Pokémon: Master of the Rain Team

”It’s good that you understand. When you’re weak and you see stuff like that, don’t argue—just be responsible for your own Pokémon…”

Seeing the kid staring into the flames, chewing on his breakdown of what a Trainer is, Reiji splashed him with a little cold water. It was a warning not to paint the profession too pretty.

Once you’ve truly seen the darkness, the gap between reality and the ideal can rip you apart. Some people take a long time to rebuild their worldview. Others never get back up and disappear into the crowd.

He’d gone through that rupture himself—back when he first left campus for society. He thought the future was bright and beckoning. Then he ran headfirst into the gospel of money and realized how naïve he’d been—a hatchling quail just out of the nest.

Campus versus the black world outside—polar opposites like the poles of the earth. The contrast nearly tore him in two. He needed ages to adapt, to rebuild the worldview that had shattered into dust—only to find he was still the same quail, unchanged.

And then… well, everyone knows the rest: he checked out, fished, and then wound up in this world.

”I get it. I won’t be that kind of scum,” Skinny said, firm. He had his own line: he would never abandon his partners. Never.

”That’s between you and your Pokémon. Promise them, not me,” Reiji shook his head. In a world this brutal, he was a small fry. He could only mind his own house.

As for anyone else?

What did they have to do with him?

If someone had to handle it, that was what the League’s Elite Four, League investigators, Officer Jenny and the police were for.

He wasn’t Elite Four. He was just an ordinary Trainer—finally no longer a ghost on paper—and barely making ends meet.

”I know,” Skinny nodded. He carved every word from tonight into his heart. It was going to be a sleepless night; he needed to reshape what ”Trainer” meant. It wasn’t just about a League license.

But those Trainers who dumped their Pokémon—what were they even thinking? Poliwhirl was clearly strong; it had wiped the floor with him. And there were still people throwing partners away?

”Reiji… do they really ditch a Pokémon just because they lose a battle? Isn’t that on the Trainer? Why pin a loss on the Pokémon?”

”There are no useless Pokémon—only useless Trainers,” Reiji said, repeating a classic line from the player circles of his previous life.

Ever since catching Poliwag, he’d lived by that. He’d carve out a future with Poliwhirl and prove the League’s promises weren’t just hot air…

”There are no useless Pokémon—only useless Trainers,” the kid murmured, the words slamming into him like a wave.

He finally understood why people abandoned Pokémon—because he’d almost become one of them.

If he hadn’t met Reiji—if he’d just given up because Poliwhirl lost—he might have done the same unforgivable thing.

Only today did it click: losing wasn’t the Pokémon’s fault. He was the problem. He never trained them and expected them to win anyway.

Before today, that was impossible—unless he was battling the chubby kid. Otherwise, the instant-KOs spoke for themselves.

He’d been ”battling” that kid like playing house, trading blows and feeling smug.

Now, just remembering it made him burn with shame. How could he face the partners who’d stuck by him?

At least they were still with him. There was time to fix this. And he was only eleven. He wasn’t too late.

If not for Reiji—and his grandpa pushing him to learn from Reiji—what might he have missed? Maybe an entire lifetime.

”Reiji, I understand. Thank you for the guidance.” Skinny bowed his head solemnly. Maybe a kid’s thanks didn’t matter to Reiji, but he would never forget this night by the campfire.

Reiji tossed more wood on the fire, the flames leaping higher. ”As long as you get it. I don’t like lecturing—especially not a hardhead like you.”

”So in your eyes I’m a hardhead, huh…” the kid sighed inwardly. He knew his first impression wasn’t great. He didn’t argue; he just decided to change the image people had of him.

They fell quiet. They’d said everything they needed to say.

By eleven, Reiji had Krabby hose down the fire, recalled the team, let Spinarak hop back onto his shoulder, and started back.

On the way, just before they parted, Skinny asked another question—tonight he was a bundle of curiosity.

”Reiji… how do I become a strong Trainer—like you?”

Different from earlier—this wasn’t ”what is a Trainer” but ”how to be the best.”

”A strong Trainer… I’m not one,” Reiji said with a wry smile. The kid thought too highly of him. He wasn’t even an elite enforcer—just a future mook.

”Not even you?” Skinny was surprised. Among all the Trainers he’d faced, Reiji was the strongest.

”Of course not.” Reiji stopped, sea breeze on his face, eyes on the black water where fishing boats slid by. ”There are a lot of Trainers in the city stronger than me. I don’t even rank.”

”That’s only because you haven’t battled publicly. With your Poliwhirl, you’d be famous,” Skinny insisted. If he hadn’t heard of Reiji, Reiji must not have fought in the city scene.

”Pointless battles,” Reiji said, thinking back to that first night at the Center and Skinny’s match with the chubby kid. He had no interest in trivial scuffles. Watching true masters? That, maybe. But fighting for nothing? No thanks.

Skinny knew words alone wouldn’t move Reiji to fight. Without stakes, Reiji wouldn’t lift a finger. He dropped it and followed Reiji out of the woods.

Yet Reiji wasn’t done. He still owed Skinny an answer. He might not be a strong Trainer, but he knew how to become one.

”Kiddo, you’ve been battling that chubby kid for a long time, haven’t you?”

”How did you know?” Skinny gaped. So Reiji had his eye on him for a while—even knew about his friend.

”Listen, everyone lives inside their own frame of reference. Most people never think to step outside it.”

”I’ve seen many high mountains—the highest peaks, even,” Reiji said, meaning the theatrical battles from his previous life. Godlike Pokémon reshaping the land, rending space, raising continents—he’d watched them all on the big screen.

He hadn’t met any legendaries here—yet. But nothing stopped him from bragging to a stubborn kid.

”Only by challenging the strong will you see better views. When you understand the gap between you and them, you’ll want to cross the mountain in front of you—climb higher—and maybe become someone else’s mountain.”

”Head back. If you want to train tomorrow, come to the villa. I’ll be there for a while.” Reiji clapped Skinny on the shoulder under the streetlight and walked past him.

He knew the shock would take time to settle. Skinny needed to cool down and rebuild his worldview.

A person’s horizons determine their ceiling—that’s just true.

If your eyes never leave this little island and its one small city, you won’t go far. Your ”ceiling” will be the height of a provincial town.

That’s why the League encourages Trainers to travel and challenge. Only after seeing true mountains and grand vistas do you yearn to climb—and become the strongest.

Even if you fail halfway, the journey feeds you for life. At least you’ve seen the summit.

So, no, the bragging hadn’t been wrong. It just depended on how the kid took it.

After Reiji left, Skinny stood under the streetlight for a long time before drifting toward the orphanage.

Tonight had dumped too much on him. His view of life, values, and the world had all been shaken. He needed time.

What a Trainer is… he understood.

There are no useless Pokémon—only useless Trainers… he understood.

How to become a strong Trainer… he understood that too.

”No wonder Reiji said those street matches were meaningless. He’s seen higher peaks than I can imagine… I misjudged him.”

Lost in thought, he wandered right up to the orphanage gate. The old director called to him, but Skinny didn’t respond until a hand settled on his shoulder.

”Hey? What’s wrong? You look hollowed out. And why are you back so late?”

”Director…” the boy turned, words stuck in his throat. He slumped on the wooden steps, suddenly aware that he was drenched in sweat.

”What happened?” The old director couldn’t help worrying. It was past one. With his old friend’s only grandson stumbling home like this, he needed answers.

”I was training with Reiji until now,” He explained, seeing the concern.

”Training? This late?” The director eyed him. The kid slipped out to play often; ”training” was a hard sell.

”Training ended at eleven. I was thinking while I walked… that’s why I’m late.”

”What were you thinking about that had you so gone? Tell me.”

”Reiji told me about Breloom’s abilities. If I’d known abilities mattered this much, I would’ve paid attention when you lectured me,” Skinny said, scratching his head in embarrassment.

”Haha!” The director burst out laughing. Of course it had to come from an outsider—they’d spoiled the kid too much. Nothing they said landed.

But if someone else could knock sense into him, the old man was delighted. The barfly grandpa would be grinning in his sleep when he heard.

”Teach me tomorrow, okay? I want to understand Breloom,” Skinny said, mortified.

”Alright, alright—tomorrow,” the director chuckled, then asked, ”What else did he say?”

He was curious. Talk of abilities alone wouldn’t shake him this badly.

”I asked Reiji what a Trainer really is. Why some Trainers abandon their Pokémon. And how to become a strong Trainer.”

”He said a lot after that… and I realized I’d been living inside my little bubble. I was just playing house, not battling. It wasn’t Pokémon battling at all—just kids fooling around…”

Skinny relayed everything he’d heard. The director nodded, affirmed, and his eyes lit up again and again. It was all exactly what he’d tried to teach—the kids had just never listened.

”There are no useless Pokémon—only useless Trainers,” the director murmured. It matched the League’s propaganda, though the League said it more politely—insulting you in circles instead of to your face.

The League did peddle dreams, and Skinny might not grasp the subtext yet. They were children raised on League posters—he knew the drill. Only a tiny number actually ate that promised pie.

Still, he didn’t resent the League. Compared to places under feudal rule, they had it good. Without contrast, there’s no pain; in those places, people weren’t even treated as people.

The slogan wasn’t wrong—so long as you had a good starter or exceptional talent. Some kids even ditched starters they didn’t ”like.”

As for ”higher peaks,” the director laughed again.

Yes, true peaks could inspire some Trainers. But others, seeing how sheer and perilous the climb was, would shrink back forever.

Good and bad both existed. For those who bore the pressure, mountains became fuel. For those who retreated, the peak became an eternal wall.

”Kiddo, Reiji’s a young man with vision. Stick to him and learn. Don’t miss this chance of a lifetime. He’ll help you cross many mountains and see even taller peaks.”

”Director, not you too—you’re starting to sound like Reiji,” Skinny sighed. The old folks’ sermon game was strong—maybe stronger than Reiji’s.

With Reiji, it felt more like having a friend than a teacher.

”Hahaha. Get some sleep. You’re training tomorrow,” the director said at last, clapping Skinny’s shoulder before heading inside. He was too old to pull all-nighters.

”Right—training.” The reminder jolted Skinny. He hurried to his room and returned Poliwhirl and Breloom to their cozy spots. The three of them were out the moment their heads hit the pillow.

[End of Chapter]

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