All Emmet had to do was sweep the competition and, finally, he'd have his perfect victory.
When it came down to it, 'the competition' included his twin.
Emmet didn’t consider himself a vindictive man.
He could be petty when wronged and had a healthy sense of justice, but he wasn’t one to hold a grudge over nothing. While far from perfect, his customer service temperament served him well, and his ire was usually reserved for those who’d knowingly done something to deserve it.
That said, he could admit that, sometimes, he could become tunnel-visioned. He himself freely admitted that he loved winning like nothing else, and was often ruthless in its pursuit. It was a habit that made him seem… brusque in tournament environments, where his mind was so fully engaged in the stakes and he had little brainpower to devote to appearing personable.
Fortunately, he usually had Ingo at his side to soften any faux pas he might happen to stumble into, but there were times when even that itched in a way that made him want to seclude himself and plan out an indisputable victory. How was it fair that his brother could remain so social without sacrificing his analytical mind? What was Ingo doing that Emmet couldn’t emulate? They were rivals, and skilled though Emmet was, he had to admit that he was often fighting a losing battle in this regard. There were times he could find his track to victory when pitted against his brother, but even outside of his preferred battle format, Ingo so very rarely lost. It was admirable. It was incredible.
It was infuriating.
They were twins. When had the odds become so unbalanced? Emmet was relatively certain he hadn’t faltered in his training, so what had happened?
The obvious solution was to approach his brother and ask his opinion, but he couldn’t. What if he said something wrong and, instead of frustration with himself, it came out as resentment? Ingo knew how to read into his words better than even he could, so what if he did resent his twin’s success and hadn’t even realized it? He couldn’t take that risk. What they’d built was too important to chance it.
He just… wanted one resounding victory. Just one, in a public venue where he could prove he was worth his boasting. And he was going to make it happen. Surely he’d feel better after he made that a reality, and from there his thoughts would be easier to control. All he had to do was sweep the competition, including, when it came down to it, his twin.
Those participating in the tournament were a mixed bag. There were a number of Champions and Facility Heads, but the lineup also included a number of private trainers whose current teams were relative unknowns. Several rounds in, most of the registered Pokemon had come to light, making it possible to plan more thoroughly, which meant Emmet had even more information to pour over in the interim. He spent most of his time in between bouts ruminating over the best track to take, or, when applicable, taking just enough of a break to watch Ingo’s matches. It was a kindness that he knew was reciprocated, both in the fact that they made a point to walk with each other to and from the arenas, and also in the auditory evidence that came from the gallery as he battled.
So Emmet wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up with different company altogether.
Ingo’s previous opponent was a genial man whose Spiritomb had caused a great deal of difficulty before Overheat had finally subdued it. His eye glittered in the aftermath, and while Emmet had been there to observe the strategies himself, he’d pulled the stranger aside for just a moment to ask if he’d also noticed what Emmet thought might be an opening to exploit.
Volo had blinked at him, surprised. Had said that he supposed the flaw might have been there, and if he’d had such a keen eye he might have won, hm? Funny that Ingo’s greatest critic seemed to be his own brother, wasn’t it?
Emmet had waved it off in the moment, focused on how he could utilize this information. He thought he might have defaulted to his ‘winning’ script, but couldn’t say for certain.
Somehow, that had led to them meeting up the next day as Emmet refined his strategy for when, inevitably, he was pitted against his twin. Maybe this was what he’d been forgoing all this time: an outside opinion. He was so set in how he viewed their dynamic that of course things played out the same way again and again. Volo had a unique perspective and, while some of his insights were questionable, he noticed things Emmet had never been aware of.
Part of him wanted to patch those holes in their combined defense straight away but… not right now. Not when they could be the key winning. He’d make up for it after the fact by highlighting the weaknesses and then covering for them.
Another part of him was wary. His brother was known for utilizing ground type moves, yes, but Volo seemed to be unclear as to what Pokemon used those moves. As valuable as some of his observations were, it wouldn’t do to lose sight of the fact that, when it came down to it, the man had been defeated; it was little wonder why, when he thought Excadrill had a dire weakness to ice moves.
While muffled by the study room he was utilizing, an announcement came through on the intercoms, alerting attendees to the fact that the next round of battling was about to begin. Emmet sighed, contemplating the totality of the plan before him, and moved to begin cleaning it up. He’d already ditched Ingo for the greater portion of that morning, the least he could do was say hello before the match started.
A foreign hand reached out, brushing his away.
“You can’t stop now. You’re clearly onto something.” Its owner said, smiling in encouragement.
He shook his head. “I need to attend. That is my one rule. I would not be here now if I had foregone it yesterday.”
“True, true.” Volo said, tilting his head to concede that point, “But you’ve got me invested now, too. Surely you can be forgiven for missing one match if it grants you the opportunity to give your brother the battle of your lives?”
Emmet hesitated.
He was onto something. He knew it. Stopping now would cause him to lose all forward momentum and might even distract him from a viable track in favor of less relevant information. He could stand to spend just a little more time working through the problem and still make it for the latter portion of the match.
Volo’s smile widened, “He won’t know what hit him.”
Emmet barely even heard it, already consumed with the facts before him. He didn’t notice when Volo silently stood and excused himself from the alcove, nor when time began ticking down to the point that he would be physically incapable of making it across the stadium.
He was, however, roused from his stupor by the screaming.
Snapping to attention on instinct, he hurried out of the private room to try to allay any panic and direct patrons appropriately, never mind the fact that it wasn’t actually his responsibility here. While there were people staring, horrified, at the monitors studding the common areas, their initial reactions had dulled and the remaining noise seemed to be coming from the screens themselves, from one in particular out of the simultaneous broadcasts.
He would be hard pressed to say what he was looking at when he went to investigate. There was nothing it could be but a Pokemon, though a Pokemon unlike any he’d ever seen, composed entirely of deep shadows. It towered above one end of an arena, dark feelers swaying in an otherworldly breeze, sharp red eyes locked somewhere beneath it. The seating that framed the image betrayed just how far back the camera had panned to capture its image, and a steady stream of fleeing audience members put the entire picture into perspective, but it was something else that kept Emmet’s attention: a mere speck of purple at the arena’s far side.
A second, more intense look suggested the shape wasn’t one continuous being. The Pokemon was dwarfing a human at its end, largely camouflaged from the camera by the lighter shade of black they wore.
Emmet felt his heart stop. Any words of guidance soured into the urge to vomit at the realization that that was his brother being stared down by cruel red eyes.
Why was Emmet here when he was supposed to be there ? Ingo needed him and he couldn’t do anything.
Frozen in place and unable to look away, he could do little more but watch as his twin was dragged into the shadows while those onsite ran.
Emmet wanted to hate them for it.
He couldn’t. What were they supposed to do? They were bystanders, fans of the sport but largely not trainers themselves. There was only one person who could have watched Ingo’s back, and he’d been busy plotting to use that very same weakness to his own advantage.
Emmet was not a vindictive man.
But he would never forgive himself for this.