David leaned back on the couch like a war hero who'd just survived a napalm attack—except in his case, the battlefield was emotional and the enemy was Alan's digestive system.
The steady chime of [Negative Emotion Value +200 from Alan…] in his ear brought him peace. Like rain on a tin roof. Like the sound of a toaster popping at midnight when you're starving.
"Ahh," David sighed, closing his eyes in bliss. "Music to my ears."
Alan was probably halfway through a box of toilet paper and regretting every decision he'd ever made. That poor soul had no idea he'd been punked harder than a Magikarp in a boxing match.
David didn't even bother thinking about his stolen—ahem, traded—nickname "Jack Sparrow" going around school. Let them speculate. Let the rumors fly. What really mattered… were the two crystal balls glowing on the coffee table in front of him.
Skill memory. Legit ones. Straight from Alan's now-scarred wallet.
"Alright, squad, front and center!" David called out dramatically.
Pikachu trotted over, sparking slightly, while Ralts sort of hovered in, blinking cutely like it had just woken up from a dream about cookies.
David grinned and held up the crystal balls like a fantasy movie protagonist about to awaken ancient powers. "One for each of you. Boom. Custom tailored."
He handed the shimmering Protect memory to Ralts and the Brick Break memory to Pikachu.
Ralts blinked at it. Pikachu sniffed his like it might be food.
David raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah, I know it looks like a gumball from a haunted vending machine, but trust me—this isn't candy. It's ancient, magical power. Learn it. Master it. Wield it like a blade forged in the fiery guts of Mount Legendary or whatever."
"Pika?"
"Ralts?"
They clearly had no idea what was happening.
David cleared his throat and tried again, this time with more authority. "Listen up. That crystal ball is a skill memory. Inside it? Rift energy from ancient Pokémon history. I'm talking primordial power levels here. Channel that stuff into your tiny fluffy bodies and you'll be able to do stuff that would make other Pokémon cry in jealousy."
The little guys looked down at the crystal balls, then at David. Their faces said, Are you sure this isn't just a bouncy ball with glitter inside?
David gave them a very serious nod, as if he were a wise sage on a mountaintop. "This is your reward for working hard. It's also my wallet's funeral offering, so please—please—don't screw it up."
Ralts puffed out its chest. Pikachu nodded with a dramatic little spark. Motivated. Inspired. Or maybe just tricked into thinking this was a high-level snack challenge.
The two Pokémon pressed their little hands into the crystal balls, their own aura fusing with the ancient rift energy inside. Pinkish light burst out and wrapped around them like they'd just opened a treasure chest in a video game.
David backed up slightly. "Alright… here we go…"
The whole room dimmed slightly, the energy pulsing like a heartbeat. Ralts and Pikachu's eyes glowed faintly, caught in a trance-like state as centuries of battle memories and muscle instincts were dumped into their tiny brains.
"Come on… come on…" David muttered, wringing his hands like a man praying to a slot machine. "Please, just let it work. I don't ask for much. No earthquakes. No surprise exams. Just let these furballs learn their moves without giving themselves a seizure."
He folded his hands and looked up to the ceiling dramatically. "Oh mighty powers of the universe, whoever's up there—Jade Emperor, Nagi Hikaru, Arceus, Professor Oak's long-lost twin—anyone! Please bless my wallet. I mean, bless these two little creatures. Let them learn the skills! I'll recycle! I'll stop stealing shampoo from hotels! Just—please!"
The glow intensified. Energy swirled around Ralts and Pikachu like they were being gently microwaved by the gods.
David's eyes were glued to the scene. This wasn't just a Pokémon skill acquisition. This was two million Alliance coins being sucked into a swirling pink vortex of hope and anxiety.
TWO MILLION.
That was like... a mansion. A small island. Four thousand Magikarp plushies.
And all of it now rested in the paws and psychic hands of two creatures who just yesterday tried to eat a pencil.
David closed his eyes again and whispered, "Two million... that's like saving a hundred lives. Or ending mine, if this fails."
The room remained bathed in eerie pink light. David didn't move. He just stood there, praying like his entire soul was hanging on a thread.
Because it was.
About thirty minutes in, just as David was starting to wonder if he'd wasted two million Alliance coins and a solid chunk of his dignity, something finally happened.
Pikachu twitched. His ears perked up. His fur crackled like someone had rubbed him with a balloon. Then — BOOM — the crystal ball in his tiny paws exploded into glittery dust like a cheap firework on discount.
The pale pink energy that had been swirling around him vanished in a puff, completely absorbed.
David nearly faceplanted in excitement.
"Pikachu! Hey! You good? Did it work? Did you master Brick Break?" he asked, crouching in front of the yellow rodent like a parent whose kid just aced a spelling bee.
"Pika pickup!" Pikachu chirped proudly, chest puffed out and cheeks sparking faintly. He looked like he could bench press a Snorlax.
His tiny paws clenched, and he raised one triumphantly above his head. Energy started surging through his fur, concentrating in his right paw. It shimmered — no, glowed — with a white-hot brilliance. The light condensed into a sharp metallic gleam that looked way too intense for a rodent who couldn't reach the top shelf.
David's eyes widened. "Wait, wait—hold up. What are you doing?"
But it was already too late.
With all the grace and enthusiasm of a toddler discovering their strength, Pikachu swung his glowing paw straight toward the nearest object: David's coffee table.
"STOP!!!" David screamed, lunging like a slow-motion action hero.
But fate had already clapped its hands.
CRACK!
BOOM!
SKRAAAAAA-TCHH!!!
Pikachu's paw connected with the table like a karate master possessed by the spirit of Chuck Norris. There was a loud, flat thud, a pop of splinters, and then the table — David's beloved, faithful, four-year-old battle-worn table — split clean in half.
Perfectly. Right down the middle.
Like Moses had personally parted it.
Sawdust exploded into the air like celebratory confetti. One half of the table tilted and hit the floor with a mournful clunk. The other just sat there, stunned. Probably wondering what it had done to deserve this.
David stood frozen. Jaw slack. Eyebrow twitching. He stared at the ruins of his humble, snack-stained furniture.
"DID I ask you to split the table in half, you fluffy demolition machine?!"
Pikachu blinked innocently, still holding up his glowing paw. Then, as if realizing something was wrong, he scratched his head and gave David his best "Huh? Wasn't that what you wanted?" look.
David inhaled deeply through his nose. "Brick Break, I said. Brick. As in, something meant to be broken! Not! My! Table!"
Pikachu mimicked David's expression — blinking twice and tilting his head in fake confusion. The same way David did when pretending not to hear teachers asking him to turn in homework.
David groaned, throwing his hands up. "Great. I taught you Brick Break, and you taught me how to grieve for furniture."
He stood there dramatically, mourning the table like it had been a family heirloom passed down for generations instead of something he found in a secondhand shop with three wobbly legs.
Pikachu squeaked apologetically.
David glared. "You better not Brick Break my bed next, or so help me—"
A ping rang in his ear:
[Gained negative emotion value +30 from David...]
[Gained negative emotion value +40 from David...]
[Gained negative emotion value +50 from David...]
"Fantastic," David muttered. "Even my emotional damage has a score counter now."
He shot one last look at Pikachu, who was now sitting next to the shattered table halves like a tiny martial arts prodigy.
David was just about to slip on his trusty insulated gloves — you know, the ones labeled "For handling hyperactive rodents and kitchen disasters" — so he could teach Pikachu a gentle life lesson about not karate-chopping household furniture, when a noise from the side caught his attention.
"Lalu!"
Ralts, who had been floating in her own pink energy bubble like a marshmallow in a microwave, had just finished absorbing her skill memory. The shimmering light faded off her tiny body like glitter reluctantly leaving a party.
Her eyes fluttered open.
And the first thing she saw?
Chaos.
Sawdust in the air.
A table split clean in half.
Pikachu standing triumphantly like he'd just won a championship in interior destruction.
"...Lalu?"
Ralts tilted her head and blinked in slow confusion, rubbing her eyes as if the whole thing might vanish if she squinted hard enough.
Did I miss something? Was there an earthquake? A Hitmonlee raid? A performance art piece about broken furniture?
David saw her baffled look and waved her over, still mourning his poor table in the background.
"Ralts, hey. Snap out of memory mode — how'd it go? Did you manage to learn Protect?"
"Lalu!" she responded confidently, puffing up with pride.
Right on cue, a soft green shimmer enveloped her body, forming a semi-transparent dome that pulsed gently, like a bubble made of forcefield-flavored jelly.
David's jaw dropped. "No way. That's actually Protect! You did it!"
The little green barrier hovered for a moment, glowing like an alien spaceship's tractor beam, then fizzled away with a soft pop.
Sure, it didn't punch holes through tables, but Protect was a legendary classic. The kind of move that separated the champions from the chumps — and also the reason so many battles in the anime lasted five episodes too long.
In the old games, Protect was the king of stalling. Spam it long enough, and your opponent would lose the will to fight. Or the will to live. Either way, it was powerful stuff.
Even in this world, David knew from his obsessive internet searches that Protect was a highly respected skill — especially in competitive battles where trickery and cheese strategies were not just expected but practically mandatory.
Of course, if the opponent's power level was super busted, even Protect could get steamrolled. But still, having it was like holding an Uno Reverse card in real life.
Now both Ralts and Pikachu had officially mastered their skills.
One could punch a vending machine in half.
The other could block an incoming truck with a flick of her wrist.
David let out a long, satisfied sigh. The heartbreak of losing his junkyard-sourced table was slowly fading, replaced by the thrill of victory — and the knowledge that the skill memories he had definitely not conned Alan out of weren't wasted.
He gave Pikachu a look. "Fine. You destroyed a perfectly innocent table, but… whatever. I needed a new one anyway. That thing was more wobbly than my bank account."
The truth was, David had fished that table out of a dumpster behind a department store years ago. Its legs were uneven, one corner smelled like mystery soup, and it creaked like a haunted swing set. Honestly, Pikachu had done it a favor.
With his newfound wealth from selling overpriced evolution cubes — or as he liked to call it, "creative market manipulation" — David hopped onto his tablet and started browsing for a new table. Something sleek. Modern. Not made of sadness and termites.
He found one for under 1,000 Alliance coins and hit "Order Now" without hesitation.
Feeling generous — and rich — he also ordered a massive dinner feast for himself and his two pint-sized partners. If you're gonna swim in dirty money, might as well float on a sea of dumplings and grilled Tauros ribs.
After all, his "accidental capitalist" stunt had netted him almost a million Alliance coins.
Let that sink in:
One minute he was bargain-hunting for socks.
The next, he was rich enough to buy a luxury Poké Ball-shaped hot tub if he wanted to.
Meanwhile, the system in his head kept pinging like it was on caffeine and Red Bull.
[+30 Negative Emotion Points from Li Wei...]
[+50 from Growlithe...]
[+40 from Li Wei...]
[+60 from Growlithe...]
It was like a slot machine with feelings. Every second, new names popped up, all of them contributing to his sweet emotional profit.
David glanced at the growing list. In under a minute, he had collected emotional data from about fifty different people — not including that one Growlithe who seemed very emotionally unstable.
"Man," David chuckled, sipping a soda while Pikachu tried to Brick Break a fallen chopstick, "if I hadn't worn that ridiculous disguise at the black market, I'd be getting this emotional damage in person — with interest."
He leaned back, fully aware that if people ever found out he was the cube scammer, he'd probably be hunted down with pitchforks and Poké Balls. Maybe even a frying pan.
But for now?
He was safe.
He was rich.
And he was going to eat like royalty with two adorable (and very dangerous) Pokémon at his side.
David tapped open the system panel with all the anticipation of a kid peeling open a candy bar, except this candy bar might contain psychological trauma instead of chocolate.
And then he saw it.
"Whoa, hold on—what the heck?!"
He blinked. Then blinked again, like his eyeballs were trying to Ctrl+Z the number they were seeing.
"When I left the black market, I had what? Sixty thousand?"
Now?
One hundred twenty thousand.
Negative emotion points.
One hundred. Twenty. Thousand.
David inhaled slowly through his nose and muttered under his breath like a man trying to stay calm in a therapy session. "No wonder people say wealth comes from danger... Bro, this is dangerous danger. I didn't even leave the house and people are just out there projectile-hating me!"
He looked up at the ceiling dramatically. "This must be what celebrities feel like."
Still dazed, David scrolled through the system. He now had enough negative emotion points to bankrupt a therapist.
And you know what that meant.
Gambling time.
The system flashed a tempting little icon at him: Prize Draw.
Five prize pools appeared on-screen, ranging from D-tier (basically the trash can behind a PokéMart) to S-tier (the forbidden vault guarded by unicorns and tax lawyers). The S-tier was still grayed out. It might as well have had a note saying, "Nice try, broke boy."
But A-tier was unlocked.
Finally within reach.
One spin for a hundred thousand emotion points.
David stared at it longingly... and then made the executive decision not to touch it.
"Ha! Yeah, right. With my luck? I'd spend a hundred thousand and get a thank-you sticker and a swift emotional kick to the groin."
He backed away from the A-tier like it owed him money, and hovered over the D-tier instead. But just as his finger was about to click, he paused.
Nearly 130,000 points.
Was he really about to spend them on the Pokémon version of gas station scratch cards?
He raised an eyebrow, muttering to himself like a disappointed grandma. "Come on, David. You've got standards now. D-tier is for people who cry during loading screens."
With all the righteous confidence of someone who just got lucky in the stock market, he clicked the C-tier prize pool.
"C-tier, ten spins. Let's go big or go cry."
The system chirped cheerfully:
[Spending 10,000 negative emotion points... Ten draws initiated.]
A colorful roulette wheel materialized in David's mind, spinning faster than a Dodrio on caffeine.
drip... drip... drip...
[Draw result: Thank you for participating ×1]
[Draw result: Thank you for participating ×1]
[Draw result: Thank you for participating ×1]
David twitched.
"Okay... okay, it's just the warm-up. The system's just messing with me a little... right?"
[Draw result: Universal Maid Outfit ×1]
(Automatically adjusts size and style. Auto-cleans. Dustproof. Elegant.)
David: "…Huh?"
He squinted at the screen like it personally insulted his family.
"A maid outfit? Why in the name of Arceus' left sandal is that even in the C-tier?! What am I supposed to do, wear this to my next gym battle?!"
He imagined it for half a second:
David, standing confidently in a black-and-white frilly maid dress, tossing out a Poké Ball while screaming,
"Pikachu, use Sparkle Sweep!"
He shuddered so hard he nearly sprained his spine.
"I'm a grown man! A majestic, seven-foot-tall masculine unit of raw... something! I can't be out here dressing like I'm about to dust Professor Oak's lab!"
[Negative emotion value +10 from David...]
[Negative emotion value +20 from David...]
[Negative emotion value +30 from David...]
The system, of course, was feeding off his inner crisis like it was popcorn at a movie.
And the wheel wasn't done.
[Draw result: Thank you for participating ×1]
[Draw result: Thank you for participating ×1]
[Draw result: Thank you for participating ×1]
[Draw result: Potion of Truth ×1]
That one made David pause.
"Oooh... Hello there."
The Potion of Truth. Whoever drinks it has to speak nothing but the truth for an entire day. They can't lie. Can't even exaggerate. Basically, it turned people into brutally honest unfiltered truth cannons.
"I could definitely use this. Maybe I'll pour it into a soda and hand it to some smug Team Rocket intern."
And finally...
[Guaranteed Bonus: Moo Moo Milk ×1 Crate]
(Nutritious. Delicious. Suitable for Pokémon and emotionally unstable Trainers.)
David sighed. "At least that's useful. Pikachu loves the stuff. Ralts can have it warm with cookies. I'll use the rest to make milk tea."
He stared at the screen, arms folded, eyes still twitching from the trauma of receiving a magical French maid uniform.
"Seriously, though... a maid costume? Am I gonna start seducing wild Pokémon by doing curtsies in a forest clearing? Is there a 'Battle Butlers' expansion I missed?!"
He stood up, holding the imaginary dress at arm's length in his mind, like it was radioactive laundry.
"I swear on everything—on my dignity, on Professor Oak's mustache—I would rather starve, sleep in a Pokécenter broom closet, AND lose to a Caterpie than ever wear this thing in public."
Just imagine the scene.
Trainer Joey sent out Pidgey.
David wearing a maid costume used attract.
It was super effective!
[Negative emotion value +50 from David...]
[Negative emotion value +70 from David...]
The system, clearly thrilled, gave no signs of stopping.
And the maid costume? Still sitting there in his inventory.
Menacing. Waiting.