"Three hours..." Magnus wheezed. "How can it still be three hours away?"

He'd been up since the crack of dawn, completely unable to sleep, his mind far too preoccupied with whirring and worrying and thinking to bother considering an activity as mundane as sleeping. The morning had passed slowly, and the day was passing even slower. Time itself seemed to be against him on this day, the day that should've belonged to him and him alone and yet everything seemed to be doing its best to take it from him. Even now he was stooped over the sink, feeling sick to his stomach with nervous anticipation, a feeling he'd never had before and had no idea how to properly deal with. He couldn't let it stop him though. He wouldn't let it stop him. Today was his day, and nothing would change that.

Magnus straightened up, the sickening dizziness having eventually passed. He glanced at the mirror in front of him, meeting eyes with a devilishly handsome man who looked not a day over forty-three years, seven months, two weeks and six days. His greyed hair was shaped like the Pokéathlon punching fist logo, which was either a really weird coincidence or a bizarre joke from his branding team. His eyes wandered left and right, inspecting the other two mirrors, which were necessary in order to view the entirety of his enormous moustache, which was rumoured to contain at least fifteen undiscovered species of Pokémon.

He cleansed both face and facial hair—the latter taking considerably longer—and was just firing up the hairdryer—a most necessary tool when more than half of all hair in the known universe resided upon one's face—when he was rudely interrupted by a knock at the door. He let out an exasperated sigh and turned to his partner. "If it's anyone but Tim, let them in."

"Poli!" His partner in crime, Poliwrath, proudly thumped its chest and set about its most important task, waddling from the bathroom with adept clumsiness and returning with Magnus' agent, Tim Shaw.

Magnus looked from Poliwrath to Tim and then back to Poliwrath. "You had one job..."

"Poli..." Poliwrath dropped its head, walking away in shame, leaving the two humans alone.

Magnus glanced back at Tim, who was eyeing the hairdryer, shaking his head. "Good grief, Magnus, why don't you just shave that ridiculous thing off? You'd be so much more aerodynamic! It could save you a couple of seconds."

"And ruin the image that I've worked so hard on?" Magnus said, gesturing toward his rather flattering figure. "Besides, as long as there's a chance I can win a race by poking my tash over the line, it stays on my face."

Tim shook his head and sighed. "You know, they call you the People's Champion, but a more accurate title would be the Agent's Nemesis. Or perhaps the Stubborn Bastard?"

Magnus didn't bother rising to the bait. "Look mate, I've got a race to prepare for. I've got a race to win. So, if you came here to distract me or prove some kind of point, just save it. I don't need any of that today."

Tim gave a rare smile. "Actually, I came here to wish you good luck." Magnus' mouth hung open in confusion. His eyes scanned the agent suspiciously, looking for any trace of trickery or treachery. "Come on, mate, I only want what's best for you."

"But—"

"I know we've not seen eye to eye recently, but everything I've done, every decision I've made, I had only your best interests at heart. I just want to see you do well; I want to see you be remembered for the right reasons." The look in his eye was genuine, yet Magnus still struggled to believe him. After all, it was two years to the day since their relationship shifted from that of an old friendship to one more closely resembling a purely professional association. He could still remember the heated debate they'd had as if it were yesterday.

*

Two years ago, Magnus had been summoned to Tim's office. Of course, he knew straight away what the sudden meeting was about; he just desperately hoped the news was good. If it wasn't... no. He wouldn't allow himself to think about that. The news would be good—it just had to be.

He hurriedly made his way to Tim's office, belly bouncing as he bounded down the street, knowing the anticipation would kill him if he had time to dwell on the outcome of the meeting. He was soon at the agency, but despite his previous urgency, the athlete paused before entry, hit by sudden fear. What if it was bad news? Surely he would be allowed to compete... surely Tim would see reason... surely...

"Tim Shaw!" he found himself blurting out to the lady at reception. She knew him, and he knew where to go so he wasted no time making his way down the corridor to Tim's surprisingly luxurious office. He rapped the door with his knuckles.

"It's open!" Tim called out. Magnus threw the door open and immediately met eyes with his old friend. Tim's eyes shifted. His expression dropped. Magnus' heart sank.

"Well?" Magnus asked, somehow clinging on to hope.

"Your doctor's report is in," Tim said gravely. "I'm sorry, mate, but I can't allow you to compete. You're just not fit enough."

"No!" Magnus screamed, outraged. He wanted to do nothing more than scream and yell, but only now did he notice how breathless he was after his short run, how dizzy he felt, how the sweat streamed off his moustache like a waterfall. He would never admit it, but it was true. He wasn't fit.

"I know it's not what you wanted—"

"Not what I wanted?" Magnus snarled. "Of course it's not what I bloody wanted! I don't want to sit on the sidelines and just watch everyone else compete! I created the Pokéathlon! I should be allowed to compete! It's not fair!"

"Calm down, Magnus!" Tim said sharply. "What do you want me to do about it? Enter a man with a beer belly that rivals a Snorlax?"

"It's all pure muscle!" Magnus defended, proudly thumping his stomach, which seemed to wobble in agreement.

"You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me," Tim said. "So, unless you can somehow convince me that you're going to quit drinking, quit smoking and get in shape in the next two years then I will not enter you into the Pokéathlon."

"I've got six world records!" Magnus blurted out, as if that had anything to do with Tim's ultimatum.

"Two of those are in pie-eating competitions!"

"They all count!"

Tim shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I've made my decision, mate, and that's final. I really am sorry, mate, but you won't make me change my mind."

Magnus hung his head, half furious, half dejected. "You've been watching the news, haven't you?" he managed to squeeze out despite the tremendous lump in his throat.

"Yes, I've seen."

"They've let him off early, Tim. His ban is lifted."

Tim let out an almighty sigh and nodded his head gravely. "I know, mate. But there's nothing I can do about it. The board have made their decision."

"It's outrageous!" Magnus said, his temper rising once again. "John Benson competing in the Pokéathlon and not me, its own creator..."

John Benson had been Magnus' main rival his entire career, ever since he created the Pokéathlon all those years ago. It was a fierce rivalry that had forced the both of them to work harder and compete at a higher level than anyone thought possible. Of course, only one of them ended up going down as the greatest Pokéathlete of all time, if Magnus did say so himself, but the competition had taken its toll and the damage was done to Benson. He was seduced by the dark side and fell foul of using PED's, or Pokémon Enhancing Drugs, earning himself a lifetime ban.

"He's going to win," Magnus muttered. "He's leaps and bounds ahead of the rest of the field; they won't stand a chance. And then a cheat will be the holder of the Pokéathlon. We can't have that, Tim. I created the Pokéathlon to inspire, not to encourage cheating, and I will not allow its new poster boy to be a cheat. It would ruin everything we've worked to achieve!"

Tim stared at Magnus for what felt like an eternity. "Yes, he will most likely win," he said slowly when he eventually broke the silence. "But the board wouldn't let him compete unless he was clean. He's done his time, paid the price, helped tremendously with investigations into cheating and rigging. Apparently, he's felt genuine remorse."

"I don't care," Magnus said bluntly. "I won't sit by and watch him win. And if you won't enter me then I'll enter myself. I'll go through qualifying from day one."

"Magnus!" Tim exclaimed. Magnus had never once disobeyed him before.

"I've got no choice, Tim, so save your breath. I won't change my mind." Magnus had no intention of letting Tim respond, so he quickly turned and opened the door to leave.

He was halfway out of the office when Tim desperately cried out, "Magnus, wait!" Magnus glanced back over his shoulder and met Tim's eye. "You're already a champion to the people, mate. Just make sure you go out as one."

Magnus had no idea how to respond, so he didn't. He left the office.

*

From that day, Magnus and his Pokémon had trained harder than ever before. He'd gone from tremendously overweight has-been, resembling a heavily pregnant woman, to slightly overweight has-been, resembling a much less pregnant woman, although one with particularly large biceps. He still wasn't completely fit, but the transformation he'd undergone in just two years was astonishing. He'd temporarily given up smoking, drinking and—hardest of all—pies, swapping out his favourite food for green... stuff.

The argument with Tim had never been his motivation. It was Benson who had driven him to work as hard as he had. He'd vowed to stop Benson winning at all costs and to win just one last time. He'd been so blindsided by anger and determination that he'd almost forgotten to even try and make amends with Tim. The only thought he'd had towards his old friend was bitter frustration, bordering on resentment for attempting to stop him from entering the Pokéathlon. Could it be that after all this time, after all the fighting, were they really on the same side?

"If we want the same thing, why have we spent so long disagreeing and arguing?"

"Because we see the world in a completely different way," Tim explained. "I look at what's already said and done, all of the things we've already achieved and the potential that gives us for the future. Whereas you look forward, always wanting more, always striving to be better and to achieve more. That's why you're the Pokéathlete, and I'm the agent."

"Never thought about it like that."

"Well, you never did think," Tim added, a sly smile on his face. For a moment, the two just stared at each other before Tim eventually extended his hand. Magnus shook it firmly. "Good luck, mate. Now you go out there and you win. Then you can retire, and then we can have a smoke and a beer to celebrate."

"Thanks, mate." Magnus didn't know what else to say. Maybe after all this was said and done, they could begin to repair their friendship. But maybe that was an impossible fix. Whatever the case for the future, this was definitely the end of an era. They'd been in the game together for so long, working side by side, seeing victory after victory and now, here they stood, as agent and athlete for one final time.

"Oh, that commentary job is still on offer if you want it," Tim added just as he was leaving.

"Let's see how the race goes first," Magnus said. "I doubt they'd want a disgraced loser on their team."

"Well, either way they won't get one," Tim said, exiting the room before Magnus could respond. Even if he had allowed time for Magnus to think, he wouldn't have come up with a decent comeback. He knew what Tim was referring to, but he still failed to understand the meaning behind those words.

Poliwrath slipped back into the bathroom just before the door could close behind Tim, and upon seeing Magnus lost in deep thought, gave a reassuring punch on the arm. "Poliwrath!"

"I'm fine, Poliwrath," Magnus smiled at his old faithful friend and gave it a pat on the head. "Just thinking about what Tim's been going on about."

"Poli?"

"The People's Champion," Magnus said, staring into space. "That's what he calls me. That's what they all call me, other than the haters who still think my name is short for Massive Chungus, of course. But what does it mean?"

Poliwrath appeared to think for a moment, folding its arms and squinting before jumping up in the air, eyes wide, exclaiming, "Poli!"

"Got something?"

"Poliwrath!" Poliwrath flexed its impressive muscles.

"I know we're champions of the Pokéathlon," Magnus said. Poliwrath's expression dropped. "I think when they say People's Champion, they're talking about who all the people are rooting for. Who the people want to win. But are they not just the same thing? Don't people just like to back whoever's going to win so that they have something to celebrate?"

"Poli..." Poliwrath said, a puzzled look on its tiny excuse for a face.

Magnus gave a little chuckle. "They've not had much of a choice, have they? I created the bloody thing; you'd have bloody well expected me to win the first few. At least after today, the door will be open to the next generation of Pokéathletes. Then the people can forget me and choose a new champion."

"Poli." Poliwrath firmly shook its head. Perhaps his partner understood better than him.

"No time to dwell on it at least," Magnus said as he checked his watch. "It's getting close so we should get ready and get warmed up. One last warmup—now that's something I won't miss."

When he'd been sitting around waiting for time to pass in the morning, the minutes had crawled by so slowly that Magnus had been convinced time had actually been travelling in reverse, but the moment he started to get ready for the big race, the time flew by. He'd slipped into a tracksuit so flattering that even the blind would've felt immediate attraction, had made his way down to the Pokéathlon dome and could've sworn he hadn't even started his warmup by the time the competitors were being called to the track.

Magnus and Poliwrath were ushered towards the tunnel by one of the many Pokéathlon volunteers, who turned out to also be a flustered fangirl with a frantic need to take selfies. As per usual, Poliwrath was a real poser and slowed the picture taking process down tremendously, but they were soon in amongst a sea of athletes, Pokémon and volunteers, all anxiously anticipating the big event. Magnus was right at the back, so he couldn't quite see the stadium but he could feel it. He could feel the energy from the crowd, he could smell the all too familiar track and could hear the booming voice of the announcer recapping the last week's events.

Magnus needed no reminding. His team had given him a passionate performance in Snow Throw, pelting the opposition with precise projectiles, and a clean sheet in Goal Roll had put him well in contention for the medals. As usual, the speed events pegged him back, but his Pokémon had given their everything to stay in touch with Benson, who had streaked out an impressive lead. An inspired Lamp Jump showing evened things out before a surprisingly strong round in Disc Catch had put him in first place, proving once and for all that his Pokémon could still jump like the old days. Then, Magnus' favourite three events all happened in a row. He produced a magnificent performance in Block Smash, and then he and Poliwrath had worked wonders in Ring Drop where they dished out dynamic dodges, torturous tackles and crushing cuddles to retain the lead. He'd even managed to set a new world record in Circle Push—although that hardly seemed fair given that nobody else could fit in the highest scoring circle—giving him what should have been an unassailable lead.

Unfortunately, this sport never gave it to you easy. The final event, as always, was the Relay Race, and it was Magnus's worst event. He had always been strong and had excellent stamina, but he most certainly hadn't been gifted with long runner's legs. In all other events, participation for the Pokéathlete was optional, as long as they competed in at least three events in total, so his Pokémon could usually cover for him in the speed events, but this was the big finale. He was forced to compete. One lap by partner Pokémon, one lap by Pokéathlete. No exceptions. He had an enormous lead, but Benson was fast enough to overcome it. He still had a job to do.

By now, most of the athletes had been called out to the track, leaving only the medal contenders in the tunnel. Magnus had been slowly shuffling closer to the front, inching ever closer to the stadium as the announcer began listing off the fan favourites. The only ones to have competed in every year of the prestigious awards.

"Now we begin to welcome the current top six athletes at this Pokéathlon," the powerful voice of the announcer said, echoing throughout the stadium. "Up first, he's the man who's ever-present, always prevalent and yet nobody seems to talk about him, it's Ray Cyst!"

Magnus tried to block out the roars the crowd gave for the other athletes. He needed to focus on himself, but that was far easier said than done when the crowd were rocking so hard he could physically feel their screams. "Up next, one of the most popular figures in the event. His tragic backstory has made us all weep, and his life is sure to only get worse, please welcome, Ed G. Lorde!"

"Next we welcome someone I think we can all relate to. Unnoteworthy, bland, uninspiring and yet absurdly popular, she's Jen Eric!"

The tunnel was now almost completely empty. Magnus became well aware of the pair of eyes that were staring him down and soon succumbed to the intense gaze, meeting eyes with Benson. "Magnus," the hunk of meat said.

"Benson," Magnus replied, trying to hide the bitter resentment and hatred in his voice.

"Good luck, mate," Benson said. "And may the best man win."

"Let's hope so," Magnus muttered.

"And now, someone we all know and hate," the announcer continued. "He's a skinny white boy who nobody could ever truly love, he will never get laid and he most certainly will never win anything of actual importance, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Gremmy!"

At this moment, it should've struck Magnus how ridiculously biased the announcer was but apparently, he too was blind to the pinnacle of physical fitness that had just exited the tunnel and taken its place at the track. Sure, the young hopeful may have been on the slender side, but he was definitely getting some action, even an idiot could see that. And if he wasn't, he bloody well should've been.

"And currently in second place," the biased bastard said, "a man aiming for his first victory at the Pokéathlon. Five times runner up but now back in the sport to leave his mark on the world, blink and you'll miss him, The Bullet, John Benson!"

Despite his dodgy past, the crowd's roar for Benson was the loudest yet. He swaggered out onto the track, lapping it all up, egging the crowd on even more. Magnus couldn't bear to imagine the smug look on his face if he won, how the crowd would be cheering him, roaring his name... it was the stuff of nightmares and it was exactly what Magnus had to stop.

"Poli!" Poliwrath said, giving another reassuring punch.

Magnus bent down on one knee and ruffled Poliwrath's head. "Let's do this, Poliwrath." Poliwrath nodded vigorously.

"And now, last but most certainly not least," the announcer began, causing an anticipated hush all around the stadium. Despite the thousands packed into the dome, there was complete silence in the stands. This was it. The moment they were all here to see. "Currently sitting in first place, making his seventh consecutive appearance at the games, six-time winner, creator of the Pokéathlon, the People's Champion, Magnus!"

Magnus stepped out into the light, and the stadium erupted. Earth shattering, thunderous applause and cheering louder than was physically possible rang around the dome, shaking the track and all the competitors. Seismographs across the globe must've gone berserk as Magnus made his way out onto the track, waving in acknowledgement of the crowd which somehow made them even louder than before. The announcer appeared to be speaking but he was completely drowned out by the unbelievable noise the crowd were making. Magnus was used to getting the biggest applause, but this was something else, like nothing he'd ever experienced. Everyone knew that this was the last hurrah. This was the end. Now Magnus just had to give them what they wanted.

"Ok, Poliwrath, here we go," Magnus said, after taking a deep breath. "The first lap's all yours, buddy, just hold them off and I'll bring it home."

"Poli!" Poliwrath gave a confident thumbs up before taking the baton.

"Oh, and, Poliwrath," Magnus added, just as his partner was leaving, "let's do our best and have no regrets!"

"Poli!" The Pokémon quickly turned and took its place at the starting line.

"It's all we can do..." Magnus muttered to himself.

It was finally time for the race. Silence fell once again. The next few minutes would decide how Magnus would be remembered. He had a huge points lead which meant that Poliwrath got a healthy head start on the competition, all they had to do was use it. Poliwrath was more than capable of keeping that lead; it was down to Magnus to bring it home.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come for the final event of this year's Pokéathlon," the announcer said. "The first to set off will be Poliwrath and Magnus, followed twenty seconds later by Combusken and John Benson, but don't be fooled, ladies and gentlemen, this race is too close to call! Whichever way it goes, all the experts are saying the victor will win by a mere hair!"

When the announcer finished speaking, an eerie silence fell in the crowds, and yet there was an air of anticipation, an atmosphere of nerves and a feeling of tension so great it could surely be cut with a knife. It was finally time.

The Pokémon all took their place.

"On your mark!"

They readied.

"Go!"

Poliwrath shot off like a bullet, and the crowd could contain itself no longer, cheering the favourite on as if their lives depended on it. Poliwrath's powerful muscles were at work, legs beating the track with everything they had, chewing up the short distance they had to cover.

Suddenly, Benson's Combusken was away, and the crowd roared even louder as the rival set off in hot pursuit. It had started slowly but had accelerated at a blistering speed, eating away at the lead that Poliwrath had started with, but it didn't matter; Poliwrath was already on the home stretch.

"Come on, Poliwrath!" Magnus cheered as his partner approached him, his voice hardly audible over the roars the crowd were supplying. Magnus himself set off, slowly gaining speed as Poliwrath surged ever closer. The Pokémon thrust the baton forwards, and the changeover was clean; Magnus was away.

He worked tirelessly, not intending to leave anything in the tank, pumping his powerful arms and furiously hitting the track with his legs. He was making surprisingly light work of the track when the crowd let him know that Benson had started his leg. The crowd desperately urged him on, and he responded, forcing himself to his absolute limit to keep his lead over The Bullet.

Panting heavily, he entered the final turn of the track, leaning into the bend and unleashing one final burst of pace as the finish line came into sight. He thought he was there, and the crowd did too, but out of nowhere, he noticed a heavy, tired breathing from behind him. Magnus' body begged him to stop, but he couldn't, he had to find something extra within himself, he had to somehow keep going for just a few short seconds.

The finish line drew agonisingly closer and yet so did Benson. Magnus could hear his every breath, could feel his every step, and as he drew nearer and nearer to the end, Benson inched further and further into his peripheral vision. The crowd were going ballistic, and they were the only reason Magnus still had the energy to continue. He was running on pure adrenaline, with nothing left to give, but the finish line was only seconds away, all he had to do... all he had to do...

He stumbled, his body finally giving out on him as Benson began to tear past him, but the finish line was so close. Magnus lurched his whole body forwards as the last drop of energy was drained from him. He threw himself towards the line, jumping for his life, for his legacy, doing everything in his power to stick out his nose and—

He was over the line. The crowd had lost any sense of sanity, falling into delirious screaming as Benson and Magnus both panted and wheezed on their hands and knees. They'd given everything. Magnus glanced up at the big screen. It was a photo finish. After a few agonising seconds, the result was in.

Benson had won.

Magnus fell to the ground, too exhausted to think, too exhausted to move. The crowd continued its wild screams, after all, they'd just seen the greatest race in Pokéathlon history, with Magnus as the loser. He didn't know what to do. Everything had led to this moment. He'd sacrificed everything, given everything and it had all been for nought. It was just as he'd always feared; he'd gone down as a loser.

He was on the verge of tears when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was being shaken by someone, but he didn't respond. What was the point? He didn't want anyone to see him in this moment, this horrible, horrible moment to forget.

"Come on, mate, get up." Magnus stopped for a moment. Was that Benson? He turned, and sure enough, met eyes with his arch-rival. "You can't go out like this, mate. A champ doesn't belong on his hands and knees."

Magnus looked at him in disbelief, but before he could get the chance to argue, he finally made sense of what the crowd were saying. His mouth hung open in shock as he heard it, over and over again, as they chanted and yelled and screamed one word as if it was the only word in the world.

"Magnus! Magnus! Magnus!" He stood up and looked around the great stadium as thousands of people shouted his name at the top of their lungs, with no sign of ever stopping and no chance whatsoever of forgetting.

It was then that he finally understood. The race had been inconsequential. This year's Pokéathlon had been unimportant. There was something far, far more important than being the champion of the event, for that was something that happened every few years, and Magnus was the champion of something so much more. For tonight, he was and forevermore would be the Champion of the People.