They dealt with the guard, then walked to the cell holding Ren and unlocked the iron door.
Inside, the three men were tied to chairs, asleep.
Reiji released Spinarak, which skittered forward and bit each man once, pumping in venom and jolting all three awake with pain.
"Who's there? I told you everything—just let me sleep a little… just a little…"
Ren lifted his head and saw Reiji and Shun standing there without their Ditto masks.
"You… you two?" Terror wiped the color from his face. Bound like this, he was meat on a board.
"You're awake," Reiji said.
He took a cigarette from Shun, lit it, and exhaled, the tension finally easing out of his shoulders.
Only the dead keep secrets.
Thwap.
Shun, curious, lit one for himself. Reiji plucked it from his lips and flicked him on the head.
"Kids don't smoke."
"Hey! Anybody? Where is everyone?"
Reiji heard Ren shouting and smiled. "Don't bother. Pirates are boarding. No one's coming, and no one's watching this place."
"What… what are you going to do?" Ren's voice shook.
In his head, a different story had played out: he would get Elekid, become a senior coach at the club—maybe even a shareholder—marry Keiko, have two big, healthy sons, climb to the Elite, and live happily ever after.
But now…
"That's my line," Reiji said. "I was about to leave. If you wanted Elekid, why not wait until I was gone and grab Shun after? He would've been alone. No one to stop you."
"You… only you were leaving? I thought… I thought—"
"You thought Shun was coming with me? Hah."
Shun tugged a face. "I'm right here, you know."
"And kids still don't smoke," Reiji said, deadpan.
Ren let out a long breath. "You win. Please… don't hurt Keiko. She didn't know. Taking Elekid was my idea. She's a good girl. I failed her."
"Sure. You say it, so it must be true," Reiji snorted.
He'd already warned Shun: people are complicated, and the darker guess might be right.
"Reiji… you mean Keiko-nee might've been involved?" Shun stared, stunned. That gentle, kind big sister—could she really be that cruel?
"No. Keiko didn't know—please, don't touch her," Ren said quickly, reading Reiji's look. "Especially after what I tried to do to you—he'll never let her go if you push him."
So Ren pleaded with the only soft spot left in the room: Shun.
"People are messy, Shun," Reiji sighed.
He finished the cigarette, flicked it away, and patted Shun's shoulder.
"Time's about up."
"Time for what? Uhh—"
Ren turned as his two companions began to spasm. Their faces went black-purple, blood wetting the corners of their mouths.
Poison—far gone.
He finally noticed his own arm: numb, the skin already mottled and crawling up toward his chest and face.
His time was short.
He fixed on Shun, who stood with his head down, muttering "no way" under his breath.
"Shun—she didn't know," Ren begged. "Don't hurt Keiko. Please… don't…"
His head slumped to one side.
The room went quiet.
"Alright," Reiji said softly. "Don't tie yourself in knots over a maybe. If you want the truth, ask her yourself."
He pulled out burlap sacks.
Shun drew a breath. "So Keiko-nee might have been involved… or not."
"No conclusions without facts," Reiji said. "I suspected, that's all. If you want certainty, go back and ask. Give me a hand."
Whether Keiko had a hand in it didn't really change what came next. If she had, it was Shun's call how to deal with it.
"…Okay. I'll look into it," Shun said.
He didn't want to believe it.
If even someone that kind had only been acting, who could he trust besides Reiji, Grandpa, the old director, and Bunta?
They bagged the bodies.
Reiji released his Poliwhirl and had Shun do the same.
Two trainers, two Poliwhirl, three sacks—they carried the load to the deck by elevator.
The fight on deck still raged.
They'd already changed back into their own clothes in the cell and left the sailor uniforms there.
Ditto reshaped their faces again; they saw almost no one on the way—passengers were holed up in their cabins.
They took nothing from the three men. The valuables were probably already stripped by crew and sitting in the captain's office.
They had what mattered: the three who'd chased them.
Reiji whistled.
The Pelipper pair swooped in, clamped the sacks, and hurled them far into the sea.
While the birds worked, Reiji mulled the motive he already knew: Elekid.
All that blood over a single Elekid with great potential.
Was it worth it?
Only the dead could answer.
He realized he'd misjudged the heavy-spending brothers'. The man had been played but hadn't come for revenge.
This hadn't been Taro's order after all.
Good.
If those money-to-burn types had boxed him in, he'd have gone full dark just to break them.
He was a lone wolf. Win or lose, he'd swing.
If he died, it was only one life.
If they lost, it could be everything.
He smirked to himself. Right now he was like a coin standing on its edge—no villain yet, but it wouldn't take much to tip.
The Pelipper returned from the drop—right as a knot of pirates scrambled over the rail and spotted them.
More climbed up behind, ugly and eager.
Reiji yanked the pins on a smoke, a tear-gas, and a pepper canister and chucked all three.
"Go!" he shouted.
Shun had already mounted up. Pelipper surged away into the gray morning.
Reiji sprang onto the other bird and shot into the haze.
By the time Flying-types blew the clouds away, the boys were long gone.
"Damn it," a pirate spat. "Forget them. We head for the luxury suites."
Grease was on the top deck.
The poor decks could wait—and the top deck was where the ship's strongest trainers stood a line: the captain, the boatswain, the first mate. A near–Elite Four captain with a Golduck that could freeze a senior trainer in place with a thought.
Exactly how Ren had gone down without a swing.
None of that mattered to Reiji and Shun anymore.
They were done with this mess.
With the three pursuers gone, they could focus on finding land, eating a real meal, and sleeping like stones.
Two days straight on the run had wrung them dry; both nearly nodded off on Pelipper's backs.
Reiji forced himself to think. "Easy pace. No rush."
He pulled out the Orange Archipelago map and a compass.
They had a heading, but no reference points—no way to fix their exact spot on the map until they found land.
"East," he decided. "Follow the sunrise. Even if we drift, we'll hit an island sooner or later."
Pelipper, a true seabird, would help.
"Find us the nearest island," he told the birds. "We're counting on you."
The pair cried and beat for the light.
Crew and pirates alike saw two small figures winging off into the brightening sky.
The captain watched from the upper deck and could only grit his teeth. He had a battle to win.
By the time he finished, the two would be dots.
In a cabin window, a red-haired girl also watched them go and ground her teeth hard enough to creak.
She would find them.
Especially the jerk who had pinned her, waved a knife at her, and called her flat.
She was fifteen!
How could he say that?
She bit down on the bread in her hands—the bread and milk that same jerk had left behind for her.
Her Poké Balls were all where they should be. She released Wartortle—
No, Blastoise now.
It had evolved in the chaos, likely trying to protect her.
"Blas—toi—se," the big turtle rumbled, scanning the room.
Seeing no intruders, it relaxed a touch.
"Thanks for watching my back," she said, breaking off bread for it. "Stay with me. There are still pirates."
To be fair, the jerk had kept his word. He hadn't taken anything and left at dawn.
They'd looked exhausted.
Whatever.
Once they docked, she'd go home—and next time, she wasn't sneaking out.
Sun up.
The pirates were beaten back, and the whole ship exhaled.
Losses weren't as bad as feared—unlucky, but not catastrophic. The captain's near–Elite Four strength had turned the tide.
Back in his office, he sent a runner to bring Ren up.
He wanted to know who those two boys were—the ones who'd made him dance and then slipped away right under his nose.
The runner returned with two sets of clothes and a report:
All three prisoners gone.
The guard had been locked in a cell, and two sailor uniforms were found inside.
"Heh. Missing," the captain said, smiling to himself.
Dead and dumped, more like.
The trail went cold—until another sailor hurried in, breathless, with better news:
The cook wasn't dead.
He'd been strung up outside the rail all night and cut down after the battle.
The captain laughed out loud and waved everyone away.
He needed a minute.
Alone, he looked to the corner at the haul stripped from the three men: eighteen Poké Balls, some cash, a scatter of valuables and junk.
No owner now.
The men were gone—no one to claim or complain.
And his own people were alive.
He didn't need ransom or compensation. Selling eighteen trained Pokémon would bring in a tidy sum.
He wasn't hurting for money, not on a captain's pay.
But who ever minds a little extra?
If you use a man as a blade, you still deserve a fee.
Maybe that's why those two boys left without asking for a cut.
Smart little devils.
They used the rules and the room they were in.
No wonder the three ended up dead.
The dead tell no tales, and no one cares enough to ask.
His people lived, and he made a bonus.
The boys shed their hunters and flew free.
A neat ending.
Win-win.
As for who the dead were, or what they'd wanted—
Who really cared?
(End of Chapter)
[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]
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