing clean through the noise of battle. Conversations died instantly. Ophelia didn’t slow down. Every step closed the distance between them, her gaze locked on him like a missile with one target and zero intention of missing. And if anyone was still wondering whether this was going to be a conversation… Oh boy, they were about to be very, very wrong.
The distance between them vanished in a second. Ophelia stopped just short of him, close enough to feel the heat of the battlefield still clinging to his skin, close enough to see what everyone else either didn’t notice… or pretended not to.
Kieran’s eyes. The light in them was gone. What remained was something colder or sharper. And beneath those eyes, there were dark shadows. They were heavy and unmistakable. The kind carved from sleepless nights and something far worse than simple exhaustion.
Ophelia’s glare didn’t soften. If anything, it burned hotter. “…You look like shit,” she said flatly. No greeting, no buildup, just straight to impact. Around them, the training ground had gone unnaturally still. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
Kieran didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink or even react. He just stood there, posture straight, expression carved from something that used to resemble him but now felt… distant… detached.
And that? That pissed Ophelia off even more. Ophelia took a step closer, boots grinding against the dirt. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Her voice cracked like a whip, sharp and unfiltered. “Banning Oktavia? For what? Calling you out? That’s it?” Her hands clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms. “She didn’t break rules. She didn’t cheat. She didn’t do anything except say what everyone else is too scared to say to your face.” Another step. “You’ve been acting like a major dick to everyone around you. So yeah, shocker, someone finally snapped and told you.” Her voice dropped, but the intensity didn’t. “And your solution is to just… what? Banning her?”
Then, Kieran exhaled. Not annoyed or angry. Just… bored. “She was getting in my way.” The words landed flat, cold, like they didn’t even deserve emotion.
Ophelia blinked once. “…Excuse me?”
Kieran’s gaze didn’t waver. “If someone can’t keep up, they don’t belong here.” His tone was calm, measured, and clinical. “Simple as that.” Something in Ophelia’s expression shifted. But he kept going. “As for Oktavia—” a faint pause, like he was sorting through something insignificant, “—she was weak.” The word hit harder than a punch. “She couldn’t even hold onto her Elite Four ranking after I became Champion.” No hesitation, no remorse, no trace of that shy, timid little boy he used to be.
The air between them dropped ten degrees. Ophelia stared at him. Like her brain was trying to process how the hell those words had just come out of his mouth. Then her lip curled. Not in anger. At least, not yet. “…Wow.” A quiet laugh escaped from her lips, sharp and hollow. Her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing as she looked at him, not like a fellow trainer, not like a clubmate, but like she was seeing a stranger wearing his face. “That’s what we’re doing now?” Another step forward, invading his space completely. Then, she grabs Kieran by his collar, while Kieran remains unfazed. “You think strength is the only thing that matters?” she asked, voice low, dangerous, “That anyone who struggles is just… disposable?” Her gaze flickered to his eyes again, those empty, hollow things. “…You didn’t just ban her because she was ‘in your way,’” Ophelia said, quieter now. The words weren’t a question… They were an accusation. “You banned her because she hit a nerve, didn’t ya?” Kieran said nothing, confirming the statement further. “And instead of dealing with it like a normal human being, you decided to play dictator.” Her jaw tightened, then she scoffed, “Congratulations, Champion.” The title dripped with sarcasm. “You’re winning.” Then, softer but cold, cutting deeper than anything she’d said before: “…At the cost of becoming someone no one here can even recognise anymore.” Kieran didn’t move. He didn’t react. He didn’t even break. But for just a fraction of a second, something flickered. So small that most people would’ve missed it. Ophelia didn’t… And that only made her eyes darken further. Because whatever that flicker was.. It wasn’t enough.
Kieran didn’t react. Not to her words or the accusation. Not even to the crack in her voice when she said he was becoming someone unrecognisable. No Nothing. If anything, he straightened under her grip, ike he was adjusting his posture for a title he’d grown far too comfortable wearing. “…I did what was necessary.” His voice was the same, calm, even, controlled, but… something colder than before. “I’m the Champion.” The words didn’t sound proud… They sounded like a justification. “And I’m stronger than you.”Ophelia’s expression didn’t change. At least not yet. “So yes,” Kieran continued, meeting her gaze without hesitation, “that makes you my subordinate too.”
Ophelia didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. Her head tilted ever so slightly, like she was processing something that didn’t quite fit in reality. “…Say that again.”
Kieran didn’t hesitate. “You heard me.” Kieran stood his ground, “You—Are—Beneathe—Me.”
That was it. Ophelia didn’t respond. She didn’t argue. She didn’t insult him back. She just… stood there. Still… Way too still. And then… She moved. There was no warning. Just—
CRACK.
The sound split the air like a gunshot. Kieran’s head snapped to the side as Ophelia’s fist connected with his face, clean, precise, violent. The impact echoed across the training ground, followed by a collective gasp from every student watching.
“…What the—”
“Did she just—?!”
For a moment, everything froze. Kieran staggered. His footing gave just enough for gravity to take over, and he hit the ground hard, the dust kicking up around him. A drop of red hit the dirt. Then another. It was his blood, fresh and bright against the earth. Dripping from Kieran’s nose, trailing down his lip, staining the dust beneath him. For the first time in this confrontation, he looked… human.
Ophelia stood over him, chest rising and falling, her knuckles already bruising, but steady. Because, unlike him. This? This was her territory. She wasn’t just some trainer chasing titles. She was Wǔdàn. Raised in a tribe where strength wasn’t theoretical, where it was lived, trained, forged into bone and muscle. Kieran might’ve outclassed her in battles between Pokémon. But here? On the ground? Hand to hand? He had no idea what kind of monster he’d just provoked. She stepped forward, slow, measured. Each footstep was deliberate as Kieran tried to push himself up, still dazed, blood trailing from his nose. Ophelia cracked her knuckles. The sound was quiet, but it carried.
“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you…” she muttered, voice low, dangerous, like something barely held back from snapping completely. She walked closer, closing the distance, her shadow falling over him. “I was this close,” she said, holding up two fingers for a split second before curling them into a fist again, “to just walking away.” Her gaze darkened. “But nah.” Another step. “You just forgot when to keep that big ass mouth shut now, didn’t ya?”
Kieran’s vision hadn’t fully steadied yet. The world still tilted slightly as he tried to regain his bearings, but even through the haze, he could feel the shift. This wasn’t a verbal fight anymore. This was something worse. Ophelia rolled her shoulder once, loosening up. “I could break your leg,” she said casually, too casually. “Clean snap. Three months in the hospital, minimum.” Her eyes locked onto him. There was no bluff, no exaggeration. Just a fact. “Maybe then you’d learn something.” She raised her fist again.
But then—
“OPHELIA!”
A hand grabbed her arm mid-motion. It was firm and desperate. Ophelia spun and saw it was… Crispin. He stepped in fast, gripping her tightly before that second punch could land, his usual easygoing expression completely gone, replaced with something urgent, more serious. “Hey, hey, that’s enough!” he said, pulling her back slightly. “This isn’t the way to handle it!”
Ophelia yanked against his grip instinctively. “Let go,” she snapped, voice sharp enough to cut.
“Nope.” Crispin didn’t budge. “I’m not saying he doesn’t,” Crispin replied quickly, voice lower now, urgent. “I’m saying this isn’t how you handle it,” he added, tightening his hold just enough to keep her from lunging forward again. “You’re gonna make it worse... Way worse.”
Her breathing was uneven now, like she was standing on the edge of something she couldn’t quite step back from. “Worse?” she echoed, a bitter laugh slipping through. “He already crossed that line.” Kieran, still on the ground, wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
His expression was still calm, still composed. Even now, and somehow, that made everything feel even more volatile. Because Ophelia wasn’t just fighting anger anymore. She was fighting the overwhelming urge to finish it. And Crispin knew it. Which is exactly why he didn’t let go.
For a moment, it looked like the storm had passed. Crispin still had a grip on her wrist. Kieran was still on the ground, blood staining the edge of his lips. The crowd stood frozen in that awkward, fragile silence that comes after something breaks, but before anyone knows what to do next.
And Ophelia? She was still shaking. Not weak or unsure. Just… barely holding the line. Her gaze lingered on Kieran for one long, burning second. Then—
She clicked her tongue again, more sharply this time, as if she were disgusted by the very air around him. “…Pathetic.” The word dropped flat, and then she moved again, but not toward him, but away from him.
Crispin blinked, his grip loosening just slightly. “Uh… Ophelia?”
Ophelia didn’t look at him, nor did she look at anyone. Her gaze stayed locked on Kieran, who was still on the ground, blood staining his face, trying to push himself back up with what little dignity he had left. “You really outdid yourself today,” she said. Her voice wasn’t loud anymore, which made it worse. “Champion.” The word tasted like poison coming out of her mouth. Slowly, deliberately, Ophelia reached into her pocket. There was no rush in the movement, no hesitation either. She pulled out her BB League club membership badge. For a brief second, it caught the light of its polished surface. A symbol of rank, belonging, and identity within the League Club. Ophelia looked at it. And her expression twisted. Not in sadness or regret. But rather… In disgust. “…Fuck this.” Her arm moved before anyone could process it.
THUD.
The badge slammed into the ground right in front of Kieran, hard enough to bounce once against the dirt before settling between them. The sound echoed louder than it should have because of what it meant and of what she just did.
Crispin’s eyes widened. “Wait, Ophelia—”
“You know what?” she cut in, her voice rising just enough to slice through him. “I quit.”
Someone in the background audibly inhaled. Kieran froze mid-motion.
Ophelia took a step back, not retreating, but disengaging. Like she was already done. “I’m not sticking around in a place where the ‘Champion’ thinks leadership means acting like some power-tripping dictator,” she continued, her tone sharp, each word cleanly enunciated like a verdict being read out. Her eyes burned into his. “No respect. No accountability. Just strength and ego.” She scoffed. Low and bitter. “Yeah, miss me with that.” Then, she lifted both hands and, without a shred of hesitation, flipped him off. It was clear, deliberate, and unapologetic.
Gasps broke out again, louder this time. Someone muttered, “She’s actually insane—” while another whispered, “No way…” But Ophelia didn’t care. She didn’t even hear them. Her entire focus was on him. “I’d rather walk away than take orders from someone like you,” she said, quieter now, but somehow heavier. “Hell, it’s actually disgusting that I have to even call you my ‘boss.’” The word came out like it physically offended her. “You’re not a leader, Kieran.” Her expression hardened. “You’re just someone who got strong and forgot how to be human.”
Ophelia turned, and just like that, without looking back… “I’d rather not be here at all.”
Silence swallowed the training ground whole. No one moved or spoke. Because there was nothing to say. Ophelia walked away the same way she came— heavy, unshaken, unstoppable steps.
But this time, there was something else behind it. Not just anger or fury, but a clean, decisive break. Each step carried her further from the battlefield… Further from Kieran… And further from the version of Blueberry Academy that had just lost something it didn’t even realise it needed.
Crispin stood there, frozen for a moment, caught between the person walking away and the one still on the ground. “…Man…” He exhaled under his breath, running a hand through his fiery hair. “…You really messed that one up.”
Kieran didn’t respond. He didn’t move either. He just sat there in the dirt, blood still faintly dripping, eyes lowered toward the badge lying in front of him. For the first time since she arrived… The training ground felt empty.