The so-called "big spend" was really just two purchases.
Two of the cheapest, most practical items he could buy without bankrupting himself:
the cheapest Energy Cube maker, and
the cheapest Energy Cube formula, both from the [Exchange] tab.
The compact home Energy Cube machine cost 500 Ancient Energy.The unnamed "all-round growth" Cube recipe was 1,000 Ancient Energy.
One click later, Ethan's Ancient Energy dropped by nearly 16%, leaving him with about 7,600.
Thankfully, the plug-in didn't materialize the items in mid-air like before; they went straight into his [Backpack]. Ethan pulled them from the last two slots.
The Cube maker stood about half a meter tall—cylindrical, very "blender-adjacent," and mains-powered. A clear top chamber (around four liters) housed a two-finger-thick spindle with a razor-bright blade set. Below sat a chunky base (about half the unit's height) that clearly handled heating/curing—turning puree into crystalized cubes. Three short metal legs lifted the unit a centimeter, with the finished cubes dispensing from the center.
Foolproof: load, press, wait, cube. Ethan gave the system a mental thumbs-up and a five-star "review."
The formula? Printed on two A4 sheets—cheap looking enough to annoy him (he'd expected aged vellum at least). The ratios matched the small machine's batch size. Core ingredients: precious Star Peach and Wood berries (5% of total). Then Zhili, Dragon's Eye, Sandscale, Dragonfire, Apricot, Lanza, etc., with the remaining half made up by high-grade Oran-class fruit.
The sheet hammered the point: follow the ratios to hit best-quality cubes. Baseline cubes would have only a faint mixed-fruit scent; you could add flavor berries (sour/sweet/bitter/spicy/astringent) to taste—ratios provided. Optional functional additives (brain, physique, coat/beauty) were also listed with safe percentages. The process was simple:
Core mix (Star Peach can't budge): wash, chop, load by ratio.
Flavor profile: choose one taste lane to match the mon.
One functional boost (mutually exclusive).
Lid on, button pressed, wait for cubes.
Set a plate down and even the Persian next door would start drooling.
That was the mental walkthrough; now the reality check. Ethan opened [Exchange] to price ingredients. Ouch. One full batch's fruit, if bought via the plug-in, ran 400+ Ancient Energy—nearly the cost of a Shadow Ball disc for Abra. From testing, he'd pegged disc pricing: damaging moves ≈ power × 10; most status moves sat around 1,000. Conclusion: only grab rare stuff (Star Peach, Muzi) through the plug-in; source the rest in the real market.
Money, after all, is renewable.
With machine + recipe in hand, a long-held obsession clicked into place: once he hit advanced tiers, he wouldn't have to bow to breeders for bespoke rations.
He hit the shopping sites and ordered every berry except Star Peach and Muzi (both sold out). Two carts—one tailored for Houndour, one for Abra—came to just over ¥30,000. Pricey, but not insane: his family's Oran-type sold for ¥10 locally, ¥30–40 outside; Golden Pillow ran ¥500+; Sandscale hit the thousands. Muzi was basically priceless—one fruit had made Lana cry.
For a minute he considered catching a few Grass-types as orchard hands to scale the family grove—then scrapped it. He was an only child; earning for himself was enough. Let his parents tend the village orchard and actually enjoy life.
With Houndour and Abra, he could make money anywhere.
After eighteen straight battles and a bath in a pro-tier Delphox flame, Houndour needed a settle-in cycle; Ethan also needed time to sync with Abra. Plan: rest a few days, farm Ancient Energy, then draft new programs for both.
At noon he heaped a bowl of pellets for Houndour and pressed a Golden Pillow into a very sleepy Abra's hand.
Abra reflex-bit, chewed once, and woke.
"Another Golden Pillow? Good fruit, but it doesn't cover my daily macros. If I'm short, I'll need more sleep to compensate—which means no training."
Music to Ethan's ears; he hadn't even brought up training yet.
"I've got Psychic-line rations on the way. I'll add some Oran after. That work?"
Abra mm-hmm'd, shut its eyes, and let instinct do the eating.
With food sorted, Ethan pulled a fresh notebook. The cover: a white-haired sage floating cross-legged, five spoons haloed in violet aura.
Mega Alakazam.
This book would be Abra's training ledger. He kept one per teammate; maybe decades from now his binders would be as coveted as Zhang Yi's manual.
Houndour finished eating, padded over, and eyed the two notebooks. Abra's book looked pristine and premium—with its iconic cover it practically radiated mystique. Houndour's own was a plain, oil-smudged black ledger without even his name on it.
Rage bubbled.
"Awoo—!"
"HEY! You little menace—why'd you bite me?!"
Good thing for long sleeves—just a reddened forearm, no puncture.
"Stupid dog, want to live or be stew? Give me a reason or the whole village's getting dog-hotpot tonight!"
Ethan scruffed Houndour and set him on the desk. The pup planted one paw on Abra's fancy book, jabbed the other at his sorry notebook, then stared Ethan down, eyes brimming.
"Lubi… lubi… lubi…"(So I'm not your baby anymore now that you've got that flirty fox?)
"Lubi… lubi…"(Can't even give me a decent notebook…)
It was hard to stay mad at a soggy-eyed drama queen.
"Okay! Okay. I'll buy you the same cover. Happy?"
He pulled up the store, found the exact design, and one-clicked.
Instant mood shift. Tail wag. Full-body rub against Ethan's leg.
…who among us isn't a little princess, honestly?
Rights successfully defended, Houndour hopped to the bed and shouldered Abra over to make space.
If it sleeps on the bed, I sleep on the bed.
Ethan stared.
Two tiny tyrants. Where was he supposed to sleep?