The massive Light Screen and Reflect barriers—crafted by Clefable, Blissey, Magnezone, and other Pokémon—formed the first and second layers of defense.
Light Screen blocked special attacks, while Reflect guarded against physical strikes.
Although referred to as the "first" and "second" barriers, there were in fact many overlapping layers, each one further weakening the incoming force.
This was what the team had prepared before unleashing Flamethrower.
Silas had no intention of letting them take the brunt of the explosion at such close range.
Even if they could withstand it, they'd be in a sorry state—and that was completely unnecessary.
When the blast came, the shockwave, shattered debris, and flying rubble all struck the layered defenses. After being weakened by the double barriers, their force dropped sharply.
Next, Machamp and Onix raised a glowing green barrier—Wide Guard—to intercept the remaining debris.
Finally, the heavyweights—Aggron, Gigalith, and Venusaur—took position at the front. They used Iron Defense and Growth, tanking the still-fierce shockwaves and any stray debris that slipped through.
All sixteen trainers watched silently through the gaps, feeling the tremor of the explosion.
To be honest, this wasn't even the strongest stage of a hydrogen–oxygen explosion—but it was more than enough.
Before long, the Fifth Island—Chrono Island—fell silent.
Silas glanced at the scattered, unconscious Team Rocket grunts lying all over the area and smacked his lips.
As expected—tough as cockroaches. Not dead, just knocked out.
"Pfft."
A few groans echoed. Five or six Rocket grunts who hadn't fully lost consciousness struggled to their feet, coughing up dust.
They'd been hiding in the fourth and fifth tunnels, the farthest from the warehouse, so they hadn't taken the full force of the blast.
Among them was the squad leader.
"Maniac," the leader muttered as he looked at the sixteen young trainers before him.
Still, he wisely raised both hands in surrender.
With all those Pokémon glaring at him, there was no point in resisting.
As standard practice, Team Rocket's Poké Balls were equipped with auto-locks, meaning they couldn't be opened unless manually unlocked.
After all, the organization often captured Pokémon by force. If the Poké Balls weren't automatically sealed, it would be chaos during transport—no one wanted angry, captured Pokémon bursting out mid-operation.
That was why, even when the explosion struck, none of their Pokémon had come out to shield their Trainers.
"Coward."
One of the grunts sneered at his captain and reached for a Poké Ball at his belt—
Only to realize his arm wouldn't move.
The captain pointed upward helplessly with a twitching finger.
Hovering overhead was an Alakazam, eyes glowing.
Awkward silence followed.
"Gengaa~?"
A Gengar suddenly emerged from another grunt's shadow and patted him on the shoulder.
Clack.
The Poké Ball in the grunt's hand fell to the ground and rolled away.
He forced a nervous grin toward Gengar.
Gengar smiled back—wide, toothy, and sinister. Then its mouth opened wider, and—
"Ahhh—!"
A short scream. Then silence.
The grunt collapsed, unconscious.
The legend of Gengar draining the life of its victims was something every Kanto native grew up hearing.
Seeing one example and two warnings, the rest of the Rocket grunts quickly got the message.
"I thought Team Rocket was supposed to be reckless?"
Jenny Airi blinked in disbelief.
She'd done many missions, but this was the first time she'd seen Team Rocket surrender so willingly.
It was downright awkward—especially after she'd warned everyone to be careful.
Otherwise, Alakazam and Gengar wouldn't even have had to team up.
"Tie them up," Silas sighed, rubbing his temples.
Could these people at least pretend to be villains? They didn't even put up a fight!
At least the future Rocket Trio would've made things entertaining...
While the others busied themselves tying up the prisoners, Silas activated his wrist communicator.
"Hey, it's me. Send a logistics team to Chrono Island. We've got twenty-two Rocket members to escort back."
He reported directly to Shiraki, the League operations officer.
"So soon?" Shiraki asked, surprised.
he'd only just received a report from the Seven Island outpost that there'd been a huge explosion on the Fifth Island.
Barely ten minutes later, the battle was already over?
Was Team Rocket really that weak—or were they just unlucky enough to face this group?
Realizing how silly his question sounded, he quickly added, "Never mind. The logistics team's on their way."
Silas shook his head. The League higher-ups really did treat them like fragile hothouse flowers.
"It's normal," said Soshu(Bruno's younger relative, League Elite). He stepped beside Silas and explained naturally.
"Out of these sixteen, only you, me, and Jenny Airi have real, unrestricted battle experience."
He smiled faintly. He'd been through the same thing.
"As for Officer Jennys, their clan trains them early. Once both they and their Growlithe partners graduate from internal academy training, they're immediately assigned to field missions."
"So they get practical experience faster."
"But families like the Silph Group"—he nodded toward Hirokuni Silph, the heir to a major corporate house—"focus more on business than combat."
"They can't afford to risk their successors' lives. Strength is important, but not a priority."
"Every family has its own focus. For most of these people, this mission was both experience training and a kind of... publicity stunt—to groom the next generation of stars."
After all, the families had invested huge amounts of time and resources into these heirs. They wouldn't risk them recklessly.
Only when someone reached the quasi-Elite or Elite-level Trainer stage—usually in their early twenties—were they considered strong enough to take such risks.
Those who reached that level before twenty were deemed truly talented.
Otherwise, the families would stop wasting resources on them.
Silas nodded in full understanding.
He didn't think it unfair. It was logical. If your foundation was weak, then you simply had to make up for it with effort.
He'd known that from the very start.
Otherwise, he wouldn't be as strong as he was today.
"No wonder Yezo and the others at the Research Academy only receive bounty hunter missions when they reach the Advanced Student level before graduation."
Silas understood that rather than calling it a difference between academic and free-spirited trainers, it was more accurate to call it a difference between nobles and commoners.
The former could gain combat experience without ever leaving their homes — professionals would come to them to provide training.
With abundant resources, their early development was smooth and easy.
The latter, however, had to rely entirely on themselves.
Noble trainers traveled by various means of transportation, challenging Gyms in different cities before moving on to whatever they wished.
Common-born trainers, on the other hand, had to rely on their own feet and their Pokémon partners.
In addition to Gym challenges, they needed to consider what nearby places might yield profit or experience.
Of course, that didn't mean the nobles were guaranteed to be stronger — only that they started under better conditions.
Life, after all, is about more than just the beginning.
According to the Pokémon League's data, in recent years the proportion of Advance-level or higher trainers born to common families has steadily increased.
A deeper analysis suggests that perhaps because of their personal experiences, common-born trainers tend to outperform noble-born trainers — both in mission completion and battle capability.
Even when it comes to determining suitable development paths for Pokémon approaching the Elite-tier threshold, common-born trainers often show better judgment.
That is why, in recent years, more and more noble-family trainers have begun traveling to temper themselves.
In the later stages of training, closed-door practice alone is no longer effective.
Naturally, the ones most affected by this shift were the various criminal organizations.
They often discovered that the old tactic of stealing Pokémon from trainers in a given region no longer worked.
Even more dramatically, under the "enthusiastic efforts" of these noble-family trainers, smaller criminal groups — similar to Team Rocket cells — were completely eliminated.
Regional Leagues everywhere were delighted to see public safety improving, and so they encouraged more family members to travel, forming a positive cycle.
Traveling common-born trainers also welcomed them.
They no longer had to worry about disputes over rewards or betrayal.
These noble-born trainers had manners, discipline, and principles. Most only accepted the rewards they rightfully earned.
To put it bluntly, those resources didn't mean much to them anyway — some were even mass-produced by their own families.
Their motivation was simple: to honor their Pokémon's efforts by taking only what they had earned.
This was precisely the outcome that President Goodshow — the promoter of the League's ideals — had hoped to see.
After all, every noble family once began as commoners, and every family had worked hard at some point.
However, before the founding of the Pokémon League, millennia of monopolization had turned diligence into privilege.
Even with the existence of Pokémon, social stratification was inevitable.
That was why President Goodshow, despite pressure from old aristocratic families, pushed for reform — to make the Trainer profession truly accessible to everyone.
Only then could the League continue to thrive.
"I bet they didn't expect you to just order everyone to blow the place up," said Shosu, his tone full of schadenfreude, though he clearly didn't take it seriously.
After all, it was just a practice mission. Even if any potential clues in that Team Rocket warehouse had been destroyed, the League wouldn't blame them.
Silas nodded indifferently.
He had already changed his mindset.
He was now a fully recognized, well-connected trainer and not just with one backer.
Being aggressive in missions against criminal groups wasn't a problem; in fact, many people would applaud him for it.
Especially since the League now intended to promote him as a public figure.
After all, an orphan who had grown up in an orphanage, worked his way up to become a powerful trainer, possessed exceptional breeding talent, and fought firmly against evil — what better symbol could there be?
Silas was fully aware of his own image.
Someone like him was perfect for inspiring commoners.
The sound of a ship's engine echoed from afar, the Poké Ball insignia marking its allegiance.
Silas switched to the encrypted channel.
Soon, both sides confirmed identification.
"Area secure. League Transport D78 preparing to land," the pilot's voice came through his headset.
Moments later, as the ground trembled, the small transport ship touched down.
They directed their Pokémon to throw the captured Team Rocket members into the onboard containment cells.
The Pokémon League no longer practiced the death penalty. Even the most severe sentence was life imprisonment or rehabilitation labor.
Unless, of course, a few criminals were "accidentally" eliminated during a mission — in which case their deaths were written off as unavoidable.
Silas wondered how the League would handle things if they ever captured some of Team Rocket's high-ranking executives.
Ignoring the Rockets' complaints about being stacked uncomfortably in the cages, Silas looked toward the pilot.
"When did you start flying transport ships?" he asked, recognizing the voice.
"Ahaha, we're short on staff. The Special Operations Unit temporarily drafted me to help out," the pilot replied with a shrug as he locked the cages.
"Mainly for the extra pay — triple overtime," he added.
The pilot was none other than Takeshi Shirai, assistant to Prosecutor Miharu Iruma.
"What did you even do here? The place looks wrecked," Shirai asked, glancing toward the shattered remains of a building half-submerged in a puddle.
"Nothing much. Just set off some fireworks," Silas said calmly.
"Alright then, I'm off — tight schedule," Shirai replied, waving before taking off in the ship. He'd seen plenty of "artistic destruction" before.
"An acquaintance?" Yezo approached as others continued chatting about their first real mission.
"Yeah. Met him on a previous assignment — works for the Prosecutor's Office. Technically our senior," Silas explained.
Yezo nodded.
Just then, all of their wrist communicators buzzed at once.
"Beep—"
"Return to Seafoam island immediately."
It was a message from their internal League mission channel.
....
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