The Legend of the Untamed Mane

 The sun was setting over Route 39, casting long golden shadows across the grassy plains. The wild Mareep in the fields had started to settle for the night, their wool glowing faintly in the dimming light. But in the middle of the dirt path, locked in an epic standoff, were two trainers.


Betty adjusted her Poké Ball belt, her signature blonde ponytail tied *tightly* behind her head. Functional. Efficient. No-nonsense. The way a true Pokémon Trainer should be.


Veronica, on the other hand, stood across from her, arms folded, the evening breeze playing with the *impossibly* long, glossy strands of her midnight-black hair. It cascaded over her shoulders like a freshly evolved Milotic, shimmering under the last light of day.


“You *never* let your hair down,” Veronica mused, twirling a lock of her own between her fingers. “Afraid it might mess up your *battle stats*, Betts?”


Betty huffed, rolling her eyes. “You *do* realize hair isn’t a factor in Pokémon battles, right?”


Veronica smirked, flipping her hair dramatically. “Tell that to my team.”


With a flick of her wrist, she tossed a Poké Ball high into the air. It burst open in a shower of golden sparks, revealing a majestic, *gleaming* Ninetales. The fox Pokémon landed gracefully, tails curling around itself, fur practically *glowing* with an unnatural shine.


Betty gritted her teeth. “*Of course* you have a Ninetales.”


“I trained her well,” Veronica said sweetly, running a hand through her hair. “Daily brushing, the highest-quality PokéBlocks, a *very* strict beauty regimen…” Her smirk widened. “*Kind of like me.*”


Betty scowled and reached for her own Poké Ball. “Fine. If you think good hair is enough to win a battle, let’s see how it holds up against *power*.”


She threw the ball forward, and in a flash of light, her Arcanine appeared, shaking out its wild, untamed mane. The fire-type Pokémon let out a fierce roar, the sheer force of it causing Veronica’s long hair to ripple in the wind.


For a moment, just a *moment*, she reached up instinctively to tame a few stray strands.


Betty smirked. “What’s wrong, Ronnie? Hair in your face?”


Veronica narrowed her eyes. “Oh, it’s *on*, Ponytail.”


The battle was about to begin.


And no matter who won—


There would *not* be a hair out of place.

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