To antique‑shop owners in Mesagoza, the tiny ghosts known as Gimmighoul were both legend and headache.
They slipped into treasure shops and gold dealers after dark, stealing coins with eerie persistence. Many merchants swore they could feel invisible eyes watching their vaults every night.
Because of Gimmighoul's strange nature, coins it had touched became spiritually marked—haunted almost. Locals believed those "cursed" coins invited misfortune to whoever bought them, so shopkeepers mounted charms and mirrors to keep the spirits away.
Still, few succeeded.
"So there really are Gimmighoul around here?" Gary asked, glancing around the shop's shadowy corners.
The grey‑haired shopkeeper nodded warily. "Of course. We have to burn incense every evening to keep the little thieves out." Then his expression brightened. "But if you want to attract one, there's a trick. Place gold coins outside—it will come to you."
He opened a drawer with a metallic clink, producing several shining coins. "These are the type Gimmighoul can't resist. Interested?"
Gary folded his arms. "Let me guess. You're selling them, right?"
"Naturally!" The man spread his hands innocently. "Modern coins, affordable. Perfect bait."
Gary sighed. "I can't afford antique coins anyway. They cost, what, seven or eight times more than new ones?" Despite his wealth, he wasn't about to waste money on overpriced souvenirs.
"No worries, young man," the shopkeeper insisted. "I can sell you my own spare coins at a fair rate."
Gary eyed him suspiciously. "You're not forging antique coins… are you?"
The man waved both hands quickly. "Heavens no! They're genuine gold, just not old. Some are fakes I bought by mistake—but the gold itself is real."
Gary thought a moment. He knew a pawn‑seller's pitch when he heard one. Still, he needed coins to lure Gimmighoul. "Fine," he said at last. "One should be enough."
"One?" The shopkeeper looked scandalized. "That won't work! The more gold coins you have, the stronger the lure. Buy a hundred!"
Gary gave him a flat stare. "A hundred? Planning to retire off this sale?"
The old man chuckled, unconcerned. "Believe what you will—but Gimmighoul always seeks abundance. Fewer than ten coins and it may not appear at all."
He wasn't wrong. Gary remembered the system entry: 'Drawn irresistibly to treasure; the more coins, the stronger the pull.'
"Alright," Gary said with a resigned smirk. "One hundred it is. But they'd better be genuine."
The shopkeeper grinned from ear to ear. "Excellent choice! Wait here."
He disappeared into the back room; moments later, the scrape of heavy metal echoed, followed by the sound of coins clattering together. He returned carrying a small burlap sack and thudded it onto the counter.
"There—exactly a hundred coins. Ten grams each. You can test them if you like."
Gary unfastened the bag and peered inside. The dull yellow gleam looked convincing enough.
"How much?" he asked.
The man pulled out a calculator with almost suspicious enthusiasm. "At today's rate, the international gold price is about five‑hundred per gram. That's one coin at five‑thousand, plus labor fees… hmm, let's say five‑hundred‑and‑fifty‑thousand in total."
Gary raised an eyebrow. "That's quite the 'labor fee.'"
The man shrugged. "Even gold dealers charge for handling. Check them yourself if you're worried."
"Fine." Gary reached across the counter for a testing stone and a small torch the shop clearly used to verify authenticity. He heated one coin until it glowed faintly red. Real gold, of course, didn't tarnish—it only gleamed brighter.
Satisfied, Gary weighed the bag again. "They're real. Not antique, but they'll do." He handed over payment, tucked the heavy sack into his backpack, and adjusted his gloves.
The shopkeeper smiled wider than ever. "Pleasure doing business! With that much gold, you'll have a Gimmighoul by sundown."
Gary chuckled under his breath. "That's the plan."
When Gary stepped outside, Mesagoza's skies had already turned deep orange. "We can set up tonight," he murmured.
From what he'd learned, there were definitely Gimmighoul in this city—and likely more than one. They'd try every possible trick to sneak into antique shops and gold shops to steal coins.
Because of that, many such shops kept a Ghost‑type or Dark‑type Pokémon on the premises as a guard against Gimmighoul.
He dropped by a café for dinner and waited at the Pokémon Center until night fell completely.
At nine, he returned to the city's quieter quarter, where narrow stone streets echoed under his boots. Most stores were shuttered; the flicker of distant streetlamps painted the cobblestones pale gold.
Gary stopped outside a jewelry shop. Through the window, he glimpsed something moving—a massive black‑furred dog standing watch.
[Lv. 33 Mabosstiff– Elite]
"Oh, so the shop owners keep their own guard Pokémon," Gary whispered. "Not bad."
Mabosstiff's crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dark, nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air. Dark‑types like Mabosstiff could detect the aura of Ghost Pokémon easily. Perfect for guarding treasure.
As a dog Pokémon, it had a keen nose for scents—including the peculiar metallic aura of Gimmighoul's coins. In Paldea, Maschiff and its evolution, Mabosstiff, were often used to guard doors and protect shops at night.
It could deter not only Gimmighoul, but also human thieves.
The moment Gary approached the window, Maschiff's ears twitched. Its eyes snapped open, and it fixed a wary stare on him, muscles tensing.
If I barged in there, that Maschiff would be on me in a heartbeat, Gary thought, stepping back. I'm not here to rob anyone—just to borrow a little bait.
He had no intention of forcing his way into the shop. He only wanted to borrow the area's natural attraction for gold‑seeking Pokémon.
Still, Gary had no intention of stealing; his gaze lingered a moment before he backed away quietly.
He walked about a kilometer away and found a small, flower‑lined courtyard just beyond the shop row. Perfect spot.
"Alright, we'll leave the bait here."
He set the sack of gold coins gently in the grass, their surfaces gleaming under thin moonlight. Then he grabbed a Poké Ball from his belt. "Gengar, it's showtime!"
A sudden swirl of purple mist burst forth, and Gengar emerged with a mischievous grin, eyes glowing scarlet. "Gen‑gaaaar~!"
"Hide and keep watch," Gary ordered softly. "If anything approaches that gold bag, make sure it doesn't escape."
Gengar giggled wickedly. "Geng‑gar."
Gary crouched behind a stone planter, slipping on a pair of night‑vision goggles. "Now we wait."
An hour passed. Mesagoza's lively streets gradually fell silent, the distant hum of the academy bells fading into chirps.
In the dead of night, a tiny figure no more than ten centimeters tall crept toward the flowerbed.
At first, neither Gary nor Gardevoir noticed it. The creature was too small, and its Ghost‑type presence was naturally hard to sense, especially when it was trying to stay hidden.
But the instant it drew close to the glittering pile of gold coins, its faint aura flared with excitement. That subtle shift was enough.
Gardevoir, stationed nearby as silent backup, picked up on the disturbance immediately and brushed Gary's mind with a warning.
Gary smiled wide within the shadows. "There you are."
Even Gengar leaned forward, its grin stretching.
"Gen‑gar~!" it whispered with eerie delight.
The little Gimmighoul crept closer, almost timidly, its small hands clutching an old coin of its own. When the moonlight caught its chest, Gary could see the faint shimmer of ghostly mist swirling around it—the telltale aura of a Gimmighoul's spiritual power.
[Gimmighoul ♂ – Level 30 | Elite]
The system overlay in Gary's vision showed more data. The Gimmighoul's potential wasn't particularly high—Elite class, not Champion—but its level was good.
Gary blinked. "Level thirty already? That's impressive for something so small."
An Elite‑tier Pokémon could usually grow up to around level 39 at most. Reaching level 30 meant this Gimmighoul had likely spent many long years haunting the city and hoarding what coins it could find.
Gary estimated it had been alive for at least twenty or thirty years—perhaps even longer than he had been alive.