Slowly, Green loosened her grip on him. She bit down lightly on her lower lip, her bright eyes glaring at Logan with a mixture of anger and shyness. Her voice, half pouting and half teasing, trembled as she said:
"…But even so, if you ever make me cry again, I'll never forgive you!"
"Then don't forgive me~~ I'll just make you cry again next time."
Logan shrugged with a crooked smile, his tone playful.
"What was that?"
His voice had been too low. Green hadn't caught it.
"Nothing."
He turned his head away, refusing to repeat those words that carried more meaning than he wanted to admit.
"…Still, it was way too embarrassing. I actually cried in front of so many people."
"Maybe in front of Trainers it looks embarrassing," Logan replied, folding his arms, "but to ordinary people? That was just you showing your true emotions. Don't you see the comments online? People are saying I was too harsh—that I made such a cute girl cry."
"That's because they don't understand what being a Trainer really means."
Green pouted, unhappy.
The kind words online, those calling her cute and pretty—none of it made her happy. Before being "just a girl," she was a Trainer. Even with her severe fear of bird Pokémon, crying was something she could never allow herself—it was a shameful weakness.
But somehow, Logan twisted even that moment into a "method to help her find her parents." The way he spun words… Green was both angry and amused. This man's silver tongue was too dangerous—he could almost make her thank him for making her cry.
Calming herself, Green's sharp mind started working again. She wouldn't let herself be completely tricked.
Even so—
"…I still need to thank you. For everything you've done for me. But next up is Red's match against Blue Oak. No matter who wins… you'd better take the championship."
Before Logan could react, Green threw her arms around his neck—and kissed him.
It wasn't just a brush of lips. It was deep, lingering, her breath and sweetness completely entangled with his own.
When she finally pulled away, panting slightly, she wiped the faint trace of saliva from her lips. She pushed aside his wandering hand with a little slap and gazed at him with watery, playful eyes.
"…Consider that your reward. But when it comes to finding my parents—that's my job. They're my parents, after all."
She chuckled softly, stepping back. "Handsome, if you don't win the championship… I'll mock you mercilessly!"
Brushing the dust from her skirt, she stood shakily, her legs numb from crouching too long. Logan tried to help her up, but she waved him off. Picking up her Pokédex, she started toward the door.
"…Seriously, this is a bathroom. Let's continue this conversation somewhere else."
"You were the one who dragged me in here," Logan muttered, lips twitching as if savoring the faint minty taste left behind.
"Oh, by the way, Green."
"Mm?"
She stopped at the doorway, her hands behind her back, turning her head slightly to look at him.
"Professor Oak wants to see you. No matter what, you should apologize. Stealing is still wrong. That old man has a soft heart—he'll forgive you if you just say it properly."
Green lowered her gaze, embarrassed, and nodded.
She knew as well as anyone—being a thief was not a real future.
"From now on, unless it's absolutely necessary, don't steal again."
"Then you'll take care of me instead?" Green teased, grinning slyly.
"Sure. How about a hundred million a month as allowance?"
Logan raised an eyebrow. After all, he had taken sixty billion dollars' worth of assets from Team Rocket. By this world's currency scale, that was more than six trillion! Supporting Green would be nothing—he could build a whole palace of women if he wanted.
"Hmph! I'll wash my face first then, Mr. Moneybags. Don't forget my hundred million!"
She pushed open the door, humming as she left, her long legs striding away and leaving Logan with nothing but her vanishing figure.
"This girl… truly impossible to predict."
Logan shook his head.
…
As for Ghriselle, he wasn't even sure how he made it back to his hotel.
His expression was vacant, his steps mechanical. Once inside, he immediately powered on his laptop and replayed the video of the semi-finals again and again, staring without blinking.
"…Perfect. Absolutely perfect… That's the treasure I've been seeking."
His voice was trembling, feverish, like a man possessed—but behind it was a hollow sadness.
That boy. He had seen him before, back on the S.S. Anne. Back then, he witnessed the sheer beauty of Pokémon—the majestic Dragonair commanding the storm.
Now, the boy had grown stronger. His Pokémon more beautiful. When Ghriselle saw the legendary three birds of Kanto, he fell into a spiral of obsession.
Compared to those glorious legends, his former "treasures" suddenly seemed like cheap trinkets, worthless.
But he knew—he could never truly possess them. He wasn't a Trainer. Even if he had been, no Trainer could tame the true legends. They were far beyond imagination.
He slumped in the luxury chair of his suite, drowning his despair in glass after glass of alcohol, desperate to numb the ache.
And then—
"Do you wish to make them your treasures? Even if only for a fleeting moment? Even if it costs you your very life?"
A chilling voice whispered.
"Who's there?!"
Ghriselle jerked upright, spinning toward the window. And what he saw froze his blood.
A figure hovered outside, cloaked in black robes like a reaper, a twisted mask covering its face.
Every instinct screamed. Terror filled his mind until only one thought remained:
He was being stared at by Death itself.
"I ask you—do you want the legends as your treasures? Even for a single moment? Will you gamble your life? Know this—those who seek to control gods without the right to do so will be devoured by them!"
Ghriselle barely understood, but his mind warped under the voice. Like an addict, he flailed, shouting with manic desperation:
"…Yes! Yes! I want it! I am the world's greatest collector, but my collection lacks true treasures! That, I cannot allow!"
His cry was shrill, like an owl wailing in the night.
"…Then I'll give you a chance."
The reaper-like man set two items on the table. Then, like mist, he vanished.
Only after a long while did Ghriselle's frenzy fade. He blinked, disoriented, wondering if it had all been drunken hallucination.
But when he turned—and saw the two objects on the table—he knew it had been real.
He rushed forward, hands trembling as he opened the ancient scroll. Beside it lay a strange crystalline energy core.
"…This is—"
The scroll was filled with diagrams, its style unmistakably from a lost civilization. It described weapons built to challenge the gods themselves. The crystal core was the weapon's power source.
And on the final page… an embossed carving of the Three Legendary Birds.
"Power stripped from the gods themselves…"
Ghriselle's eyes widened, his heart racing. His breath came in rapid gasps, part terror, part ecstasy.
Yes, it was true. To try and wield such power was to invite death. But he didn't care.
Even a minute. Even a single hour with such treasures—his name as the world's greatest collector would finally be worthy.
"…But the cost to build this weapon will be enormous."
Then he smiled. "No matter. I'll sell every lesser piece in my collection. I'll use my connections, my resources. One way or another… I'll build this 'Ancient Weapon.'"
His dream—the ultimate dream—was now within reach.
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