Marceline Gato walked through the busy Fenshaw shopping district with her usual commanding stride, heels clicking against the polished stone walkway. Dressed in a sharp charcoal-gray blazer and skirt that fit her tall, elegant frame, she exuded an aura of authority. It wasn't unusual for heads to turn as she passed—but today some stares lingered far too long for her liking.
Two young men lounging near a boutique entrance openly gawked at her. Their eyes shamelessly traced the confident set of her shoulders and the sway of her hips. Marceline's amber eyes narrowed. Not again, she thought, irritation flaring. She halted in front of them, fixing the pair with an icy glare that could have frozen molten lava.
"Do we have a problem, gentlemen?" she asked crisply, tone cold enough to frost glass. The men jumped.
"No problem, miss," one blurted, suddenly fascinated by his shoes. The other offered a weak smile.
"Then kindly stop staring and move along," Marceline snapped, lifting a sculpted brow. "Unless you want a photograph? It lasts longer." Her sarcasm cut through the air; a few passersby snickered.
Both men flushed—whether from embarrassment or annoyance, she didn't care—and quickly averted their gazes. Satisfied, Marceline gave a curt nod and continued on her way. Men. They never learn, she huffed internally. Being professional and poised was a double-edged sword; evidently, it also meant dealing with fools on a daily basis.
She had an appointment arranged by her grandfather, a prominent banker who rarely took "no" for an answer. Marceline found it absurd to meet a business contact in the middle of a shopping plaza. But when she'd protested, her grandfather had only chuckled. "Trust me, Marcie. This one will shake things up," he'd insisted. So here she was, scanning the crowd for a stranger named Jaxon Ryder Mercer.
Near the plaza's central fountain, she spotted a tall man in a battered leather jacket standing at a boutique window. He leaned in close, squinting at a price tag, then jolted back as if the number had burned him. She even heard him mutter, "I'd have to rob a bank to shop here," under his breath. He ran a hand through his unruly raven hair in exasperation.
Marceline arched an eyebrow. This scruffy, jeans-clad man looked hopelessly out of place among Fenshaw's fashionistas. He had a rugged sort of appeal—broad shoulders, stubbled jaw, an air of casual confidence—but he was clearly rattled by the luxury price tags. Please don't let this be Mercer, she thought sourly. If it was, her father truly had lost his mind.
Enough waiting. Marceline approached the man with brisk, determined steps. "Excuse me," she said firmly. "Are you Jaxon Ryder Mercer?"
He turned to face her, and she met a pair of striking hazel eyes. A slow grin spread across his face. "The one and only," he replied, eyeing her tailored suit and poised stance.
"I'm Marceline Gato," she introduced herself, extending a hand. "The banker and head of the Gato clan—Charles Gato—sent me."
Recognition flickered in Jaxon's expression. "I know you! You are the girl with the nice rack from the photo he showed."
"Pardon me?" Marceline cut in, voice dangerously sharp.
Unbothered, Jaxon continued, "He also said some things about ravishing because you have style..."
A hot flush crept up her neck and onto her cheeks. Was she—blushing? She never blushed. Mortified at the warmth on her face, Marceline cleared her throat, grasping at formality."
"Mr. Mercer, I have you know that my grandfather—"
Jaxon interrupted her, pulling a photo out and handing it over to her. "This is the photo."
Marceline froze when she saw the photograph in the photo. She was dressing her thin, clear see see-through black laced bra that covered her breast. Her face winking at the camera, and with a flirty wink.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, cheeks burning, trying not to look at her semi-exposed body. Why does her grandfather have this picture? Did that whore sent it?!
Jaxon shrugged. "As I told you, it is the picture your granddad showed me. Awesome pic, I have to say. Do you have more? It would be a waste not to share it with the world, so people could enjoy its awesomeness."
She gritted her teeth and tried not to snap at him. "I'm going to kill that fossil and you if you don't ever don't shut up and we have business to attend to," she snapped, desperate to steer the conversation back on course.
By Legenday, she never felt so embarrassed in a day of her life.
Jaxon tilted his head, still wearing that infuriatingly casual smile. "Right, business. So... just to be clear—when am I supposed to have my way with you?"
For a second, Marceline wondered if she had misheard. Then reality crashed in. "Excuse me?!" she shouted, her voice ringing out across the plaza.
Conversations around them screeched to a halt. Shoppers paused mid-step. A barista nearly dropped a tray of lattes. Within moments, a small crowd began to gather, all eyes on the immaculately dressed woman, apparently yelling at the scruffy man.
Jaxon blinked, looking genuinely perplexed by her reaction. He raised his palms in surrender. "Whoa, hey, no need to freak out," he said, voice loud enough for the onlookers. "I'm just doing what I was told!"
Marceline stepped closer, lowering her voice to a seething hiss. "Have you lost your mind?" Her amber eyes flashed fury. "You cannot just say something like that—certainly not in public!"
He scratched his head, glancing around at the gawking crowd. "Why not? Isn't that the whole point of this?" he asked, sounding earnestly confused. "Your grandfather—the old banker dude—pretty much told me to. He said, Come meet you, chat you up, and then... well, have my way with you. Or maybe you're with me. I wasn't too clear on that part," Jaxon confessed with a hapless shrug. "Point is, you have big breasts, so I'm ok with it."
The crowd can't help but sweatdropped at the young man's words.
Marceline's stomach dropped straight to her stylish heels. He really believes this was arranged! she realized in horror. And worse—he was announcing it to everyone within earshot. A ripple of laughter and gasps swept through the crowd at Jaxon's explanation.
"Did he just say her father set this up?" someone whispered.
"This is better than reality TV," another voice chortled.
Marceline felt faint. She opened her mouth, searching for words—any words—to defuse this disaster, but nothing came out. She, the consummate professional, was utterly speechless.
"Marcy! There you are!" a familiar voice crowed, cutting through the fog of Marceline's shock. Bonnie yelled. "Is that the boy your grandpa told you to find? He is cute!"
Marceline shut her eyes in dread. Not Bonnie. Not now. "Bonnie," she hissed under her breath, "this isn't—"
But Bonnie was already circling her like a shark scenting blood. "Are you blushing? OM Me since when do you blush?!" She can't remember a time she has seen her best friend blushing at anything. But a playful grin feel on her pink lips. "Aren't you having a fun with a boy."
Bonnie teased, barely containing her laughter. She eyed Jaxon appreciatively. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your... friend, Marcy? Or should I say, your pre-arranged date?"
Jaxon gave a polite, if somewhat apologetic, nod. "Jaxon Ryder Mercer," he offered. "Your hot!"
"Bonnie Hikifune. Marcy bestie." Bonnie chirped. She gave Marceline a wicked grin. "Also, apparently, her chaperone for the day."
Marceline could practically feel her blood pressure spiking. "There's no need for a chaperone because there's no arrangement," she ground out. She turned a frosty gaze on the onlookers. "I'm sorry, everyone, but this is all a big misunderstanding."
Bonnie patted Marceline's shoulder in mock consolation. "Of course it is," she cooed, tone dripping with satire. She leaned in and stage-whispered (yet perfectly audible), "So just to be clear, Marcy—your dear old grandpa didn't hire this guy to, you know, sweep you off your feet?"
At that, Jaxon actually looked sheepish. "I, uh, might've taken his suggestion a little too literally," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I swear, I thought I was doing what he wanted."
A chorus of chuckles rippled through the crowd. Marceline's face burned hotter. She was pretty sure half of Fenshaw would be gossiping about this debacle by dinner.
"Thank you for that clarification," she snapped at both of them, every syllable dripping with sarcasm. Straightening her blazer, she tried to regain control. "Regardless of what anyone was told, nothing inappropriate is happening here. Or anywhere," she added pointedly, skewering Jaxon with a glare.
Some onlookers looked almost disappointed. A few laughed and finally began to disperse now that the juicy part seemed over. Sensing her chance to escape, Marceline latched onto it. "Alright. Show's over," she declared, raising her voice to address the remaining spectators. Her tone brokered no argument. "Please go about your day."
There were a few good-natured groans and even some applause—as if they'd enjoyed a street performance. Bonnie was openly grinning, clearly having the time of her life, and even Jaxon cracked a crooked smile as he shrugged at a couple who gave him a teasing thumbs-up.
[XxX]
Marceline had never wanted to flee a scene more than she did now. She grabbed Jaxon's arm in a vise-like grip. "We. Need. To. Talk. Now," she muttered fiercely.
Jaxon, wisely, didn't resist as she yanked him toward the edge of the dispersing crowd. Of course, he couldn't resist one last quip. "Whoa, easy," he exclaimed, loud enough for those nearby to hear. "I like a woman who takes charge, but at least buy me dinner first!"
A ripple of laughter followed. Bonnie actually doubled over, cackling. "Get it, girl!" she called after Marceline between giggles. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
Marceline felt her eye twitch. Without another word, she marched Jaxon away, doing her best to ignore the whoops and wolf-whistles trailing behind them.
A minute later, once they rounded a store onto a quieter side street, Marceline released Jaxon's arm with a sharp huff. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, willing her racing heart to slow. Keep it together.
Compose. Breathe. Execute.
But before she could even begin her professional dressing-down, Jaxon turned on his heel — and casually stepped toward a small convenience stall down the lane.
"What... what are you doing?" she asked, disbelieving.
"Gimme a sec," he called over his shoulder, flipping a Poké Dollar coin in his hand. "Just gonna grab a lottery ticket. Pretty sure that last scene burned all my karma for the month, so I'm doubling down. Well more like three..."
Marceline stood frozen, expression unreadable. "... You are seriously buying a lottery ticket right now."
"Yup," Jaxon said cheerfully. "I believe in fate. And lucky boobs. Yours in particular."
"I will stab you," she said flatly.
"After I scratch this card, sure."
He made the transaction with the clerk, whistling a made-up tune, then turned back toward her as if none of the chaos from earlier had happened. He held the card up like a holy relic. "If I win twenty million, I'm getting you a better blazer. And a restraining order against your grandpa."
"You're infuriating."
He smiled. "Thanks. Now—what were we doing?"
Marceline inhaled deeply. Once. Twice. Then spoke.
"Let me be absolutely clear, Mr. Mercer. I was not sent to be seduced, ravished, courted, or ogled. My purpose is professional."
Jaxon folded the tickets into his wallet and leaned casually against a lamp post. "Mm-hm. Continue."
"I represent the Gato Family's trainer division—what's left of it," she continued crisply. "While my grandfather is the one handling commerce and finance within the Banking Clan, I am his only active Elite Candidate and senior field agent. Which means—regardless of that humiliating introduction—I am here in an official, sanctioned capacity."
Jaxon gave a slow blink. "...So you're like a newbie Pokémon trainer? With military training and stuff?"
Bonnie, who had reappeared like a pink specter at Marceline's side, giggled. "Kinda! But with way scarier tax forms."
Marceline didn't break her stance. "I'm authorized to provide logistical, financial, and physical support to registered rookie-tier trainers that have been flagged for accelerated sponsorship viability. That includes funding navigation, guild access, League credentialing, property planning, and field reinforcement as needed."
She took a step closer, her heels clicking with surgical precision.
"You, Jaxon Ryder Mercer, were flagged due to your unexpected performance in the Fenshaw Battle Ladder. My assignment is to ensure that your momentum doesn't fizzle out or—" she glanced at the lottery ticket he just bought—"implode."
"Hey," he said, "I only implode on weekends."
"And I," Bonnie chirped, sliding into place beside Marceline, "am your dedicated medical and emotional support unit!"
"...Emotional?" Jaxon asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
Bonnie smiled even bigger. "Yup! I'm licensed to punch you in the kidneys if you get too cocky or depressed!"
Jaxon blinked. "...That's oddly specific."
"I practice on Marcy."
"She does," Marceline muttered.
Bonnie beamed like a happy war criminal.
Marceline straightened her skirt, brushing imaginary dust off her lapel. "I don't particularly want to be here, Mr. Mercer. But our family name has... ambitions. And so do I. If you are the kind of trainer my grandfather believes you are—despite evidence to the contrary—then I will do my job."
"Even if I follow the order about ravishing you? Or when I'm teasing you?"
"Especially then," Marceline said coldly. "I will do my job harder. More efficiently. With spreadsheets."
Jaxon let out a low whistle. "Y'know, that sounded kind of hot."
She raised a hand. "One more word, and I'll put a psychic collar on you."
"I'm into that."
"Bonnie," she said without turning, "sedate him."
Bonnie giggled and pulled out a glowing injector. "I got the spicy one today!"
"Okay okay, damn—message received," Jaxon said, putting up his hands in surrender. "You're the serious one. You're the sugar bomb. And I'm the idiot."
"That's the most accurate thing you've said all day," Marceline said, crossing her arms.
"Rude..."
[XxX]
After the chaos died down, the three of them found a quiet café tucked behind the shopping district. Marceline had insisted on privacy and control, and Bonnie had insisted on snacks. Jaxon? He just followed along, enjoying the view.
Marceline sat across from him, tablet in hand, blazer straightened, posture rigid.
"We are now discussing terms," she said, like a lawyer preparing to deliver closing arguments. "You will listen, and you will sign where I tell you. No jokes. No interruptions. No random sexual commentary."
Jaxon held up a hand. "Scout's honor."
"You were never a Scout."
She heard of that one?
"True. But I once played one in a school play."
Marceline didn't blink. "One more word, and I activate the penalty clause for insubordination."
Jaxon zipped his mouth shut.
Marceline continued, tapping through the contract's interface.
"First: this agreement binds you, Jaxon Ryder Mercer, as an independent competitive asset under Gato Banking Clan sponsorship. You will receive regulated stipends, access to sponsored facilities, emergency medical support, battle-verified supplies, and monthly evaluations. Your progress will determine future financial allocations."
She tapped again, flipping the screen.
"Second: any Pokémon caught or trained by you remains your property, but must be registered for asset evaluation and ranking. Which brings us to your first one."
Jaxon blinked. "Right. Elise." He pulled out her Poké Ball and released her with a soft pop and shimmer. Elise, the shiny Ralts, appeared in a glint of starlight, blinking once before climbing back into his lap like she belonged there.
Marceline stared.
Then blinked.
Then, with a perfectly flat tone: "That's a shiny."
Jaxon grinned. "Yup."
"A female shiny."
"Uh-huh."
Marceline's fingers hovered over her tablet for a second longer than necessary.
"That's… statistically absurd."
Bonnie leaned in, mouth full of muffin. "She's super cute, too."
Marceline didn't respond immediately. Instead, she brought up the Aura scanner on her device, pointed it discreetly toward Elise, and watched the readings roll in.
"Faint but pure. Psychic/Fairy. Slight temporal resonance... her Aura is stable. Strong for a base evolution."
Jaxon tilted his head. "So… is that good?"
Marceline folded her hands. "Very."
"Now. Some education, since I assume your past life didn't include a league-certified manual."
Jaxon nodded slowly. "I mean, I read fanfic—"
"No."
"Okay."
Marceline switched to a projected screen, laying out several holo-icons as Bonnie sipped her drink like it was the most dramatic boardroom anime she'd ever watched.
"There are ten Trainer Ranks officially recognized by the League: Rookie I through III, Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, Emerald, Champion, and Master. Most never pass Bronze. Those who reach Silver are elite. Gold and higher? Considered national strategic assets. The League deploys them in war zones."
Jaxon blinked. "Y'know, they never mentioned that on the anime."
"What?! Stop talking about your stupid shows and pay attention!" Marceline said dryly. " Plus, why would they? It's bad for tourism."
Bonnie made note of that. Marcy rarely ever jokes, and when she does, it's horrible, but that joke was not bad at all. She can tell Jaxon is already a passive influence on Marcy.
She flipped to another display: a stylized Pokémon silhouette, marked with internal stats.
We also rank each Pokémon. Not by level, but by potential. It's broken into six main grades: D, C, B, A, S, and X. D is barely above wild standard. X is… theoretical. Most League-raised Pokémon hover between C and B. Elise, with her current Psychic/Fairy signature and aura stability, is tracking around high A."
Shiny Pokémon have that potential straight from the start. Shiny or Shinnies is which most people call them, have different coloration from the standardized color formation of their species. Shinnies have a mutation mimics what Pokérus does in the body greatly increasing the value for the Pokémon.
Ralts is a great Pokémon to but Ralts are horribly frail and lack offensive pressure, making it very difficult to justify use in the tier. As an offensive Psychic-type, it is wildly outclassed by Abra, which is significantly faster and stronger than Ralts. As a Fairy-type, Spritzee is significantly better because of its sheer bulk and great team support. Ralts's only defining niche is that it can quickly turn the damage when it passes Lv 15 and starts learning elemental attacks.
Gardevoir is a very popular Pokémon for all the right and wrong reasons. Gardevoir's high Special Attack stat and good offensive typing of Psychic / Fairy make it a hard Pokémon to switch into unless special bulky Pokémon with a Poison typing.
Jaxon blinked. "That's good, right?"
"That's phenomenal for a fresh catch. With training, evolution, and support, she could reach A or even S."
Bonnie clapped. "You got a star baby!"
Marceline nodded. "Now. Aura."
The woman waited and prayed to see if Mr. Mercer knew about Aura, and for the next five minutes, she felt disappointed.
Except for the slaps. The bastard earned that when he stared at her tits for five minutes straight.
She pulled up a pulse graph, showing shifting colors around a trainer's silhouette.
"Every living thing has Aura. It's a form of metaphysical energy that governs empathy, instincts, and spiritual force. Most people's Aura is passive—present, but untapped. However, Trainers with active Aura can influence battles beyond physical commands. It manifests differently: some produce elemental effects, some read emotions, some can even shield themselves or their Pokémon."
She turned the scanner briefly on Jaxon. It flickered. A sharp red-and-gold swirl rippled through the reading.
Marceline paused.
"That's... unusual."
"Uh-oh. Do I have anime protagonist disease?"
"Not impossible."
Bonnie giggled. "Oooh! Maybe you'll awaken during a dramatic battle and start glowing!"
"Can I punch someone with it?"
"Possibly," Marceline said flatly.
Jaxon looked at Elise. "You hear that? We're gonna be glowing, mind-punching weirdos together."
Elise gave a tiny fist pump.
"Moving on..." Marceline continued, glancing back at her tablet. "It seems your Aura type is still registering under an unrefined signature, but the base pattern is rare—red-gold. That usually correlates to Fighting-affinity Aura types. Also..."
She paused, adjusting the sensitivity on her device. Her brows furrowed.
"It seems your Aura is quite large for someone untrained. Most rookies barely register a pulse. Yours is active. Not stable, but present."
Jaxon raised an eyebrow. "Big aura. Sounds like a compliment."
Bonnie gave a thumbs-up. "Aura size does matter."
Marceline didn't dignify either of them with a response. "A larger Aura means stronger instinctive control in life-or-death moments, but also stronger feedback loops. You'll need meditation drills, reinforcement conditioning, and eventually a formal Aura mentor. Until then, no sparring with high-level Pokémon unsupervised."
Jaxon sighed. "So, I'm not allowed to fight dragons barehanded yet. Got it."
"Not unless you enjoy being flattened," Marceline muttered.
Jaxon raised an eyebrow. "So... what does that mean? I can shoot fireballs?"
"Not yet. Probably never. Aura doesn't work like TM moves." Marceline tapped a few buttons, expanding the scan details. "It means your aura may enhance your reaction speed, adrenaline regulation, and combat instincts—especially under high stress. If it develops properly, you might be able to physically reinforce your body, or create psychic pressure to disrupt enemies."
Bonnie leaned in. "Think battle-high. Like when trainers get that glow and everything just clicks."
"Exactly," Marceline confirmed. "But it also means if you don't train it—if you let it flare out of control—you could damage your own nervous system or put your Pokémon at risk."
Jaxon frowned. "So no fireballs. But maybe like... a battle sense thing?"
"Correct. Your potential lies in heightened battle awareness, aura-assisted resilience, and possibly limited projection. You're not the Chosen One. But you are a statistical anomaly worth watching."
"I'll take it."
Jaxon stretched, folding his arms behind his head with a self-satisfied grin. "Now, ladies, I gotta see if I won..."
He fished out the lottery ticket he'd scratched earlier and stood, making his way over to the lotto terminal beside the café counter.
Marceline continued, unfazed. "Now, about Gym circuits and Contest participation—"
BEEP.
"Congratulations, winner! You won the Pokemon League 1st Grand Prize!" the machine blared.
Bonnie turned in her seat. "Did he just...?"
BEEP-BEEP.
"Congratulations, winner! You won the Pokemon League 2nd Grand Prize!"
Marceline faltered mid-sentence. "No..."
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.
"Congratulations, winner! You won the Pokemon League 3rd Grand Prize!"
The café went dead silent.
Jaxon slowly turned around, holding up the printed confirmation slip like it was a badge of honor. "Soooo... I won."
Bonnie nearly spit out her drink. "WHAT?!"
Jaxon returned to the table, casually flipping the paper in front of Marceline. "Read it and weep, Marcy."
Marceline snatched it and scanned the text.
1st Prize: All-expense-paid shopping spree by the Devon Corporation
2nd Prize: Certified A-Rank Pokémon Egg from licensed breeder
3rd Prize: Wonder Trade Coupon.
She blinked. Then again.
She blinked harder.
"This... this isn't possible," she muttered.
Jaxon leaned on the table, chin in hand, smug grin intact. "Looks like fate loves me. Or maybe your granddad bribed Arceus."
Marceline was visibly shaken. "Do you understand how rare it is to win even one of these prizes? The odds—"
"—Are stupid," Jaxon finished. "And I defy them. Now, you were saying something about the cost of raising Elise?"