Poliwhirl's training method works—and it's strong.
But the results they copied weren't what they hoped. Reiji was almost certainly holding something back—the real trick behind Waterfall's burst.
They did recreate the burst, sure, but only the surface of it. The version they learned had clear flaws.
Whether it was the impact or the force during a burst Waterfall, theirs was much lower than that of Reiji's Poliwhirl. Endurance was bad too—ten or so uses and it fell off, and each burst got weaker than the last.
It never matched what they'd seen in that battle: that Poliwhirl chaining more than ten bursts in a row, every one at full power. They still hadn't found the key.
They watched the match footage countless times. They also tested close-range bursts: when every strike landed on a target dummy, the power stayed high.
But opponents aren't dummies. The moment the target dodged, their Poliwhirl would launch off the field and smack the wall, knocking itself out.
After rounds of going in circles, one senior coach finally said what they were all thinking: there's no point stumbling around in the dark—just invite the trainer to join the club. If the club pays to buy the technique, we'll know exactly how it works.
That was the second reason the long-haired youth came to Reiji: they wanted the deeper secret behind that burst, not the "Waterfall burst" surface-level spiel you feed amateurs.
That's fine for hobbyists. But they're club trainers. This is their job.
"Kid, will you just hear me out?" The long-haired youth stepped in front of Reiji and got to the point. "How about joining the Water-Type Club? Great pay. Name your terms—anything's on the table."
"No thanks." Reiji had already noticed the drop logo on his chest.
"Give me one minute," the youth said, realizing the guy either didn't grasp the offer's weight or was simply wary. He cut the fluff and laid out the boss's authority in full: "Ten-million annual salary. You can pick one near–Ace-tier* baby from our flagship daycare. We'll include one of our in-house raising manuals—the kind that actually gets trainers to Elite level. One high-grade evolution stone. One veteran-tier item. You're not yet an official trainer, right? Join us and we'll sponsor your League certification as a rookie trainer. That's just the entry package. Room and board after signing. Stipends for raising your team. How's that sound?"
"One minute's up. Not bad. I'll think on it for two days." Reiji glanced at the second hand finishing its lap, sidestepped the youth, and kept walking.
The long-haired youth didn't chase. He'd said enough. If the guy still turned it down, that wasn't because the offer was stingy.
Once Reiji was clear, his heart was thudding. The calm face was an act. Inside he'd blurted a silent holy crap. How could he not be fired up?
Ten million a year. In his past life he barely cleared ten thousand a month, and then got "optimized" for stepping in with his left foot first. He took the severance and went fishing, done with bosses and their empty promises.
But now the salary wasn't a promise—it was in writing. Say yes… or say yes?
Opportunities don't come twice.
And the League rookie certification instead of being a wild trainer—that's exactly what he wanted.
And a high-grade Water Stone. Those are treasures—even cash can't pull one. No wonder he couldn't find any; the deep-pocketed folks had them all locked up.
Plus a pick from the flagship daycare's near–Ace-tier babies, the stone, ten-million salary, and certification… it was a lot to tempt him.
The cost? Going back to eating a boss's promises—with strings everywhere.
Obviously the club wanted something. Otherwise they wouldn't put down that kind of bait. He guessed it was all about Poliwhirl.
Take the goodies and bail? Dream on. They'd never let him fleece them.
The "salary" would probably sit in escrow and drip out after New Year.
The baby pokemon? Maybe only after X years of service. Same for the high-grade Water Stone.
He knew these games too well.
The only straightforward perk was the League rookie certification.
Benefits that big come with a bill. The contract would likely lock him in five years, maybe ten.
Ten years of youth, traded for petty punishments, unpaid overtime, scapegoating—and being told to "be grateful."
Yeah, no.
Money? He wasn't hurting. Pokémon? Not really. High-grade Water Stone? He did want that. League rookie status? He wanted that too…
The stone will come later somehow—no rush.
League certification? Also doable later—just takes time.
The offer was golden, but he didn't need it that badly.
He wasn't going back to being a corporate cog. Business wasn't his thing either. He'd just… do the odd smash-and-grab to keep things going…
Turning that over, Reiji went straight to the Sailor Bar, up to the second floor, and found Grandpa.
He didn't mince words: "Got any way to skip the League's six requirements and the three-year wait to become a certified rookie trainer?"
Grandpa was eating grapes the waitress had just peeled. Reiji barged in again, so he waved her off and sighed. "You want League certification?"
"No kidding. Who doesn't?" Reiji spread his hands, then explained: "The club tried to recruit me. Big package—ten-million salary, a talented baby pokemon from their daycare, and they'll get me certified. What do you think?"
"Heh. Did you accept?" Grandpa smiled. It was a loaded offer—most folks couldn't say no.
"Not yet. Thinking it over."
"Good. It's a pit once you step in. At least five years. Break the deal and you get none of it—and you pay a penalty." Grandpa exhaled a ribbon of smoke and, privately, was impressed the kid could resist.
"Knew it," Reiji muttered. "What about that League-certified trainer bit? Any trap there?"
"It's just a recommendation letter." Grandpa flicked ash. "It introduces you to a Gym so you can become the Gym Leader's apprentice. With that, you skip the six conditions and the three-year wait. The Leader becomes your guarantor, and the League registers you as a rookie trainer."
"So tight?" Reiji finally saw the weight of a Gym Leader's network.
Leaders are the League's backbone—just under the Elite Four. As the name says there's only four of them, but there can be lots of Leaders, almost one per city.
If a Leader vouches for a rookie, the League nods. Easy.
"It used to be even tighter. It's already loosened. Those six conditions are the absolute floor. If you get in by 'three years of observation,' the League still doesn't trust you."
Grandpa's eyes dimmed with old memories. "If you rank trust levels, Gym apprentices are first. Rookies under the six conditions are next. The three-year observation ones are last.
"And if you got in by observation, it's your next generation the League will truly accept. That's how it was in my day."
"Got it." Reiji sighed. It looked like there was only the Gym route for him.
The six conditions? Without immediate family to vouch, no way.
Three-year observation? Even then the League won't trust you until the next generation. That's brutal.
He'd never felt so boxed in. Why body-cross and not soul-cross… Why not toss him a pair of cheap parents while at it?
"In your case, the only path is to be a Gym apprentice. If you can become a Gym Leader's disciple—not just an apprentice—you'll be League core. Truly one of their own.
"If that Leader has no heir, you could even contend for the Gym in time, and use that as a springboard to challenge the Elite Four.
"If you take a chair, you might even go for Champion—if you can beat the Champ."
"C'mon, don't start pitching dreams. Most folks top out at Elite Four at best. Even if you snag Champion, can you hold it?" Reiji shot back.
Without a family machine behind you—without resources to raise teams—it's near impossible. And even if you somehow won the title, challengers would knock you off. One loss and it's over. No one wins forever.
Grandpa coughed, not offended. He was indeed aiming Shun that way.
For someone like Reiji with no parents on the books, the Gym path was the only door that would open.
"So that's what you're doing with Shun? Pushing toward an Elite seat?" Reiji could see Grandpa shaping Shun into a Fighting specialist. With time, every one of the kid's partners had Elite potential.
Even if Shun missed the Elite Four, he could still run a Fighting-type Gym. The old man had a roadmap.
Having a grandpa who backs your dream of being Elite? That's amazing.
Reiji felt a twinge of envy for the lucky kid.
"You're right," Grandpa said softly. "Three generations of effort aiming at that chair. My son should've been the one, but… he left too early. So it falls to Shun."
"He can do it," Reiji said. He'd seen the team's panels—real top-end potential across the board.
"And I owe you for setting him straight," Grandpa added. "He'd be wasting time without you."
"Don't mention it." Reiji got what he came for and stood to go.
If that club "certification" was just a recommendation letter, he didn't need the club at all. He could go straight to a Gym.
And odds were the letter came after signing the contract. If he failed the Leader's test, he wouldn't even get to be an apprentice—letter trashed—and he'd still owe five years of labor. Sucker's deal.
No thanks. The Gym apprentice was the gate, though.
If he was joining a Gym, he'd start with one in the Orange Archipelago—close by. That would be his next target.
[End of Chapter]
[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]
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