Pokémon: Master of the Rain Team

"Your allowance is canceled for a month!"

Even Reiji, standing outside the Pokémon Center, heard the furious roar through the wall. Some things never changed—parents were the same in every world.

The words hit the chubby kid hard—his face turned green. A whole month without allowance? Without spending money, how was he supposed to buy snacks or train his two Pokémon?

The poor kid didn't dare delay. He quickly hung up the call and ran off to find Nurse Joy, saying he wanted to take his Pokémon home.

Due to limited beds, Nurse Joy never refused Trainers who requested to bring their Pokémon home. She just reminded them to come back the next day for a follow-up checkup. If the Pokémon were fine, then it was just a matter of rest.

Reiji watched as the chubby kid followed Nurse Joy to retrieve his Pokémon. His gaze lingered briefly on the public landline inside the Pokémon Center.

The truth was, the Pokémon world's technology tree was… skewed. Unlike the gradual progression of tech in his previous life, this world had odd leaps and bounds.

The anime had to catch up with reality. The first Pokémon anime aired in 1997, when pagers were on their way out and Nokia had only just entered the scene—of course there were no smartphones then.

But as time marched on, those things naturally emerged. Never underestimate the inertia of history. Just like AI eventually showing up, no matter the world.

Reiji stared at the phone for a while longer. By then, the chubby kid had returned from the treatment room, using Poké Balls to recall his Krabby and Wooper. After a quick goodbye to Nurse Joy, he hurried out of the Pokémon Center.

Reiji stepped away from the wall and quietly followed.

The kid didn't notice at all—maybe he was just in a rush to get home and let his guard down.

When they reached a nearly empty street with barely anyone around, Reiji made his move. He rushed forward and blocked the boy's path, drawing a knife from his belt and forcing the chubby kid into an alley.

"What do you want?! Help—mmph!" The kid opened his mouth to shout, but Reiji clamped a hand over it immediately.

"Spinarak, use String Shot. Tie up his hands, feet, and Poké Balls," Reiji ordered coolly.

After hours perched on Reiji's shoulder without a single command, Spinarak finally got the cue to act. It leapt to the ground with glee, spitting white silk from its mouth.

Before the chubby kid could even reach for his Poké Balls, his hands and feet were bound. The sticky threads pinned him firmly to the alley wall.

Meanwhile, Reiji pressed the knife to his throat. He wasn't using the blade—just the spine. He had no intention of hurting the kid.

He just had questions. The boy was a local, and this was the only way Reiji could make sure he'd cooperate.

"Listen, kid. I don't like wasting words. You answer, I ask. Got it?" Reiji's voice was still hoarse, with a raspy accent and clipped words. But if he spoke slowly, it was understandable—and perfect for disguising his identity.

To appear more menacing, Reiji didn't just use a rough voice. His eyes glared like a predator, and the cold spine of the knife pressed harder against the boy's throat—enough to scare him into wetting himself.

"Mmmpf?!"

The boy tried to nod but couldn't speak—his mouth still sealed shut by Reiji's hand. Sweat poured down his face as his pants turned damp.

"Just nod or shake your head." Reiji didn't let go. If he did and the kid screamed, he'd have to bolt.

"Mmm!" The boy nodded furiously, terrified Reiji might actually kill him.

He was too young to die. He still wanted to battle, to live happily with his Pokémon. He wasn't ready for this!

"Jeez, look at you…" Reiji muttered, slightly exasperated. Was he really that scary? Maybe he was overacting. Like a villain in a movie. He might actually win an award if he played it on screen.

The boy trembled silently, afraid to even breathe wrong. He didn't know what this thug wanted.

"How old are you?" Reiji asked his first question.

"Mm?" The boy looked down at his gagged mouth with a confused expression.

"Oh, right. My bad." Reiji gave a dry laugh and slowly removed his hand—but hovered nearby in case the kid tried anything.

"Eleven…" the kid replied, puzzled by the childish question. He'd expected to be robbed, not interviewed.

"What's your starter Pokémon?"

"Krabby."

Reiji continued, easing into it, "What's the name of this island?"

"Kinnow Island. This is Kinnow City, and over there's Kinnow Port. You seriously didn't know that?"

The disdain in the kid's eyes—like he was talking to a country bumpkin—instantly triggered Reiji's temper. He pressed the knife spine a little harder and warned:

"Listen here, kid. I'm asking the questions. You don't ask me anything. Keep that mouth running, and you'll never see your Pokémon again."

That did the trick. The boy instantly wilted, dropping his head and avoiding eye contact. He was terrified Reiji would really follow through.

"How many Pokémon do you have?"

"Two…"

"Which ones?"

"Krabby and Wooper…"

"Where do you live?"

"Wooper Complex, Building 9, Unit 3, Room 1202…"

"Emmm…"

Reiji fell silent for a moment before asking, "Do you have a Pokédex?"

"Yes…"

"Did you bring it with you?"

"No…"

Seeing Reiji's suspicious look, the boy rushed to explain, "Really, I didn't bring it. It's not useful here. Only Trainers traveling far carry one…"

He quickly added, "You can search me if you don't believe me. There are only a few types of Pokémon around here. I've memorized them all. I don't need a Pokédex."

"Oh? Showing off your memory now, huh?" Reiji grumbled internally. "If your memory's so good, why do you battle like trash?"

But he didn't say that aloud. No need to break character.

"Then how do I get a Pokédex?" Reiji asked.

"With a rookie Trainer badge and your Trainer registration proof, just buy one at the Pokémon Center. Wait—don't tell me you don't even know that?"

"Kid… you forget what I said about questions?" Reiji said coldly.

The boy instantly ducked his head again. This was clearly a wilderness Trainer—a guy who didn't even know basic things. Definitely not someone you wanted to piss off.

The raspy voice, the creepy look… he just wanted to go home. "Please, someone save me…"

"How do you get the rookie Trainer badge?" Reiji pressed on.

"My dad took me. I… don't really know…" the boy stammered.

"You've got one more chance to answer," Reiji said, pressing the knife spine harder. The kid might not know much, but he definitely knew more than Reiji did. Playing dumb wasn't going to fly.

"Wait! Let me think!" the boy blurted, cold sweat pouring down his face. Why hadn't he paid attention to Dad and Nurse Joy's conversation earlier?

After thinking hard for a while, he finally recalled something—his skinny friend, the one working like crazy to earn enough points to become a League-certified rookie Trainer.

He remembered that there were several requirements, though none of them had been obstacles for him. When he turned ten, his dad took him to the Pokémon Center, and boom—he was a certified rookie.

He hadn't needed to worry about anything. His parents had taken care of it all.

Turns out the human brain had potential—when pushed hard enough, even this chubby kid could remember things.

Reiji reminded him again, "I'm losing patience…"

"Wait! I remember! To be certified by the League, you have to be at least ten, own a Pokémon, and… have a lot of money."

"That's it?"

"…That's it…"

"You sure?"

"Let me think again…"

The kid really wasn't sure. If it were that simple, his skinny friend wouldn't still be struggling.

"Oh, right!" he added. "You need points too! And an adult has to go with you to register. My dad took me."

"Points? How many?"

"I… I don't know…"

The boy lowered his head again, truly uncertain. He'd already told Reiji everything he knew.

Seeing the poor kid drenched in sweat and on the verge of tears, Reiji sighed. He wasn't going to get much more out of him.

But maybe this would be a good lesson. Don't wander around at night. You're barely grown—how about learning your moves before picking fights?

"…Hey, kid. Know where I can get fake ID?"

Reiji hadn't planned to ask. But the kid was being surprisingly cooperative.

He didn't expect much—this type of shady business wouldn't normally be known to such a goody-two-shoes.

But since he'd already gone this far, no harm in asking.

After all, without ID, he couldn't become a League rookie Trainer. And just the requirements so far were enough to disqualify him—he was a complete outsider.

The chubby kid didn't disappoint.

"I don't know…"

"…Fine. You can go."

Reiji waved a hand. He'd gotten all the useful info out of him.

As for money?

This kid probably had even less than Reiji did. That poacher's 5,000 Pokédollars were still untouched.

"Really?" the kid blinked.

"What, you don't want to go?"

"No, no! Thank you, thank you!"

But just as he tried to leave, he realized he couldn't break free from Spinarak's threads.

His face crumpled as he turned to Reiji, tears brimming in his eyes. He couldn't move.

"Spinarak, help him out," Reiji said without turning around. He couldn't stand to look at the poor guy anymore.

Once freed, the kid sighed in relief and took a few steps—then suddenly turned back.

"Hey! I remembered! There's a bar near the port called Midnight Lounge! I think they sell fake IDs!"

Reiji blinked. The kid hadn't run?

He turned back and started chatting again?

What happened to that crybaby who peed himself earlier? Even in a world as pure as this, weren't people supposed to have some sense of danger?

Was he really that harmless-looking?

Had this fluffy sheep mistaken the big bad wolf for a drinking buddy?

"It's easy to find," the boy added. "I've only been there once. My parents warned me not to go. But I was curious. It's really dark and creepy inside. They only turn the lights on at night."

"…Got it. Got any money?"

"…Yes."

"How much?"

"Over 5,000 Pokédollars."

"Hand it over."

"…Okay."

"Alright. Go home."

"Bye, Mister Robber…"

Pffft.

Reiji had just taken a sip of water and nearly spat it all out.

He watched the kid's round silhouette vanish around the street corner.

How did someone like that survive this long?

With that level of brainpower, how had he not been scammed yet?

Reiji had been ready to let him go, but the guy had practically treated him like a friend. Not only did he not get mad about losing money—he actually looked grateful.

Clearly, something wasn't right here.

It was a real psychological condition, actually—Stockholm syndrome.

When a victim develops an emotional bond with their abuser during captivity, it can create a disturbingly friendly dynamic.

[End of Chapter]

[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]

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