After Mike had killed his brother and reclaimed his Pokémon—now twisted, undead versions of their former selves—he became something else entirely. The once cold and distant man was now a silent predator, his presence steeped in malice. His Blastoise lumbered at his side, its hollow eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight as mist poured from the cracks in its decaying shell. He moved through the forest without a sound, each step calculated, and every breath filled with the chilling memory of what he had done. The world had abandoned him, so he abandoned it in return, becoming a hunter that no trainer could anticipate.

It was in this state that Mike came across Y/N’s small camp in the forest. They were alone, tired from a long day of training, unaware of the shadows watching from the treeline. The faint crackle of the campfire masked the low growl of his resurrected Pokémon, and Mike stood just far enough back that the glow of the flames didn’t catch his face. His dark eyes watched Y/N with a chilling curiosity, noting the strength of their Pokémon and the fact they were isolated, with no one to run to. His fingers flexed at his side, and he considered how easy it would be to step forward, to end their story just as abruptly as he had ended Steven’s.

But Mike didn’t strike. Not yet. Instead, he lingered, letting the atmosphere grow heavy, letting Y/N’s instincts begin to prickle with the feeling that someone was out there. He wanted to see them afraid, to savor that moment of realization, the same terror Steven had felt in his final breath. When Y/N’s Pokémon stirred uneasily, Mike slipped back into the darkness, his undead companions fading with him. He wasn’t finished—not by a long shot. This was only the beginning of his game.