Can Someone Give Me a Lift?

After the preliminary round ended, the thirty-two participants who had advanced were given a day to rest and adjust their condition.

Sato had also arranged to meet Norman, Flint, and the others yesterday, planning to properly explore the lively Indigo Plateau.

In the lobby of the Pokemon Center, Sato had Pikachu draped over his shoulder, with a Skorupi following on his left and an Umbreon pressed against his right side.

Paired with a pure black casual outfit, he looked more like a tourist who had come here to travel.

Sato sat on the sofa waiting for the others, flipping through the list of participants who had reached the finals of this year's Pseudo-Elite Four Competition.

Aside from old friends and old rivals like Norman and Flint, Sato was naturally more interested in the veteran Pseudo-Elite Four trainers who had long been renowned.

But Sato had not been reading for long before he sharply sensed two sets of footsteps behind him suddenly growing lighter.

Whoosh~ Sato suddenly lowered his left shoulder, and a blurred hand swept through the spot he had just vacated.

Eh~ It just missed (▽｀)!

"What the hell, do you have eyes on the back of your head? How did you dodge that so fast?!"

Norman's voice came from behind him, while Sato merely gave him a sidelong glance in response.

"Hehehe, congratulations! You made it into the finals with a perfect record!" Phoebe ran over at that moment and said to Sato with a smile.

"Mm, as expected."

"...I'm starting to suspect the Sato I used to know was fake." Phoebe rolled her eyes, feeling that narcissistic Sato was especially punchable.

Soon, Flint walked over as well and joined the group.

"Where's Volkner?"

Seeing that Flint no longer had his yellow-haired, expressionless best friend beside him, Sato