“Name your floor price first, then I’ll decide,” Reiji said. To him, “too toxic” wasn’t a problem at all—it proved Croagunk’s Poison aptitude was exceptional.

Its physique just couldn’t handle it yet. That could be trained; it wasn’t some incurable condition.

“F-five million. How about that?” The masked seller had meant to say six, but his fingers flashed five, and out it came.

He was afraid Reiji might walk. He’d already spent two days trying to sell this Croagunk and didn’t want to wait anymore. So—cut and run.

“Five million?” Reiji gave a short hum, thinking.

Could he press lower without spooking the seller?

The seller misread the pause as sticker shock. Maybe five could drop further…

After weighing it up—afraid the seller might bolt—Reiji answered faster, switching tactics.

“How about this: I’ve got three Weepinbell. Can you shave more off if I throw them in?” He set three Poké Balls on the table. Junk-to-value, and camouflage for Croagunk’s true worth.

“Weepinbell—three of them?” The seller, who’d just breathed easier, stared at the trio and nearly wilted.

He’d braced for more haggling, not a reverse sales pitch. Who was selling to whom here?

Still, he thought it through. Weepinbell wasn’t worth much, but three were three. He recalculated. “With three Weepinbell, I can drop another five hundred thousand. Deal?”

“Half a mil, huh…” Reiji put on a reluctant struggle, then nodded as if it pained him. “Fine. Here’s four point five million. Count it.”

“Good.” The seller tossed over Croagunk’s ball and whipped out a banknote checker; counting that much by hand was a pain. Once the 4.5 mil cleared, he gave Reiji a curt nod and slipped away.

Reiji finally had the Croagunk he wanted—potential 55+, Poison talent off the charts. Another frog for the roster.

Skinny had watched the whole thing. If Reiji-nii dropped 4.5 mil on it, the talent had to be special—no worse than his Mankey. And he’d paid only one mil for that; following Reiji-nii really did mean he wouldn’t lose out.

Reiji glanced at the ball, then stowed Croagunk in his pack. Now wasn’t the time to handle it—wait until they were clear of the market.

They drifted back into the stalls to see if there were any more “jewel” slips waiting. He didn’t bother worrying about the tails.

End to end, nothing else worth poaching. The rest of the “discounts” were all flawed and low-potential.

Their two hits had both been “problems”—a lame Mankey and a “stunted” Croagunk. That’s how most bargains looked: leftovers with defects. Healthy stock got snapped up fast. And the sharks here weren’t fools.

They did see more “defective” hatchlings later, but the potentials were trash. You didn’t pull high caps every time.

Two high-potential grabs were enough; more would just look greedy.

They were about to leave when Reiji clocked the shadows behind them again—and stopped right in front of the Electric-type Day Care.

This was the shop that had sold Elekid-line stock last time. Perfect. He pulled Skinny inside to shake the tails—and to pick up a few defensive tools. The salesgirl in black stockings was there again.

“Gentlemen, what can I help you with?” she asked with a courteous smile.

“Self-defense gear?” Reiji said. Something to peel off shadows would be nice.

“Of course. This way.” She led them to a weapons shelf: mostly melee.

Reiji had his own. Pass. But Skinny’s attention snagged on rows of canisters. The salesgirl chimed in, “Smoke. Tear gas. Pepper. All non-lethal disruptors.”

“Perfect. I’ll take these.” Reiji grabbed ten of each—thirty disruptors total. Two thousand a pop—sixty thousand Pokédollars.

While she packed them, another thought struck him. “Any discount?”

“Sorry, sir. No discount without a membership,” she said, still smiling.

“How much for premium Bug-type Energy Cubes per box?” Reiji asked.

“Four thousand per box here,” she said, then eagerly pitched, “Spend one million and you become a member—five hundred off per box. Just 3,500.”

He snorted inwardly. Black market indeed.

Still cheaper than the department store’s 5,100 a box. Membership made it 3,500; a gold card got you 3,100.

“What about a gold card?” Reiji’s old gold card had gone up in flames. What would a new one cost?

“Gold requires ten million in total spend, sir. Then you get a one-thousand discount per box.” Her eyes lit up—gold clients were rare, like that high-roller from last time… wherever he’d gone.

“Forget it. I’m not that loaded. Show me Pokémon food—Fighting-type.”

“Right this way.” She brought them to the cube aisle, lifting a Fighting-type box. “Premium Fighting-type Energy Cubes—5,500 a box.”

“You’ve got to be kidding…” Reiji grumbled. Fighting-types were eating gold bars now?

They looked like brown wooden blocks—and cost 1,500 more than Water.

“Member price?”

“Five thousand, sir—five hundred off,” she said quickly. “Fighting-type cubes are expensive by nature…”

He chuckled under his breath. Maybe the “discount” was baked in to sell memberships.

He already knew Fighting-type food ran pricey, but this was ridiculous. Tourist city, everything imported. And a black market shop, tax-free and still gouging.

With a gold card, at least the service smiled brighter. Without it, even the stockings didn’t try to charm him. Fair enough. He’d still have burned that gold card again—cheap perks weren’t worth dying for.

“Poison-type cube price?”

“Premium Poison is four thousand a box.”

He exhaled. Acceptable—about four hundred per cube.

So it wasn’t that every type was insane—just Fighting. Blame the tournament for juicing prices.

He had to buy them anyway. The new Croagunk’s toxicity was too strong: Poison-type cubes were off-limits or it could literally poison itself to death. Only Fighting-type cubes for now—slow rehabilitation.

But not at 5,500. “I’ll take at the five-thousand member rate—can we talk any further discount on a million-spend?”

“Sir, at one million, membership already gets you five hundred off per box…”

“I mean beyond that,” Reiji said. With his old gold card, he’d gotten an extra ten percent after the per-box cut.

“I can authorize 5% off your total,” she said. “Would that satisfy you?”

“Deal. Two hundred boxes.” Quick math: two hundred boxes = one million; 5% off saves fifty thousand. Better than nothing.

“Please wait a moment, sir.” She sent staff for stock, then circled back, pitching again: “At one million spend, you’ll receive a member card. At ten million, you’ll receive a gold card with ten percent off. Anything else today…?”

Reiji waved off the gold spiel and sank onto the lounge sofa to wait—and to wait for Skinny to finish browsing.

While he waited, he revisited a training idea: ramp the difficulty now. If he wanted Gravity support for Poliwhirl later, he should start raising a Gravity user today, not at the last minute.

He asked, “Got any Pokémon that know Gravity?”

“Gravity?” She hesitated, then radioed the staff to check.

Half a minute later: “We do—Magnemite. Would you like to see them?”

“Sure. Let’s go.” A dedicated Gravity-user to help Poliwhirl train—worth a little spend.

Walking over, Reiji’s mind flicked to a better tool: Ditto. Disguise and infiltration. “Do you have Ditto?”

“Yes, sir. Do you prefer ones that excel at Transforming, or not?”

“There’s a difference?”

“Of course. Skilled transformers cost more; the others are cheap.”

“Show me the skilled ones first.” They chatted en route into a different artificial biome, checking the Magnemite first.

“There are only five Magnemite with Gravity…”

“Let me see.” Reiji took the balls and popped panels one by one.

Potentials all hovered around thirty. Bad. Gravity, yes; potential, no.

He wanted at least mid-40s to 50s. Thirty was too low.

Gravity was a Psychic move; he’d rather find a true Psychic like Abra, Exeggcute, or Starmie.

Abra was probably unrealistic here—too rare, and he had no Psychic talent to earn its trust.

So—check the Grass or Water Day Cares later for a high-potential Exeggcute or Staryu.

He returned the Magnemite. “I’ll think on it. Let’s see Ditto.”

“Right this way.” She led him to another biome: a sealed dome of wobbly, lilac-gray Ditto blobs hopping about. Too many, all moving. He couldn’t tell one from another. “Do you have them in Poké Balls? I need to check them contained.”

“Yes. Ditto-in-ball stock is on this shelf. We rotate them out for activity.” She gestured to a neatly arranged rack.

Reiji started down the line, slow and methodical to avoid suspicion, opening panels one by one.

At first, potentials wavered between 20 and 30. A rare 40 popped up—still not enough. With this much stock, he wanted the table-topper.

After working through seventy or eighty, he finally found a Ditto at 53 potential.

There were more below. No rush. He kept going, one ball at a time.

(End of Chapter)

[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]

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