Truth be told, the old man wasn't wrong. In a situation like this, ninety-nine percent of parents would do exactly what he did—that's human nature.
The other one percent are outliers—usually labeled "not normal," and set aside.
When parents break their word and lose a child's trust, the child will reject their pleas one hundred percent of the time. That, too, is human nature. Kids push back just to push back, to make a point, to get even for the broken promise.
And that's usually when it turns into a battle of force—something Reiji had always despised in his previous life. It echoed that rotten saying he'd heard too many times: parents don't need to pass any exam; they can beat their kids however they want—if the kid dies, it's still "their kid." In a world where social trust is shattered, you learn to invert every "expert opinion" and do the opposite. Someone gets their satisfaction; someone else eats the bitterness.
"I don't need that, old man." Skinny shook his head, gaze steady with Reiji-like resolve.
"Why won't you listen? Do you need another beating?" The old man knew his grandson's stubborn streak; words alone wouldn't move him. But the boy's reaction was off—no shouting, no tantrum, no rolling on the floor. Just a calm stare, waiting for the next move.
When he stayed silent, Skinny spoke softly, "Grandpa, I know exactly what kind of trainer I'm learning from, and exactly what I'm doing. If you have to hit me, go ahead.
"This will also be the last time I call you Grandpa. After today, I won't come back. I have my own trainer's road to walk—and I won't regret it."
"…Sigh." Hearing that, the old man couldn't bring himself to raise a hand. The boy had grown up.
Money could no longer leash him; the Primeape alone could fetch at least two million. Once he left, that would be his income. The trainer's road no longer needed Grandpa's wallet. The boy could finally fly on his own.
He couldn't restrain the kid anymore. The choice now was to preserve their bond and stay a supporter—or let the boy go.
Looking into those unflinching eyes, the old man softened. He thought of the boy's parents. This was the boy who could finally hear that story—the one he'd been waiting for. A kid, no, a man without blood and iron in him… the old man hadn't dared to tell him anything.
What he himself had failed to do, someone else had done—and that stung. The boy had grown, could stand alone… and he felt unhappy about it. Laughable, really.
There was no turning back. Whether handing the boy to Reiji had been right or wrong, the old man could only walk this dark road with him.
He swallowed the blame and tried to ease the air. "Kiddo, Grandpa won't interfere with your choices anymore. Just tell me—what has he been teaching you?" Saying "I won't interfere" added ten years to his face in a heartbeat, but seeing the boy think like an adult and face him calmly was still a comfort.
"Grandpa… you're not against Big Brother anymore?" Skinny had braced for a beating; instead, Grandpa yielded. That was a first.
"Forget it. I won't meddle—as long as you're clear about what you're doing. Saves me the trouble of being the hated nag." He curled his lip; he didn't name names.
"I was teasing. How could I not have a grandpa?" Skinny rubbed his nose, then hugged the man's arm like a child.
"Alright, then tell me—what's he planning to teach you? What has he already taught?" The old man smiled despite himself. As long as the boy still called him Grandpa, he wouldn't oppose it. The harder he pushed, the harder the kid pushed back; when he softened, the boy softened too.
"Big Brother taught me a lot. He's going to pass my Poliwhirl the combo technique it mastered." Skinny went on about their campfire talk, Reiji's donations to the orphanage, the food he'd bought for the kids.
Bit by bit, the old man's view of Reiji shifted—no longer a cold-blooded killer, but a trainer trying to live quietly.
"He taught you to study Abilities?"
"To become a qualified trainer?"
"There are no useless Pokémon—only useless trainers…"
"So he himself isn't 'strong' yet, and you want to see higher peaks?"
Listening, the old man even laughed with him a few times. He grasped the boy's ambition: first become competent—learn the knowledge that matters—understand what a trainer truly is. Then keep climbing, over peak after peak, to become the strongest.
It was a good ambition. If he'd had one like it as a boy, he might not have wasted his youth at the threshold of Elite level, never touching the Elite Four.
No wonder Skinny refused to switch teachers—even if it meant risking the bond with his grandfather for someone he'd known only two days.
"Grandpa, I don't just want to see higher peaks—I want to surpass them and become someone else's peak." The boast came out bold.
"Haha! Good. I'll be waiting to see it." The old man was relieved—the boy had left behind street-corner pecking and found a goal worth bleeding for.
For a moment he stopped regretting it. Maybe learning under Reiji was the right path, and the kid had gotten a positive compass out of it—and, best of all, he was calling him Grandpa again. A teacher for free, too; hard not to be pleased.
"Right—Grandpa, I already paid one million in tuition. I still owe nine hundred thousand. Please sell this Primeape so I can pay the rest…"
Cold water from scalp to heels.
"What? A million? Are you stupid? He has an agreement with me—you don't pay a thing!" The old man bristled. It felt like Reiji was taking advantage of a child; a part of him wanted to storm off and argue. A million is a million.
"Grandpa, I asked him. The agreement stands—but he still wants a million. You really don't see what that money means?" Skinny's voice was quiet.
If he hadn't been willful, there'd be no need to pay. This was the cost of his willfulness—his first lesson in life, one he'd remember. If Reiji didn't want to teach him, no number would matter. And clearly, Reiji wasn't short on cash. The fee was a step down for both sides—a way to make it clean. What he'd learn wasn't something money could simply buy.
"…Fine. A million is a million. Small change." The old man exhaled. He understood and let it go.
"Your first time killing a bad man—any fallout?" He worried the boy might have nightmares.
"No, Grandpa. I was nervous at first, but I'm okay now." He repeated what Reiji had told him.
"Big Brother understands the headspace before and after killing. He talked me through it. I've settled."
"Good." The old man hadn't expected him to steady so fast—only three or four hours since the fight. Whatever Reiji said, it worked.
"Grandpa, he told me to have confidence. He said those two were scum and not to carry it—and that when justice can't be served, pure revenge becomes the only justice."
"When justice can't be served… pure revenge becomes the only justice…" The old man rolled the line on his tongue. He agreed. That's how he'd lived when he was young.
His worries eased. From their talk alone, he could tell the boy hadn't chosen the wrong guide. A young man who considered both before and after the kill—frightening, but better a friend than an enemy.
He'd learned enough about Reiji to trust that he wasn't using the boy or throwing him to the wolves. If he hadn't told Skinny, nothing would have happened. But he chose to tell him—and let him choose. The old man knew his grandson; the boy would rush to save a hostage without hesitation.
Two days, and the kid had already changed this much. Whatever came next, Grandpa would have to keep pace.
Seeing that resolve, he finally let go of the secret he'd hidden for years.
"Listen… seeing you now, it's time I told you about your parents."
"Really, Grandpa? No lies this time?" He'd been disappointed too often to hope.
"Eight years ago—you were three—your parents took you on a cruise. Pirates hit the ship. They died. When there's time, I'll take you to their graves."
"I already knew." Skinny didn't cry.
He'd known all along. Otherwise Grandpa wouldn't have put him in the orphanage, where every child had lost their parents. He belonged there for the same reason. If pirates did it, he would settle with pirates one day.
"You… already knew?" The old man pulled him into a tight hug, heart aching at the boy's calm.
"Everyone at the orphanage has no parents, Grandpa. I knew." Skinny didn't resist. He leaned into the warmth.
"It's been eight years… Listen. Don't go after pirates without strength. For all we know, those same men are already dead. When you're strong enough, if you want to hunt other pirates, fine—but only if you can protect yourself. Pirates are killers; I don't want you in that bloodbath. Understand?"
"I understand. I won't set out without strength." He nodded. Having almost died tonight, he knew how fragile life was. If not for Reiji, he would've been the one under the leaves. He had to grow stronger—or forget revenge. Charging out weak was just suicide.
"Good. Wait here. I'll go move the Pokémon. I'll give you the money later—bring his share to him tomorrow. As for your three million, keep it for your team."
Relieved, the old man stood to leave and arrange sales.
"Okay, Grandpa. I'm not going back tonight—I'll sleep here," He said, smiling. As the door closed, he called, "And call the director—tell him I won't be back, so he shouldn't wait."
The old man paused to leave a final promise. "I'll call now. And in a couple of days, I'll get you a new Pokémon—strong, and nobody else knows about it yet. A real surprise. Wait for it."
"Got it, Grandpa." Skinny believed him—like with Poliwhirl and Breloom, he trusted Grandpa to find something good.
The door clicked shut. Alone in the quiet room, Skinny finally let go. The tears he'd been holding swelled and rolled, fat and hot, as he cried into his sleeves—softly, so no one would hear.
He wasn't as strong as he looked. He just didn't want anyone to see the soft parts. After all this, he wasn't the old Skinny, and he couldn't go back to that innocence.
He'd learned to mask weakness and face things head-on. He did feel a little bad for the chubby kid he used to pal around with—next time they met, he'd probably scare the guy half to death.
(End of Chapter)
[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]
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