Edward stood quietly, his gaze fixed on the crowd of people kneeling and kowtowing outside the foundation. He remained silent.
It was not a sight he particularly enjoyed seeing. In truth, such a scene weighed heavily on him—it was disheartening, suffocating even, and inevitably dampened his mood. Edward was not a cold-blooded, heartless man. On the contrary, he was rather sentimental by nature. Witnessing the suffering of others disturbed him; it stirred discomfort in his heart and naturally made him want to help.
But he knew better—he could not simply act on impulse.
If he let compassion get the better of him now, if he extended help to those kneeling outside and crying for salvation, then word would spread. More and more people would soon appear at his gates, begging for aid.
That would not do. Edward might be wealthy, but no amount of wealth could possibly withstand the endless tide of human need. And even if he did help those who came first, what about the ones who came after?
What would happen if he helped the earlier ones, but turned away the later ones?
Inevitably, it would spark a larger wave of public outrage. Even his own foundation employees might be targeted by hostility. After all, people rarely resent having little; what they resent is inequality.
If some were helped while others were ignored, the question would spread like wildfire: Why only them? Why not us?
That kind of chain reaction would be devastating. People would start to assume Edward was obligated to help, that he must help. Then countless individuals awaiting review would skip the official process and flood straight to his foundation headquarters, demanding assistance.
If that happened, the streets of Rustboro City would be crammed with desperate families. It could even escalate into mass incidents of unrest.
No—he could not allow that to happen.
All he could do was watch. Only watch.
"Boss, would you like a cup of tea?"
Kode floated over, holding out a cup for him. Edward accepted it, glanced at the fruit tea in his hand, then turned to look at Kode. The psychic Pokémon hovered by his side, dressed neatly in its usual attire. They were standing outside the foundation at that moment because Edward was preparing to move Kode's workplace to a new location.
The current headquarters had already been exposed. It was no longer suitable as an office. Employees, after all, were only human. Working every day in the midst of wailing petitioners was emotionally corrosive.
It was far too easy for staff to become swayed or biased in their decision-making. And once bias crept in, the integrity of the foundation's system would be compromised—something Edward could not permit.
"Kode, do you think my rules are a little too rigid?" Edward asked softly, eyes still fixed on the crowd outside. His chest felt heavy.
Even as he spoke, he pulled out his phone and sent a message to Zoroark.
"Not at all, boss," Kode shook its head, sipping its own fruit tea. "In fact, it was precisely because of your rules that I chose to follow you and dedicate myself to working under you."
Edward's foundation had always been governed by strict regulations. Every patient in need of aid had to undergo a thorough, in-person investigation. Only after verifying the family's actual circumstances would support be approved. Aid was prioritized based on the severity of illness and risk level. The process was rigid, yes—but fair.
And it was this very rigidity that had allowed the foundation to survive without major scandals.
Whenever people spoke of Edward's foundation, some might dismiss it as "putting on airs," but far more offered praise. Every aid recipient's details were listed publicly on the official website. Every grant was tied to verifiable medical records.
Not a single donor's money went to waste. Foundation employees were not paid out of donations, either—their salaries came directly from Edward.
This ensured that charitable contributions went entirely to the patients. It was because of this transparency that Edward maintained a relatively positive reputation online. Even during Kendall's smear campaign, many people still stood up to defend him.
Edward gave a slight nod. The rules were rigid, yes—but they were also the foundation's guarantee of fairness. If he ever broke them, or if employees yielded to pity and bent the rules, it would only destroy that fairness. That could never be allowed.
"You should also keep an eye on your employees' mental health," Edward added, glancing at Kode. "In an environment like this, the psychological pressure is immense."
Charity work required more than kindness. It required resilience. Without strong mental fortitude, no one could last long. Every day, staff faced heartbreaking cases, witnessed suffering families, and listened to desperate pleas.
Unless someone was completely cold and detached, seeing such tragedy again and again was crushing. To kneelers sobbing at your feet, begging for help—yet having to refuse them because the rules demanded patience—was torment of the spirit.
It was easy for staff to break down mentally. Most who entered this field did so out of compassion, which also made them vulnerable to emotional strain. Death and illness carried a heavy weight; not everyone could confront it calmly.
"Yes," Kode nodded, "we've already arranged monthly counseling sessions for staff."
Edward frowned slightly. His phone buzzed with Zoroark's reply: the foundation's employee turnover rate had reached a staggering 37 percent.
That meant nearly half the staff left every month. Were it not for a steady stream of new volunteers joining, the foundation might already have collapsed.
"Make it every two weeks instead," Edward said, massaging his temples. "Once a month is too infrequent. File it under company welfare. Send a report to Zoroark—I'll have finance approve it."
Biweekly counseling should help reduce turnover.
"Yes, boss." Kode agreed without hesitation. It had once refused a salary, but as the foundation grew in scale and reputation, it realized relying on unpaid altruism to bind volunteers was both immoral and unsustainable.
Even with salaries, turnover was high. Without them, it would be worse, and fewer people would join. Without staff, how could they help patients? The foundation had even begun opening branch offices to handle demand.
"Boss, I have a request," Kode said carefully. "Patients seeking help are no longer just from Hoenn. We're now receiving cases from Kanto, Paldea—everywhere. Our manpower isn't enough, and constant travel is unsustainable."
Edward listened quietly. He understood what Kode was asking for: regional branches. It was inevitable. The bigger the foundation's reputation grew, the more people would seek help. They couldn't keep dispatching teams across entire regions. At minimum, each region needed one branch. Later, perhaps each major city would.
"I've been thinking the same thing," Edward replied simply. He outlined his vision, and Kode listened intently, then added details about the current situation. Edward nodded in approval.
The only real challenge would be preventing corruption in these branches. Edward left that responsibility to Kode. He was the financier, the backer—delegating the practical issues to subordinates was the natural course.
"Kode, the work is tough. Don't refuse when I say this: the staff deserve a raise," Edward said firmly.
Kode hesitated. If it were just his own salary, he would refuse. But phrased as for the employees, he could not.
As a Pokémon, an Alakazam, Kode had little need for money. But human staff needed to feed their families. Higher pay would boost morale, reduce resignations, and attract more recruits. It was essential for the foundation's survival.
"…Thank you, boss," Kode finally said. Its tone was calm, but the gratitude was sincere.
Edward was not merely doing charity—he was committed to doing it right. That reassurance gave Kode a sense of belonging. For the first time, it felt that perhaps this was its true calling: to serve as foundation president for life.
Yes, it was grueling. But the gratitude of the families they helped—their tearful thanks, the baskets of fruit they brought—was a fulfillment beyond words, unlike anything else.
"I've earned some money recently," Edward said, watching the crowd. "I'll have finance transfer another five hundred million into the foundation."
He couldn't bend the rules. All he could do was increase the foundation's resources, so more families could be helped.
"How many families could that help?" he asked curiously.
"That depends…" Kode explained. "Some surgeries only cost tens of thousands. Once, we even helped a family too poor to afford an appendectomy. The appendix burst, the patient's abdomen was infected—it was dire. That only cost a small amount."
It shook its head. "But on the other end, we've covered organ transplants—surgery, anti-rejection therapy, follow-ups. One cancer patient's total care exceeded two million."
Edward nodded slowly. The numbers made sense. Some needed little; some needed much. On balance, five hundred million could help many.
He instructed Kode on relocating the office discreetly, leaving a small customer-service department behind to avoid rumors of "running away with the money." A public notice online would also be necessary, both to reassure donors and to persuade the petitioners outside to return home.
"Kyu~"
Q brushed its face against Edward's cheek, sensing his heavy mood.
"Q…" Edward smiled faintly, rubbing its squishy form. Ghost-types were usually intangible, but when they wished, they could be touched. The sensation was like those stress-relief toys from his past life—soft, slow-rebounding, oddly comforting.
Petting Q soothed him. He stretched and decided to stop by a restaurant.
He planned to visit Headmistress Lillian's Pokémon orphanage later. Best to bring food—there seemed to be more of them every time.
At the restaurant, he ordered a generous spread suitable for Pokémon, left the delivery address, and headed out.
"Gaa!"
Just as he arrived at the orphanage gate, a familiar caw reached his ears. He smiled and raised his arm. A Honchkrow swooped down to perch on it, rubbing its head affectionately against his cheek before glancing nervously at Q. Q ignored it.
"Edward?" Lillian blinked in surprise. Edward greeted her warmly, and just then the delivery cart rolled up behind him.
Seeing the food, Lillian instantly knew what he had done. She sighed helplessly, but smiled and invited him inside.
"I was just about to go grocery shopping," she admitted, putting her keys away.
Edward chuckled. He had seen her little pickup truck before, perfect for hauling food supplies.
"Roar!"
A delighted cry rang out. Salamence swooped down and landed beside him, eyes shining with joy.
"Ruckus! Haven't seen you in a while—you've grown sturdier," Edward said cheerfully, rubbing its head. His fingers traced the faint scar tissue with mixed feelings, but overall he was pleased. Under Lillian's care, Salamence had flourished. As a former Gym Leader, her skill in raising Pokémon was undeniable.
"I—**** those damned—****!"
A stream of familiar curses echoed into Edward's mind. He turned his head to see a Gardevoir furiously shouting at her phone, while a Mightyena stood by with a helpless expression.
"She evolved," Lillian explained with a weary smile, "but the personality stayed the same."
End of Chapter.