Corridor Three. The very end.
There were no other rooms nearby. A single, isolated suite stood out conspicuously.
This was the room of the man behind the massive "charitable" corporation—the Rainbow Group's director: Apollo.
"So… knock?" Brock asked, though a plan had already formed in his mind.
Ash nodded, silently handing the stage over to the dark-skinned, muscular man.
"Knock, knock, knock."
Brock rapped on the door, then pinched his throat and put on an exaggerated, coquettish voice:
"Heehee Sir do you need some special services~~?"
Ash: "???"
There was no response from inside.
The awkward silence left Brock—who had been ready to stage a classic honey trap—feeling slightly embarrassed.
He tried the handle.
It turned.
The door wasn't locked?
Out partying too?
The two exchanged looks, held their breath, and slowly pushed the door open.
The room inside was spacious—so much so that it barely looked like a bedroom. It felt more like a private training chamber, with only a square table placed at the far end.
Just as Ash stepped forward, a jet of flame suddenly shot out from the shadows to the side.
His heart skipped—but instinct kicked in. With Pallet Town–honed footwork, Ash twisted aside just in time.
"What the—?!"
As the flames dispersed, a pair of glowing red eyes lit up in the darkness.
A dog-like Pokémon emerged slowly.
Its body was pitch black, with white, bone-like armor plating along its ankles and back. Even its forehead looked like it was covered by a pale skull mask.
"Rrraww!"
It snarled at the two, baring its fangs viciously.
Pokédex:
"Houndour, the Dark Pokémon. Aggressive by nature. Not edible. Its blood was once believed to ward off evil."
"A Johto Pokémon," Brock said calmly. "Fire-type. Want me to handle it?"
As a Rock-type Gym Leader, this wasn't a big deal for him.
Ash's eyes, however, lit up. He adjusted his cap and grinned.
"No need. No such thing as fire eating fire. Besides—this guy's itching for a fight."
Brock: "???"
Ash tossed a Poké Ball.
"Go! Charmander!"
Red light flashed. Charmander landed on the floor, tiny arms swinging as it let out a fierce cry. The flame on its tail surged violently.
"Charrr!!"
The roar was still young—but Ash could clearly sense it.
That same aura he had felt back in the foggy sea, when he'd glimpsed a Charizard.
The room's soundproofing was excellent. No one outside would hear.
Fire-types were born fighters. The moment Charmander and Houndour locked eyes, sparks practically flew between them.
"Charmander—strike first! Flamethrower!"
"Char!"
A blazing pillar of fire surged forward.
Houndour didn't dodge.
It stood its ground and took the attack head-on.
Pshhh—!
The flames warped strangely on contact, transforming into scorching red energy—and then vanished entirely, absorbed into Houndour's body.
Ash: "?"
That wasn't right.
Fire-types had resistance—but absorbing the attack?
"Ash, that's Flash Fire," Brock warned.
"It absorbs Fire-type moves and boosts its own firepower."
A Pokémon with Flash Fire held an overwhelming advantage in fire-on-fire battles.
Houndour's black fur now glowed with a red-hot sheen, its presence becoming even more menacing.
"Rrrah!"
It snarled mockingly, as if laughing at Charmander's weakness.
That expression instantly set both Ash and Charmander off.
The flame on Charmander's tail flared violently—growing taller than its own body.
The temperature in the room skyrocketed.
"Hrrrk—!"
Houndour sneered again, watching Charmander gather blazing energy in its mouth.
It deliberately exposed its opening.
Come on.
Breathe fire at me.
The power reached its peak.
Ash thrust his hand forward.
"Now! Dragon Rage!"
A blazing red-orange sphere erupted forward—not fire, but pure draconic energy.
Houndour's eyes went wide.
"?!"
It wasn't Fire-type at all.
Dragon Rage!
By the time Houndour realized the mistake, it was too late.
BOOOOM—!
The attack hit dead-on. Explosive dragon energy detonated across its body, blasting a crater into the floor.
Flames and shockwaves surged upward.
"Whiiine…"
When the smoke cleared, Houndour lay sprawled across the ground—completely knocked out.
Dragon Rage was infamous at early stages. Against unevolved Pokémon, regardless of resistances, it was practically a guaranteed knockout.
"Well done," Ash said, rubbing Charmander's smooth head.
Charmander panted lightly—Dragon Rage took real stamina—but the thrill of defeating another Fire-type sent it into a frenzy.
Ash turned to Brock.
"Hey, Brock—its color kinda matches you. Want to catch it?"
"It's clearly someone else's Pokémon," Brock said quickly.
"Forget it. Check the table. That explosion probably alerted someone."
Houndour's growls were nothing compared to Dragon Rage.
It had clearly been left here as a guard.
The two stepped around the unconscious Pokémon and approached the table.
There was only one item on it.
A thick document.
"Strategic White Paper on the S.S. Anne Operation:
Robbing the Rich to Achieve Shared Prosperity"
They scratched their heads.
Since when did robbery require a multi-thousand-word proposal?
Were they planning to pitch this to angel investors too?
They flipped it open.
The document detailed modern Pokémon-world class conflicts.
The rich exploited.
The poor suffered.
Thus, the Rainbow Group—Kanto's largest charitable organization—would take decisive action.
By hosting a luxury cruise aboard the S.S. Anne, they would lure wealthy elites onboard, then strike once the ship reached international waters.
All seized wealth would then be donated to Kanto's most "benevolent" enterprise—
Team Rocket.
A true hero serves the people and the nation.
Ash almost felt inspired by the sheer audacity.
"Hey Brock… Apollo's got ideas," he said seriously.
"What if we just pretend we didn't see this?"
Brock: "..."
Kid, your moral compass just snapped.
The next morning, Apollo returned to the room.
Seeing Houndour collapsed on the floor, he showed no panic at all. He calmly recalled it into its Poké Ball, a confident smile forming on his lips.
"Heh."
As Team Rocket's foremost strategist, he had already predicted Ash's actions.
He never expected a single Houndour to stop him anyway.
Frankly speaking—even he might not be able to stop that boy.
So he hadn't tried.
That was why he'd spent the night partying elsewhere, avoiding direct conflict—and left the strategic report sitting openly on the table.
Governing by inaction.
That was the way of the wise.
True exchanges between masterminds were simple—and philosophical.
But as Apollo stepped closer, he noticed something new on the document's cover.
…A message?
A tacit understanding?
A declaration of war?
His eyes sharpened.
The battle was inevitable.
Very well.
He was the most outstanding talent of Team Rocket's younger generation—he feared no challenge!
Apollo snorted coldly and looked closer.
Two crooked lines of writing stared back at him.
"Too long, didn't read—but the plan's solid."
"So… is Team Rocket still hiring?"
The handwriting was awful.
And dripping with mockery.
Apollo: "?!"
Wolfish ambition!
This wasn't cooperation—this was a bid for succession!
This boy's scheming ran deep.
He cannot be allowed to live.
Apollo's expression twisted with unprecedented fury.
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