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When Sato returned to the cruise ship, the battle on deck was essentially over. Thanks to his and the others' efforts, the ghost ship could no longer pursue them. Soon, the cruise liner shook free from its grip, and the fight was declared finished.
Victory had been won, yet joy was scarce. Too many people and Pokémon had lost their lives in this clash.
It was already 6:31 a.m. On the distant horizon, a new sun rose slowly from the sea, its radiance piercing through the darkness of night.
Sato had no mood to watch the sunrise. He leaned back against the railing with his three Pokémon, catching his breath.
He was utterly drained. Maintaining telepathic/psychic detection for so long had left his mind in tatters, and his face was pale from exhaustion.
In this battle, he hadn't captured a single Ghost-type Pokémon. His reason was simple: he loathed these malevolent creatures.
Wild Ghost-types like these had long grown accustomed to treating other living beings as food. Unruly by nature, they carried enormous risks. One wrong step, and they could even turn on their own Trainer.
Besides, among this swarm of wraiths, he hadn't found a single specimen with top-tier potential — giving him even less reason to capture one.
In truth, if not for the risk of exposing his true identity, Sato might have already been carrying his own Ghost-types: Misdreavus and Duskull.
Yes — after more than three months of incubation, the eggs had finally hatched. But because of his undercover mission, he had temporarily left them, along with Pichu and the others, at a high-end breeding house in Goldenrod City.
He was now thinking about how best to integrate these two Ghost-types into his team without raising suspicion. This ghost ship incident, he realized, provided the perfect opportunity.
He had been dazzlingly heroic in the battle. Word of the ghost ship would spread swiftly among the passengers, and his "Tyler" persona was bound to attract attention.
By then, having suddenly gained two Ghost-types would seem only natural.
"Young man, what's your name? You did well. If you hadn't led the charge against that ghost ship, this vessel might've become one itself. We all owe you."
Just as Sato was about to return to his cabin, Captain Reggie strode up, clapping a broad, scarred hand on his shoulder. Despite being heavily bandaged and still bleeding in places, the old sailor wore a grateful smile, his back straight, his spirit unbroken.
"You flatter me, sir. Tyler, at your service. This victory belongs to veterans like you and the comrades who gave their lives. I only took the lead — I can't claim the credit."
Sato quickly stood, bowing respectfully to the man who had been the anchor of this battle.
It was no false modesty. Without Reggie and his loyal crew holding off the higher-level Ghost-types, the fight would have collapsed long before Sato could set the ghost ship aflame. In many ways, Reggie had saved his life.
Of course, Sato had contributed plenty as well. As the captain himself admitted, without his strategy and charge, the losses might have been far worse.
Reggie threw back his head and laughed.
"Hahaha! No need to be so humble. You were outstanding tonight, I won't forget it."
"I've already heard a bit of your story. Misfortune often hides blessings. From what I've seen, you'll become a formidable Trainer someday — but remember, be a just and upright one."
"If you don't mind, come to the captain's quarters later. This old man's been around a long time, and I've still got a few treasures left."
Hearing this, Sato's heart leapt with joy, though his face showed only polite refusal.
"Sir, that wouldn't be right. You're far more injured than I am. How could I accept your belongings? I must decline."
"Enough nonsense!" Reggie snapped, gripping Sato's shoulders and giving him a fierce shake. "You helped me greatly. If I don't repay you, I won't forgive myself. You will come to my quarters later — no excuses!"
Not waiting for an answer, he turned and strode off toward the infirmary.
Sato could only smile helplessly on the surface, while inwardly feeling deep respect for the old captain's bold, generous spirit.
Truthfully, Reggie owed him nothing. The man had risked his life to make Sato's plan succeed, bearing the brunt of the enemy assault so Sato could strike the decisive blow. Yet he still insisted on offering a gift — not out of obligation, but because he genuinely wished to support a young man seemingly down on his luck.
Once Reggie had gone, Sato recalled his three Pokémon and, under the envious eyes of nearby sailors, made his way slowly into the cabin and back to his room.
There, after a quick psychic sweep confirmed no one suspicious was nearby, he retrieved a small chest from his storage pack — a chest he had found aboard the ghost ship.
Its age was obvious, the surface pitted and scarred from what must have been years of seawater exposure. Yet the material was extraordinary: despite centuries of erosion, the box was perfectly intact, its contents sealed tight.
With no key, Sato had only one option. He released Tentacruel and ordered it to use Acid to corrode the lock.
Before long, under the assault of Tentacruel's acid, the chest creaked open.