Just as expected, the parsnip stew tasted terrible.
Though Ron had boiled the roots until they nearly dissolved, the lack of proper seasoning left only a bland, salty mush—like mashed potatoes mixed with carrots, but somehow worse.
Still, Froakie seemed perfectly fine with it.
Feeling generous, Ron gave it an extra portion, set the bowl aside, and—clutching the rest of the harvest—headed straight for town.
Morning chores done, it was now just past nine—when Pierre's General Store opened.
Pierre was tallying yesterday's earnings behind the counter. Seeing Ron enter, he quickly shoved the cash drawer shut and greeted him with a wide, practiced smile.
"Morning! What can I help you with?"
"The farm just harvested some parsnips—do you buy them?"
Ron wasn't entirely sure, but he recalled the store did accept crops. Though the shipping bin worked, he wanted to maximize planting cycles before Spring 13—the Egg Festival—when strawberry seeds would become available. Selling immediately meant he could reinvest faster.
Plus, he wanted to start construction on the Nursery as soon as possible. Every day counted.
"Of course, of course!" Pierre took the parsnips, counted them, then announced cheerfully, "That'll be 420G. I can transfer it right now if you'd like."
"38G per parsnip," Ron said firmly, "or I'll wait until Lewis comes by tomorrow."
He'd instantly noticed Pierre was offering 30G each—5G less than Lewis's rate. It didn't sound like much, but that difference meant one extra potato seed.
Pierre winced dramatically. "Ah… well…"
"If you agree," Ron added, "I'll spend every coin on potato seeds."
"Deal," Pierre said after a quick calculation. "That's 532G—enough for 10 seeds… I'll throw in an 11th."
Ron checked his balance—2,000G total—and bought every potato seed he could afford.
"…You could've just said that earlier," Pierre grumbled, counting out 52 potato seeds and handing them over.
Back at the farm, Orthworm had already tilled the designated plot.
Ron planted all the potatoes, then spent the next two days shuttling between farm and beach—fishing at night, selling at dawn, and immediately reinvesting every coin into more potato seeds.
By Spring 7, he stopped buying.
Any potatoes planted after today wouldn't mature before Spring 13.
Looking at the thriving rows of green shoots and Froakie diligently watering them, Ron decided not to expand further—for now.
He sold successive parsnip harvests and his nightly fish hauls.
On Spring 10, with exactly 20,000G in hand, he marched straight to the carpenter's shop.
---
Meanwhile, at the Carpenter's Shop…
Robin, the town carpenter, sat bored behind the counter, watching her Machoke stack freshly processed timber into the warehouse.
"Ugh…" She sighed, turning to her daughter, Maru, who was adjusting her nurse's uniform before heading out.
Maru worked part-time at the clinic.
"Be careful on your way," Robin said with a smile. "Oh—and ask Harvey if the clinic needs any repairs. Tell him to call me anytime."
Maru snorted, adjusting her glasses and tucking her hair behind her ears. "Honestly, you'd have better luck hoping the new farmer hires you. That farm's in worse shape than the clinic."
Robin twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "But Clint said the farm's in really rough shape…"
She occasionally drank at the saloon in the evenings and often ran into Clint, a regular.
He'd mentioned the desolate farm—and the poor city boy surviving out there like some wilderness hermit.
"Exactly!" Maru said. "That just means plenty of work waiting for you."
Glancing at the clock, she realized she was late—and turned abruptly, colliding with someone at the door.
"Oh! Sorry—"
She looked up—into the face of a stranger.
"Hello," Ron said with a knowing smile. "I think you're right. The job opportunity just walked in."
Maru instantly realized: This is the new farmer. And he heard everything.
Her face flushed—but thanks to her dark complexion (inherited from her father), it wasn't obvious.
Muttering another apology, she fled without looking back.
"I'm so sorry," Robin stood up, sincerely embarrassed. "She was just joking—she didn't mean to insult your farm."
"No offense taken," Ron said calmly. "The farm's condition isn't my fault. Quite the opposite—I'm the one who'll fix it."
He gave her a confident smile. "That's not an insult. It's proof of what I can do."
Robin's impression of him instantly skyrocketed. She walked over and clapped him hard on the shoulder. "Hearing that puts my mind at ease."
Lately, thanks to Clint's tales at the saloon, townsfolk had been betting on how long it'd take Ron to give up and leave.
After all, going from a bustling metropolis like Zuzu City to that broken-down shack? It seemed unbearable.
"Anyway," she said, "what do you need help with?"
"I want to build a Nursery on my farm," Ron said. "For Pokémon."
The word Pokémon felt oddly nostalgic. Robin turned, rummaged through old files, and finally unearthed the architectural plans for the old Nursery.
Checking the materials list, she began, "That'll require—"
"200 stone, 200 wood, and 20,000G," Ron said. "I've got it all."
Robin looked up, surprised—then nodded. "Alright. Start today?"
Ron nodded.
"Then let's go," she said. "With Machoke's help, it should take about two days."
She used to be slower—but Machoke had drastically boosted her efficiency. Still, she hadn't built a Nursery in years, so she gave a conservative estimate.
Grabbing her tools and recalling Machoke into its Poké Ball, Robin followed Ron out the door.
To save time, they took the back-mountain trail, entering the farm through the north gate.
Robin looked around.
Yes, the house was as dilapidated as she'd imagined—but thanks to Ron's care, it didn't feel desolate at all.
Quite the opposite.
The place thrummed with life.
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