Pokémon: Master of the Rain Team

Skinny’s the type who snaps when he’s pushed—too rigid for his own good. Who knows when he’ll fix that lousy habit. One day he’ll figure it out: if you can’t win clean, play dirty in the shadows.

Their families are big and backed; we’re just one or two people. What’s there to be scared of? A lone wolf is boldest.

As for trash talk—please. In my last life I heard so much that my ears grew calluses. I don’t care.

If I hadn’t been a law-abiding citizen back then, half those wagging tongues would’ve been… missing.

Same here: I can ignore it, but if someone puts it on my doorstep and I can’t beat them up front, then I’ll handle it from the dark and make them miserable.

By the time we reached the row of six big battle arenas, one of them was roaring with cheers.

Listen closely and you’d hear it was all for the other side. No one was shouting for Skinny.

He’s an orphan—his circle is the orphanage, and outside of that it’s just Chubbs. It’d be weird if a crowd was chanting his name.

We slipped in behind Skinny and watched his match in silence.

On the field, Breloom was fighting an Exeggutor.

I watched a bit: Skinny held the advantage. I leaned toward Chubbs and kept my voice low. ”That ’strongest Jiro’ you yelled about—who is he?”

”It’s him—the fattest guy next to that girl,” Chubbs said, pointing up into the stands.

”…Another chubby one?” I followed his finger and saw a doughy kid whose neck had disappeared into cheeks.

”B-Big Bro Reiji, do you… uh… have something against chubby guys?” Chubbs asked, timid.

”Haha, no, no—you got me wrong.” Yeah, that was awkward. This chubby isn’t that Chubbs—same shape, different person.

While I deflected, Skinny’s Breloom finished off the Exeggutor. Two wins in a row.

Another student in uniform stepped up with a third Pokémon. They were going full gauntlet on Skinny.

I didn’t stop it. Some lessons you don’t truly learn until they knock you in the teeth: one person can’t beat a mob. I’m planning to build a whole squad; Skinny gets poked a couple times and wants to solo the world on pride. Not smart.

There’s no upside. They set the rules. If you win, you get nothing; if you lose, it follows you and makes life harder. Bad trade.

Third battle ended fast—Skinny’s Breloom won again. The students in the stands were grinding their teeth; they couldn’t even shout anymore.

But the three-straight drew a crowd—tourists, passersby, curious trainers. The seats were almost full.

It was Skinny’s first taste of that kind of attention: from ignored to noticed to hearing cheers for himself. He hoped I was seeing this—he’d really done it.

”Useless—every one of you! You got swept last time and you’re getting swept now. You’ve disgraced our whole class!”

Up in the stands, the pudgy kid being fawned over blew his top, cursing his classmates until they couldn’t lift their heads.

He’s ”the boss,” so even if they were bitter, none of them dared talk back.

”Jiro, go teach him a lesson. I know Jiro-oniichan is the strongest,” the girl cooed, hugging his arm. She didn’t act grossed out at all; the way she said oniichan was syrup-sweet.

But in her eyes there was nothing but disgust.

If this kid weren’t the school’s strongest and rich—if her family hadn’t told her to cozy up—she’d never play cute hanging off him.

Feeling her bounce at his arm and the heat of her whisper at his ear, Jiro started floating. He nodded and strutted down to the stage, barely aware of how he got there until she nudged him to look at Skinny. He sent out his Electric-type—Jolteon.

Jolteon versus Breloom…

”Skinny’s going to lose,” I said the moment the pay-to-win piglet sent it out.

The Jolteon’s footwork was light and sure; its bright yellow coat was sleek and glossy, and the white collar around its neck was bristling sharp—the look of a body charged to the brim.

A well-raised Jolteon like that against a Breloom that had already fought three matches and was sucking wind? No chance.

Even if Skinny switched to Poliwhirl, he probably wouldn’t beat this Jolteon—type advantage and speed both on Jolteon’s side.

And judging by little Rich Pig’s behavior, he’s not the one who raised it. Kids can’t even take care of themselves, let alone a high-maintenance Electric-type.

This Jolteon listens to him because he paid someone to raise it. That’s why I call him a pay-to-win piglet.

Another walking wallet. Without serious money you don’t get a Jolteon like that.

Not to mention routine coat care to keep it that silky.

Honestly, it’s better as a pampered pet than a battler.

”Big Bro Reiji, how do you know Skinny’s going to lose? He just won three straight,” Chubbs whispered, confused.

”Watch. You’ll see in a second.” No point over-explaining. He’s got a good heart, but he’s not as quick on the uptake as Skinny.

On the field, Skinny didn’t recall Breloom; he wanted a fourth straight.

But Breloom was running on fumes. Jolteon blinked forward with Quick Attack and body-checked it clean off its feet, ending the match in a single hit.

Skinny recalled Breloom.

The students in uniform erupted, lifting Jiro on their shoulders with their noise.

”Big Bro Jiro’s amazing—one hit KO!”

”Jiro’s the strongest! Crush that cocky punk!”

”Jiro-oniichan, you’re the best!”

The girl bounced, clutching his arm, thrilled that Skinny finally fell.

And of course they ”forgot” the three in a row Skinny had just taken. Selective amnesia—only Jiro’s victory mattered; Skinny’s wins vanished.

Watching their slimy, shameless faces cheering, Skinny clenched his teeth and decided not to fight again. I’d told him these matches were pointless.

”Hey, kid—I heard you’ve got a stronger Poliwhirl. Why isn’t it out yet? Gonna forfeit?”

Pay-Pig Jiro was drunk on it: a pretty girl on his arm, a crowd screaming his name, a flashy KO over the guy who’d been sweeping. This was his moment, and he was bathing in it.

The girl’s eyes said she just wanted what she’d lost on the beach—payback. She’d make Skinny know exactly who she was.

”Yo, why’d you stop? Scared you’ll lose? Running to fetch backup?” she sniped.

”Heh, backup? Bring whoever you want, it won’t matter. You’re both trash and cowards. Even if your two Pokémon jump my Jolteon, you’ll still lose. My Jolteon’s the strongest!”

Jiro had fully floated off the ground now, the girl cooing in his ear. The crowd booed at the ”strongest” bit—bit much, kid. But no one in the adult crowd would seriously pick a fight with a student.

”Big Bro Reiji isn’t trash—and I’m no coward,” Skinny snapped. He threw out his Poké Ball and sent in Poliwhirl. He was going to fight.

He wanted to stomp that loudmouth into the floor.

Chubbs panicked and lunged to stop him, ready to say ”we found Reiji,” to get Skinny to calm down.

I snagged Chubbs by the collar. Let Skinny hurt a little—he’ll remember the lesson. Otherwise it won’t stick.

Mouthy punks should be taught—but if you don’t have the strength yet, don’t charge headfirst. Play nasty.

”Big Bro Reiji, why won’t you let me go?” Chubbs barked, straining.

”Don’t distract Skinny,” I said, giving a small shake of the head. Meaning: watch and keep quiet.

On the field, the bell rang—both sides attacked.

Skinny knew he was facing Electric, so: Ground-type. ”Poliwhirl, Mud Shot!”

Pay-Pig knew Water is weak to Electric. ”Jolteon, Quick Attack in—then Thunderbolt!”

Jolteon was too fast. Poliwhirl’s Mud Shot wasn’t quite at the needed precision yet; it couldn’t tag the blur.

By the time Jolteon slid into Poliwhirl’s face, the frog was still spitting mud.

The Thunderbolt was point-blank. Skinny shouted, ”Protect! Then Ice Punch!”

”Jolteon, keep firing Thunderbolt!”

The first Thunderbolt slammed into a green barrier and splashed away—Poliwhirl’s icy fist drew back to swing…

…but Jolteon moved faster. Its sleek coat spiked out, and a second Thunderbolt ripped from its bristling fur—a thick, crackling lance of pale yellow that hammered Poliwhirl in the chest.

Poliwhirl couldn’t dodge in time. It took the hit square on, smoke curling off its body, char marks everywhere, blue skin twitching with live arcs. It locked up—paralyzed. Worse and worse.

Skinny hadn’t recovered; Poliwhirl hadn’t pushed through the paralysis yet.

Jiro smirked. ”Finish it—Thunderbolt!”

”Poliwhirl, move—dodge!” Skinny cried. If that Thunderbolt landed, the paralysis-slowed Poliwhirl would black out. Skinny even half-stepped forward to block the strike with his own body.

Panic thinking. A human can’t tank a Thunderbolt. This isn’t the Champion’s plot armor.

Fwoosh—

A stray Water Gun blasted Poliwhirl off the line, yanking it out of the danger zone. That one interfering jet of water saved the frog.

Heads snapped toward us. All they saw was a hooded, masked black-clad figure.

Once the eyes landed, I let go of Chubbs. He bolted, shouting, ”Skinny! I brought Big Bro Reiji!”

”Big Bro Reiji?” Skinny looked over. Remembering the lopsided loss and the last-second save by my Poliwhirl, he lowered his head. He didn’t want to face me—he’d embarrassed me.

”Skinny.” I walked over. He flinched and ducked, so I set my palm on his head, rumpled his hair, and let him lean into my chest. I spoke quietly:

”You stubborn kid. You did fine. A lot of arguments aren’t worth having. They don’t understand you—and the only one who gets hurt is you.”

(End of chapter)

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