“Got anything with a longer blade—like a short brush machete? Something good for cutting a path in the bush.”

“Sure, sure.” The shopkeeper hurried out a soot-black chopper: straight spine and edge, tip ground to a forty-two–degree bevel, the blade as wide as a palm.

Reiji hefted it. Good weight, good balance—perfect for trail clearing and firewood. He nodded and asked, “How much for all three—the two daggers and this chopper?”

“Kid, for thirty thousand you can’t possibly lose—”

“Ten thousand. Take it or I walk.” Reiji flicked his hand; he wasn’t about to listen to the old huckster’s spiel. The man had zero credibility.

“Fine, fine—yours,” the owner sighed. After three visits he knew this kid meant it; if the price wasn’t a loss, the kid would pay and leave. Haggling with him only cost time.

Reiji dropped ten thousand, took the two daggers and the chopper, and left the “outdoor specialty” shop.

There wasn’t much else in the department store he needed, so he hit the discount supermarket. Groceries used to last him a week; add Skinny and they’d burned through everything in four days. Time to restock for two: 30,000.

He also grabbed two blankets—10,000. Nights were chilly; they’d make good covers. Snack haul he liked—another 10,000. And a big case of calcium tablets—95,000.

One case: 100 bottles. Each bottle: 100 tablets. Ten thousand tablets total. Worked out to 1,000 a bottle; the store knocked 5,000 off the case.

He planned to dose Krabby with meals—morning, noon, night. Maybe Poliwhirl should get some too. Rhyhorn certainly could. If those three each took nine a day, ten thousand tabs would last well over a thousand days—and they wouldn’t be taking them every day anyway.

When he came out with the bags, Skinny was already waiting at the mall entrance.

“Big Brother, police station now?”

“Now. The sooner we change our addresses, the sooner we can hit the beach for Wingull.” The sky was still light. They headed for Officer Jenny’s precinct.

Inside: a whole row of Jennys—not the tearful one from before—just today’s beach-badge Jenny. Different from the Pokémon Center’s Jenny again. Reiji was speechless. Only Brock the bull could tell them apart…

“You two again? What brings you here?” today’s Jenny asked.

“We’re here to update the address on our IDs,” Reiji said. She’d already run their cards once; he went straight to the point.

“Change your address? Aren’t you kids from the orphanage? Why?” Check latest chapters at N()velFire.net

“Officer Jenny, if bad guys come because of us and target the orphanage, can you save the children in time?”

“Of course,” she snapped back, bristling at the implied doubt. “Why would you provoke criminals in the first place?”

“I’ll answer your first question with one of my own,” Reiji said evenly. “Why does the Center still post wanted bounties? Why are there always more criminals to catch? As for the second—we’re trainers. Conflicts happen. That’s normal.”

She opened her mouth… and closed it again. There was no clean counter. If help always arrived in time, why were there fugitives? Why were there victims? People are the problem—unless there are no people.

While she hesitated, a male officer waved them over. “I get it. Come with me. What address are we changing to?”

“The port district…” Reiji nudged Skinny.

“To my grandpa’s tavern,” he said.

“Both of you? Same address?” the officer asked.

“Yeah. I’m the one he adopted—he’s the blood grandson. That old geezer dumped us at the orphanage and never looked back,” Reiji said, handing the tavern details over and letting the barkeep carry the blame. Otherwise a shared address was hard to explain.

“Hold on.” The officer clearly didn’t take Reiji’s story at face value and pulled up their records. Skinny’s family relation popped instantly; Reiji’s file had been digitized only days ago from paper.

Reiji: orphan, admitted ten years ago. No listed relatives.

Skinny: surviving grandfather, tavern owner at the port; both parents deceased.

Both boys: shipwreck orphans, victims of pirate attacks—one ten years back, one eight. The officer exhaled softly. “Hard lives.”

He processed the address updates, voided the old cards, and sent the new ones to print.

Jenny saw the pull-up and covered her mouth, afraid she’d cry out. For these two to make it this far… not easy.

Catching their expressions, Reiji decided to nudge. “Officer Jenny, we’re the lucky ones—old enough to cope. There are kids at the orphanage who don’t have enough to eat or wear. I really hope there can be fewer kids like us.”

He let a long, weary sigh carry the words. If the League loved to style itself as justice, bringing peace to every region, then properly funding and educating those kids was exactly the sort of justice it should deliver—not piecemeal charity from strangers.

“The orphanage… I’ll go tomorrow,” Jenny said. “And I’ll file for more budget.”

“Thank you, Officer Jenny. On their behalf.” Reiji pressed Skinny’s head down with his and bowed.

“Your new IDs,” the male officer said, face unreadable. He’d seen too much to emote. The boys left, never knowing there’d be more fallout.

…

“The orphanage gets a yearly allocation,” the officer murmured to Jenny. “But this isn’t something you should stick your neck into.”

“What do you mean?” She was newly assigned—green to the local ‘curves in the road.’

“I can’t say. Ask someone else.” He waved it off and stepped outside for a smoke. Just another slice of reality; good intentions don’t buy you good outcomes.

Jenny, stonewalled, mounted her bike and gunned it toward the orphanage, temper simmering. If she couldn’t pry this open, she wasn’t a Jenny—and the League’s strongest network (Jennys and Joys) wasn’t worth the name.

Charity always begins with bright intentions. Trust eventually gets spent.

Unless… no. There is no “unless.”

(Unless everyone could read each other’s minds and lying was impossible (which it isn’t), you can’t really stamp out cheating or corruption.…)

…

By the time Reiji and Skinny got back to the villa to drop the groceries, night had fallen. They hurried to the Beach to resume the Wingull grind.

This time Skinny brought over four hundred Poké Balls. Add the hundred-plus from before and they had more than five hundred.

On the sand he baited with food, lured flocks in, and spam-caught while Reiji screened. At night there were fewer tourists—mostly couples clinging to each other—leaving just the two single dogs grinding birds on the beach. Infuriating.

Five hundred balls later, Reiji wasn’t just cranky—he was speechless. The best Wingull they pulled was only a hair better than the noon one: forty-nine. Still short.

Nothing to do but go home near midnight. They released every last bird but the forty-nine. To save time tomorrow, Skinny had used non-bleeding black markers to put a small sign on each Wingull’s wing—an idea he’d had on the way over—to avoid re-catching the same ones.

“Don’t get discouraged,” Reiji said, arm around his shoulder. “We’ll try again tomorrow. No rush.”

Skinny just smiled weakly. After five hundred catches he was wiped, barely able to stand.

Back at the villa he chugged water, slumped on the sofa, and finally asked, “Big Brother … this Wingull—still not good enough?”

“It’s a notch below what we are looking for.’ Breaking into Elite tier will be tough. Think it through,” Reiji said, seeing the waver in him. The choice had to be Skinny’s.

“What about my Poliwhirl and Breloom?” Earlier, during the catches, Reiji had explained the tiers and how he wanted a quasi-Elite Wingull for him if possible.

“If you raise them right, both can break into Elite,” Reiji said plainly. He’d stopped hiding things from the kid; Skinny just didn’t know Reiji had a panel. With a high-grade Water Stone, Poliwhirl was a sure Elite. Breloom would depend on luck and resources.

“Elite…” Skinny’s eyes glazed with longing. So that’s why Grandpa had paid so much for those two: because talent sets the ceiling.

How had Grandpa spotted high talent without being a breeder? Easy: look at the parents. Strong parents produce strong hatchlings—mostly. Weak stock never throws strong without… outside force.

There was one “outside force” exception—bug-type raising: relentless culling and poison-sac devouring to push limits. The line strengthened but carried genetic faults.

“Don’t repeat any of this,” Reiji warned. “Loose lips, short life.”

“I get it.” Skinny understood what quasi-Elite hatchlings were worth. Say the wrong thing and he’d end up face-down in a ditch.

And with a top breeder like Big Brother here, he refused to settle. If they couldn’t find quasi-Elite, then at least close to that level. Nothing lower.

He’d even learned that the babies in the mall weren’t quasi-Elite—just a tier down.

Before meeting Reiji, he’d have been like most kids—catch something and train it. Now he knew better. The gap between trainers begins with the choice of partner.

Grandpa had been right: that gap opens the moment you decide what to raise. He’d thought Grandpa was nagging. Today he learned how deep the water really ran. The League’s posters were just posters. At least his own two, per Reiji, were Elite-potential.

…

Reiji didn’t pry; the kid had been staring into space long enough. He showered. The forty-six Wingull had already been released; the forty-nine sat on the table for Skinny to choose.

When he came out, the kid was still zoned. Reiji nudged him. “What are you plotting over there? You’re drooling.”

“Slrp—nothing, Big Brother.” Busted mid–daydream about post-Elite glory.

“Go shower and sleep. Big day tomorrow. Even Elite trainers need to raise their teams right. Keep training the way you did before and you can kiss Elite goodbye—Poliwhirl would be a write-off.”

“Haha… I was clueless before. I’m learning now.” Skinny scratched his head, grinning, not the least offended.

“Go. I’m out.” Reiji pulled a blanket over himself on the long couch and was out in seconds.

“Okay!” Skinny headed for the bath. With a big brother like this, it was easy to rest.

When he came back, Reiji was already asleep—Poliwhirl and the others curled nearby, a Slowpoke in his arms, Spinarak draped over the sofa back.

Skinny didn’t go back to the orphanage; he took the other long couch. Poliwhirl and Breloom flopped onto the rug at his side. Their little beds could be moved over later.

Before lying down, he slipped the blanket off the table—Big Brother’s spare—and pulled it over himself. Two days ago he’d mentioned the nights were cold; now there were blankets. He looked at the sleeping Reiji, smiled, tucked in, and drifted off.

[End of Chapter]

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