Pokémon: Master of the Rain Team

Reiji found the competitors’ wing—ten lounges, ten tunnels to the arenas. Which one had Shun?

A few quick questions solved it: each lounge matched the last digit of a trainer’s entry number. Know the tail number, know the room.

Shun’s ended in 8. Bunta’s, 9.

One more loop of the floor told Reiji something else: pairings likely followed tails too—1 vs 2, 3 vs 4, and so on—no matter who swapped tickets afterward. That meant Shun (8) would draw 7, and Bunta (9) would draw 10. Close to colliding, but not quite.

At Lounge 8, Shun and Bunta spotted him at the same time.

”Reiji-nii, you made it.” Shun’s shoulders loosened.

”Not on yet?” Reiji asked.

”We’re in the three-hundreds. Should be just after ten,” Shun said, eyeing the wall board. His 328 was paired with 307, four matches out.

Registration assigned you to one of six clubs by team typing—Electric, Water, Grass, Bug, Normal, Flying. After that you could use any Pokémon, and even trade entry numbers if you wanted.

Which led to two predictable behaviors:

If your draw looked nasty, you traded numbers to dodge.

People brought Electric-types to the Water Club to farm easy wins.

They watched the feeds. One screen cycled match numbers; four screens streamed the four fields live. Most bouts weren’t art—either one-and-done blowouts, or two rookies pecking each other to death.

A round-bellied man strode up. ”Bunta, you’re on soon. Why are you still here?”

”Dad—already?” Bunta rushed over, then waved back. ”This is Reiji-nii—Shun’s big bro.”

”Pleasure,” Bunta’s father said, shaking hands. ”Here to watch?”

”To compete,” Reiji corrected.

If Bunta hadn’t been bluffing earlier, his father was veteran-tier. Funny—when Reiji robbed Bunta as the ”spider bandit,” he’d half expected a manhunt.

A few pleasantries later, Bunta’s father steered him toward Lounge 9.

Left alone, Reiji glanced at Shun. Tight jaw. He changed the subject. ”Your grandpa coming?”

”Only if I make top sixty-four,” Shun said, helpless. Too high a bar, this early.

Reiji smirked. ”Even I might miss that.”

”Reiji-nii… we’re really using Elekid?” That was the knot.

”Use it,” Reiji said. ”Sooner or later you have to show it. Better in front of thousands than a handful. Let the whole city see. There’s nothing dirty about it.”

”Okay.” With Reiji-nii beside him, the knot loosened another turn. Elekid was green, but a prelim was fine.

”Look—Bunta’s up.” Reiji tipped his chin at the stream. Bunta stepped out and sent Krabby.

His opponent sent Pikachu.

Krabby spent the match running in circles until it got stunned into the floor.

”…He doesn’t have Dig?” Reiji winced. Trading Water Gun into Electric was a lesson the hard way.

Shun coughed to paper over secondhand embarrassment. After all that ”training,” Bunta still looked like that… He didn’t even want people linking them as friends.

”Your turn. Go.” The queue board flashed 328.

”I’m up, Reiji-nii!” Shun sprinted down the tunnel.

On the live feed, he faced his opponent across the line. The judge checked readiness. Flags dropped.

Elekid vs. Magnemite.

Called it. Plenty of trainers had come to fish.

In other lounges, familiar eyes tracked the same screen—the two younger rich brothers from the ”big spender trio” leaned in. Keiko’s boyfriend watched long enough to confirm Elekid, then slipped out of the Water Club to make a call.

Outside, the paid relay ran across the city. The beach girl who’d taunted Shun seethed. The students who’d challenged him prayed they wouldn’t draw him later. Keiko at the massage shop smiled—polite kid, that one. At the Sailor’s Bar, Grandpa bartender and the waitresses cheered. Even the orphanage’s old director and the kids clustered around a small TV.

Two minutes. Maybe three. Then it broke the way Reiji expected.

Elekid caught the current, bled it into the flooring, drained Magnemite dry, and took the win.

Reiji didn’t react. It was the line he’d drawn up.

Beside him, Bunta was a knot of feelings—happy for Shun, gutted for himself. Booed out in round one. He wanted a hole to climb into.

Shun burst out of the tunnel and bear-hugged him, high on the noise of ten thousand. The hug landed straight on Bunta’s bruise.

”Bunta, I won!” Shun said, breathless, replaying the key exchanges.

Across town, small celebrations popped—the bartender Grandpa’s grin, waitresses whooping, kids jumping on creaky floorboards. The rich brothers gritted their teeth and dreamed of stomping Shun later.

”Enough. We’re heading back,” Reiji said, tapping Shun’s shoulder. Work remained.

Bunta muttered a few words, then peeled off for the stands with his father—watch, or go home; those were his options.

Shun caught up to Reiji, still buzzing. Reiji listened, praised what deserved it, nudged a few tactical corrections, and let the adrenaline taper.

That was battling—habit-forming heat. Like hitting a five-million jackpot. Cleaner than any other thrill.

They didn’t know it yet, but Elekid had already been logged and relayed.

Top floor of the Electric Club, a door buzzed. Keiko’s boyfriend stepped into the general manager’s office.

If Manager Jin were here, he’d have recognized the man behind the desk—the ”thigh” he clung to. That thigh was about to pick up another rider.

(End of Chapter)

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