After organizing everything, Reiji was left with three backpacks. One of the 100-cubic backpacks held his personal belongings and the Pokémon food.

Another 100-cubic backpack contained the two sets of Poison-type materials—he planned to bring the whole thing to the old man at the tavern to deal with.

The last 50-cubic backpack was filled with food for Rhyhorn. From now on, that backpack would be dedicated solely to Rhyhorn's meals—an exclusive treatment.

And that was that.

After the Pokémon finished dinner, Reiji returned Butterfree, Pelipper, Krabby, and Slowpoke to their Poké Balls.

He kept only Poliwhirl and Spinarak with him, letting Spinarak perch on his shoulder. Poliwag carried Rhyhorn's food while Reiji carried the other two space backpacks himself, locked the door, and set out to find the address written on the piece of paper.

He was going to look for the artisan who could craft something from Sharpedo's tooth. The address was somewhere near the southern part of the city, and he had to take a cab and ask the driver for directions to find the place.

Three taxi rides had already cost him 3,000 Pokédollars—one from the hotel to the department store, one from there to the west side of the city, and one from the west to the south.

At the southern edge of the city, by the coast, was an old district that would be worth a fortune if it were ever redeveloped. He eventually found the address—it was a humble building, and the small courtyard in front served as the workshop.

He saw lights still on in the yard and walked right in, spotting an elderly man with graying hair busy at work.

He pulled Sharpedo's tooth from his pocket and asked the old man, "Sir, can you make something from this?"

"A tooth? From a Sharpedo?" The old man turned at the sound, took the tooth, examined it closely for a while, then smiled. "Young man, this fang is beautiful. What do you want to make?"

"A pendant," Reiji replied truthfully.

"You want the hole drilled through the tooth or attached externally?"

"Externally. Also, it needs to be polished. How much would that cost?"

"All in all, 3,000. Want to go ahead with it?" the old man asked, setting the tooth down. He often worked with such materials and could get it done in about two hours.

"Sure. But don't use anything that rusts," Reiji said, pulling out 1,000 Pokédollars as a deposit.

"How about this then? I'll use silver for the fittings. I'll only charge you 1,000 extra for the silver. How's that sound?"

"That works. Here's the deposit. I'll pick it up tomorrow," Reiji nodded, ready to leave.

But then, seeing all the equipment around the workshop, he suddenly thought of something. He pulled out the Mystic Water and asked, "Sir, can you make a wristband that Poliwhirl can wear, with the Mystic Water embedded into it? The wristband should also protect the item."

"Sure. For this Poliwhirl?" the old man asked, glancing at the Mystic Water, clearly recognizing it as a held item, then looking over at the Poliwhirl carrying the backpack. He'd made something similar before.

"Yes. Poliwhirl, hold out your arm for him," Reiji said.

"Poli~ poli~" Poliwhirl knew Reiji was buying something for it and promptly stretched out its arm for inspection.

The old man examined Poliwhirl's arm, then rummaged through a toolbox and pulled out a sample wristband. He slipped it onto Poliwhirl's arm and asked, "How's this?"

"I want it worn on the right arm, with the Mystic Water embedded on the inside, to make it less likely to get hit during battle," Reiji explained, adjusting the band and placing the item on the inner side of the wrist.

The sample was made of flexible fabric and could be tightened. There was a recessed slot in the center—just the right size for the Mystic Water.

"I see what you mean," the old man said. "Any other requirements for the wristband?"

"Keep the tightness like this. It should be fire-resistant and cut-resistant—can't risk it getting knocked off during battle. As for color…" Reiji turned to Poliwhirl. "What color do you want?"

"Poli!" Poliwhirl looked around and pointed at its own arm, indicating its skin color.

"Blue?" Reiji asked.

"Poli!" Poliwhirl nodded.

"Sir, make it the same shade as Poliwhirl's arm," Reiji told him. That would help with camouflage too.

"Got it. You'll pick it up tomorrow?"

"Yes," Reiji nodded, ready to leave, when the old man called out again.

"Young man, the materials you're asking for are expensive. For this wristband, I'll need to charge you 12,000. Still interested?"

"No problem. I'll pay the rest tomorrow when I pick it up," Reiji waved and said goodbye. 12,000 was acceptable—it was custom gear made with anti-puncture, anti-slicing materials. Not a bad price.

He then released Pelipper, recalled Poliwhirl, and flew off toward the tavern.

With Pelipper's speed, he reached the tavern in just a few minutes. He let Poliwhirl back out at the door and had Pelipper wait outside while he walked in.

The moment that familiar figure reappeared, every patron paused mid-drink, glancing over with the corners of their eyes. A couple even put down their glasses and left the tavern.

"You see that? He's back again, bold as ever.

Reiji ignored them. In these people's eyes, he was a ruthless wanted man—not worth acknowledging.

He walked straight to the bar and placed the backpack with the Poison-type materials in front of the old man.

"Check it. How much is it worth with the backpack included?"

"I was wondering why you stopped by. So you're here to sell loot. Who'd you rob this time?" the old man asked, inspecting the 100-cubic backpack.

He opened it and took out two glass jars—one filled with black sludge, the other with venomous needles. Classic Poison-type materials.

"Poison-type item components, huh? Which Pokémon were these from?" he asked.

"Oddish and Ekans," Reiji answered truthfully.

"I'll give you 300,000 for everything, including the backpack," the old man offered. That would leave him enough room to make a profit of about 400,000–500,000 after crafting beginner items from the materials.

"Deal," Reiji said without hesitation.

"Here's the money," the old man said, sliding over a stack of Pokédollars. Then, in a low voice, he warned, "Careful, kid. That burly guy has his eyes on you."

Reiji silently pocketed the cash and asked in a whisper, "How many Pokémon? How strong?"

"Three in total. His strongest is a Primeape. Second is a Machoke. Third is a newly evolved Breloom. Claims to be a seasoned Trainer—but you know how that goes."

"He's also part of some small fighting-type club—basically a gang that does dirty work. There's a chance he might call in backup."

"Got it," Reiji nodded and left with Poliwhirl.

As for those two brothers, Reiji didn't take them lightly in combat, even if he looked down on them strategically.

Exactly how strong they were would only be clear once they fought. If they played dirty with backup, he'd play dirty with ambushes. Let's see who's the real trickster here.

After leaving the tavern, he flew to the Pokémon Center on Pelipper, planning to get full checkups for all his Pokémon—including Farfetch'd.

Meanwhile, just moments after he left, the burly man rushed into the tavern, barely missing him.

He stormed up to the old man at the bar. "Where is he?"

"He already left," the old man replied calmly.

"What did he come here for?" the man asked.

But the old man didn't even look at him. The message was clear—if you want to know, you'll have to pay. His intel wasn't free.

He may have told Reiji things without charging, but that was voluntary. This guy? He'd have to cough up some cash.

The man slapped a 10,000 Pokédollar bill on the counter. "I want to know what he came here for."

The old man pocketed the money, then nodded toward the backpack and jars on the counter. "See that? He came to sell me those. If you want to buy them, I'll let you have them for 400,000…"

"Sell stuff? Sell, huh? Better hope I catch him…" the man growled, glaring at the backpack and jars before turning to glare at the old man. Spending 10,000 just for this info had him fuming.

But in the end, he didn't dare lash out at the old man. A seasoned Trainer rival was already enough of a headache. He didn't want to add a sly old fox to the list—especially not one backed by other foxes.

The old man, still wiping down glasses, simply watched the burly man leave, making no move to inform Reiji. He leisurely went back to cleaning, completely unfazed.

He wasn't worried Reiji would lose—after all, the kid had sold millions in black-market goods. He was no rookie. If the burly guy kept poking around, he might be in real trouble.

But that had nothing to do with an old barkeep like him. He was just a humble man selling fake booze in a back-alley tavern, scraping together a living.

The most he could do was give Reiji a heads-up. After all, that kid still owed him a favor—it wouldn't do for him to die too early.

(End of Chapter)

[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]

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