After hearing that Charmander and Squirtle were close to evolving, Ralts, who had been quietly curled up in David's arms like a sleepy marshmallow, suddenly perked up. Her little arms tugged softly at David's sleeve.
"Raa-luu… Lalu…"
She looked up at him with big, shiny eyes, filled with a complex cocktail of emotions: envy, hope, and just a sprinkle of existential dread.
David blinked down at her. "What is it? You wanna evolve too?"
Ralts nodded with the solemnity of someone accepting a divine mission.
She did want to evolve.
Ralts hadn't had an easy start in life. Her egg was stolen from the Mystery Zone by a bunch of greasy poachers with worse morals than a Team Rocket intern. She'd been passed around like some rare shampoo bottle—first from a back-alley breeder to a shady shopkeeper, and finally dumped into the arms of a clueless novice trainer who thought Gardevoir evolved by hugs.
Ralts had seen things.
She had felt things.
Especially the pain of watching her own kind being abused because they were too weak to fight back. But now? Now she wanted to be strong enough to do something about it. She could feel the terrifying power of her own Psychic energy bubbling beneath the surface, waiting—aching—to be unleashed.
David, naturally, was halfway into daydreaming about using Ralts to float snacks to his mouth with telekinesis. But the tug on his sleeve brought him back to reality.
"Oh, right," he said, patting her gently on the back. "Don't worry, Ralts. We're gonna get you evolving in no time."
Then he brightened with inspiration. "In fact, I know the perfect training partner for you!"
He turned his head dramatically to his shoulder, where Pikachu was chilling with the relaxed vibe of someone who thought his shift was over.
"Pika! Pickup!" Pikachu chirped dutifully, raising a paw in greeting.
"Perfect," David said. "You two can train together! Ralts can gain EXP, and Pikachu… well, you can go disable some angry Ursarings or something!"
Pikachu: "Ehhh?!?"
His ears shot up in alarm. His entire face twisted into an expression that screamed "I didn't sign up for this."
[Gained +50 negative emotion value from Pikachu…]
[+60…]
[+70…]
David grinned. "There we go. He's motivated now."
Pikachu glared at him with the intensity of a thousand zapped light sockets. If looks could Thunderbolt, David would've been extra crispy by now.
Still, David knew better than to push Ralts too hard. She had potential—raw, scary potential. Once she evolved into Gardevoir, her Psychic abilities were bound to be ridiculous. She'd probably be able to yeet enemy Pokémon into the stratosphere using just passive aggression.
But for now, baby steps.
David pulled out his trusty, dog-eared copy of "Troll Tactics for Newbie Trainers", a book he probably found in a discount bin labeled "For chaotic neutral morons." He opened to the chapter titled: "Level Grinding Without Technically Breaking the Law."
Ralts leaned over curiously, watching David flip pages with wide, curious eyes. Meanwhile, off to the side of the lake, things were heating up between Tom and Luna's Pokémon.
"Squirtle, Water Gun!" Tom shouted dramatically, like he was casting a forbidden spell.
Squirtle braced its stubby legs, puffed up its chest, and launched a jet of water roughly the thickness of a baby's arm. It sprayed forward with such force that the grass behind it flattened like a runway.
"Charmander, Smokescreen," Luna countered, calm as ever.
Charmander took a casual step forward, opened his mouth—and whoosh—a thick black cloud of smoke burst from his jaws, instantly shrouding the battlefield.
The Water Gun hissed harmlessly through the smoke, missing its mark.
Squirtle, now looking around like a confused tourist in a foggy town, squeaked in frustration.
"Squirtle squirtle!"
Tom narrowed his eyes. "Okay, new plan. Rapid Spin!"
Squirtle instantly retreated into his shell, limbs vanishing like a turtle-shaped Transformer. Then—whrrrrrr!—he began spinning like a maniacal blender. The rapid spinning whipped up a gust of air that scattered the Smokescreen like someone turning on a giant fan at a barbecue.
With the field cleared, Charmander was revealed again, crouched low and ready to strike.
Watching from nearby, Ling Qi raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Not bad, he thought. That's actually a clever counter.
Despite being relative newbies, both Tom and Luna were adapting fast. They weren't just button-mashing their way through battles—they were strategizing, reacting, learning.
It was impressive.
Then his gaze shifted slightly to the right.
And there was David.
Squatting in the grass like a conspiracy theorist with a chalkboard, frantically pointing at diagrams in his Troll Tactics book while Ralts nodded solemnly.
Ling Qi sighed.
"…It's always the quiet ones."
David, for his part, was trying to explain something profound.
"So if you wear this completely ridiculous outfit," he whispered to Ralts, "and stand completely still, wild Pokémon will underestimate you. That's when you strike!"
"Lalu?"
"I'm telling you, it worked on Jake's Psyduck."
Ralts tilted her head in pure confusion.
David frowned, flipping to the next page.
"…Okay maybe not this tactic. This one's mostly about annoying other trainers during tournament interviews…"
****
"David, how about hopping in and showing us what you've got?" Ling Qi suddenly called out, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.
He had been watching the back-and-forth between Charmander and Squirtle with mild interest and mounting skepticism. After seeing Tom and Luna handle themselves surprisingly well, he figured it was time to assess the true wildcard of the group: David.
"I wanna see where your battle level's at," Ling Qi added, tapping his foot.
David looked up from the dirt, still crouched over his Troll Tactics for Newbies manual. He blinked once, then slowly turned to gaze at the chaos unfolding on the battlefield.
David lazily looked up from where he was lying on the grass, squinting toward the battlefield where Charmander and Squirtle were still going at it.
"Charmander! Use your strongest Dragon Breath!" Luna commanded, her voice calm and precise.
"Squirtle! We're not backing down! Water Pulse — now!" Tom countered with his usual enthusiasm.
At that moment, Charmander's body began to glow. A pale blue, fiery aura crackled around his jaw, and from the depths of his throat came a deep growl — an eerie, ancient dragon's roar, echoing across the lake.
In a flash, a massive Dragon Breath attack burst from his mouth — a swirling, light-blue torrent of draconic energy that roared across the battlefield. The sheer heat and force of it sent gusts of dust exploding in every direction.
But Squirtle didn't hesitate. Drawing on every drop of Water-type energy in his tiny body, he cupped his front paws and formed a pulsating orb of deep-blue water. With a fierce cry, he hurled it through the air — a perfect Water Pulse — spinning and gaining speed until it became a roaring wave.
Boom!
The two powerful attacks collided with a thunderous crack, a blast wave of energy tearing outward like a shockwave. Wind whipped through the grass, creating slicing gusts that turned the clearing into a mini-hurricane. Even David flinched.
Charmander and Squirtle were knocked backward, wind blades scratching their bodies and leaving thin trails of damage. But they both scrambled to their feet immediately, eyes blazing with wild determination. Neither of them was ready to give up.
Then, just when the tension peaked—
A small figure tiptoed onto the battlefield.
Everyone froze.
It was Ralts.
Wearing… a maid outfit.
The frilly apron. The blush. The way she awkwardly tugged at the hem of her skirt with her tiny hands.
Charmander and Squirtle both stopped mid-attack, staring in complete confusion. Ralts, flustered but determined, gave them each a polite bow — blushing furiously the entire time.
And then, in a strangely ominous voice came the words:
"Ralts! Use Confusion on both of them! Be gentle~!"
In an instant, the red antennae on Ralts' head lit up. Psychic energy burst forth like an unseen tidal wave. Charmander and Squirtle, already weakened, didn't stand a chance. The confusion wave hit them square in the minds, and both collapsed immediately, eyes swirling as they fainted in perfect synchronization.
[Ding! Ralts defeated Charmander. Gained EXP +140.]
[Ding! Ralts defeated Squirtle. Gained EXP +140.]
[Ding! Ralts leveled up to level 13!]
David blinked. "Wait… why are the experience prompts showing up now? They didn't show earlier at all!"
The system in his head pinged coldly:
[Ding! For full explanation, please refer to the 'Negative Emotion Value System' Version 1.1 update notes.]
David stared up at the sky in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? You guys roll out patch notes now? What's next, battle passes?"
He groaned. "This must be a bug from the last draw! I knew it. There's no way I should've failed that many times. I mean, c'mon, I'm basically built like a European lottery winner!"
The system responded with its usual robotic deadpan:
[Diagnostic complete. During self-confidence verification, the lottery system detected no errors.]
[Host is advised to continue making persistent efforts.]
David's face twitched. "Persistent efforts?! You mean keep getting scammed?!"
[Obtained negative emotion value +50 from David…]
[+60 from David…]
[+70 from David…]
He slapped his forehead. "Great. Now I'm giving myself emotion points."
Ling Qi, who'd wandered over during the chaos, rubbed his temple and sighed. He looked at David, then at the unconscious Charmander and Squirtle, then back at Ralts — who was now admiring her reflection in the lake while still wearing the maid outfit.
"…This is what I get for trying to teach."
****
At this moment, Ling Qi stood with one hand on his hip and the other clutching his forehead like he was nursing a migraine. He looked at David — who was currently lounging on the grass like a man who'd just finished a three-course meal instead of ruining everyone's battle — with a deeply exhausted expression.
"I told you to wait for their match to finish and then join in for a proper battle!" Ling Qi sighed. "Not... not ambush them mid-fight! You cheated! They're just kids, seventeen or eighteen at most!"
Tom nodded solemnly, arms crossed like a disappointed coach after a lost match. "I wasn't ready," he muttered. "If I'd been paying attention, there's no way Ralts could've taken out my Squirtle like that. I call foul."
Luna wasn't as composed. Her arms were folded tightly, her lips pressed in a disapproving frown as she glared at David.
"We were having a perfectly good match!" she snapped. "Charmander was about to finish it! Then your Ralts ran in and blasted him in the face! It wasn't a battle — it was psychic mugging!"
Meanwhile, Ralts — still in her frilly maid outfit — was standing on the battlefield, staring at her tiny hands in awe. She could feel it. The surge of Psychic energy still lingered, warm and powerful, swirling deep inside her body. For the first time, her Confusion had packed real punch. Was this... was this what growth felt like?
Ralts looked toward the weathered little manual David had been holding earlier: "Troll Tactics for Newbie Trainers." Her eyes sparkled. In her mind, it had now become a sacred scripture, a divine relic of untold battle knowledge. She even clasped her hands reverently and gave it a respectful nod.
David, on the other hand, was unbothered by the glares shooting at him from every direction. If anything, the annoyance bubbling up around him only made him more smug. He stretched out on the grass like a satisfied cat and grinned.
"Shhh," he said, pressing a single finger to his lips as if about to share a national secret. "Listen closely."
Everyone froze, some halfway through complaining, others blinking in confusion. Even Luna, mid-sigh, paused. A collective silence blanketed the lakeside.
Tom tilted his head. "Uh, what are we supposed to be hearing?"
David sat up a bit, eyes twinkling. "The sound... of my pure and gentle heart."
Everyone: "…"
[Negative emotion value +50 from Tom…]
[Negative emotion value +50 from Luna…]
[Negative emotion value +100 from Ling Qi…]
David grinned wider, hands behind his head. "Heh... I love that look. That 'I want to strangle you but I know it won't help' look. Really brings me peace."
Pikachu, perched on a nearby rock, buried his face in his tiny paws. He was beginning to seriously question his life choices. He used to dream of greatness — maybe even becoming a Champion's Pokémon someday. Now he was here, in the Mystery Zone, with a chaotic lunatic who measured morality by how funny the results were.
David suddenly turned to Pikachu with a squint. As if remembering something important.
"Wait a second..." he said, pulling Pikachu off the rock and holding him up like a detective holding up a suspect. "Pikachu. Didn't I ask you to swipe some treasure from the Ursaring stash?"
Pikachu's eyes darted left and right, avoiding David's gaze like a guilty child.
"Pika-pi? Picka? (Who, me? What treasure? Never heard of it...)"
[[guilty.jpg]]
David narrowed his eyes. "Don't give me that innocent look. You totally came back with something. I remember you holding a small jar."
Pikachu started sweating. Not metaphorically — actual nervous cartoon sweat. He spread his arms in a weak shrug, as if to say, It's not what it looks like, boss.
"Let's just see about that," David muttered, turning and digging into his backpack.
Pikachu's ears drooped in dread.
After a few seconds of rummaging, David's hand emerged with a small, cold jar glinting under the moonlight.
A system prompt pinged in his head:
[Intermediate Royal Jelly: Honey brewed by Beedrill. Has the effect of beautifying and nourishing the body.]
David stared at it.
Then looked at Pikachu.
Then back at the jar.
His face scrunched in disbelief. "There were so many treasures in that cave! And you brought back... Honey /skin cream?!"
Pikachu shrugged again with a helpless smile, as if to say, Hey, at least it's organic?
David glared. "You had one job! One job! Find the rarest, most powerful thing in that pile. You brought me... Pokémon honey lotion?!"
But Pikachu was already mentally checking out. If I brought back anything valuable, he reasoned silently, you would've stolen it and used it to bribe Ralts into doing your laundry. This is a win in my book.
David huffed and dropped onto the grass again, muttering to himself. "Next time, I'm training a Meowth. At least they steal stuff on purpose."
Pikachu just sighed, looked to the night sky, and silently prayed for strength.
David unscrewed the lid of the mysterious little jar and curiously dipped his finger in. The texture was sticky, golden, and glossy like gourmet honey. He brought it to his lips and took a cautious taste.
Instantly, his eyes lit up like someone had just slapped him awake with a face full of sunshine.
"…Whoa. Not bad!"
He smacked his lips like a sommelier grading five-star dessert wine. "Rich. Smooth. Classy. Pikachu, you've got good taste." He nodded solemnly, then quickly stuffed the jar back into his bag with zero intention of returning it. "I'll keep it safe for you. You know... in case it gets stolen."
Pikachu blinked, then slowly turned his head toward the camera, eyes wide, expression completely frozen.
[[Shocked.jpg]]
This too? You're taking my only treasure? Are you even human?
Under the soft moonlight, Pikachu sat still, looking into the distance with the hollow despair of someone who had truly lost everything. A single tear traced down his tiny yellow cheek.
Meanwhile, Ralts sat quietly beside the fire, holding David's worn and slightly crumpled manual: "Self-Cultivation and Trolling for Newbies." She was flipping through the pages like she was studying ancient martial arts scrolls passed down through generations. Every few moments she would gasp softly, then nod with an enlightened expression, as if she had just unlocked some forbidden troll technique.
The dedication. The seriousness. It was beautiful. Also deeply concerning.
Later that night, once the others had settled into their tents and fallen asleep, David gently reached for one of his Poké Balls.
With a quiet pop, Dreepy appeared, blinking groggily into the moonlight.
"Dree! Drip!"
The little ghost-dragon floated up immediately and snuggled into David's cheek, tail wagging with joy. It had leveled up to 4 while inside the Poké Ball and looked positively thrilled about it.
David grinned, catching the little guy mid-air. "Alright, little dragon. No hyperactive nonsense tonight, alright? Everyone's asleep. Chill mode only."
Dreepy nodded obediently and curled up next to Ralts. David lay down next to them, both Pokémon nestled in his arms as the lake sparkled under the reflection of the giant silver moon. The night breeze was crisp and cool, brushing gently across the tents and leaves. The whole camp exhaled into a peaceful silence.
...Well, almost the whole camp.
***
Elsewhere, at the entrance to the Mystery Zone's main camp…
The Ursaring horde — who had earlier been sedated with Sleep Powder — had officially woken up. Unfortunately, their anger hadn't cooled one bit during their nap. If anything, they'd had a good dream about beating people up and were now more pissed off for being interrupted.
They were back at the camp entrance, roaring like stadium speakers with the volume set to "regret life choices." They began hammering the ground, trees, and — naturally — the front gate of the garrison camp.
To make things worse, they resumed their favorite new hobby: slinging poop.
The smell had now fully infiltrated the entire garrison zone. Trainers gagged. Pokémon passed out from the stench. Some students were practically sobbing into their sleeves. You could smell the tragedy from the other end of the forest.
One poor Trainer stood at the center of the chaos, veins bulging as he pointed dramatically at a familiar group of troublemakers.
"It's them! It's their fault!" he shouted, jabbing a finger toward Jake and the adventure team. "They must've stolen Ursaring's treasure! That's why they're out there turning the forest into a biological hazard zone!"
Like wildfire on dry grass, the accusation spread across the camp. Trainers spun around in fury, eyes narrowing as they slowly surrounded Jake and the others like a lynch mob preparing for a human sacrifice.
Jake's face went pale. He whipped around and grabbed the sleeve of Captain Qi — the unfortunate soul leading this disaster of an expedition.
"Captain Qi!" Jake cried, tears and snot beginning to mix. "Please! You gotta tell them it's not my fault!"
Captain Qi took one look at the angry crowd, took one big step away from Jake like he had the plague, and said quickly, "Look, kid… maybe if you just give the treasure back, they'll stop flinging poop at the tents."
The rest of the adventure team all nodded enthusiastically in agreement. No one wanted another night with a campsite that smelled like a daycare dumpster on a hot day.
"You want me to do what?" Jake shrieked. "I didn't take anything! I swear! All I saw was a bunch of Ursaring doing their business! That's not treasure — that's just poop!"
But it was too late. The damage was done.
"Maybe you took their favorite poop," someone muttered.
"Yeah," another added, "you probably insulted their sacred dung or something!"
Jake nearly exploded. "Y-you people think they're mad because I disrespected a pile of BEAR CRAP?!"
From beyond the camp walls, a fresh splatter hit the side of a tent with a sickening splat, followed by another guttural roar from the woods.
Nobody replied. But they didn't have to. The smell said it all.
****
At that moment, while the crowd outside the camp continued to argue and yell at poor Jake—who was still defending himself from accusations of poop theft—a figure quietly slipped out from the back of the group.
This Trainer was dressed in a pitch-black robe, looking like he'd just walked off the set of a low-budget wizard movie. His hood was pulled low over his face, and he didn't say a word as he moved silently through the shadows.
Once he was clear of the noisy mob, he pulled out a Poké Ball and flicked it open with a quiet click.
Poof!
A Chatot emerged, flapping its colorful wings and tilting its head curiously. The man leaned in close and whispered something into the bird's ear. Chatot nodded—because apparently it was polite now—and without a sound, it shot into the night sky, flying deep toward the heart of the Mystery Zone.
Meanwhile, far away, in a decrepit wooden hut tucked away in the overgrown wilderness, the real show was about to begin.
Inside that hut, surrounded by rotting floorboards and cobwebbed corners, another man in a black robe sat silently in the dark. When the Chatot landed on the windowsill, cawed once, and flapped away, the man slowly rose from his chair like a haunted house prop coming to life.
He pulled back his hood.
And dear Arceus.
No muscles. No expression. No eyebrows. His face looked like someone had stretched pale skin over a Halloween skull and called it a day. It was a miracle he could blink.
The man stepped forward with eerie slowness, letting the flickering candlelight cast shadows across his horrifying features. A twisted grin pulled at the corners of his lipless mouth as he approached the dusty wooden table in the center of the room.
There, placed carefully beneath a cracked oil lamp, was a photograph.
He reached down with bony fingers and gently caressed the photo like it was some long-lost lover. His touch was so careful, so oddly reverent, it almost seemed tender—if you ignored the fact that his hands looked like they belonged in a crypt.
"It seems," he hissed under his breath, "that tomorrow… you say goodbye."
His voice sounded like dry leaves rubbing against each other in a wind tunnel. As he spoke, his fingers hovered over the image like he was casting a curse.
The photo, despite its yellowed edges, was in perfect condition. No creases. No damage. It had clearly been preserved with intense care.
And in the photo?
A bright-eyed teenager, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old, smiling innocently at the camera. His hair was short and messy, and he wore a confident expression, completely unaware that some lunatic with a skeleton face was now plotting his doom like a budget anime villain.
If anyone else had been there, they would've recognized the boy instantly.
Aron.
One of the current Elite Four. A prodigy. A symbol of strength and justice in the Pokémon League.
And judging by the crazed glint in Skullface's eyes, he was now target number one.