Pokémon: Master of the Rain Team

On leaving the hotel, Reiji hailed a cab and went straight to the backpack shop in the department store. He dropped 70,000 Pokédollars on a 50-liter black backpack.

This time, he picked one with a little Pelipper charm attached, finally fulfilling Pelipper’s wish.

He then swung by a clothing store and spent 1,000 on five black face covers—to rotate as replacements for his Trainer Hunter disguise—and 3,000 on three pairs of boxer shorts. After all, he couldn’t just wear the same anti-stab underwear every day.

Next stop: the watch store. He casually picked up a black mechanical wristwatch for 10,000.

Then, back to the outdoor gear store notorious for selling knockoffs. And sure enough, the old man was there.

The moment the shopkeeper saw Reiji wearing the patched-up anti-stab outfit he’d sold just yesterday, he grinned knowingly.

”Back again, kid. What are you looking for this time?”

”You recognize me?” Reiji answered the question with another.

”The clothes, kid.” The old man chuckled, pointing at the patches.

”So it’s the outfit, huh?” Reiji looked down. He pulled down his face cover—it wasn’t like the old man didn’t already know his face.

”Boss, bring me two pairs of black hiking boots. Size 42,” Reiji said plainly.

Cloth shoes were fine for city use, but in the wild, they were a liability. They weren’t durable and were awful for running—totally unsuited for his needs.

”Got it! Give me a sec,” the old man said, ducking behind the counter. After rummaging around, he returned with two pairs. ”These are the good stuff, kid...”

”Are they stab-resistant?” Reiji asked as he picked one up.

”Of course! Feel free to test them. Steel-toe caps too—protects your toes.”

Reiji tried them on. Both pairs were indeed stab-proof and had solid toe protection. ”How much?” he asked.

”Forty thousand,” the old man said, holding up four fingers.

”Twenty-five. If not, take ’em back,” Reiji replied bluntly, naming his price. With over 20 million in his account, he had no interest in haggling.

”Alright, alright! They’re yours.” The old man relented, waving his hand.

Reiji changed shoes on the spot—they fit perfectly.

Then the old man pulled out a stab-resistant backpack. ”Twenty thousand. Interested?”

”Wow, you’re actually offering a discount?” Reiji raised an eyebrow.

”No choice. Business has been slow. You want it, it’s yours for twenty.” The old man placed the bag on the counter.

But Reiji waved it off. ”Nah, sorry. I’ve already got five backpacks.”

Cough. The old man had already noticed that, and awkwardly packed the bag away. ”Need anything else? I’ve got every kind of outdoor gear—go wild.”

”Can you make clothes?” Reiji reached into his pack and pulled out a piece of Sharpedo hide. He had plans.

”Absolutely. What kind of clothes?” The old man lit up—custom clothing was his specialty.

Reiji laid the hide on the counter.

The old man’s eyes widened. He rushed to the front and pulled down the shop’s iron shutter before returning. ”Kid, next time give me a heads-up. I nearly had a heart attack. You’re using Sharpedo hide?”

”Is that a problem?” Reiji asked, surprised. This guy sold illegal goods—why the fuss?

”It’s fine. But if anyone saw it, we’d both be in trouble.” The old man ran his hands across the rough hide. Not bad quality. He spread it out, measuring it with his fingers.

After some rough calculations, he looked up. ”Kid, this can barely make a jacket and some pants. I’ll charge you 10,000 for labor. Deal?”

”Deal,” Reiji nodded, crossing his arms and watching him work.

The old man didn’t pull any shady moves. After getting Reiji’s go-ahead, he carefully examined the hide again and then pulled out an identical Sharpedo skin from under the counter. ”Kid, how about using this one instead? I’ll trade you.”

”Why?” Reiji asked, running his hand across it. The new hide was the same—but much softer.

”I treated mine. Yours is still too stiff—it’d take a week to soften before we could make anything.”

Reiji examined the replacement carefully and nodded. ”Alright.”

”Great. I’ll have it done in an hour.” The old man got to work, his sewing machine practically shooting sparks. In just over an hour, he’d produced a jacket and pants.

Since the fabric was ready, all he had to do was cut and sew. He even reinforced it with waterproof layers.

All done under Reiji’s watchful eye—he wasn’t worried about hidden tricks.

The old man gave the outfit one final check and then tossed it to Reiji.

Reiji inspected it and packed it away. ”Two more black anti-stab T-shirts. With the boots, labor, and shirts... it’s 55,000 total.”

”No problem. They’re yours.” The old man didn’t haggle. One shirt for 11,000? He’d sold them before—nothing more to say.

Once the shirts were brought over, Reiji stabbed them with his knife to test them, then handed over the money.

With that, his clothing situation was finally sorted.

He was about to head out, but the iron shutter was still down.

The old man noticed and opened it for him, saying, ”Come back if you need anything. I’ve got everything—guaranteed legit.”

Reiji paused. ”Actually, I do have one question. Know where I can get a pendant made?”

”A pendant? You mean Sharpedo teeth?”

”How’d you know?” Reiji raised an eyebrow. That was exactly what he had in mind.

”There’s an old legend in the Orange Islands: if you wear a Sharpedo tooth, you won’t have accidents at sea. So people often turn them into accessories.”

”I know a guy. I’ll give you his address.” The old man scribbled it on a slip of paper and handed it over.

Reiji folded the paper and thanked him before heading out.

Next stop: the discount supermarket. He bought basic living supplies—basin, towel, toothbrush, toothpaste, bowls, pans, food dishes for his Pokémon—all the odds and ends. That cost another 5,000.

Then... nothing. He left the department store and took a cab to the western district—not to make the pendant, but to look for a place to live.

The artisan was located in the west. So was the orphanage. So was the seaside forest. If he was going to stay on the island for a while, it made sense to live in the west.

Besides, the port was in the southeast, along with the black market and the Pokémon Center. He preferred to stay far away from all that.

Wherever Trainers gathered, conflict followed. That saying couldn’t be more accurate.

He’d only been to the black market twice, but both times he’d seen robbery and murder.

And that was while flying overhead.

That chaos? Best avoided.

The cab let him off in the western district, and Reiji started scouting housing. The area had lots of single-family villas, especially by the coast.

He stopped by a local real estate office to inquire about a beachfront rental. Since this wasn’t the city center, it was more of a suburban zone. Only tourists came here, so prices were reasonable.

”Sir, do you have any preferences?” the agent asked.

”By the sea. Quiet. And it needs a swimming pool,” Reiji replied. The sea was for fishing. The quiet, for privacy. The pool? For his six Water-types—no pool, no play.

”There are plenty of houses like that. This area is quiet, all the seaside homes have pools—you won’t have to worry.”

She continued, ”Rent is 100,000 Pokédollars per month. No deposit required. Rent is non-refundable. All furniture and appliances are priced—damages must be reimbursed. Utilities billed monthly. How long do you want to rent?”

”Three months,” Reiji decided. If he liked it, he could extend later.

He went to an ATM and withdrew 990,000 in cash. His account still held 27 million.

Why 990,000? Because the League had skimmed another 10,000 from him. So he deposited 10,000 just to make it even again. Hence the round number.

Three months’ rent was 300,000. That same amount could only get you 30 days at a city-center hotel.

Factor in utilities and miscellaneous costs, renting was the smarter option. And with millions in his account, he could afford it.

Even if inflation had bloated that number, a millionaire was still a millionaire.

[End of Chapter]

[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]

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