At noon, right at twelve o'clock, when the Goldenrod Game Corner just opens, a crowd of players and gambling addicts who have been waiting rush inside as soon as the doors open.
Although the game corner generates huge profits and always has players, the managers prefer to close at two in the morning and not reopen until noon the next day.
This strategy is a form of scarcity marketing: if players were allowed to play non-stop, their desire would diminish or they would spend all their money at once, which could leave the game corner empty.
Controlling the opening and closing times ensures a constant flow of people, creating an atmosphere of "always full" that attracts more players.
The game corner, officially registered under the League, cannot appear willing to do anything for money, nor allow anyone to play non-stop for days, which could lead to tragic incidents and affect the League's reputation. All of this contributes to the bustling image of the place.
As soon as the doors open, those who have been waiting, with evident eagerness, rush inside.
Two young men who look tired, clearly not having slept enough, are leaning against the prize exchange counter, watching the crowd enter, while one of them yawns.
"Hey, Sato, did you adjust the machines and set the people up?" asks a young man with an earring in his ear, wiping away a tear that escaped during his yawn.
"Relax, Wataru. The machines are set, and the 'actors' are in place. Everything's ready for the show," replies the other young man, Sato, enthusiastically.
The young man with the earring, named Wataru, nods with satisfaction, showing an approving expression.
These are common tactics in the game corner. To prevent players from thinking it's impossible to win, there are always a few "actors" to show that it's possible to get rich quickly.
The odds on the machines are controlled by technicians, who can adjust the chance of hitting the jackpot to, for example, one in ten thousand, or the second prize to one in five thousand. It all depends on what the managers decide.
Two hours later, everything in the game corner is proceeding as usual, with some players celebrating small wins and others cursing as they stare at the machines, bloodshot eyes, clearly caught in the addiction.
"Hey, Sato, everything going alright?" asks Wataru, waking up from a nap.
"Everything under control, Wataru. There's just one really lucky guy who's already won almost a thousand tokens," replies Sato, unable to hide the envy in his voice.
A thousand tokens amount to tens of thousands of Pokédollars, an insignificant sum for the game corner but a fortune for someone like Sato, who has only recently started working there.
"Are you sure it's just luck? Nothing strange?" asks Wataru, now more alert.
Wataru, unlike Sato, has years of experience working in the game corner. Though young, he has seen many veterans come and go, and he's one of the few who has stayed to supervise the place. His experience tells him something might be off.
"No, he's lost more times than he's won, and he's never hit a jackpot. He's just been lucky with a few small prizes," replies Sato, hesitating a bit.
Sato had observed the guy, watching as he won a thousand tokens, then dropped to eight hundred, and then went back up to over a thousand with a minor prize. Everything seemed to indicate he was simply a lucky player.
"Hmmm, maybe it's just a stroke of luck. He'll probably lose it all soon. Keep an eye on him. I'm going to sleep a bit more; I'm exhausted," says Wataru, lying back down on the counter, and soon, he's asleep again.
Sato, feeling envious of Wataru's ability to sleep so easily, keeps watching the place, wishing he could prove himself and get a promotion in the future.
Two hours later, Sato is drenched in sweat, nervous and unsure of what to do. Finally, he makes a decision and wakes up Wataru.
"Wataru, wake up! Something's not right."
"What's up?" Wataru replies, annoyed at being woken up, though now feeling more rested.
"It's the lucky guy. He's now won almost ten thousand tokens!" says Sato urgently, with sweat still dripping down his forehead.
"What?" Wataru jumps out of his seat at hearing this.
Ten thousand tokens are like a million Pokédollars, an amount that would take them decades to earn with their salaries. Although this sum is small compared to the casino's daily profits, a loss of over a million would catch the supervisors' attention, and they could be in trouble.
"Let's go check it out!" says Wataru, quickly getting up.
"Yes!" replies Sato, following closely behind him.