[Bonus]

The skinny Trainer, having picked up on the pattern, capitalized on Poliwhirl’s speed advantage and ordered it to repeatedly slap away with Double Slap whenever it found an opening.

Krabby, unwilling to be outdone, used Harden before Poliwhirl closed in. Then, at the chubby Trainer’s command, its claws shone with white light as it countered with Metal Claw.

Double Slap and Metal Claw were evenly matched. The melee ended in a draw for the time being.

While Krabby was still catching its breath, the skinny Trainer gave Poliwhirl the order to move in again—even though it too was panting—and launched a Water Gun mid-charge.

The chubby Trainer merely told Krabby to raise its claws to block. But Poliwhirl leapt into the air and landed hard with a Body Slam, flattening Krabby.

As Poliwhirl stood up, Krabby had already lost its fighting ability, squashed flat like a cartoon crab.

After watching the whole match, Reiji could only shake his head. It was just two rookies pecking at each other.

Both sides were evenly matched, which was why the battle had dragged on like that.

It started with probing Water Guns, but both had garbage aim. Krabby stood motionless and somehow had better accuracy.

One was firing while moving, the other was a stationary turret. A moving target versus a fixed target—neither had much of an edge.

After Water Gun proved useless, they got into melee. Still a stalemate.

In the end, it was the chubby Trainer’s command that didn’t make sense. Knowing full well that speed was a disadvantage, he should’ve had Krabby keep using Harden to max out its defense.

Then when Poliwhirl came in with Body Slam, Krabby could’ve just clamped its limbs shut with its pincers. It wouldn’t matter if it got flattened—a successful pin would’ve sealed Poliwhirl’s movement and turned the tables.

If it had been him, things would’ve been simpler. Poliwhirl just needed one punch. With the burst from Waterfall, it wouldn’t miss or be blocked. And if one punch wasn’t enough, then two. No need to make it complicated.

If he were the chubby Trainer, he could’ve had Krabby use Scary Face to lower Poliwhirl’s speed, or just tank the hit with Harden, or even use the Trainer’s own fiery spirit to inspire Krabby to hang in there and fight back.

Don’t underestimate that kind of emotional hype—Ash pulled that move all the time, so it clearly worked.

As for abilities?

Please. In low-tier battles like this, who even uses abilities properly? They should focus on understanding basic type matchups first.

And the accuracy on those two Water Guns? Truly tragic.

They didn’t look like Water Guns at all—more like water-edge tracers. Flashy, but only good for scaring the opponent.

These two kids should’ve practiced their moves more before jumping into a Trainer battle. They were rushing things.

After Krabby fainted, the chubby Trainer recalled it and sent out his second Pokémon.

Poliwhirl’s Trainer did the same, recalling Poliwhirl and tossing out another Poké Ball.

A 2-on-2 battle, then.

But Reiji had no interest in watching anymore. This kind of battle was meaningless—just a waste of time.

What a shame about that Water-type starter match. By the time he got there, it was already over.

It was already noon. Most bystanders were getting ready to leave, though the audience stands by the battlefield were still crowded, and the whole street was still bustling.

This kind of nightlife might last until 4 or 5 in the morning—but Reiji wasn’t planning to stick around that long.

He had come here to observe how the world of Pokémon worked, to get a feel for the local customs and daily life. That goal was complete. Time to go.

The local language? He could understand it. That let him breathe a little easier. All that was left was to speak it.

As long as his accent didn’t give him away, he could live in the Pokémon world without trouble.

…

As he walked back toward the outskirts of town, he passed rows of shops, but what caught his eye was the drink stand. He wanted to buy a popsicle.

But not knowing how to speak the local language made him hesitate.

He stopped in the shadows beyond the reach of a streetlamp, watching the people going in and out of the shop, listening to how they ordered.

“Boss, two popsicles please…”

“Boss, I want a cone…”

“Got it, one moment…”

For some reason, his legs moved on their own. He walked up, stared at the popsicles in the freezer, and stood there even after the crowd had thinned out.

The drink shop owner had noticed him a while ago and finally approached, kindly asking what he needed.

“Young man, are you buying something?” The shopkeeper saw Reiji’s youthful clothes and the Spinarak on his shoulder and assumed he was a young Trainer, so he used a friendly tone.

“I’ll take two of these,” Reiji replied, pointing at the popsicles in the freezer.

But the moment he spoke, he realized something strange: his language matched the shopkeeper’s—only the accent was different.

“You’ve got a sore throat, young man? If you’ve got a cold, it’s best not to eat ice pops. It’ll make your throat worse,” the shopkeeper said kindly, misinterpreting Reiji’s hoarse voice as a symptom of illness.

“Ah… sorry. Never mind.” Reiji nodded and turned to leave.

His voice really was rough—like someone who hadn’t drunk water in three days, or a man suffering from a serious cold, with a throat like it had been sliced with razors.

He’d managed to speak, but the result was so raspy, he couldn’t bear to stay any longer. He quietly left with Spinarak on his shoulder.

The shopkeeper found the encounter a bit strange but didn’t think too hard about it. This was a tourist city, after all—strangers and weirdos came through every day. Reiji was just a bit more wrapped up than usual.

Soon, he’d already forgotten about him and went on serving other customers.

Reiji, meanwhile, ducked into a dark alley, leaning against a wall and panting. That moment had been terrifying.

For someone with intense social anxiety, speaking to a stranger for the first time—in an unfamiliar language, no less—was like taking a college entrance exam or going on a blind date for the first time.

People with social anxiety struggle most with the first word. He remembered once missing his bus stop because he was too afraid to ask where to get off, ending up 10 kilometers off-route.

He used to withdraw cash at ATMs just to avoid speaking to clerks. Once, he spent an entire morning just agonizing over how to greet someone.

That’s what social anxiety is. It’s more than just being shy—it’s a psychological condition.

But it’s treatable.

In his past life, he’d already overcome it. He just found socializing too exhausting, so he stopped bothering.

Later he realized something: if a person can live well on their own, with two cats and a dog, they don’t need friends or constant social contact. A few close friends were enough.

Having too many relationships was just tiring. You had to maintain them or they’d fade away.

He stopped forcing himself. Once he accepted that, he became fearless—and went from socially anxious to socially invincible.

Eventually, he even stopped fearing death.

Why? Because he was single.

Once he realized that, he felt unbeatable.

He was alone anyway, his life insurance was in order, and his parents were the beneficiaries. That gave him courage.

He wouldn’t provoke others, just wanted to fish quietly. But if someone came looking for trouble—fine. One for one. Two for one? That’s a win.

That mindset turned him from socially anxious into socially bold.

Now, once again, he was a lone wolf. No one here knew him. At first, he’d feared the language barrier would expose him.

Maybe it was the proficiency panel…

With that done, things were easier. Tonight’s goal was just to familiarize himself with this world before making his next move.

From what he saw tonight, the people of the Pokémon world were generally kind.

Maybe it was because this was a tourist city—no one questioned his strange appearance, not even Officer Jenny.

He wasn’t even the most wrapped-up Trainer on the street.

And having a Pokémon like Spinarak on his shoulder? Totally normal. You couldn’t even call yourself a Trainer without one.

Everyone’s Pokémon were well-behaved, and no fights had broken out.

Even when tensions rose, Officer Jenny was always around to mediate.

If things couldn’t be resolved peacefully, they went to the battlefields to settle it with a match.

Want to fight? Then fight properly on the battlefield. It even added to the city’s entertainment vibe.

Conflict wasn’t the problem—not battling was. As long as disputes were confined to the battlefield and didn’t involve attacking Trainers directly, anything went.

The rules? There were no real rules. Just 1v1 and no killing. That was the norm. No one wanted a murder case in the city.

But once you left the city, all bets were off. Kill or be killed—no one cared.

People died all the time from wild Pokémon attacks, resource disputes, rare Pokémon hunts, or fighting over rare items.

As the saying goes: people chase profit. Everyone driven by desire is bound to fall into the trap of greed.

Within the city, life was relatively safe. No one attacked Trainers directly. That was an unspoken rule.

But outside the city? No one would care. If you wanted to survive, you had to fight.

He was about to head into the wilderness.

Honestly, he’d rather stay at an inn, but without ID, he risked being mistaken for a vagrant—or worse, a suspicious individual.

Since he’d seen enough of this world’s culture, it was time to focus on the next step: figuring out how to register as an official, League-certified rookie Trainer.

Unless it was a last resort, he wouldn’t go near Team Rocket. They were villains. Join them, and you’d lose your rights, even your freedom.

The League, at least, had a public face. They promoted coexistence with Pokémon and nature, which was politically correct and publicly accepted. That was enough.

Justice or not—didn’t matter. The League operated openly. He’d seen Trainers shopping with their Pokémon. Officer Jenny hadn’t even questioned him—probably just too busy.

Tonight alone, he saw three Officer Jennys mediating at least ten conflicts. They had no time for random tourists.

So, yes—the League looked clean. The problem was, where could he go to ask about registering as a rookie Trainer?

That kind of info was common knowledge for native residents—but for someone like him, a complete outsider, it was a mystery.

He couldn’t just ask anyone and risk exposing his ignorance. If they realized he wasn’t from the League region, they might arrest him as a spy.

He remembered from anime that a lot was glossed over: the League, villain groups, isolationist kingdoms, old nobility, black markets, and unclaimed regions.

He didn’t know the League’s current sphere of control, but here in the Orange Islands, it seemed they were in charge—at least on paper.

So of course he wouldn’t walk straight into a Pokémon Center and ask. Instead, he lingered outside—and spotted a familiar face: the chubby kid from the battle earlier.

The one who used Krabby so terribly.

He was inside the Pokémon Center now, getting treatment for both Krabby and his other Pokémon—Wooper.

“That settles it. You’re the one,” Reiji muttered, keeping to the shadows. He wanted to see if the kid would head home.

The boy looked young, currently on a landline video call with a pretty woman—probably his mom.

Reiji couldn’t hear the audio from outside, but from her expression, she was probably yelling at him to come home—or she’d come find him with a feather duster.

“Past midnight? That’s one week’s allowance gone!”

“Aw come on, Mom, I won my battle today!”

[End of Chapter]

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep