After resting in his Pokémon Center hotel room to recharge his energy, Ryuuske headed down to the lobby to restore his Pokémon's stamina.
Whoever invented the Pokémon Center's healing machines—whether they were based on ancient technology or not—was undoubtedly a genius. By harnessing Pokémon's unique traits, the machines could fully heal any injury as long as the Pokémon wasn't already dead, using nothing but electricity. Broken limbs? No problem.
Humans, however, lacked such resilience. A severed limb or an incurable disease meant game over. That was why trainers had to learn how to protect themselves in battle first—this was a profession where life was always on the line.
The Pokémon Center's lobby was spacious and bright, with comfortable sofas arranged around the perimeter, making it feel more like a café than a medical facility. Ryuuske ordered a coffee and a slice of cake and settled into a corner to enjoy them.
Like a bank, the Pokémon Center had multiple counters, but trainers still had to wait their turn. Only those with critically injured Pokémon could use the express lane.
Dozens of eyes were locked onto Ryuuske—some envious, some jealous, some resentful.
The reason? He had casually released his Dratini into the open.
Even in its base form, Dratini stretched over two meters long, its serpentine body coiled on the sofa beside him while its adorable little head nuzzled against his shoulder, letting out soft "Mii~ Mii~" cries. Ryuuske occasionally fed it specially made Pokémon treats, earning delighted chirps in return—like a contented cat purring.
"Go ahead, stare. Be jealous. I've got this rare Pokémon, and you don't. What're you gonna do, bite me?"
Outwardly, Ryuuske remained calm—even stoic. But inside, he was reveling in the schadenfreude.
Since Lance had already thrust him into the spotlight, staying low-key would just come off as fake. So why not flaunt it? Silent flexing was the best way to assert his presence.
"Wealth unused is like brocade unseen." This wasn't some petty gloating—it was human nature. Even with his mental age in his early twenties, Ryuuske was still young enough to crave attention. He hadn't reached the detached serenity of an old man yet.
It was like gacha games—if you spent a fortune pulling a rare card or got insanely lucky, what was the point if you didn't flex it?
Back when he walked around with Gible, he'd already enjoyed the envy. But Gible was practically unknown in Kanto—most people couldn't even recognize Sinnoh's regional treasure. Dratini, however? As Kanto's pride, even ordinary folks knew how precious it was.
Watching Ryuuske shamelessly show off, the crowd's frustration was palpable.
No one actually tried to bite him, but a few couldn't resist challenging him.
"You're Ryuuske, right? You got the guts to battle me?"
This guy looked a year or two older, eyebrows raised in provocation, a Poké Ball already in hand.
He wasn't the first challenger today. The earlier ones had at least been polite, asking things like "Would you mind a Pokémon battle?" Ryuuske had politely declined those. But for someone so blatantly looking for trouble? He didn't even bother with a proper expression.
"...I'm not interested in playing kiddie games. If you want a match, sign up for the Cerulean Gym preliminaries—maybe we'll meet there." His voice dripped with malice. "Of course, if you're man enough for a life-or-death battle, I'll accept right now. Loser doesn't lose a finger—just his life. How's that?"
Three months in the wild, facing life-and-death situations repeatedly, had left their mark. Ryuuske had killed—both Pokémon and humans. His gaze carried a razor-sharp intensity, amplified by the inherited savagery of the "Dragon's Power" and the eerie violet glint in his eyes.
The challenger froze, a chill crawling up his spine.
"Freak!"
Muttering under his breath, the guy backed off. He wasn't about to fight a lunatic—especially one who might actually kill him.
Nearby, an older, more seasoned trainer noticed the exchange. He raised a hand in acknowledgment, his expression one of approval.
This was clearly someone who'd been through real battles—the kind who trained in the wild regularly. Ryuuske gave him a slight nod in return. To people like them, trainers who only battled in controlled environments were just kids playing pretend.
---
Before long, a cute girl approached—not to challenge him, but because Dratini was just too adorable. Ryuuske, ever the gentleman around pretty girls, let her sit across from him and even allowed her to gently pet Dratini (though the Dragon-type clearly wasn't thrilled).
Cute things always attracted girls, no matter the world.
There was an unspoken rule among trainers at Pokémon Centers: never heal all your Pokémon at once. Always keep one in reserve, rotating them in two separate rounds. This was a long-standing precaution—always have a Pokémon ready to protect yourself.
Trainers were just ordinary humans without their Pokémon. Cities might seem safe, but groups like Team Rocket existed. You never knew when danger might strike. Better safe than sorry.
After two long hours at the Pokémon Center—and a pleasant chat with the girl—Ryuuske finally had both Gabite and Dratini fully healed. He was just considering asking her out to dinner when a sudden commotion erupted near the entrance.
Curious, he glanced over—and saw a very familiar figure standing there.
To be continued…