"Wuwuwu—"
Liligant, her form now draped in a gown of diaphanous, leaf-like gauze, knelt on the ground with tear-streaked cheeks, tracing despondent circles in the dirt. Her evolution had amplified her charm, casting her as the very image of an ethereal, medieval elf princess. Where twin green pigtails once bounced, now a cascade of emerald hair flowed silkily to her shoulders. A verdant ribbon cinched her princess dress, accentuating a newly graceful and alluring figure, while her layered skirt—like unfurling foliage—ended a daring few inches above her knees, revealing calves as smooth and pale as carved jade.
The only flaw in this perfect picture, at least to her, was the modest, unassuming terrain of her chest.
"Alright, alright," Wade chuckled, ruffling her beautiful hair. "Even the smallest steamed buns can rise with time and care."
The elf-like girl's eyes, still shimmering with unshed tears, suddenly brightened. She sprang up—a fleeting, tantalizing glimpse flashing beneath her skirt—and wiped her eyes, looking at him with desperate hope.
"It… it can really get bigger?"
"Of course." Wade leaned close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper beside her ear. "The most effective way requires… dedicated, hands-on nurturing."
"M-Master…!"
Hearing only the first hint of his meaning, Liligant buried her blazing face in her hands, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Tonight… in the room… do I really have to… do that kind of thing…?
Beep beep beep—!
The familiar, blaring horn of a truck cut through the evening air, announcing a visitor to the farm.
"They're here."
Wade and the Pokémon Girls had just finished a leisurely dinner. He gently disentangled the clingy Milk Cow Loli from his side and pushed open the cabin door.
"Ni-he~!" The muscular Machamp offered a vibrant, four-armed wave, its smile genuine.
"Good evening, Wade!" The cheerful, booming voice followed right behind. After nodding to the diligent Pokémon, Wade turned to the burly, bearded man climbing from the driver's seat. "Good evening, Uncle Yoshino. Here for the pickup?"
"That's right! What treasures have you got for me today?" Yoshino jumped down, his eyes scanning the farm in the fading light. His gaze lingered on the two new, sizable ponds shimmering near the cabin, alive with silvery movement. "Fish?"
"Fresh from the lake this morning. What's the verdict?"
Alongside the usual churns of Miltank milk, Wade presented the sorted, still-flopping catch.
Yoshino leaned in, expertly scooping a large, thrashing bass from the basket. He inspected its clear, bright eyes, the fresh red of its gills, the tight, luminous scales. After a moment, he let out a low whistle. "Top-tier quality! Absolutely pristine."
Wade allowed himself a satisfied smile.
"Ah, speaking of quality!" Yoshino slapped his forehead, excitement returning to his voice. "That raw milk I bought from you last time? Sold out in a day! Caused a minor sensation at the market." He lowered his voice, leaning in. "A big player from Sinnoh got a taste. They're interested. Very interested. Wondered if you'd be open to a partnership."
He fished a crisp business card from his pocket.
"Moomoo Milk First Manufacturing Co., Ltd." Wade read the embossed name aloud.
"One of the giants in Sinnoh's dairy sector," Yoshino confirmed, nodding vigorously. "They're offering to buy in bulk—large, regular quantities—at a price that'll make your head spin. We're talking 20,000 League coins per ton. Well above market. What do you say?"
Should I cooperate?
Wade stroked his chin, considering. The old adage was true: even the finest wine needed the right shopfront. Hiyori Town Farm was just beginning; its reputation was a seedling. To be noticed and given such terms by a Sinnoh powerhouse… it was an opportunity that leaned heavily toward a resounding 'yes.'
After weighing the clear benefits, Wade gave Uncle Yoshino a firm nod.
"Excellent! Leave the arrangements to me. They'll send a representative to draft the contract." Yoshino beamed, clapping a meaty hand on his own chest in assurance.
Business settled, he turned to tallying the day's goods. "Right then… five carp, eight bass, plus 780 liters of Miltank premium… comes to 16,000 League coins total."
"Deal." Wade accepted the thick stack of bills, counted it with practiced ease, and nodded his confirmation.
As Yoshino turned to leave, he suddenly paused, reached back into his truck, and pulled out a long, well-crafted fishing rod.
"Almost forgot," he said, handing it over to Wade with a grin. "A little token. For the man who's clearly got the magic touch with this lake."
"This is…?" Wade accepted the rod, his surprise evident.
[Super Rod (Rainbow): A tool for fishing Pokémon. It is said to be the finest fishing rod ever crafted.]
In this world, fishing rods existed in a hierarchy of their own: the humble Old Rod, the reliable Good Rod, and the legendary Super Rod. These were no mere tools for catching fish; they were conduits to another world beneath the waves, capable of beckoning forth rare and powerful Water-type Pokémon. Whispers even spoke of a prodigy in a distant region, a girl with hair like the ocean, who had once used such a rod to challenge the very deity of the sea.
Wade's fingers traced the rod's length. Its age was palpable—a seasoned weight in the hand, a story in every faint imperfection of the grip. Yet, its rainbow-lacquered surface gleamed under the porch light, a testament to decades of devoted care. This was more than equipment; it was an heirloom. Exorbitantly expensive and painstakingly rare, a Super Rod was a mark of prestige, belonging only to master anglers or those with deep, personal connections.
It was, in every sense, a priceless gift.
Seeing the awe on Wade's face, Uncle Yoshino let out a warm, rumbling laugh. "That? That was my friend's trophy, from the Sinnoh League Master Fishing Tournament more years back than I care to count. The fool slept with it under his pillow for a month!" His laughter softened into a nostalgic sigh. "We were young then. Vowed to cast a line into every river and lake from Sandgem to Snowpoint City."
A rare, wistful shadow crossed the burly man's weathered face. "Life has a way of rerouting dreams, though. Now he's busy building a future for his family, and quiet shores are a luxury." He shrugged, the motion both heavy and accepting. "So, the rod came to me."
The melancholy lingered for only a breath before Yoshino shook it off, his expression brightening with genuine envy as he clapped a solid hand on Wade's shoulder. "But you! You've got the life here. No city noise, no clock to punch. You can listen to the water and cast a line whenever the spirit moves you."
He hauled himself up into the truck's cab, then leaned out the window, his bearded grin illuminated by the dashboard lights. "I'm passing it to you now. Go on. Fish. Catch the dreams we had to let drift away."
…
The truck's rumble faded into the twilight, leaving behind a profound silence. Wade stood in the deepening dusk, the weight of the Super Rod in his hand transforming from physical to something far more significant.
In the world of Pokémon, he realized, profound bonds weren't forged solely between Trainers and their partners. They thrived in the silent understanding between one Pokémon and another, and now, he understood, they also lived on in the hopes passed like a baton from one dreamer to another, across the years.
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