After laying his old friend out properly and fixing his face one last time, Kenichi got to his feet. He wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes before they could even fall, then took out his phone and called Blaine.

By the time Blaine arrived, he had already steadied himself. The body had been laid flat and wrapped up. A quasi–Elite Four Team Rocket infiltrator was more than enough to hand over as proof.

From beginning to end, Kenichi never once suspected that this had all been a setup between Reiji and Blaine. To save himself and protect his family, he had pushed the blame onto his old friend and left it there.

“My condolences,” Blaine said. “The League won’t need you passing along information for now. You can stay on as captain. Once Team Rocket is wiped out, you’ll get your status as a League citizen back.”

It was all a lie, of course. The League, redemption, restoration of status—Blaine was making it up as he went, borrowing the League’s name to get his own business done.

After this, Team Rocket would start doubting Kenichi anyway. His son was effectively being held by the League as leverage. That made him useless to both sides now—a discarded piece waiting to see how much value could still be squeezed out of him.

“I understand, Leader Blaine.” Kenichi personally handed over the wrapped corpse and watched Blaine take it away. Only then did he finally breathe again. That body was his proof of loyalty to the League—and the price of keeping his family alive.

When Blaine left, the last of Kenichi’s strength went with him. He collapsed into the captain’s chair and stared blankly out at the open sea, at the gold shimmer of sunlight across the water. It reminded him of childhood days, when he and the first mate used to sneak into the shallows and catch fish together.

He had no idea how long he sat there. The memory itself couldn’t have lasted more than a moment, but it felt as long as half a lifetime.

Then it ended, and he had no time left to grieve.

His brother was dead. Kenichi had sent him there with his own hands. And for the sake of his wife and son, he had to clean up the rest before the mess spread.

He took out his phone and dialed a number he hadn’t called in a very long time.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Hello?”

“Boss, the black market aboard the luxury liner Suikyou has been exposed by Blaine of Cinnabar Gym. The first mate who ran it died on the spot. Blaine has also taken my son as a hostage and is forcing me to feed your information to the League…”

“Blaine?” Giovanni paused. “Right… the old man from Cinnabar. Matori?”

“Boss, we worked with Blaine on research before,” Matori said immediately. “He’s a close friend of Fuji’s. He was once invited onto the Mewtwo project, but he turned it down. There’s been no cooperation since.”

Giovanni took his hand off the receiver and pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Why?”

“The first mate’s son had been acting like a tyrant for too long,” Kenichi said. “He chased women, bullied people, and thought nobody could touch him. This time he provoked someone important on the League side, and the first mate got dragged down with him.”

Giovanni went silent.

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. A money-printing city at sea, and it all came crashing down because of one idiot brat. The whole thing was absurd.

“Boss, now that the black market’s exposed, do we keep it running?”

“No,” Giovanni said at once. “Take stock of everything before the League reacts. Someone will come recover the assets. You can keep ten percent.”

“Understood.”

That was when Kenichi finally relaxed. The hardest part had been getting past Giovanni, and he had managed it.

The only thing he could really use to fool Giovanni was the gap in information. What he’d just said was mostly true, with only a few lies mixed in. He wasn’t worried about being checked. Giovanni couldn’t go ask Blaine for confirmation, and the arrangement between him and Blaine existed between them alone.

Everything he was doing now was for his son.

Now he was a double agent.

And for a small man, surviving in the cracks had only just begun.

“Do as he says,” Giovanni added. “Pass the League some information if you have to. Someone will be assigned to deal with you directly.”

“Understood.”

Kenichi answered again. That was it. His life as a double agent had officially begun.

The line went dead.

He lowered the phone and knew the worst part was over. From here on out, all he had to do was keep both sides satisfied. At worst, he could play dumb, drag his feet, and coast. Neither side was likely to push too hard against a Trainer who was nearly strong enough to break into Elite Four tier.

“Damn it…”

He gripped the armrest so hard it warped under his fingers, and still he didn’t let go.

What was the point of anger now? This was the fate of a small man caught between giants—barely surviving in the gap, fighting for every breath, and ending with nothing but a sigh.

Still, he had to pull himself together. This was no time to lie flat and rot. He had to clear out the black market’s assets while there was still time.

He was only allowed to keep ten percent, but the exact value of that ten percent was still something he could work with. There was plenty of room to move things around.

Then there was his old friend’s estate. That would all pass to him now too. It wasn’t as if he’d walked away empty-handed.

In a day or two, Itsuki would be headed to Cinnabar Gym. Once the black market’s assets had been sorted out, Kenichi could skim off forty percent of his own share and have Itsuki deliver it to Blaine as a formal gift when he entered the Gym. Even if the boy only ended up there in name, that was still better than nothing.

Hopefully Blaine would look after him a little.

As a father, this was as much as Kenichi could do. The rest of the road, Itsuki would have to walk himself.

At that very moment, Itsuki had just woken up. He called over Gallade, who had spent the whole night meditating and had only just opened its eyes, then went next door to knock on his friend’s door.

When it opened, the room was empty.

His friend was gone, and the place was spotless, as if someone had come through and cleaned it from top to bottom. In truth, that had been Kenichi’s arrangement.

Itsuki was still trying to figure out where his friend had gone, but Gallade already knew.

Through its psychic senses, it had watched everything that happened in the next room the night before. It had seen everything Reiji did, including the moment he took the little blue dog away.

It had told Itsuki none of it.

Someone like that disappearing was the kind of thing better left forgotten. There was nothing worth remembering there.

Later, when Itsuki asked his father, Kenichi told him that his friend and the first mate had both gotten off the ship, along with the little pack of bodyguards who always followed the brat around.

The excuse was flimsy enough that Itsuki almost laughed. But if it came from his old man’s mouth, what was he supposed to do? Believe it or not, he had no better option. It wasn’t as if his friend’s phone was reachable anymore.

Then his father told him something else.

When they reached Cinnabar Island, Itsuki would be getting off the ship too. He would enter Cinnabar Gym as a Gym apprentice, stay there, train properly, and maybe find a safe little position in the League one day. That alone would count as making something of himself.

Itsuki didn’t argue. He’d been arranged into one thing after another his whole life. What he couldn’t understand was why his father had suddenly changed course.

Yesterday he was supposed to follow the family trade and take to the sea.

Today he was being sent into a Gym instead, and on top of that he’d be getting off the ship with his mother.

He could already picture the future—his mother nagging him from morning to night.

He sighed.

…

Something that big had happened aboard the luxury liner, and not a whisper of it got out.

The sun had only just risen. The day had barely begun.

As for Reiji?

He was still flying over the sea.

He had seen land a long time ago. He’d seen the mountains too.

But after more than an hour of flying through rain and storm, he was still over the water, which was all the proof he needed that this “nearshore” route wasn’t near anything.

He’d been scammed.

The mountains looked close enough to touch, but anyone who’d grown up around roads knew better. A peak that looked near could still be half a day away.

Who knew how much longer he’d have to keep flying before he actually reached land.

[End of chapter]

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