Dinner Time
After everyone gathered in the front yard of Leon's house for dinner, Haru couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with Cynthia.
First, whenever their eyes met, she would instinctively avert her gaze, as if hiding something.
But when Haru tried to ask her directly, she brushed it off in an awkwardly flimsy way.
Second, her behavior while sitting in the chair was bizarre—her body would occasionally tremble for no apparent reason.
If she were cold, that would've explained it… but her face was actually sweating.
More importantly, Haru had this gnawing feeling that-dammit-someone under the table had stretched their foot near his 'ammunition depot,' seemingly attempting a little 'sneak attack from the shadows.'
From the angle and the sensation, Cynthia was the prime suspect. She was wearing stockings, which matched the tactile judgment his brain was making.
But… why would Cynthia ever have a reason to do something like that?
In the end, perhaps unable to endure Haru's persistent "concerned" gaze, Cynthia excused herself from the table early.
Haru wanted to press for an answer, but seeing how far she'd gone to dodge him, he couldn't bring himself to push her any harder.
That same night, Haru's room once again welcomed Liko in her reverse bunny girl getup.
Though Liko still couldn't fully control the overwhelming chaos energy of such an outfit, the mere fact she wielded the "Reverse Bunny Girl Power – Stage Three" was enough to pique Haru's interest—critical interest, mind you.
What neither of them realized was that in the room next door, Miss Cynthia was also carrying out the latest order issued to her.
Today's command was… strip off every piece of clothing, fold them neatly, and place them in front of her.
After that, she had to sit naked before a photo of Haru.
This order was humiliation pushed to the very limit.
Stripping was bad enough, but folding the clothes neatly and laying them out?
What the hell was that supposed to mean? "No need to unwrap, ready-to-eat"?!
Even though Cynthia had her "weakness" in Mew's hands, it wasn't like she could obey every twisted whim of that evil Pokémon.
So when faced with such a demand, of course Cynthia…
…chose to obey meekly.
Dammit! Why did Mew even have those photos of the time she wet her pants?!
That kind of thing was just… just…
Cynthia genuinely had no idea how to resist Mew anymore.
True, Mew would never release the nude photos it had secretly taken, but those pants-wetting shots? Yeah, those it very well might.
So what if she went straight to Haru and told him everything?
That would just mean Haru would get to "enjoy" today's scandalous photos firsthand.
Sure, maybe Mew would get put in its place then—but her reputation in Haru's eyes would shatter beyond repair.
At the end of the day, Mew's demands were still confined to her own room.
Embarrassing? Yes. But… just barely tolerable. Right?
Stripping completely, Cynthia stood before the mirror, gazing at her own reflection—fair skin, tall figure, beautiful as ever.
Yet, her heart was racing faster and faster.
Yes, she could sense it too. Without realizing, she'd come to the very edge of the cliff.
One more step forward, and she might tumble into an abyss, swallowed and assimilated by endless darkness.
And yet… that darkness was deep, alluring, impossible to turn away from.
The blonde beauty brushed her hand over the spots Haru had touched during her "treatment."
Even after so much time had passed, those places still burned faintly, like grains of gold hidden beneath the riverbed, reflecting a dim glow.
"Please… forgive me."
The whisper that filled the room—was it meant for someone? Or simply the voicing of a desire she couldn't admit?
---
Sunlight filtered through sparse clouds, dappling the quiet underbrush.
Branches arched and tangled, red berries gleamed among the leaves like deliberate splashes on a painter's palette.
The breeze stirred the low shrubs, rustling softly—the music of nature.
Beside them, the lake's surface mirrored the sky, clear and still. Tall reeds swayed along the banks, dancing gracefully in the wind.
Galar's terrain was mostly flat—few mountains, rich in plains and lakes. Perfect for farming and livestock.
But beyond that, archaeology and mining also thrived here. The region's mineral wealth even caught the eye of Steven Stone himself, the so-called "Stone-sexual."
And today, Steven's worksite happened to be near this very idyllic lakeside grove.
"Poké Ball, go!"
A young voice rang out as a red-and-white ball arced toward a Psyduck resting in the riverside grass.
If nothing interrupted, the ball would bonk Psyduck right on the head and trigger a capture.
Though success rates with raw-throw captures were low, Psyduck could still get snagged if it lacked the strength to break free.
But just half a meter away from the target—
—another Poké Ball suddenly shot in from the opposite direction.
This one was white, marked only with two red lines at its center. Clearly, it was a rarer Cherish Ball.
Unlike the standard red-and-white ball, its catch rate wasn't higher, but its rarity made it prized. Trainers usually wouldn't waste one like this.
But this ball wasn't aimed at Psyduck—it was aimed at the first ball.
Its trainer clearly intended to collide midair and knock the other away, sabotaging the capture attempt.
The two Poké Balls slammed into each other with a crisp crack before bouncing back under the force, both landing in the mud.
Startled by the commotion, Psyduck blinked awake, shook its head, waddled lazily back into the pond—oblivious to the fact it had just escaped a kidnapping.
The dark-skinned boy who'd thrown the first ball snapped his head toward the source of the Cherish Ball.
There stood a man, calm and composed, his gaze fixed firmly on him.
The man's eyes were as tranquil as the lake itself, making an unexplainable chill crawl up the boy's spine.
Then the man's lips curled into a faint, mocking smile.
"That won't do. Snatching Pokémon like that isn't the way."
"You—!"
The boy, Goh, was visibly frustrated—his capture plan ruined.
And even worse—the one who stopped him was someone he recognized.
Of course he did. He'd seen Haru's battle with Blue live. He could never forget him.
This was Mew's trainer.
Yes. That Mew. The one he dreamed of day and night.
"What are you doing?! Why stop me from catching a Pokémon?!" Goh demanded, forcing down his irritation.
"Stopping you? No… I'm just doing what I ought to do."
Haru's smile widened slightly.
"Why?! Since when is stopping me your business?!"
"If you'd tried to catch it through normal means, I wouldn't have interfered."
Haru's smile vanished, replaced by a sharp seriousness.
"But… if you think you can just chuck a ball and snag any Pokémon you want… you're dead wrong."
"You're nothing but a dabbler who doesn't even qualify as a proper trainer. Do you really think you can shoulder the lives of Pokémon?"
"If you can't even do that much, you shouldn't be ripping them away from their home."
"Otherwise, in the end, you'll just abandon them—or hand them off like presents."
"That's my business!" Goh snapped.
"Is it? Funny, from where I'm standing, you only ever think about yourself."
"You—!"
Just a few words, and Goh was already losing his temper.
This man—this man was infuriating! Interrupting his capture, lecturing him, acting all high and mighty—just because he happened to get lucky with a Mythical Pokémon.
Who did he think he was?!
But before Goh could retort, Haru turned his back and waved casually.
"Well then, farewell.
"Think carefully about what you should—and shouldn't—do. Don't let yourself become a disappointment.
"I've already seen over ten discarded Poké Balls around here. Keep this up, and maybe one day you'll turn into a full-blown Pokémon poacher."
"Don't you think so… Goh—kun?"
With that, Haru's figure shrank into the distance.
Goh stood rooted, fists clenched, glaring at Haru's retreating back—at the sight of him chatting and laughing with Cynthia.
He said nothing, only burned with a mix of anger and envy.
Haru, meanwhile, understood Goh all too well.
Or rather—anyone who played Pokémon knew him.
But not in a good way.
"One-Ball Man." "Goh." That was him.
The guy who treated Poké Balls like Master Balls, tossing them casually, no battles required.
Sometimes he showed care for a Pokémon, sure. But mostly his captures were shallow, careless—like the Pokémon had no will of their own.
If he wanted one, he'd just chuck a ball. Done.
Worse still, he once even caught another trainer's Pokémon.
Yes, he made Jessie and James's Grookey abandon its trainers and break its own Poké Ball—choosing him instead.
That had never happened in the entire history of the franchise.
The storyline was absurd, nonsensical. Jessie and James weren't abusive—on the contrary, they loved their Pokémon deeply.
Which made both Goh and Grookey look utterly ridiculous to viewers.
Especially that Grookey.
And yet somehow, this clownish kid got "acknowledged" by Mew during his journey.
Other Pokémon too, one after another, fell over themselves to fawn on him.
What were the writers of Journeys smoking?!
Then there was his capture of Suicune… an indelible stain on his career.
To Haru, someone like that wasn't even fit to be called a trainer.
He wasn't raising Pokémon out of love—he was just a collector, filling a scrapbook.
Love? Maybe. But shallow. At best, like Haru's own indulgent fondness for Big Raiden.
Everyone knew Haru's most frequent battles were against Raichu mains.
But really, Haru had no great interest in dealing with this guy. Today's encounter was just coincidence.
If Goh took his words to heart, great. If not… sooner or later, a Pokémon or a person would teach him the hard way.
This was reality—not that "Matsumura World" where Goh was the writers' spoiled son.
Cynthia, noticing Haru's strange expression, asked casually,
"What's with you? Why do you look so odd?"
"Ah? Nothing, don't mind me. You said Steven's up ahead, right?"
"Mhm." Cynthia nodded, leading him forward.
And sure enough, at the end of the forest path sat a man on a tree stump, engrossed in examining a stone.
He wore a T-shirt emblazoned with 'Metagross Oshi'.
So focused was he on the rock in his hand that he didn't even notice Haru and Cynthia approaching.
"Mr. Steven, did you bring the goods…?" Cynthia asked.
"Hm? Oh, Cynthia. Of course. This batch is purer than ever! Guaranteed to satisfy."
"…Something feels off."
Standing behind Cynthia, Haru rubbed his chin, a suspicious thought flashing through his mind.
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