Professor Leni didn't belong in Cerulean.
He stepped off the bus near one of the quieter transport hubs with the posture of a man expecting to be stopped. A small suitcase in one hand. A folder held tight to his chest like it could block a knife.
He scanned the crowd once, then again, eyes darting to reflections in glass panels and the dark mouth of side streets. He looked like someone who had learned that the safest way to survive was to be forgettable.
Enzo watched from across the street.
Finally, he crossed when the flow of pedestrians thickened, using the crowd the same way he always did: as cover. He didn't approach from the front. He came from the side, slipping into Leni's peripheral vision without announcing himself.
Leni flinched anyway.
His grip tightened on the folder. His shoulders rose as if bracing for impact.
"Professor Leni," Enzo said, low enough that it wouldn't carry.
Leni blinked, then forced his face into something professional. "Yes. You're… Enzo?"
Enzo nodded once. "You came alone?"
"I did," Leni said quickly. "As instructed. I didn't tell anyone where I was going. I took a route that changed twice. I…" He hesitated, then admitted the real thing. "I don't think I was followed. But I can't be sure."
"Don't stand in the open," Enzo said. "Come with me."
Leni's eyes flicked past Enzo's shoulder. The city moved like it didn't care about them, which was exactly why it was dangerous. People who didn't care also didn't remember, and that meant anyone could disappear.
Enzo guided him down a side path behind the transport hub, past a closed vending kiosk and a row of maintenance doors. The farther they went, the quieter it got. The noise of traffic faded into a dull hum. The air smelled of damp concrete and old oil.
They stopped in a narrow service lane that ended in a locked gate.
Leni swallowed. "This is… discreet."
"It's enough," Enzo said.
Enzo stepped closer and placed two fingers on Leni's shoulder, firm but not aggressive.
"Breathe," he said. "You're fine."
Leni's shoulders didn't relax, but he stopped spiraling.
A small ripple of light formed beside Enzo's leg.
Porygon2 manifested like a clean error in reality, geometric and quiet, its eyes flat with machine focus.
Leni stared. "That's—"
"Hold on to your luggage," Enzo said.
Porygon2's body pulsed.
The world snapped.
No spin, no falling sensation. Just a hard cut, like the universe had decided the alley no longer existed.
They were inside the warehouse.
Leni's breath caught in his throat.
The space was big.
Cold air. Bare concrete. Metal shelves were shoved to the sides, as if the previous owner had fled in a hurry. A few crates stacked in tidy lines. It didn't feel like a home or an office.
Then Leni saw what made it make sense.
A large field tent had been erected inside the warehouse, its canvas stretched tight over a reinforced frame. Military-grade.
It felt like a base that could be abandoned in five minutes.
And the Pokémon.
They weren't posed. They weren't "presented." They simply existed in the space the way people existed in a military camp.
A few looked up from food bowls. Others shifted in place, wary. A couple of smaller ones watched Leni like they didn't know if he was danger or dinner.
Then Leni's gaze climbed, instinctively tracking something heavy above.
Corviknight.
Not a bird.
A metallic wall with wings.
It was perched high on a beam near the ceiling, motionless, head angled down, eyes locked on the newcomer. A sentinel that didn't need to move to make the point clear.
Leni froze.
Enzo saw it and cut the moment with a blunt tone, like he was talking about bad furniture.
"This is temporary," Enzo said. "It'll get better."
Leni forced himself to inhale again. "Right. Of course. I just… I was told there would be a laboratory."
"There will," Enzo said. "Not yet."
Leni looked around once more, careful now. "Where is it?"
Enzo gestured toward a steel door at the far side of the warehouse. "Basement."
He opened it and led the way down.
The stairs were narrow and the air warmed with every step, until the cold of the warehouse was replaced by a controlled heat that clung to the skin. The basement wasn't fancy. It was clean. Practical.
Incubators lined the walls in neat rows, their lights steady. Eggs rested inside them, arranged like someone had decided these fragile shells were the most valuable thing in the building.
And standing in front of them, like a guard at a vault, was Hypno.
Still. Upright. Eyes fixed on the incubators with a focus that felt too human.
Leni stopped on the second-to-last step.
For a moment, he looked like he'd forgotten how stairs worked.
Hypno didn't turn. It didn't need to. The room already felt watched.
Enzo noticed the stiffness in Leni's posture and spoke before the fear could become something worse.
"Don't you have a Pokémon for company?" Enzo asked. "Something that helps you stay calm?"
Leni blinked, startled by the question, then fumbled with the strap of his bag. "I… I do."
He released a Poké Ball.
A Snubbull appeared with a puff of light and an immediate expression of offended suspicion, like it had been summoned into the wrong neighborhood.
It looked at Hypno.
Barked once.
A sharp, fearless sound, like it wasn't impressed by anything in this basement.
Hypno finally turned its head slightly, slow and controlled, eyes settling on the Snubbull. The Snubbull barked again, louder.
Leni's throat bobbed. "He's… protective."
"I see that," Enzo said.
Inside, something clicked into place.
Snubbull.
Everyone labeled it Normal-type because the world didn't have the language yet. The official charts didn't include Fairy. Most researchers didn't even suspect the classification existed.
But Enzo knew what the Snubbull really was.
And Leni was carrying it around like an afterthought.
A discovery like that could turn an exploited assistant into a name the League couldn't ignore. Fame. Grants. Invitations. Protection.
If Leni ever needed legitimacy, the type the world didn't know existed yet could buy it.
Footsteps sounded above, then down the stairs.
Proton entered first, calm, controlled. Ronnie behind him, louder, carrying the air of someone who didn't know how to enter a room quietly even when the room deserved it.
Leni turned, and his face softened slightly at Proton's normalcy.
Then his eyes landed on Ronnie.
The scar wasn't just visible. It dominated the shape of Ronnie's expression.
Leni's smile died halfway.
Ronnie, of course, noticed. He grinned anyway, like it was funny.
Enzo stepped in before Ronnie could say something stupid.
"Professor Leni," Enzo said, "this is Proton. This is Ronnie."
Proton gave a short nod. Ronnie offered a casual wave.
Leni nodded back, too tight. "I see."
His gaze drifted toward the stairwell again. "And… where will I be sleeping?"
Enzo didn't blink. "I'll buy you a tent."
Leni's eyebrows rose. He forced another nod. His face stayed professional, but his eyes said the thought clearly.
Where did I get myself into?
Enzo checked the incubators once, a quick visual sweep, then nodded to Hypno.
"You keep a good eye on them," Enzo said.
Hypno's posture straightened a fraction, proud.
Enzo turned to Leni. "We talk later. I have urgent work."
Then to Proton, quick and decisive. "Show him everything. Keep it simple."
Proton's answer came instantly. "Understood."
Enzo reached out and hooked two fingers into the back of Ronnie's hoodie, tugging him toward the stairs.
Ronnie blinked. "We're leaving now?"
Proton frowned. "Where are you going?"
"A week passed," Enzo said. "The market refreshes."
Ronnie's eyes lit up. "The black market again?"
Enzo didn't confirm or deny. He just moved.
They left the warehouse and threaded back into Cerulean's lower streets, hoods up, posture lowered, blending into the kind of crowd that didn't look twice because looking twice could get expensive.
The black market entrance was the same lamp shop as before. Dusty displays. Dead bulbs. A man behind the counter who didn't care about faces, only patterns.
They slipped through without talking.
Below, the underground corridor swallowed them into warm air and noise.
Cerulean's black market wasn't a single room. It was a network. Stalls and alleys. Curtains hiding doors. Men selling silence with friendly voices.
Enzo moved through it with purpose, eyes scanning without staring.
There were the usual things.
Potions with labels scraped off.
Counterfeit TMs.
Loan sharks with clean hands and sharp smiles.
A butcher-stall that sold parts no one asked about, bone and scale and dried tissue packaged like vitamins. Some trainers bought them with desperate eyes, convinced the right "ingredients" could push a Pokémon past its limits.
He kept moving.
Egg section.
A plastic curtain marked the entrance. Heat rolled out from behind it, intentional and heavy.
Inside, the room was warm like an incubator scaled into a warehouse. Rows of eggs rested on padded shelves.
Some were tagged with photos of the species inside, neat and confident.
Some were sorted by "potential," with signs that read GREEN, YELLOW, RED, the prices jumping higher the closer you got to green.
GREEN eggs were overpriced here. The sellers knew people hunted them.
Then there was the section Enzo cared about.
Messy piles in the center, marked with one simple rule:
UNTESTED / RANDOM
NO SPECIES GUARANTEE
NO POTENTIAL GUARANTEE
That was where bargains lived.
That was where luck lived.
And Enzo didn't need luck.
He had the System.
He crouched and began sorting through the pile, hands steady, expression empty.
Ronnie stayed behind him, watching shoulders and corners.
The System flickered with each touch.
RED. YELLOW. YELLOW. RED.
Mostly noise.
Enzo didn't rush. He treated it like mining. You didn't quit because you hit stone. You quit when you ran out of patience.
Eventually, the flicker changed.
GREEN.
He lifted an egg and checked the scan again, then placed it in the basket.
Another.
Another.
He didn't celebrate. He didn't even smile.
Ten eggs total.
Two Krabby. Two Tentacool. One Diglett. Two Psyduck. Three Oddish.
He stood and walked to the counter.
The clerk glanced at the basket, then at Enzo's hood.
"Add 10 incubators too, and the payment—"
A voice cut in softly from the side.
"Already paid."
Enzo turned his head slightly.
A man in dark glasses stood a few meters away, posture casual, hands in his pockets. A goon. Not dressed like a fighter. Dressed like a message.
He didn't speak again. He only nodded once, like a transaction had already been agreed.
Enzo returned his gaze to the clerk. "Deliver them. To this place."
The clerk hesitated, then nodded quickly.
Enzo raised his TR device and sent Proton a location and time window.
No explanation.
Just coordinates and an hour.
He turned away without acknowledging the goon again.
Ronnie followed, tense now. "Do you know him?"
"No," Enzo said.
They left the egg heat behind and moved through the market's veins toward another stall.
The cage vendor.
The man saw Enzo and practically abandoned the customer he was speaking to. His smile widened like Enzo was a miracle.
"Boss," the vendor said, too friendly. "You're back."
Enzo didn't react to the title. "New stock?"
The vendor's grin sharpened. "Same conditions."
Enzo's eyes narrowed. "Show me."
"Of course. Follow me."
They went behind the main stall, through a curtain, into the back area.
It was worse than the front.
More cages. More Pokémon.
The vendor didn't care. He was glowing. He thought this was the easiest money he'd ever make.
Enzo began pointing.
Not in a slow, browsing way. In a precise way.
"Those three," Enzo said, indicating a cage where Poliwag pressed together like they shared one fear.
The vendor's assistant scribbled on a clipboard. A cage opened. A Poké Ball clicked shut.
"That Machop," Enzo said. "And that one."
More scribbling. More clicking.
Enzo kept going, picking with the efficiency of someone buying tools, not pets.
A Geodude. A Mankey. A Voltorb with a twitchy stare. A pair of Sandshrew curled tight like they expected a kick.
The assistant worked fast, converting living things into Poké Balls and dropping them into a bag.
Then Enzo stopped.
A cage with four Slowpoke.
The vendor smiled. "Good choice. Easy to handle."
Enzo stared.
One of them shifted wrong. Too sharp. Too alert. Its eyes didn't have Slowpoke emptiness. It was watching. Measuring.
A disguise.
Enzo's pulse tightened, but his face stayed calm.
He pointed.
"That Slowpoke."
The vendor didn't hesitate. "You got it."
The assistant opened the cage and reached in.
The "Slowpoke" flinched.
A Poké Ball snapped shut.
The System flared.
[ SYSTEM SCAN — TARGET IDENTIFIED ]
Species: Zorua
Level: 15
Potential: DEEP GREEN
Ability: Illusion
Moves:
— Scratch
— Leer
— Quick Attack
— Pursuit
Obs: "High adaptability. Stress response: controlled. Masking behavior: advanced."
Enzo's chest warmed with a silent, vicious satisfaction.
A Zorua, bought as a Slowpoke.
For scraps.
The bag grew heavier.
Enzo made a final sweep, then stopped.
"That's it," he said.
The vendor blinked, surprised. "Only twelve today?"
Enzo didn't answer. He turned away as if he'd already forgotten the vendor existed.
The vendor hurried to the counter to calculate.
And the goon in sunglasses was there again.
Quiet.
Close.
Talking to the vendor in a voice too low to hear.
Ronnie noticed this time. His jaw tightened. His hand drifted near his belt.
Enzo didn't move.
The vendor returned with the bag and a grin that didn't match his eyes.
"All good," the vendor said.
Enzo waited.
The vendor swallowed. "It's… free. That gentleman paid." Enzo's stare turned cold. Eggs paid. Now Pokémon paid. Someone was spending money on him like people feed a stray animal, not out of kindness, but out of ownership. Enzo slowly turned his head. The goon met his eyes through dark glasses and nodded once. A polite gesture. A leash disguised as respect.