Hydreigon's wings unfolded with a slow, heavyweight certainty—like the night itself was making room.
Executive Nero didn't say goodbye. He didn't need to. He stood on the dragon's shoulder for a final second, coat snapping in the wind, and let his gaze drift over the plateau the way an investor scans a finished deal.
Twenty-six bodies. Broken rock. scorched ground. A camp that looked normal from far away and monstrous up close.
Useful.
Then Nero looked at the trio once—just once—like he was committing their silhouettes to memory.
And the Hydreigon lifted off.
The downdraft hit like a punch. Dust spiraled. The air pressure that had been crushing their lungs finally loosened as the dragon climbed higher, shrinking into a stain against the stars until even the stain disappeared.
Silence rushed in behind him.
Not peaceful silence.
The kind that comes after something too big leaves the room.
The plateau was still littered with aftermath—fallen Pokémon, scattered gear, soot and ash, the metallic bite of dried blood in the wind. No gore. No drama.
Just consequences.
Enzo didn't move for a moment.
His hand stayed closed around the matte-black Poké Ball Nero had given him, thumb resting on the seam like he was weighing the future in grams. He didn't smile. He didn't celebrate.
He calculated.
Enzo turned to them, voice calm, but threaded with steel.
Ronnie still looked wired, eyes too bright.
Proton stood calmer, but tight around the jaw. The kind of calm that meant he'd already started calculating the exam.
Enzo spoke without raising his voice.
"You heard him, we have to take the podium."
His hand went to his pack. He pulled out the TR Device taken from Laurence—Rank #3. The screen still carried the weight of that number like a badge torn off a corpse.
Enzo flicked it toward Ronnie.
Ronnie caught it on reflex, then looked down like it might explode into authority.
Enzo didn't smile.
"Third is yours."
Ronnie's mouth opened. Nothing came out at first. His brain seemed to reboot in real time—like a man being handed a title he'd never been allowed to imagine.
Then he nodded too hard. Too fast.
"Yes, Boss."
Enzo's eyes shifted to Proton.
Accurate.
"I'll guarantee you second."
It didn't sound like encouragement.
It sounded like a claim.
Like Enzo had already decided who was getting pushed off that spot—even if it belonged to someone like Janine.
Proton's expression tightened.
Not fear.
Understanding.
He nodded once, slow.
"Fine," he said.
Enzo took half a step away from the others—small, casual, like he was only getting out of the wind.
The matte-black Poké Ball sat heavy in his palm. He didn't release Deino.
Enzo touched the ball and opened the System interface instead.
A single option pulsed—clean, clinical, inevitable.
INJECT VIRUS — CONFIRM?
He didn't hesitate.
YES.
The System answered instantly.
With power.
A surge traveled through the interface like a current—cold and precise—then snapped into the Poké Ball as if the ball itself had become a terminal.
The System window opened before his pulse could betray him.
[ POKÉMON PROFILE — UPDATED ]
Specimen: Deino (VIRUS ACTIVE)
Level: 5
Potential: BLUE (was Light Blue)
Ability: Hustle
Moves: Earth Power (Ground) | Dark Pulse (Dark)
Obs: "Growth ceiling elevated. Future evolution stability reinforced."
Bond Indicator: "Host imprint accepted."
Enzo's expression didn't change.
No widening eyes. No sharp inhale. No tell.
He closed the window with a flick.
But the thought stayed behind his eyes—short, cold, and dangerous.
...what would this Hydreigon look like?
The next hour was gruesome, efficient work.
They stripped every body. Pockets were emptied. Belts were removed. Bags were overturned. Under Enzo's supervision, they organized the loot into three distinct piles on a flat rock.
First came the hardware and liquid assets. TR Devices (which could be wiped and sold for parts), potions, antidotes, TMs found in backpacks, and stacks of physical Rocket Points chips that recruits carried for gambling or trading.
Porygon2 hovered over the pile, scanning barcodes and chip values.
"Seventy-eight thousand," Enzo announced, reading the tally on his screen. "Just in equipment and loose cash."
Proton whistled low. "That's more than a Squad Leader makes in a year."
"We're not done," Enzo said. He pointed to the second pile—the one that was harder to look at.
The bodies of the Pokémon that hadn't survived the Self-Destruct or the subsequent slaughter. Raticates, Zubats, a few Geodudes.
"Ronnie," Enzo said. "You worked in Material Logistics. What are we looking at?"
Ronnie wiped his hands on his pants. He walked over to the carcasses with the practiced, detached eye of someone who used to process roadkill for the organization. He poked an Arbok skin, checked the density of a Geodude's gravel, and inspected the venom glands of a Beedrill.
"It's messy work," Ronnie muttered, "but profitable if you aren't squeamish. The Arbok skin is intact. The Rhyhorn plates can be sold for armor plating. The venom sacs are full."
He did some mental math, counting on his scarred fingers.
"Conservative estimate?" Ronnie said. "Twelve to thirteen thousand RP. The exchange store pays well for raw materials."
"Add it to the pot," Enzo said.
Finally, the third pile. The survivors.
Fourteen Poké Balls sat in a neat row. These were the captured Pokémon—the ones that had fainted but lived.
Enzo picked them up one by one. To Proton and Ronnie, he looked like he was just inspecting them. In reality, the System was flashing data at high speed.
Yellow. Red. Yellow. Red. Green. Green. Light Green...
"Twenty-six enemies," Enzo mused aloud. "Twelve dead Pokémon. Fourteen survivors."
He separated the balls.
"Nine of these have Green Potential," Enzo lied smoothly, masking the System's precision as expert appraisal. "Market value is high for combat-ready specimens. The rest are fodder, but still sellable."
He did the final calculation.
"Seventy-eight thousand four hundred RP for the live stock."
Silence descended on the group. The wind howled, but for a moment, the only sound they heard was the imaginary clinking of coins.
Enzo turned to them, tallying the grand total.
"Hardware and cash: 78,000. Materials: 13,000. Live captures: 78,400."
He looked at his teammates.
"Total loot value: approximately 166,000 Rocket Points."
Ronnie grabbed his own head, looking like he might faint. "One hundred... sixty-six... thousand?"
"We split it three ways," Enzo stated. "Equal shares."
He quickly divided the number.
"That's 55,000 RP for each of you."
Proton leaned against a rock, laughing softly. It was a sound of pure disbelief. 55,000 RP was enough to buy high-grade TMs, evolution stones, or even a luxury apartment back at HQ. They were filthy rich.
"There is one condition," Enzo added, his voice cutting through the celebration.
He pointed to a single Poké Ball set apart from the rest. The ball containing the Level 35 Houndoom.
"I'm taking the Houndoom," Enzo said.
He looked at them. "Any problems?"
Ronnie shook his head so hard it looked like it might fly off. "Boss, for 55k, you can take the Houndoom, the tent, and my left kidney. I don't care."
Proton shrugged, grinning. "It's a Fire-type. Not my style anyway. It's yours."
"Good, thank you." Enzo said, pocketing the Houndoom's ball.
He looked at the piles of wealth and death surrounding them.
"Clean it up. We have a merchant to call."
But they got interrupted
After all the cleaning, counting, and profit-splitting, something stirred in the center of the crater where the tent used to be.
Koffing woke up.
It shook itself off, releasing a lazy puff of soot, and floated up to Enzo's eye level. By now, it was a professional at recovering from Self-Destruct—no pain, no drama, just a little wobble and a lot of satisfaction.
Enzo didn't speak out loud.
He spoke straight into its head.
Enzo (telepathy): How are you feeling, buddy? Good job.
Koffing's grin stretched wider, and its thoughts came back like a proud, sticky bubble popping in Enzo's mind—
KOFF…. BIG NOISE... BIG BOOM... WAS IT BIG?
Enzo's eyelid twitched.
Enzo (telepathy): Yes. It was big.
Koffing vibrated like it had just been awarded a medal.
Enzo watched it for a second, then narrowed his eyes.
Enzo (telepathy): You're Level thirty-five. You can evolve.
Koffing blinked.
Its brain, visibly, tried to process that sentence like it was written in another language.
…EVOLVE…?
Enzo exhaled through his nose.
Enzo (telepathy): Don't tell me you don't know how.
Koffing tilted slightly, like it was trying to hear the thought better with its entire skull.
I…EXPLODE?
Enzo didn't look away from Koffing.
Enzo (telepathy): No. Not explode. Evolve. Close your eyes.
Koffing instantly shut its eyes like it was obeying a sacred ritual.
Enzo leaned closer.
Enzo (telepathy): Feel your body. Feel what it wants to become. Not what it wants to destroy. Understand?
Koffing's eyes were still shut.
YES…. MASTER….
Enzo waited.
A second passed.
Then Koffing answered with proud certainty.
I FEEL…
Enzo's gaze sharpened.
Enzo (telepathy): Yes?
…A STRONG DESIRE TO EXPLODE...
Enzo froze.
Enzo dragged a hand down his face.
Enzo (telepathy): Anything else. Anything that isn't 'boom.'
Koffing went silent again, like it was doing deep spiritual work.
The wind hissed through the ravines. The plateau smelled like burnt canvas and crushed stone.
Then Koffing finally responded.
…BIGGER.
Enzo paused.
Enzo (telepathy): Good. Focus on that.
Koffing's body began to glow.
Not bright like a heroic evolution—more like a chemical reaction that had decided to stop being polite.
The light swelled. Thickened. Its shape warped, splitting wrong, expanding in two directions at once.
Enzo took one step back, just in case "evolution" meant "surprise detonation."
The glow peaked.
And when it died—
Weezing hovered in its place.
Two spheres fused together. Two faces.
One wore the same stupid, proud grin Koffing always had.
The other looked like it had been born angry.
Enzo stared at it for a long second.
Then he spoke into both minds.
Enzo (telepathy): So. How do you feel now?
The left head replied first—deep, slow, satisfied.
MASTER... WE BIG NOW…
Enzo nodded once.
Enzo (telepathy): Good.
The right head snapped in—high, sharp, furious like a kettle screaming.
EXPLODE NOW. EXPLODE NOW. EXPLODE NOW!!!
Enzo's eyelid twitched.
The big head turned slightly, confused, like it was hearing the other voice for the first time.
NOW?
The small head went feral.
YES NOW. NOW NOW NOW!!!
Enzo raised one hand like he was stopping traffic.
Enzo (telepathy): No.
The big head paused immediately, obedient in the dumbest possible way.
NO?
Enzo (telepathy): No. Not now.
The small head hissed like it had been personally betrayed by the concept of patience.
BORING.
Then Weezing's eyes drifted past Enzo.
Toward Proton's Koffing.
Weezing's big head went completely still.
…WAAAUU….
The small head followed the gaze and made a sound like a tea kettle discovering romance.
EEEEEEEE!!!!
Both heads froze like their brains had blue-screened.
Enzo didn't wait for whatever decision those two idiots were about to make together.
He recalled Weezing instantly—fast enough to prevent an evolution celebration from turning into a second crater.
Click.
Silence.
Enzo stared at the Poké Ball in his hand.
Then he opened the System window anyway.
[ POKÉMON PROFILE — UPDATED ]
Specimen: Weezing (VIRUS ACTIVE)
Evolution: Koffing ➝ Weezing
Level: 35
Potential: RED (was Light Red)
Moves: Smokescreen (Normal) | Clear Smog (Poison) | Poison Gas (Poison) | Self-Destruct (Normal)
Obs: "Specimen remains severely defective. Dual-core cognitive split detected."
Notes: "Post-detonation recovery improved. Reset interval reduced. Self-Destruct intent: constant."
Ronnie smiled like a proud psychopath. "Boss just upgraded the nuke."
Enzo didn't correct him.
He just slid the ball back into his pack like it was loaded—because it was.
Then he looked at the ruined plateau, the piles already sorted, the profit already divided, and the night still young.
Enzo's gaze went flat.
"Alright," he said quietly.
"Now we call Viper."
An hour later, the sound of heavy wheels grinding against stone echoed through the ravine.
The collection team arrived.
It wasn't a rescue squad. It was a harvest crew. Material Grunts pulled reinforced carts meant for corpses, while others pushed iron cages on wheels meant for captured Pokémon.
Leading them was Instructor Viper.
He walked into the clearing, stepping over a patch of dried blood without looking down. He surveyed the scene—the destroyed tent, the scorch marks, the organized piles of loot.
His eyes gleamed.
"Efficient," Viper said. It was the highest compliment he knew how to give.
Enzo stood by the piles. "Hardware, raw materials, and fourteen live specimens. Standard exchange rates."
Viper nodded to his subordinates. They moved instantly, scanning items, tossing bags of loot onto the carts, and shoving the surviving enemy Pokémon into the cages.
Viper pulled out his tablet and transferred the credits.
[ TRANSFER COMPLETE: 166,000 RP ]
"You're cleaning out my budget, Rank One," Viper noted, though he didn't look displeased. He profited from every sale the island made back to HQ.
Then, Viper's gaze drifted to Enzo's belt. specifically, to the single Poké Ball Enzo hadn't put in the pile.
"Laurence's Houndoom," Viper said. He didn't ask; he stated. "Level 35."
Enzo rested his hand on the ball.
"I'll give you a good price for the dog," Viper offered. "Better than the store rate."
"It's not for sale," Enzo said.
Viper held his gaze for a second, testing the waters. A recruit refusing an instructor was usually a dangerous game. But Enzo was now backed by Nero so, Viper decided not to push.
"Keep it, then," Viper shrugged.
He signaled his team.
"Load the rest."
The Material Grunts moved to the bodies. There was no ceremony. Lawrence, Klaus, and twenty-four other hopefuls were lifted and tossed into the corpse carts like sacks of grain. Limbs tangled together. Faction armbands—Red for Archer, Black for Ariana—were stained with the same dust.
The carts turned around. The wheels creaked under the weight of the dead.
Enzo watched them go. He didn't feel guilt. He felt the weight of his pockets.
Location: Team Rocket Central Base (Safe Zone)
The mood in the Safe Zone had shifted.
Weeks ago, it had been a place of bravado and loud challenges. Now, a heavy, suffocating fear.
The recruits gathered around fires, but they didn't speak of conquering the island anymore. They spoke in whispers about the North.
"They say it's a ghost," a boy muttered, cleaning his spear. "Green hair. Scarred face. He laughs while he hunts you."
"I heard he rides a bird that looks like a skeleton," another added. "And the leader... they say the leader doesn't even use Pokémon. He just appears behind you, and then you're gone."
Sitting apart from the gossip, cross-legged on a flat stone, sat a girl with dark purple hair tied back in a high ponytail.
Janine.
Current Rank #2. Daughter of Koga.
She ignored the rumors. She was focused on the kunai in her hands, running a whetstone along the blade with a rhythmic shhhk, shhhk, shhhk.
She didn't care about ghosts. She cared about the Final Exam. She had calculated her odds against Laurence (Rank #3) and Klaus (Rank #5). She had plans for them.
Then, the wind shifted.
A smell hit the camp. Copper and rot.
The conversation at the fires died. Heads turned toward the main gate.
The collection carts were returning from the North.
They rolled in slowly, the Material Grunts looking grim, their uniforms covered in soot.
"What is that?" someone whispered. "Are those...?"
Recruits stood up, drawn by morbid curiosity. They crowded the path as the carts passed.
Janine stopped sharpening her blade. She stood up, her movement fluid and silent, and walked to the edge of the crowd.
The first cart passed. It was piled high with bodies.
A recruit near the front gasped. "Is that... is that Klaus?"
The name sent a ripple through the crowd. Klaus was a heavy hitter.
Then the second cart passed.
Janine's eyes narrowed.
Lying on top of the pile, his face pale and eyes staring blankly at the sky, was Laurence.
The Rank #3. The man with the Houndoom. The man everyone thought would be a finalist.
He was thrown in there like garbage.
"Laurence is dead?" a voice cracked. "Who killed Laurence?"
"The Ghost... it was the Ghost of the North..."
Panic exploded in the camp. If Laurence could die like that, none of them were safe. The hierarchy they understood had been shattered.
Janine didn't scream. She didn't gasp.
She just stared at Laurence's lifeless hand hanging off the side of the cart.
Her expression hardened. The kunai in her hand was gripped so tight her knuckles turned white.
She realized then that her plans for the Exam were useless. The "game" she thought she was playing had changed.
What was coming out of the North weren't recruits.
They were monsters.