Pokémon: Master of the Rain Team

Skinny looked like a kid who’d taken a huge hit with nowhere to put the hurt.

He had no family here, no one to lean on, no clue what to do. And just when he was most helpless, Reiji appeared—the person he most wanted and least wanted to see—the big brother he could rely on, the wall at his back.

”It’s okay. Go recall your Poliwhirl and get it to the Pokémon Center—use a Heal Ball,” Reiji said, letting Skinny go.

A point-blank Thunderbolt had carved off half Poliwhirl’s strength. It couldn’t stay in the fight; it needed treatment now.

As Skinny recalled Poliwhirl, Pay-Pig Jiro found the interruption funny. No one had ever cut into his battles, no one had ever dared stop him from ”teaching a lesson.” With victory in hand, some masked stranger had blocked Jolteon’s finish. He was annoyed—and dangerous about it.

”Who are you? Do you know what happens when you interrupt my match?” he sneered.

”I’m the ’backup’ he meant to call. And I don’t care what happens,” Reiji answered. He hated flypaper punks—unless you swat them flat, they stick forever.

The girl at Jiro’s side whispered in his ear. He smirked as he ”understood.” ”Oh, you’re his big bro. I wondered who it was… So? Gonna take over his match?”

”No interest.” Reiji turned to go. He had no taste for meaningless scuffles—never had, in any life. He had his own code.

”You can’t go. We agreed the loser apologizes,” Jiro said, Jolteon sliding in front to block the way.

Reiji’s Poliwhirl shrugged off its pack and squared up to break Jolteon in half if needed. Block their path? The last thug who tried that was still buried in the woods, grass on the mound.

”Chubbs, was there really such an agreement?” Reiji asked; Skinny had already sprinted for the Center.

”No,” Chubbs said after thinking, shaking his head.

”We’re leaving,” Reiji said, ignoring the pay-pig’s yapping.

They took a step. Jolteon’s fur bristled with building charge.

Reiji still walked. Jolteon wouldn’t dare attack a human here. If it did, he’d kill someone today.

Jiro hurried up, soothed Jolteon, then eyed Reiji. ”I hear that kid idolizes you. I’m gonna beat you and shatter that. What will it take for you to fight me?”

He couldn’t bluff or sic a Pokémon on a person in the city. Money or not, a gun makes everyone equal; if not in daylight, then after dark. He’d also read Reiji’s aura—cold, like club bosses. You don’t push people like that.

”So we have to fight today?” Reiji’s patience finally frayed. Why was it always trash doing everything but anything decent?

”Yeah. Either you beat me, or I beat you.”

”Fine,” Reiji said. If the kid wanted to lose, he’d oblige.

”Which Pokémon? That Poliwhirl?” Jiro perked up. His joy always rode on someone else’s pain.

”Before we start—how much money do you have?” Reiji asked instead.

”Hah! Money’s the one thing I’m not short on.”

”Good. Name a price.”

”One million. How’s that?”

”Deal. Hand it over,” Reiji said, palm out.

”What, you want the cash before we start? Sure you’ll win?” Jiro laughed.

”If I lose, I’ll pay you two million,” Reiji said evenly.

”Okay. Here’s one million.” Jiro pulled a neat stack and slapped it into Reiji’s hand.

He wasn’t afraid Reiji would run. If he vanished, Skinny wouldn’t. And if Skinny did, there was still that classmate Chubbs.

Word of a one-million match flashed outward at once.

Tourists, passersby, trainers poured in until the arena was jammed. Those who couldn’t squeeze in climbed nearby rooftops to watch.

Neither battler had a name, but one million on the line was a magnet.

Jiro returned to his mark. Reiji sent out his Pokémon, and gasps rippled when Kingler hit the field. It was an off-type match—Water into Electric—for a million.

Who picks Kingler when Jolteon is certain? Either a fool, or someone very sure.

”I’ll let you go first, pig,” Reiji said when the kid looked ready.

”No. I’m waiting for that kid to come back so I can beat you in front of him. And don’t call me ’pig,’” Jiro snapped.

”Okay, pig…”

If the kid wasn’t in a hurry, neither was Reiji. The nickname wasn’t changing; Jiro ground his teeth.

News hit the Pokémon Center. Skinny dropped off Poliwhirl and Breloom for treatment and sprinted back—he’d caused this; he wouldn’t let it worsen.

Someone else heard: Jiro’s second brother, EJiro, a higher-grade student. He rushed over to see how his little brother had made such a mess. If he learned it was over a girl, he’d probably slap him twice. The family had money to burn—over a girl? Throw cash and choose any. What was in that kid’s head?

The crowd swelled until even the lanes were blocked. Skinny couldn’t get in.

Reiji released Pelipper. ”Find Skinny outside and bring him in.”

”Peliii!” Pelipper rose, circled, spotted Skinny wedged in the mass, dove, snatched him by the collar, and dumped him on the trainers’ platform.

Skinny scrambled up, head down, ashamed to meet Reiji’s eyes. He knew Reiji hated hassles, and he’d brought one.

”Enough. Stand behind me and watch,” Reiji said. He didn’t blame him. Honestly, this was a one-million favor.

With Skinny back, the match was finally about to start. The place buzzed to a peak; those who still couldn’t see mounted their Flying-types to watch from the air.

Reiji hadn’t expected this hype. It rivaled that Water-starter bout his first night by the Center.

Good thing the arena had twin metal fences a meter apart around the field, keeping overheated fans from spilling in and catching stray moves. The trainers’ dais stood two meters high and broad enough for a dozen people—solid infrastructure.

Beside Reiji stood Poliwhirl, Pelipper, Chubbs—and Skinny.

Seeing Skinny return, Jiro couldn’t wait. ”Jolteon—Quick Attack in, then Thunderbolt!”

Reiji watched Jolteon move. The kid had waited for Skinny, then tried to jump the gun. Reiji had promised first move and a million was on the line—months of allowance, probably. No room for slop.

But when he heard the same tired combo, Reiji ordered, ”Kingler, Dig—then spam Harden.”

”Krra-kra!” Kingler raised its great claw, tore a hole, and dropped underground before Jolteon arrived. Quick Attack missed; Thunderbolt cracked into an empty cavity.

Target lost; then found. Kingler erupted beneath Jolteon and snapped the massive claw up.

”Jolteon, dodge!”

The kid used his signature move—yelling—and Jolteon’s speed beat the claw.

”Kingler, get moving—stack Agility,” Reiji called. Defense was already ramped from Dig; now they needed speed.

Kingler ran, each Agility streamlining its motion. It blurred across the sand, leaving afterimages.

Jiro saw the danger. If Kingler reached parity, this got ugly. ”Jolteon, Quick Attack to intercept—stop it!”

”Kingler, claws up—block,” Reiji switched.

Jolteon streaked in; Kingler raised a Hardened claw to meet it.

Even fresh off the first Agility, Kingler wasn’t as fast. Jolteon caught up—then cracked its skull against that reinforced claw, shoving Kingler back two steps.

Kingler lost a little momentum, then resumed running, stacking more Agility.

Jolteon, meanwhile, shook off the stars as Jiro barked, ”Jolteon—Thunderbolt!”

He couldn’t keep pace anymore; might as well throw lightning and pray.

Reiji didn’t allow it. ”Kingler—Dig.”

”Krra!” Kingler vanished again—and even if it hadn’t, that Thunderbolt was already off target.

Target lost; target found. This time, when Kingler burst up, Jolteon wasn’t fast enough.

”Jolteon, dodge—!”

The magic word failed. Speed parity reached, Jolteon couldn’t slip the uppercut. The great claw swatted it—clang—into the iron fence.

Behind his mask, Reiji’s mouth quirked. He returned the kid’s earlier boast word-for-word:

”Kingler—Mud Shot. Finish it.”

Jiro went pale, knuckles white on the rail, voice shredding as he screamed, ”Jolteon, get up—stand—move!”

Pupupup—

Three Mud Shots fanned toward Jolteon…

(End of chapter)

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