S.S. Anne, Lowest-Level Cargo Hold
"Hey—when exactly are you planning to make your move?"
The woman named Lisa leaned back against a stack of shipping containers, a slim lady's cigarette resting between her crimson lips. Her tone carried open dissatisfaction as she glanced toward the hulking shadow in the corner. "They're already getting ready to host some kind of event. Anyone with half a brain can tell they're trying to gather the strongest trainers on board in one place. When that happens, the small fry under your command won't stand a chance against trainers of that caliber."
She exhaled slowly and continued, "You know the quality of the people under you better than anyone. I honestly don't get what possessed you to even think about attacking the S.S. Anne."
The massive figure finally stepped out of the shadows. It was the bald, tattoo-necked brute—Mondo, the mid-level Rocket Team cadre that Investigator Cole had mentioned before.
Mondo regarded her coolly and said in a flat voice, "Take your money and do your job. Don't ask questions you shouldn't. You ought to understand this much—people like you die faster the more they know."
"Alright, alright. I won't ask."
Lisa flicked the cigarette to the floor and crushed it under the heel of her long boots. "But at least tell me—when will our backup arrive?"
"At the latest, the day after tomorrow," Mondo replied, his expression as rigid as ever. "The ship is still too close to Vermilion City. If anything happens now, League reinforcements would arrive almost immediately. We need to wait two more days. When the time comes, Boss Riven will personally take action."
"So this is Tyson's doing."
Lisa raised a brow, realization dawning, then smirked knowingly. "You're not secretly doing private work behind Boss Giovanni's back, are you? Hah—if that man were to find out, your end wouldn't be pretty."
At the mention of Giovanni's name, Mondo's composure finally cracked. His voice sharpened noticeably.
"Mind your own business. This is not something you're qualified to question. Since we dared to organize this operation, it means we already have approval from above."
"Tch."
Lisa contemptuously raised a finger and turned on her heel, striding out of the cargo hold.
Watching her retreating figure, Mondo's expression grew colder still. This woman was becoming unstable. Boss Tyson was right—once this operation was over, she would need to disappear for good. After all, she had done too much dirty work and knew far too many Rocket Team secrets. Who could say when the League might turn her—and have her sell them all out?
As Mondo vanished from the warehouse as well, the cavernous space returned to its deathly silence.
Yet neither of them noticed that, after they left, a white specter peeled itself away from the side of a shipping container.
"Heh heh heh…"
The ghost let out a chilling, unnatural laugh. It had deep violet eyes, a body as white as snow, humanoid limbs, a short, sharp tail, and a row of backward-pointing spikes along its back.
In appearance, it was unmistakably a Gengar—yet unlike any ordinary one. Where most Gengar bore dark purple bodies and blood-red eyes, this one was entirely different in color, though identical in form.
While Lisa and Mondo had been talking, this white ghost had used a Ghost-type Pokémon's innate invisibility to hide within the containers. Neither of them had sensed a thing.
...
The same conference room as before.
Renard sat with one leg crossed over the other, idly spinning a pencil between his fingers. The pencil moved as if magnetized—no matter how he flipped or twirled it, it never once slipped from his grasp.
The white specter passed effortlessly through layers of walls and appeared inside the room. When the white Gengar fully revealed itself, the temperature seemed to plummet in an instant.
Renard showed no surprise at its arrival, continuing to spin the pencil calmly. Seeing no one else around, the ghost floated up to his ear, covered its mouth, and whispered a long stream of incomprehensible sounds.
"White Ghost… you're saying they plan to act the day after tomorrow?"
Renard straightened in his chair, the pencil finally touching down as he began sketching something on the paper before him.
"Heh heh~"
The white Gengar nodded, letting out a sinister chuckle.
"Excellent."
Renard flicked the pencil neatly into its holder and stood up with a smile. "Looks like Rocket Team is really facing a financial crisis. They're clearly plotting something big behind the scenes—and whatever it is, it's burning through money fast. To think they'd even send Tyson, one of their top enforcers, to do something as crude as hijacking a cruise liner."
"Good work, White Ghost."
He took out a jet-black, specially designed Poké Ball and recalled the white Gengar.
This operation was critical to him. If it succeeded, no one would ever be able to attack him over seniority or credentials again. Renard was well aware that his rise to Chief Investigator of the Kanto League at such a young age owed much to his formidable grandmother.
The world never lacked geniuses—especially not within an organization that controlled the resources of an entire continent. What was a "genius," really? To the League, geniuses were little more than crops—harvested, then grown again.
There were plenty of young trainers within the League whose strength rivaled Renard's. A few were even stronger. So why had he become Chief Investigator?
He wouldn't claim it was solely because he was exceptional—though his own ability did play a small part. After all, no matter how powerful a family was, they couldn't place a complete fool in the position of Chief Investigator.
Everything was ready. All that remained was the final push.
Renard found himself eagerly anticipating the clash two days from now with that Rocket Team elite.
The bait had been cast.
Now, all that was left… was for the big fish to bite.