Enzo left the breeder tent with the heat still clinging to his clothes and the receipt folded neatly in his pocket.
They rejoined the main corridor and the black market swallowed them again.
Enzo didn't slow to stare at the worst of it. He'd already seen what this place sold: shortcuts, lies, and desperate hope. He kept moving, eyes forward, letting the System do what no broker here could do honestly.
A stall of cages caught his attention.
Not because it was loud or flashy, but because it was quiet.
A row of small cages sat on a low table. Inside them were baby Pokémon, pressed into the corners like they'd learned that movement invited hands. Psyducks. Five of them. Their yellow fur looked dull under the bulbs, eyes wide and tired. One was smaller than the others, tucked behind a sibling as if it could disappear.
Enzo's vision flickered with blue text.
Psyduck — POTENTIAL: GREEN
Psyduck — POTENTIAL: GREEN
Psyduck — POTENTIAL: GREEN
Psyduck — POTENTIAL: GREEN
Psyduck — POTENTIAL: LIGHT GREEN
Proton leaned closer, face tightening. "They look… miserable."
"They're inventory" Ronnie muttered, voice flat. His jaw tightened anyway.
A vendor slid toward them, quick and smooth, with the hungry eyes of a man who measured people by their wallets. He wiped his hands on his apron like he was about to perform a courtesy.
"Looking for something special?" he asked. "Fresh stock. Good temperaments."
Enzo pointed at the Psyducks. "How much?"
The vendor's smile dipped for a fraction. Psyducks weren't impressive. Not a trophy. Not something a rich sponsor would brag about.
He recovered fast. "Those? Not tested," he said, like it was a flaw. "Seven hundred Pokédollars each."
Enzo did the conversion in his head without effort. Around 630 RP.
He kept his expression neutral. "I'll take all five."
The vendor blinked, then smiled again. Greedy now. "All five? Sure. Sure. Good choice."
He started moving with practiced speed, grabbing Poké Balls from under the table.
"Balls are on the house," he added quickly, as if generosity would make the sale feel cleaner.
Enzo watched him work. When the five Psyducks were transferred, he didn't pocket the balls yet. He asked the real question.
"You have more that aren't tested?"
The vendor's eyes sharpened with interest. That was the right question. The question that meant money.
"Of course," he said. "Come. Follow me."
Proton shifted slightly, placing himself in a position where he could block something if needed. Ronnie's hand hovered near his belt. Enzo followed without hesitation, because this was exactly what he wanted.
The vendor led them behind a stained curtain and through a narrow passage.
The air changed.
It got colder, and then it got worse.
The back room wasn't a secret vault. It was a storage space disguised as a warehouse, packed with stacked cages and metal racks. Some cages had blankets. Most didn't. The smell was sharp: old waste, stale food, damp fur, fear.
Pokémon stared through bars with dull eyes. Some were too thin. Some flinched at footsteps. A few didn't move at all, like they'd learned stillness was the only way to survive a place where nothing kind ever happened.
Ronnie's breathing slowed, shallow. Proton's face stayed controlled, but his eyes hardened.
Enzo looked at it and felt nothing dramatic.
Once, this would have shocked him.
In Kanto, Team Rocket drew lines. Not because they were moral, but because chaos was bad for business. Kanto's black markets stayed "managed."
Other regions didn't have team rocket.
In his previous life, the first time he saw a truly unregulated black market was in Kalos.
There were pits where trainers bet on fights that didn't end with fainting. They ended when something stopped moving. People cheered anyway, throwing money like it was confetti.
But that wasn't what stayed with him.
What stayed with him were the back rooms. The curtains. The auctions. The way certain Pokémon were treated like props instead of living beings. Especially the humanoid ones. Especially Gardevoir and Lopunny.
he never managed to scrub the images out of his head.
He just stopped reacting.
The vendor kept talking, voice bright, as if this was a showroom. "Here. Best prices. Nothing tested, so you get them cheap. Plenty of options."
Enzo gave a single nod. "Let me look."
The vendor took that as permission to orbit them, eager and hopeful.
Enzo started moving down the rows.
The System flickered in his vision as he scanned cages fast, efficient. He didn't stop for Yellow. He didn't even stop for borderline. He hunted Green like it was a resource node in a game only he could see.
He pointed without hesitation.
He didn't linger. He didn't debate. The System flashed its verdicts and his finger followed.
"That one. And that one," he said, tapping two cages near the bottom. "I want those two Geodude."
The vendor's grin widened. He snapped his fingers, and a helper stepped in with a battered clipboard, already writing.
Enzo kept walking.
"Those three Poliwag," he said, pointing without looking back. "And the two Machop next to them."
The helper read the cages out loud as he checked them off. The vendor unlocked doors, hands quick, transferring Pokémon into Poké Balls with the mechanical rhythm of someone who'd done it too many times. Each ball clicked shut and dropped into a sack with a dull thud.
Enzo didn't slow.
"Those three Sandshrew," he said. "And all five Rattata from that row."
The vendor blinked, surprised at the bulk, then recovered with a laugh that tried to sound casual.
"Yes, yes—of course."
Enzo's gaze shifted again, already on the next set.
"Those three Krabby," he said, pointing to a damp corner where the cages were stacked higher. "And the Venonat. Just that one."
The helper's pencil scratched faster. The sack grew heavier.
Enzo continued, voice steady, almost bored.
"those Two Mankey," he said. "those Three Pidgey. That Slowpoke."
The vendor's eyes shone like he was watching profit fall from the ceiling.
Enzo stopped at the end of the row and pointed one last time.
"And those five Oddish."
The vendor nodded hard, almost eager to prove he could keep up, while the helper kept counting and the bag kept filling with the sound of Poké Balls stacking like coins.
In Enzo's mind, it was even better.
Thirty-two Pokémon, all Green.
He kept his face calm, but inside, something sharp and satisfied clicked into place. The market was gambling. He was printing value.
The vendor scribbled fast, then looked up, almost reverent.
"That'll be… twenty thousand one hundred sixty Rocket Points," he said, like he wanted to show off that he knew the currency.
20,160 RP.
Enzo paid without comment.
The vendor handed him a sack loaded with Poké Balls, the weight of it pulling at Enzo's arm.
"Anytime," the vendor said, smiling too wide. "Anytime you need stock, you come to me. Best prices."
Enzo nodded once and left.
Ronnie didn't speak until they were back in the main corridor. His voice came out low. "That was… a lot."
"It's not enough," Enzo said.
He moved on.
He repeated the method in three other stalls that looked similar: same curtain, same smell, same promises. The luck wasn't as clean this time. The System still found Green, but not in the same density.
In three shops, he pulled only seventeen Green total.
The cost added up to 10,710 RP.
Every time they exited another back room with another bag of Poké Balls, Proton and Ronnie exchanged a look that said the same thing: what is he doing?
And every time Enzo felt the market's eyes linger longer.
Too many trips. Too many purchases. Too much weight in their hands.
He made the call before the market made it for him.
"We're done," Enzo said.
Ronnie opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded. Proton didn't argue. He was already watching people watch them.
They moved through the corridor without lingering, passed the lamp shop, climbed the hidden stairs, and emerged back into daylight like they'd surfaced from something toxic.
Outside, Cerulean looked cleaner than it had any right to.
They walked with their hoods still up for two blocks before Enzo let them relax.
Proton finally spoke, eyes flicking toward the bags. "Are we going to need all of this?"
Enzo answered without slowing. "Of course not."
Ronnie frowned. "Then why—"
"We're going to sell," Enzo said.
That shut Ronnie up.
Enzo ran the numbers again in his head, not because he doubted them, but because discipline mattered.
49 Pokémon.
19 eggs.
18 incubators.
Total spent: 74,970 RP.
A painful dent, but a controlled one. An investment, not a loss.
They reached the hotel district, where buildings turned polished again and the streets smelled less like old food and more like money.
The hotel Enzo had named sat at the corner of a wide avenue, clean stone, uniformed staff, the kind of place that pretended it didn't know what the city was underneath.
A delivery van was parked right in front.
A man with a clipboard stood beside it, arguing with the hotel's manager. The manager looked furious, face red with indignation.
"I already told you," the manager snapped, voice sharp. "This is a first-class establishment. We are not a breeder facility. Move your vehicle before I call the authorities."
The driver lifted both hands, tired, annoyed. "Sir, I understand. But I have a delivery, and this is the address."
The manager pointed at the van like it was an insult. "Not here."
Enzo watched for a second and felt a small, private satisfaction.
Fast delivery.
He stepped forward and raised his voice just enough to cut through the argument.
"The delivery is mine."
Both men turned.
The manager's gaze swept over Enzo's hooded face, then over Proton and Ronnie. Three young men in street clothes with bags in their hands. His irritation spiked.
"And who exactly are you," he demanded, "to send this kind of thing to my hotel?"
Enzo didn't remove his hood. "That doesn't concern you. Do your job."
The manager's mouth opened, already preparing something loud and expensive.
Enzo continued, calm. "I want three presidential suites. Aligned. Same floor. And I want that delivery taken to the middle suite."
The manager stared at him like he'd lost his mind.
Enzo walked past him toward the doors. Proton and Ronnie followed. The driver blinked, then hurried to keep up, relieved to have someone claim responsibility.
Inside the lobby, the light was warm and clean. The air smelled like perfume and polished wood. A receptionist looked up, ready to smile, then hesitated when she saw the bags and the hoods.
The manager followed them in, livid. "You can't just walk in here and—"
Enzo stopped.
"I don't know who you think you are," the manager started, voice rising, "but you should understand who owns—"
Enzo pulled out his badge.
Squad Leader.
Team Rocket.
The manager froze as if someone had hit a switch. Color drained from his face. His posture changed instantly. He bowed too fast.
"My apologies," he said, voice suddenly respectful. "I didn't realize."
"You do now," Enzo replied.
"Yes, sir." The manager bowed again, then waved at staff with urgent, controlled motions. "Prepare three presidential suites. Same corridor. Arrange delivery to the center suite. Immediately."
The receptionist's smile returned, now tight and obedient. Keys were produced. A bellhop appeared like magic. The van outside stopped being a "problem" and became "a delivery."
Enzo didn't thank anyone. He simply moved.
Upstairs, the corridor was quiet enough to hear your own breathing.
Three suite doors. One hallway. Clean lines. Controlled space.
The middle suite 201 opened into something closer to an apartment than a room. Kitchenette. Living area. Two bedrooms. Two bathrooms. Screens and sensors built into the walls like the place expected important people to be paranoid.
Enzo set the bags down and exhaled once.
Then the System flickered again in his peripheral vision.
REWARDS LOADING… 98%
It had been climbing steadily since the market, and now it was stuck. Frozen. Like it was thinking.
Enzo's stomach tightened.
He didn't like delays.
Delays meant the System was preparing something heavy, something complicated, or something dangerous.
He looked at Proton and Ronnie. "Don't bother me. If the delivery comes, handle it. If anyone knocks, you answer."
Proton nodded immediately. Ronnie nodded a beat later, still staring at the suite like he couldn't believe it was real.
Enzo released his Pokémon in the living area one by one, giving them food and water with practiced speed. Deino's head popped up first, sniffing the air, then trotted around the suite like it was inspecting territory.
Enzo moved into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.
REWARDS LOADING… 98%
Still.
He lay back without taking his shoes off.
The mattress was too soft. The ceiling is too clean. His mind refused to settle.
Then he heard it.
A small sound near the foot of the bed. Soft tapping. A quick shuffle.
Deino was down there, and it wasn't alone.
Something small and fast darted across the carpet, bounced lightly, then slid behind Deino like it was playing a game. It moved with a kind of playful confidence, quick hands, quick feet.
Enzo lifted his head.
A small blue Pokémon stared back at him with bright eyes and a smug, curious expression.
It shifted its stance like it was ready to spring again, then made a soft, amused sound as Deino tried to nip at it and missed.
Enzo's vision flickered.
[ SYSTEM SCAN — TARGET IDENTIFIED ]
Specimen: Froakie
Level: 5
Potential: GREEN
Ability: Torrent
Moves:
— Pound (Normal)
— Growl (Normal)
— Bubble (Water)
— Quick Attack (Normal)
Obs: "High agility. Temperament: mischievous but attentive. Training response: fast—especially under disciplined leadership."
Enzo let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
So that's how it is, he thought.
He watched Froakie for another second. Agile. Confident. Smart eyes. Not afraid of Deino. Not afraid of the room.
A good piece.
Then the System finally moved.
99%… 100%.
The blue interface flared hard enough to make Enzo blink.
CONGRATULATIONS.
REWARDS LOADED.
YOU HAVE OBTAINED: DEOXYS MEMORY FRAGMENT.
The words hung in his vision for half a heartbeat.
Enzo's body went cold.
Not fear.
Recognition.
He tried to sit up.
The room tilted.
Sound dropped away as if someone had shut a door inside his skull.
The last thing he saw was Froakie hopping onto the bed, curious, and Deino staring up as if it sensed something wrong.
Then the world went black.
Author's Note:
Imagine if I killed Enzo right now. Like, right here. One bad nap in a luxury suite and boom credits roll.
Team Rocket would hold a five-second moment of silence, then immediately auction his Pokemons on the black market. XD