PROLOGUE — FIELD RECAP (for readers who skipped)
Elise and two accomplices moved on Enzo's North camp with an assassination plan.
Porygon2 (TR Device — Team Rocket Device) intercepted their TR Devices and streamed the audio live.
The ambush was confirmed before it began.
Proton hunted the two accomplices and returned with proof.
Elise was captured, disarmed, and "put under containment."
Her confession about Ariana's faction, her sister's order, was recorded.
With the camp secured, Enzo placed one call.
Instructor Viper.
The line was still open.
On the other end, a grunt was still laughing like his life had never been corrected before.
"Yeah, recruit, and I'm with Giovanni—ahaha. What do you want?"
Enzo didn't raise his voice. He didn't argue. He didn't explain.
"My name is Enzo," he said. "Rank one."
The laughter died so fast it sounded like someone pulled the plug out of the phone.
A beat of silence.
Then the grunt's tone changed—tight, careful, suddenly aware that the wrong sentence could cost him his own points.
"Y-yes, sir. I… understood." A swallow. Paper shuffling. "Hold. I'll see if Instructor Viper is available."
Enzo said nothing.
He didn't need to.
The TR Device made a soft click.
A new channel. Cleaner. Colder.
Then a voice came through—short, experienced, and sharp enough to cut.
"This is Viper."
Not hello. Not who are you.
Just confirmation.
Enzo's reply stayed perfectly calm.
"Good."
A half-second pause.
Viper's tone didn't change, but the temperature behind it did.
"Talk."
Enzo's eyes flicked once toward the tent flap—toward the wind, toward the plateau, toward the reality that the island listened to weakness.
He spoke like he was placing a bid.
"How open are you… to doing me a favor?"
A faint sound came through the line. Not a laugh.
"Depends on the favor."
Enzo didn't blink.
"I want to buy a Material Grunt."
Proton's head snapped toward him.
Enzo didn't look at Proton. He kept his voice steady, clinical.
"And I want him brought into the exam to run with Proton and me."
For the first time, Viper hesitated.
Not because it was morally wrong.
Because it was administratively expensive.
"That's complicated."
Enzo's mouth curved a fraction—small, controlled.
"Nothing is complicated," Enzo said, "if the trade is fair."
Viper went quiet for a beat, then answered like a man who'd taken enough bribes to respect the language.
"Alright." A calm inhale. "What's the trade?"
Enzo didn't dramatize it.
He dropped the name like a weight.
"Elise Grace."
Another beat.
"Samantha Grace's little sister," Enzo added. "And as a Material Grunt."
Proton's expression tightened. He knew Ariana's faction by reputation. He knew what a Squad Leader's family meant inside Rocket.
Viper's voice didn't show surprise—only calculation.
"That's profitable."
Then, colder:
"Not enough."
Enzo didn't react.
He'd expected that answer.
"So, I'll add ten Green-tier Pokémon."
Proton went still.
Ten.
Green-tier.
His brain tried to count what that meant in Rocket Points (RP), in leverage, in sheer rarity on Trial Island.
And in the middle of that math, one thought kept stabbing him:
Who the hell is this material grunt… for Enzo to pay like this?
Viper's voice softened slightly—not kind, just pleased.
"Ten Green-tier."
For the first time, Viper didn't answer immediately.
Not because he was impressed—because he was calculating.
A Grace deal wasn't just a body. It was everything attached to the Grace name. The favors. The fines. The assets that came with a signature.
And Elise had one asset that mattered more than the rest.
"Does that include her Weepinbell?" Viper asked.
Of course, he asked.
A Pokémon raised from the beginning—trained, shaped, loyal—was worth a fortune to the Grace sisters. Not just in Rocket Points. In pride. In reputation. In control. If Viper had it, he could squeeze them for rivers of money… or sell the rights to it and let them bleed for it.
Enzo's gaze sharpened.
"No."
A second of silence—Viper testing the edges of Enzo's boundaries.
Enzo didn't blink.
Because that Weepinbell wasn't "stock" to him.
It was a weapon.
The same weapon that, in another life, had put Poison into Ronnie's body.
Enzo wasn't handing the blade back to the murderer's side. Not for any price.
Viper exhaled once.
"Fine," he said. "Who's the grunt?"
Enzo answered immediately, like the name had been carved into him.
"Ronnie."
Silence.
Viper didn't recognize it.
"I don't have a Ronnie in my head," Viper said. "Hold."
The line clicked again.
A short wait—seven seconds that felt longer because the North never stopped breathing outside.
Then a new voice entered, rougher, official, slightly defensive.
"Officer Carlos."
No greeting.
Viper went straight to the throat.
"Carlos. Material grunts. Do you have someone named Ronnie?"
Carlos hesitated like the question itself was cursed.
"…Sir," he said carefully, "you mean Crazy Ron?"
Viper didn't answer that.
Enzo did.
"Green hair," Enzo said into the line. "Scar from temple to jawline."
Carlos exhaled like that confirmed a bad memory.
"Yeah," Carlos said. "That's him. That's Crazy Ron."
Viper didn't care about the nickname.
"Bring him to Trial Island."
Carlos went quiet.
Then, reluctantly:
"Sir… he's not at base."
A beat.
"He was arrested."
Viper's voice dropped into something dangerous.
"Arrested?" A calm pause that sounded like a blade being set down. "Why."
Carlos spoke like he wished he could delete the story while saying it.
"He saw some 11-year-old kid with a Poké Ball," Carlos said. "He tried to steal it. The kid released his Rattata. Ronnie… didn't run."
A pause.
"He fought it," Carlos finished, like he couldn't believe it either. "With his bare hands. He lost. They locked him up."
For a moment, only the wind existed.
Then Viper spoke to Enzo again—tone flat, almost curious.
"You sure this is the one you want?"
Enzo didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Of course it was.
It was so perfectly Ronnie that Enzo almost felt the memory like a bruise.
Viper let the answer sit for half a second, then closed the deal with the cold efficiency of a man who sold people for a living.
"Deal," Viper said. "Tomorrow, I send a team with what you want."
A pause.
"They take what I want."
Then, softer—almost amused:
"I hope what I want survives until tomorrow."
Enzo's expression didn't change.
"No problem."
Enzo shifted the call one inch deeper—because leverage was a ladder, and he was already climbing.
"And can you bring a potential evaluator too?" Enzo added. "I have more stock, and I need more supplies."
This time, Viper actually sounded pleased.
"Of course," he said.
The line clicked.
The call ended.
The tent felt colder without the voice on the other end—like the air had realized what kind of business had just been scheduled for tomorrow.
Proton stared at Enzo.
Ten Green-tier Pokémon. Elise Grace. A name he'd never heard—Ronnie. "Crazy Ron." Arrested for fighting a Rattata with his hands.
His throat worked once.
"Enzo…" Proton started, then stopped—because he didn't even know which part to ask about first.
Enzo looked at the dead screen of the TR Device as if it were already solved.
"Get ready, let's train," he said simply.
And outside, the North kept screaming—like it didn't care.
Tomorrow was coming.