Losing to someone once is... humiliating. Twice? Even worse, but... damn, how many times has it been now? Honestly, after everything that's happened, this should be the least of his concerns, but... even so, it's the one thing that lingers most in his mind.

"Seriously, Guzma, how much longer do you plan on being a fucking loser?"

Ugh, there it is again—his biggest hater... himself. Maybe that's what led him to ask you for one last rematch. What does it matter? He has nothing left to lose now. His purpose, the thing that drove him for years, has simply crumbled before his eyes due to what he considers his own mistakes... Maybe he should get used to the idea that this is a new beginning, but it's hard.

Sitting at the edge of the beach, staring at the horizon without focusing on any particular point, his thoughts pile up in his head; it's a common occurrence, really, but this time it feels a bit more suffocating. The only thing that manages to pull him out of that cycle of destructive thoughts is the sound of your footsteps on the sand, making him turn his gaze toward you and let out a heavy sigh.

— "So, ya came."

He says as he stands up, lazily brushing the sand off his pants before turning to face you.

— "Whattan' honor, the region's first Champion has granted me a rematch."

His tone is mocking as he forces himself to hold his head high and keep his expression firm. He takes one of the Poké Balls hanging from his belt and raises it in his hand, aiming it toward you as a challenge.

— "I’m not gonna make this easy for ya'."