Silas couldn't help but click his tongue inwardly. Even the written exam for the Level Six Breeder Certification had a pass rate of less than ten percent. And that was before factoring in the practical test, which would eliminate even more candidates.
No wonder breeding was considered one of the hardest professions to get into.
Soon, a large group of candidates followed the proctors into another room.
Silas glanced curiously at the instruments set on the tables — and immediately felt a sense of unease.
His bad premonition was confirmed when the League staff made their announcement.
"The subject of this year's Level Six Breeder practical exam is — Pokéblock Production."
"Damn it!" Silas cursed inwardly. You've got to be kidding me!
The breeders who had taken the written test alongside him, especially those who knew this was the sixteen-year-old's first time sitting the exam, couldn't help but glance at him with a mix of sympathy and pity.
For normal breeders who had advanced naturally from Level Five to Six, Pokéblock making was practically second nature. They were old hands at it.
But Silas was different. Forget making Pokéblocks,he hadn't even seen the machines used to produce them before today.
And unlike cooking in his past life, where one might say, Even if you've never butchered a pig, you've at least eaten pork, Pokéblock production demanded precise timing and a deep understanding of how berry energies interacted.
As whispers spread among the candidates, everyone soon realized Silas's disadvantage.
Looks like the little prodigy's about to hit a wall, they thought.
It really was bad luck. While Pokéblocks were indeed a measure of a breeder's skill, this particular task wasn't a frequent exam subject.
More often, the practical focused on designing specialized care plans for given Pokémon, performing emergency field treatments for injuries, or demonstrating training techniques to refine or alter moves.
One of the hardest exams on record had required candidates to take a League-assigned Pokémon and, within four hours, raise it to the point where it could defeat a rival of equal strength — all without a trainer's command.
That year ended in near-total failure. Only one person passed: a young breeder named Yukino.
The reason Pokéblock exams were rare was because they were considered too simple and not always a strong proof of a breeder's overall ability.
Clearly, the League had lowered the bar this year after the abysmally low pass rates of the last two years.
Silas's one real worry had indeed come true. He had told himself earlier that surely his luck wouldn't be that bad. But here it was.
He quickly decided the blame lay with one thing: It's because I didn't bring Togepi to hug today.
Following the proctor's directions, each candidate moved to their assigned station.
This time, the League had provided a rare Pokéblock recipe. On the open market, such formulas fetched a high price — recipes themselves were valuable assets and often traded like resources.
The size of a breeder's recipe library was often a rough indicator of their skill and standing. Aside from the common shared formulas, any breeder's unique recipes were guarded jealously and rarely disclosed.
The League supplied unlimited berries as ingredients. The requirement was simple: produce one Pokéblock that met Level Six standards within ninety minutes.
The moment the exam began, the other ninety-three breeders instantly set to work.
Silas alone remained frozen, staring at the recipe and the unfamiliar machine in front of him.
Who am I? Where am I? What am I supposed to be doing?
The recipe itself wasn't hard to understand. Intermediate-level Pokéblocks were simply made by mixing three types of berries in precise proportions.
Silas knew all about that. He could even explain in theory how the different berry energies resisted and neutralized each other.
But the first problem hit him immediately: How the hell do I even turn this thing on?
He eyed the machine with a headache.
It was a silver-gray cube, sleek and modern-looking. At the top center sat a round orb, while on the northeast, northwest, southeast, and southwest corners were four orange diamond-shaped levers pointing inward toward the orb.
It looked advanced, hooked up to power, and entirely alien.
Clumsy and unsure, Silas peeked at a kind-hearted breeder nearby, then copied their actions exactly. At last, his own machine powered up.
The exam didn't restrict candidates from glancing around. After all, just watching wouldn't help you magically produce a high-quality Pokéblock.
Silas gave the stranger a grateful smile, while secretly grumbling, This thing is the opposite of user-friendly. Not even a power button icon!
Of course, berry mixers weren't something you saw lying around. Normally, when breeders bought them, the League always included a detailed manual.
Silas had simply skipped the "learn the basics" step.
So he continued to mimic. He watched other breeders carefully: first, they cut the berries into small chunks. Okay, I know that part.
Then they placed the different berries into the mixer in the prescribed sequence and ratio. Simple enough.
Hey, hey, Uncle, slow down! Move your hand so I can see from this angle! Silas's eyes silently screamed as he strained to follow the man's motions.
He could just barely make out the breeder's hands pressing the diamond-shaped buttons in a specific rhythm. But the rest, thanks to the angle, was invisible.
Without hesitation, Silas switched targets and began observing another candidate.
Minute by minute, the exam clock ticked away. By the halfway mark, eight breeders had already passed quality inspection and officially achieved Level Six certification, pending their certificates.
The shopkeeper from Sanqi Breeding House was the eighth.
It turned out that while his theoretical knowledge was mediocre, he had plenty of experience producing Pokéblocks.
Catching sight of Silas still intently watching others' techniques, the shopkeeper sighed sympathetically.
Poor kid. I'll have to console him when this is over, he thought, shaking his head as he exited the room to wait outside.
Silas, meanwhile, continued to study with full concentration.
Only when the bell signaling the final thirty minutes rang did he finally pull his gaze back to his own machine.
He slowly closed his eyes, reviewing the conclusions he had drawn. Everything should be correct. Then, with a sharp motion, he opened his eyes, grabbed the berries he had prepared earlier, and began.
Thirty minutes was enough time to attempt around five batches. If all went well, he estimated he could succeed.
At this moment, Silas's mind was completely calm. His eyes sharpened with focus, and his hands moved swiftly.
The first task was the northeast lever. From what he deduced, it controlled the rotation speed — the most crucial part.
With his left index finger, Silas tapped rapidly at first, then gradually slowed, settling into a rhythm, pressing the button at precise intervals.
Too fast, and the berry pulp would scatter, preventing the mixture from condensing into a proper block.
Too slow, and the impurities wouldn't be expelled effectively.
Maintaining rhythm was everything. If the speed varied, the final Pokéblock would be compromised.
Each berry type required a slightly different speed for optimal separation, and he needed to find the perfect balance for this recipe's three berries.
Not long after, the northwest button lit up briefly. Silas immediately pressed it.
This one controlled fusion. The light intervals were irregular, each lasting about 0.36 seconds. The button had to be pressed at the exact midpoint for the best effect.
This was the hardest part — a true test of reflexes — and also where most breeders made mistakes.
The light's rhythm likely corresponded to the clashing energies of the berries.
Silas's eyes tracked every flicker, while his mind worked nonstop.
Next came the southeast button, responsible for shaping. Here the requirement was simple: maintain perfect rhythm.
The more precise the rhythm, the more uniform the Pokéblock's shape, and the more energy it could contain. Otherwise, it would collapse into sludge.
While his left index finger tapped rhythmically at the top lever, his thumb pressed in counterpoint. His right hand darted to strike the northwest button whenever the light flashed.
Four minutes passed in this tense concentration. Finally, the last button lit up, and Silas slammed it decisively.
The final step: compression.
The machine whirred. From the lower chute rolled out three glossy, neatly formed Pokéblocks.
Several breeders who were resting turned to watch. Their jaws dropped.
Ridiculous… he'd never even touched the machine before today. After just an minutes of watching, he actually made Pokéblocks?
When they had first practiced with the manual, it took them an entire day to succeed — and that was with a simple two-berry recipe!
So this is what genius looks like…
But Silas had no time for awe. He picked up one Pokéblock and ran a quick quality test. The result made him frown.
No good. The quality is way off.
He dumped the flawed blocks aside and immediately started his second attempt.
This time he carefully measured the berries, ensuring consistent slice size. Shape mattered — irregular cuts caused uneven energy separation.
He slowed the acceleration of the initial spin, keeping rhythm steady instead of chasing max speed.
In the first attempt, the fusion stage had lit up 44 times, and he'd missed 12. He would need absolute focus now.
His shaping stage was perfect before, but he needed to sync it better with the earlier steps.
In his vision, visible only to him, a faint blue holographic screen appeared. It displayed the mistakes from his first attempt, alongside data summaries from others.
It was thanks to his own reasoning combined with Zero's analytical support that Silas had transformed in just one hour from a complete novice into a competent semi-pro. The only thing lacking was practice.
He hadn't expected to begin using this system until after the exam — yet it had activated early.
The second attempt failed as well, but the quality was clearly higher than before.
On to the next. Time was running short.
Third attempt — energy purity slightly off. Continue.
Fourth attempt — energy activity fell short. Continue.
Sweat poured down Silas's face. Maintaining this level of focus was exhausting, even for him.
His eyes locked fiercely on the flashing light, his left hand keeping an unyielding rhythm, his right reacting instantly.
Clack! Hiss~!
With the final compression step complete, Silas finally exhaled and wiped his drenched forehead.
Only three minutes remained — not enough for another try.
He placed his finished Pokéblocks into the testing machine.
The corners of his mouth curved into a confident smile.
Beep~
A green light lit up. He had passed.
"Whew…" Silas finally allowed himself a breath of relief.
"Unbelievable!"
"Too strong!"
"He's a monster!"
Gasps and exclamations echoed around the room.
....
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