The warehouse didn't smell like a storage facility anymore. It smelled like sweat, burnt fur, and ozone.
Three weeks had passed. Three weeks of absolute, unmitigated hell.
In the center of the makeshift arena, Krokorok was locked in a vicious dogfight with Proton's Crobat.
The bat was a blur of purple speed, diving and weaving through the air, but Krokorok was tracking him perfectly behind his natural dark sunglasses.
Krokorok jumped, intercepting a Cross Poison with a brutal Crunch that pinned one of Crobat's wings.
As he landed, his body suddenly convulsed.
A blinding, white-blue light erupted from beneath his scales. He had reached the peak of Level 39. The biological trigger was pulled. The evolution into a Krookodile was trying to force its way out right now.
"SUPPRESS IT!" Enzo roared from the sidelines. "NOT YET!"
Krokorok roared in agony. He gritted his teeth, his muscles trembling violently as he fought against his own DNA. He forced the white light back down, compressing that explosive evolutionary energy deep into his bones.
The glow faded, replaced by a dark, angry aura.
"Good," Enzo said, seeing the crocodile panting but still in his mid-stage form. "Save that surprise for the cameras."
Krokorok hissed, his eyes glowing red with suppressed power. He didn't evolve.
Enzo turned his head to the left.
Houndoom was running on a reinforced industrial treadmill that was moving at highway speeds. Ronnie was standing ten meters away, throwing frisbees at random intervals.
BOOM!
Houndoom unleashed a roaring Flamethrower, turning the first plastic frisbee into a cloud of black smoke instantly. But he was a fraction of a second too slow for the second one, which flew right past his ear.
"Too slow!" Enzo barked, his voice hoarse from days of shouting. "If you move that slow, you're dead! Again! Max speed!"
Houndoom snarled, his paws pounding the metal track, forcing his flames to burn hotter, faster.
But the hardest lesson was happening in the corner.
Zorua was on the floor, panting heavily. He was covered in bruises. Standing over him was Ronnie, looking guilty.
"Boss," Ronnie said, hesitating. "Maybe we should stop? He's just a kid. I hit him pretty hard..."
Zorua tried to stand up, his legs shaking. He whimpered slightly.
Ronnie took a step forward to help him.
"Don't you dare," Enzo's voice cut through the air like a whip.
Ronnie froze.
Enzo walked over, looking down at the small fox.
"Do you think your enemies will have pity on you because you're small?" Enzo asked coldly. "Do you think a wild Tyranitar cares if you're a kid?"
Zorua looked up, eyes filled with tears of pain.
"Pain is data," Enzo stated. "Learn from it. If you can't take a hit … you have no place in my fighting team."
Zorua gritted his teeth. He stopped whimpering. The little fox glared at Ronnie, wiped his nose with a paw, and stood up on shaky legs. He growled. I'm not done.
Enzo smirked slightly. "Good. Round two. Ronnie, stop holding back."
Later that night, the training stopped, but the work didn't.
Enzo wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked down to the basement.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Five incubators lit up simultaneously.
Over the last three weeks, Enzo hadn't just been training. He had been visiting the Black Market every week. He bought eggs in bulk. He bought "reject" Pokémon from shady breeders.
The incubator doors hissed open.
Five baby Pokémon blinked in the light: a Bellsprout, two Geodudes, a Sandshrew, and a Zubat.
Enzo didn't check their stats. He didn't need to. He knew they were all Green Potential.
He moved with mechanical efficiency.
He placed bowls of growth formula in front of them. As soon as they ate, he tapped them with standard Poké Balls.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
He picked up the balls and walked over to a large metal storage crate.
He opened the lid. It was full.
Rows and rows of Poké Balls sat neatly packed inside. He had filled two entire crates—over 200 Pokémon.
To a normal trainer, this was madness. To a Rocket, this was a small fortune in inventory.
"Inventory secured," Enzo muttered, closing the lid.
Suddenly, the door to the lab office burst open.
Professor Leni stumbled out, holding a stack of papers. His hair was standing on end, and he looked like he had just seen a ghost.
"Enzo!"
The lab door banged open. Leni stumbled out, his lab coat flying.
"There you are! Enzo, tell me... what the hell is this? Are you a wizard? Are you an alien?"
Enzo turned, calm as ever, wiping the sweat from his neck. "I assume the test was successful."
Leni slammed the papers onto the metal table with a frantic smack.
"Successful? It's impossible!" Leni was hyperventilating, his eyes darting around. "I ran the cross-reference three times. I exposed the Deino's pure Draconic Energy cells to the Snubbull's blood sample."
Leni grabbed his own hair.
"The Dragon energy... it dissolved. It vanished! It didn't just lose; it was nullified! The Snubbull's cells are completely immune to Dragon-type energy!"
Leni grabbed Enzo's shoulders, shaking him slightly.
"Do you realize what this means? Lance! The Elite Four! The Champions! The entire meta of the Pokémon world revolves around Dragons being the ultimate, uncounterable force, only Ice can reliably stop them. And you're telling me this pink bulldog is immune to a Dragon Pulse from a Dragonite?!"
Sitting on a stool nearby, Snubbull let out a short, bored bark and scratched his ear. He didn't care who Dragonite was; he just wanted a cookie.
Leni was trembling with scientific ecstasy. "This is a revolution. If this gets out, the Dragon Tamers will lose their god-status overnight."
Enzo removed Leni's hands from his shoulders and smiled.
"Exactly," Enzo said. "That's why we aren't publishing it yet."
"What do we do?" Leni whispered.
"Call it Fairy Type," Enzo ordered. "Classify it. Study it. I want you to run resistance tests against Corviknight's steel feathers and Proton's Muk sludge. Find out why Steel and Poison hurt them. But tell no one."
Enzo turned away from the scientist and looked at Ronnie and Proton. The two grunts were sitting on crates, mouths open, shocked by the conversation about a "New Type."
"Boys," Enzo called out.
They stood up quickly.
"In a few months, this information will be public," Enzo said, gesturing to the lab. "When it does, the price of any Pokémon with this 'Fairy' gene will skyrocket. Every trainer terrified of Dragons will pay millions for a counter."
Enzo pulled out a notepad and a pen. He scribbled a list rapidly and tore the page off.
He handed it to Proton.
"I want you to scour the Black Market, the pet shops, and the amateur breeders. Buy everything on this list."
Proton looked at the paper. He frowned.
Clefairy
Jigglypuff
Marill
Snubbull
Ralts (if available)
Mr. Mime
Togepi
Proton looked up, confused. "Boss... Jigglypuff? Mr. Mime? You want us to buy... the cute ones?"
"I want you to buy the cheap ones," Enzo corrected. "They will think we are buying pets for rich kids. Buy as many as you can find."
Proton hesitated. He looked at Ronnie, then back at Enzo.
"But Boss... we are critically low on cash," Proton admitted, his voice worried. "Do we really need to do this? We already have more than 200 Pokémon in the boxes, plus the unhatched eggs. Food costs are eating us alive. If we spend the rest on... Jigglypuffs... we might go broke before the tournament."
Enzo's eyes gleamed with a mix of madness and greed.
"Spend every last penny," Enzo commanded. "I don't want savings. I want inventory. I want a crate full of Fairy types before the world even knows what a Fairy is."
An hour later, Enzo was ready.
He had showered and changed. Gone were the sweatpants and the sweaty gym gear.
He dressed in an aggressive, urban street style. On his head, a plain red baseball cap sat low, casting a shadow over his red eyes.
He wore a black leather biker jacket, filled with zippers, worn open over a dark graphic t-shirt.
Across his chest, worn diagonally, the magnetic belt proudly displayed seven standard Poké Balls and one Great Ball, securely fastened. This arsenal contained Corviknight, Weezing, Krokorok, Houndoom, Froakie, Zorua, Deino, and Haunter—though the Ghost was currently lurking in his shadow, and Porygon2 was digitally residing in his TR Device.
Ripped black denim jeans, heavy combat boots, and a metal chain hanging from his waist gave him a heavy, grounded look. A small leather utility pouch was clipped to his belt on his right hip. He adjusted his black leather gloves, the silver chains around his neck, and the large watch on his wrist.
He walked toward the warehouse exit.
Leni was back in the lab, muttering about chromosomes. Ronnie and Proton were grabbing bags to go buy Jigglypuffs.
"Boss?" Proton called out as Enzo opened the heavy metal door. "Where are you going? You look fire!"
Enzo paused and smiled, the sunlight hitting his face.
"I'm going to the city," Enzo said, a shark-like grin appearing on his face.
"I'm going to register the team for the Rookie Tournament."
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