Pokémon: Master of the Rain Team

"Hey kid, what are you looking for the Midnight Lounge for? Ready to talk now?"

"Old man, you trying to play me?" Reiji didn't answer the question—instead, he brought up the stunt at the beach.

This dried-up geezer was the owner of the Midnight Lounge and still tried to squeeze him for a thousand Pokédollars. Just a shameless old fox.

Coming to this world, this was the first time Reiji had truly seen what it meant for people to be vicious at heart.

"Kid, don't wrong me now. It was a fair deal. I didn't force you or trick you. You wanted the Midnight Lounge—I brought you here, didn't I?"

The scrawny old man had a cocky air about him, clearly thinking he had Reiji completely cornered. Who told this fledgling chick to walk right into his bar?

On his turf, he could crush him or knead him however he wanted. A little wet-behind-the-ears kid like this? Couldn't stir up any waves.

"You..." Reiji also understood—if he started a fight here, he wouldn't be walking out.

The moment he stepped inside, he'd felt it: seven or eight subtle, hostile gazes locked onto him, not bothering to hide their ill intent.

Even though he'd come prepared, his backup was all for show—like the poacher's Pokémon or the fake bomb.

They were meant to intimidate, nothing more. If things went hot, those threats would collapse, and everyone would see just how hollow his bluster really was.

As Reiji weighed his options, he could hear nearby patrons murmuring and snickering to each other:

"Wonder where the captain tricked this dumb kid from. If he doesn't bleed hard tonight, I doubt he'll make it out of here..."

"Wherever this fool's from, maybe he'll learn his lesson—this isn't a place for brats."

"Hahaha, I'm betting ten grand he leaves in nothing but his underwear."

"I'll put down twenty—he won't even get a cardboard box."

Listening to all the ridicule, Reiji remained unfazed.

If they were so confident they had him in the bag, then they shouldn't be surprised when he bit back.

He'd make them pay. Especially this "Captain" old man.

"Spinarak, don't move," Reiji said calmly, glancing toward the leering old man and cutting straight to the point. "Old man, can you get me a fake ID?"

"A fake what?" The old man thought Reiji wanted to visit the black market. Didn't expect he just wanted papers. He couldn't provide them personally, but he knew people who could.

"An ID card."

"For fun? One that gets you boat tickets? Or one that registers you in the League system?" the old man asked, listing three tiers of ID, letting Reiji choose.

"What's the most legit one you can get?" Reiji wanted the real deal—the kind that would be recorded in the League's database.

"Orphanage-issued ID, complete with a paper trail. Good enough for you?" The old man laughed openly. So this kid was undocumented—a black record. That made things easy. No one would care if he vanished.

"Price?" Reiji didn't waste words. He wanted to see how sharp the knife would be.

"Fifty thousand. That's already the lowest—hey, what are you—let go, let go!"

Before he could finish, Reiji lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar.

He'd had enough. Leaning close, his voice dropped to a rasp:

"Old man, I'm giving you one last chance to speak. Think carefully. Because if you say the wrong thing… you'll never get another."

"Let go! Let go, you brat—don't you know the rules around here?" the old man barked, still acting like he held the upper hand.

But seeing the bar patrons stand up one by one gave him even more confidence. This was his turf—how could this punk possibly take him on?

"I don't know the rules," Reiji sneered. "Why don't you teach me, old man?"

He glanced at the approaching crowd. Still calm. Still holding the Poké Balls containing Gyarados and Electrode.

If things really went south, he'd release both. Blow this place sky-high. With that many people going down with him? Totally worth it.

Spinarak, sensing danger, spun to face the brawny men and bared its fangs.

"Kid, let the captain go. If you don't know the rules, we'll teach you..."

"You planning to crawl out of here on your belly, kid?"

"Don't want your teeth anymore, do ya?"

BANG—

Reiji ignored all the noise behind him. He slammed the Poké Balls for Electrode and Gyarados on the bar, letting the old man see exactly what Pokémon he was packing.

Then he smiled.

"Go ahead, old man. Let them come. Just so you know, I never lose. But if I die, no one's getting out of here either."

"Hmph, I'm not that easy to scare. You think I don't have a backup plan?" The old man smirked as a Poliwhirl stepped out from behind the bar.

Reiji's eyes narrowed. Damp ability. If so, Electrode's self-destruct would fail.

But he didn't panic. He couldn't.

The slightest fear, and they'd tear him to shreds.

Still gripping the Poké Balls, he slowly unzipped his jacket.

The moment the coat parted, the old man's face turned pale.

Bombs weren't affected by abilities.

Seeing the old man go quiet, it was Reiji's turn to smirk. "Old man, when you're dead, your money's worthless."

"You crazy bastard…" Sweat began to form on the old man's forehead. The smugness was gone.

Reiji saw the fear, and knew—this guy had been so blinded by greed, he forgot who he was dealing with.

Now he remembered.

This wasn't some clueless chick. This was a mad dog, ready to take them all with him.

Even if he didn't succeed, they wouldn't come out clean. Blow up the bar, and Officer Jenny would be here in ten minutes. Maybe even the League.

But in front of so many witnesses, the old man couldn't back down.

He had to bluff. Maybe the bomb was fake?

But the onlookers noticed something was off.

Usually, the old man—Captain—was calm as a pond. Nothing rattled him.

Yet now he stood frozen, staring at Reiji like he'd seen a ghost.

No commands. No "get him." No "free drinks if you beat him."

Just fear. And silence.

"I don't believe you strapped that to yourself," the old man bluffed.

Reiji knew it was fake. But he also knew this old man was bluffing too.

At moments like this, it all came down to who blinked first.

Just like the Cold War—whoever caved first lost. Lost leverage. Lost the game.

Reiji narrowed his eyes. "Want to find out? All I have to do is loosen my grip…"

With that, he raised the "detonator" and slammed it on the bar.

He wasn't trying to set it off—he just wanted to release the furious Gyarados. No way this bar could handle that.

His decisiveness shocked the old man.

He had wanted to buy time, stall, test whether the bomb was real.

Never expected the kid to be this ruthless—already triggering the "bomb."

He immediately slammed his hand over the detonator to stop it.

"Okay okay okay! Let's talk, alright? No need to get upset! Just—calm down," the old man finally caved.

He realized: if the bomb went off, it was all over.

He'd die. His money wouldn't matter. His grandson would be orphaned. The bar would be gone. Everything he owned, gone in a flash.

And he'd hate himself for it.

Reiji froze, halting his swing. He hadn't planned to actually slam it down—because then his fake bomb would be exposed.

But now that the old man flinched, it was Reiji's turn to smile.

Now he held the cards.

"N-no need for that, okay? Whatever you want, let's talk it through. Please, don't let go..." the old man stammered.

Reiji's thumb stayed on the fake trigger. A slight slip and they were all ash. That's what it looked like.

"Old man," Reiji said calmly, "you only get one chance to name your price. Think it through."

He shook the fake detonator in his hand.

"Five thousand! That's the lowest I can go! Honestly, I don't even do it myself—I've got a contact. I won't even charge for delivery!"

"And about earlier… tricking you was my bad. From now on, drinks are on the house. Anything you want. Free forever. What do you say, kid?"

The bar patrons were floored.

This "Captain," the guy they all respected, just bowed to a teenage punk?

They called him "Captain" because in his youth, he really had captained a ship—small-time, but respected.

He was also a seasoned Water-type trainer, once said to have battled Gym Leaders to a draw.

They'd all heard the stories so many times they believed them. Even the Captain believed them.

And now? The Captain had bowed to a teenager. Called a truce.

"Heh. Old man," Reiji said coldly, "unless you're ready to sacrifice this whole bar to prove you're not lying, I'd say we've got a deal."

In other words—if the old man was willing to blow up his whole livelihood just to avoid paying 5,000 Pokédollars, then fine. Reiji would take the loss and move on.

"Yes, yes, you're right. When do you want the ID?" the old man asked hurriedly, seeing that Reiji was finally willing to negotiate.

So he'd misjudged this kid. He wasn't some clueless hatchling or dumb rookie hawk.

He was a madman. The kind that'd really go down fighting. The kind you meet once in a lifetime—and pray never to again.

The Captain had met guys like this back in his day—pirates, usually. And back then, he might've had the guts to go toe-to-toe.

But now? He was old. He had weaknesses. Grandkids.

He couldn't die like this. Not with so much unfinished.

"See? That's all I wanted," Reiji said with a shrug.

But even that simple motion made the old man tense up—terrified Reiji might accidentally let go of the trigger.

"About earlier… I was wrong. I'm sorry, kid," the old man said hurriedly.

"Do you need a deposit?" Reiji asked, still holding the trigger.

Behind him, the bar toughs finally realized what was happening.

The kid had the Captain by the throat. And that thing in his hand might actually be a bomb.

They all started backing up—no one dared get close.

No one wanted to die over a free drink.

"N-no deposit needed. Just leave your name and age. Come pick it up anytime," the old man said quickly. He knew his crew was useless. Fair-weather fighters, all of them.

"Name's Umihara Reiji. Age fifteen," he said, voice low.

Normally, you'd use a fake name. But he went with the real one.

Who could tell the difference anyway?

Nobody here knew him. He could call himself anything he wanted.

"Alright, I've got it down. Anything else, kid?"

The old man just wanted to send him away. Whatever he asked—he'd agree.

Except the money…

(End of Chapter)

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