Another half an hour passed before the two finally managed to untangle Bulbasaur's Vine Whips and successfully strip the uniforms off the two Team Rocket grunts.
Along the way, they even conducted a round of "verbal interrogation."
Under the effects of Stun Spore, the two grunts had zero ability to resist. Faced with one dark-skinned face and one yellow-faced menace, they could only stammer as they spilled everything they knew.
Unfortunately, their rank was only second-from-bottom—Fearless Bronze—so their intel was limited. All they really knew was that most of the crew aboard the ship were actually Team Rocket members in disguise.
Of course, there were also some temporary workers recruited on the spot.
If anything went wrong, those temps would be the scapegoats.
Classic Team Rocket procedure for a multinational organization.
After dealing with the two grunts and changing into sailor uniforms, Ash and Brock decided to check out the captain's lair first.
Skipping straight to the enemy crystal—now that was how a real gamer played.
On the way—
"Team Rocket's ranking system is hilarious," Ash laughed. "Some people can't even reach Gold rank after twenty years? If it were me, I'd have been a Pokémon Master ages ago!"
Brock's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"The stricter the hierarchy, the more solid the organization," he said.
He'd heard before that Team Rocket was big—but this was on another level entirely.
They headed toward the captain's quarters. Along the way, they passed several staff members. Seeing that Ash and Brock were dressed the same, no one stopped them.
Faces didn't matter.
Team Rocket only recognized uniforms.
Creak.
There was no one outside the captain's door. Ash gently pushed it open.
Inside, it was pitch-black, with faint snoring sounds.
It was nearly 4 a.m. after all. Anyone who'd lived long enough to become a ship captain was the type who drank goji berries in tea and went to bed at sunset.
As for those still partying at night—future sudden-death candidates.
The two crept in quietly. With the poor visibility, Ash even accidentally bumped into Brock.
"Hey, Brock, open your mouth a bit—show your teeth. I can't see you otherwise," Ash whispered urgently.
Brock: "?"
In the darkness, this clearly wasn't workable. Ash had an idea and tossed out a Poké Ball.
Red light flashed, and an orange-red Charmander landed on the floor.
The moment it appeared, it started baring its fangs, heat rising rapidly from its body.
A familiar draconic aura filled the room.
Charmander was subconsciously imitating the terrifying presence it had once sensed in the lighthouse sea fog—that fleeting glimpse of Charizard.
Its aura climbed to a peak, and it nearly roared skyward, ready to vent its boiling emotions—
"Roa—cough!"
Ash lunged forward, clamping one hand over Charmander's throat and the other over its mouth.
You roar and we're dead!
Once the little dragon finally calmed down, Ash whispered,
"Charmander, please—use a very low-brightness Flash."
"Char…"
Charmander nodded, gathering energy at the tip of its tail and suppressing it to the bare minimum.
A small glow lit up the darkness, like a starlit torch.
Under the faint light, the two quickly scanned the room.
Despite being the captain's quarters, it was surprisingly simple—two beds and a desk, nothing more.
One bed held a white-bearded but robust old man.
The other held a little girl, no more than four or five years old.
"…His granddaughter?" Ash muttered.
He picked up a photo frame from the desk. The picture showed only the old man and a ponytailed little girl, smiling brightly.
They searched the desk drawers—mostly ordinary documents and a ship's logbook titled:
"The Old Man and the Sea…food?"
The two exchanged looks and flipped it open.
"In a small boat at Vermilion Harbor, an old man fished alone. For eighty-four consecutive days, he had not caught a single Sharpedo…"
They speed-read the entire forty-thousand-word novel in under half a minute.
By the end, their blood was boiling with inspiration.
The unyielding human spirit, refusing to bow to fate—the optimism of a true fighter—it was deeply moving.
Although… there weren't even Sharpedo near Vermilion City's waters, were there?
What was he fishing them out of—thin air?
The final entry in the log mentioned that the old captain had received sponsorship from a charitable company called the Rainbow Group, becoming captain of the S.S. Anne and realizing his dream of a grand voyage.
"So the captain's clean," Brock concluded.
"False alarm."
They carefully put everything back and prepared to leave.
As they exited, something reflected light from a corner.
Ash's sharp eyes caught sight of a plain disc inside the trash bin near the door. He picked it up casually.
Out in the corridor, he took a closer look.
On the disc were three bold characters:
居合斩
Ash's eyes lit up.
A legendary TM?!
By the name, it sounded incredibly strong.
Could Pidgeotto learn it?
"So what now?" Brock yawned. "Go back and sleep?"
With no clues from the captain's room, they couldn't exactly search every cabin one by one.
And in four hours, morning would arrive—along with the fishing competition.
Even if Water-types weren't appealing, what if they caught a Kabuto or Omanyte?
Ash, however, showed a look of rare brilliance. He recalled Charmander and pocketed the disc, grinning smugly.
"Heh. I found a huge clue."
Brock raised an eyebrow. "Explain."
"The Rainbow Group," Ash said confidently. "Remember what the Pokédex said? That flashy guy—Apollo—he's the head of the Rainbow Group."
If the captain wasn't the wolf, then Apollo definitely was.
Tonight was destined to be sleepless.
A crewman approached.
Brock gestured to Ash, then stepped forward with a smile.
"Excuse me—may I ask where Apollo's room is?"
The man's face was full of rough features, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
"Hey. You two aren't one of us, are you?"
Ash & Brock: "!"
Someone who recognized faces instead of uniforms?!
"Damn it!" the man added irritably. "Does Team Rocket talk like that? Polite words and all? Who are you looking down on?"
Team Rocket—always winning with class.
Ash immediately caught on. He patted Brock's shoulder and stepped in.
"Sorry about that. My buddy's eyes are just that big—he naturally looks down on people."
He said it with a smile.
Crewman: "…"
Brock: "???"
So now you're insulting both the enemy and your teammate?!
"Just say what you want," Ash continued forcefully. "Ask about Apollo already. My buddy here has small eyes and holds grudges—and you're only Bronze, right? Careful he doesn't toss you into the sea to feed Sharpedo tonight."
Despite being half a head shorter, Ash completely overwhelmed the man with sheer presence.
Strangely, the crewman looked… satisfied?
Then he shook his head sharply.
"No, no—still suspicious. What's the operation's passcode? Say it, or I'm calling security!"
Several Team Rocket members immediately gathered around, their expressions unfriendly.
Ash and Brock exchanged a glance.
A passcode?!
This was bad. Really bad.
Seeing the man about to call it in, Ash swallowed hard, steeled himself, and ventured hesitantly,
"The passcode is… stinky fish, rotten fish—I'm a rotten shrimp?"
Brock: "?"
What kind of kindergarten-level passcode was that?!
The burly man fell silent.
Then—he smiled.
"Correct. Apollo's room is at the end of Corridor Three. The most luxurious suite."
Brock: "???"
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