Brilliant sunlight poured over the S.S. Anne's wide deck.
Sea breeze fluttered colorful flags, making them snap crisply in the air.
Summer was on its way out, autumn creeping in.
Out at sea, the temperature wasn't that hot at all—there was even a hint of coolness.
Thanks to that shiny Vermilion Pokémon Club membership, the moment Satoshi and the others stepped onto the luxury liner, they were whisked by beaming staff straight to the VIP lounge on the upper deck.
…This absolutely had nothing to do with any "special request" from Lt. Surge.
Totally not.
laughs in obvious favoritism
Soft loungers, unlimited free drinks and delicate snacks, and a dedicated viewing platform—
All screamed "VIP treatment."
Misty sank into a lounger with a satisfied sigh, sipping fruit juice.
Brock watched the passing passengers and their Pokémon with leisurely interest.
Pikachu hopped onto a high stool set up just for small Pokémon and, with great seriousness, held a Berry in both paws, gnawing away as he let out delighted little "Pika~" sounds.
All in all, everyone was pretty comfortable.
The whole ship buzzed with activity, like a floating amusement park.
Announcements for various events came over the speakers every so often.
The hottest of them all, naturally, was the makeshift battle arena drawn in the middle of the deck.
"Any other Trainers want to join in?" The host's energetic voice boomed across the deck through his mic.
"These are casual battles—victory second, fun first!"
He repeated the "fun" part over and over.
The prizes were just things like free meal vouchers.
Pure entertainment.
After all, most people in this world weren't particularly strong Trainers.
They might have Pokémon—
But those Pokémon weren't exactly battlefield monsters.
So the meaning of "casual battles" was:
You pros, stop coming here to stomp newbies.
Obviously, they couldn't say it like that.
So they had to imply it.
Soon enough, though, a young Trainer pointed at Pikachu on Satoshi's shoulder with bright eyes.
"Me! I want to battle that Pikachu!"
"He looks really strong!"
Bad news: he had just walked headfirst into the strongest Pokémon on deck.
Good news: that electric rat moonlighted as an actor.
Satoshi smiled and patted Pikachu on the head.
"You heard him, partner. Go easy, okay?"
"Pika~!" Pikachu blinked knowingly, then hopped lightly down into the ring.
Neither Satoshi nor Pikachu had any interest in clubbing baby seals.
This world might not be a perfect utopia.
But most people—and most Pokémon—really were kind.
The moral baseline was pretty high.
"Go, Oddish!"
The challenger threw his Poké Ball, and a little Oddish popped out onto the field.
"Pikachu, Quick Attack!" Satoshi called.
Pikachu shot forward in a golden blur—
But just before reaching Oddish, he "tripped" on thin air, staggering theatrically as his speed abruptly dropped.
He only barely "grazed" Oddish.
In short—he acted.
"Oddish, use Razor Leaf!"
A few soft, almost lazy leaves drifted toward Pikachu.
Pikachu dodged left and right like he was in a panic, then deliberately let one leaf "just happen" to graze his cheek.
He immediately threw himself into a backwards roll, tumbling all the way across the field before "barely" regaining his footing.
He patted his chest with both paws, like he'd just had a near-death experience.
"Pikachu! Get up! Use… uh, Thunder Shock!" Satoshi sounded properly "anxious."
A tiny, almost invisible spark of electricity flickered from Pikachu's cheeks.
It wobbled drunkenly through the air and fizzled out with a weak pop—
Still a good long way from Oddish.
"Now's our chance! Oddish, Tackle!"
Oddish waddled forward and headbutted.
Pikachu had already calculated the angle. He leapt back just as it hit him, spinning midair in what looked like a dramatic "sent flying" 360° flip.
Then he landed neatly at the edge of the field, shaking his head like he was dizzy, "barely" managing not to fall out of bounds.
Bad news: the acting was maybe a little too exaggerated.
Good news: most of the audience weren't pros.
They bought it.
After a few exchanges like that, Pikachu kept "misfiring" or "running out of strength" at crucial moments.
In the end, Oddish hit him with one last, not-very-strong Tackle.
Pikachu went down on his back, all four limbs pointed skyward.
His tiny paws even twitched twice.
Then he closed his eyes and began breathing in steady "Pika… pika…" rhythms—
Pretending to have fainted.
"Wah! I won!" the young Trainer shouted, ecstatic, scooping Oddish up in a hug.
Satoshi "hurried" over and gathered Pikachu into his arms, his expression "serious."
"Pikachu, you did great. It's my fault, I didn't command you well enough…"
"Pika…" Pikachu cracked one eye open and gave him a lightning-fast wink—
Then shut it again and went right back into his "unconscious" act.
Everyone was really into it.
It was called "playing," after all.
The point was to have fun.
Of course, Satoshi and Pikachu enjoyed this kind of thing.
Misty and Brock?
Not so much.
For all that they were travelling casually right now, they had been Gym Leaders.
They still had a tiny bit of public image to maintain.
Losing? Fine.
Losing while acting that fake?
Absolutely not.
On the sidelines—
Misty watched the whole thing, corner of her mouth twitching.
She jabbed an elbow into Brock's side, lowering her voice.
"Hey, Brock, did you see that?"
"Satoshi's literally throwing matches."
"And that Pikachu… that acting… isn't it a little too realistic?"
Brock folded his arms and smiled in that "understanding older brother" way.
"Mm. I noticed."
"The fake stumble on Quick Attack, the way he throttled Thunder Shock down to weaker than Ember, that midair spin he used when Oddish 'hit' him…"
"The difficulty level on that kind of control isn't low."
"Pikachu's honestly got serious performer talent."
Misty huffed.
"Then why are they doing this?" She was half laughing, half exasperated.
"He could win whenever he wants."
Brock mimed adjusting non-existent glasses.
His gaze slid to the young Trainer who was red with excitement, celebrating with his Oddish.
"Most likely… so the other side can actually enjoy the battle."
"And taste victory once in a while."
"It's just for fun. No need to stomp anyone into the ground."
"Satoshi's actually… very considerate."
He really believed that.
Misty looked out toward the center of the ring again.
Satoshi was sincerely congratulating the young victor.
In his arms, the "fainted" Pikachu's tail flicked the tiniest bit at the tip—
Obviously in a pretty good mood.
"Honestly…" Misty shook her head helplessly.
But her tone had softened.
"These two…"
"Oh well."
"As long as everyone's having fun."
There were still plenty of matches after that.
Pikachu didn't lose every time.
Roughly speaking, when they ran into younger kids, or Trainers with good attitudes, Satoshi had Pikachu hold back and lose "by a hair."
But when it was someone with a bad temper—
Or a cocky jerk…
Pikachu still acted.
But the script flipped.
Every time, the opponent would lose by "just a little."
Or with some inexplicable stroke of bad luck.
It was maddening.
In short—Satoshi weaponized inconvenience.
Hehe.
They were out here to enjoy themselves.
If you made them happy—
They'd send that happiness right back your way.
If you made them unhappy—
Well.
You didn't get to be happy either.
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