Smoke still crawled out of the crater in slow, ugly breaths.
The impact machine was wrecked—its reinforced plate folded like a snapped spine, its casing warped and split, cables hanging out as if the thing had been gutted. Above it, the scoreboard kept blinking 560 again and again, like the system didn't trust what it had just seen.
In the center of it all, Koffing lay fainted on the scorched concrete.
Blackened. Deflated.
And still wearing that same stupid grin.
Enzo stepped closer, crouched, and clicked the Poké Ball open with his thumb.
The red beam pulled Koffing back in.
Before the light even finished sealing, Enzo murmured to the ball—quiet, flat, like it was nothing.
"Good work."
He didn't say it for motivation.
If Koffing could actually hear praise right now, it would probably get so happy that it would try to explode on instinct.
A blue window flashed into his vision immediately.
A chime. A stamp of approval.
[ CONGRATULATIONS ]
Mission Completed: KING OF THE HILL
Status: COMPLETE
Enzo didn't even blink at it.
He closed it mentally—like swatting away an insect—and turned to leave the stage.
Below, the plaza still hadn't recovered.
Recruits stood frozen in clusters, staring at the crater as if it were proof the island had cracked open and shown teeth. Then the whispering started—fast, nervous.
"That's him…"
"Mad Bomber…"
"Five-sixty—how the hell—"
The most shocked face Enzo caught in the crowd wasn't fear.
It was disbelief.
Proton.
The kid Enzo had spoken to minutes ago—still standing where Enzo left him, mouth slightly open, eyes locked on the scoreboard like his brain was refusing to accept reality. He'd been treating Enzo like a joke, like a random hooded nobody trying to make friends.
And then that same nobody had walked up and stolen first place from everyone.
Enzo didn't slow.
He stepped off the stage, boots crunching ash, and moved through the stunned crowd like smoke.
Then Viper's voice hit the plaza.
Not loud at first.
Just sharp.
Enough to slice straight through the murmurs.
"Silence."
It wasn't a request.
The sound died in chunks, like people remembered how to fear again.
Viper walked onto the stage with the same expression he wore for everything—flat, measured, cruelly calm. He didn't look at the crater. He didn't look at the broken machine like it mattered. He looked at the recruits like they were inventory.
Then he lifted one hand.
Assistants in black uniforms moved immediately, distributing devices down the lines—rectangular, stamped with the Rocket "R," screen dark until it touched a hand.
"TR Device," Viper said, pacing once along the edge of the stage. "Team Rocket Device."
Screens lit up across the plaza in scattered flashes.
Viper continued.
"Ranking in real time. Your Rocket Point balance. Your profile. Communication—yes, it can be used to contact staff and send requests."
A beat.
Then his tone sharpened.
"And now the rules."
The plaza felt like it leaned forward.
"Only the Top 100 will participate in the Final Exam. Day 100."
A ripple ran through the recruits like a nervous system twitching.
Viper didn't pause long enough for panic to become noise.
Rank stealing is ongoing. If Rank #231 defeats Rank #23 or steals their TR Device, then #231 takes their place at #23. The ranking updates immediately. That's how you climb.
Somewhere in the crowd, someone swallowed hard enough for the sound to carry.
Viper's eyes didn't soften.
"On Day 100, anyone alive and below the Top 100 becomes a Material Grunt. Once you turn into a Material Grunt, you must work 10 years to pay the fee to try again."
Just a sentence that turned the air colder.
He let that sit for half a heartbeat—long enough for it to sink its teeth in—then finished with the only part anyone actually wanted to hear.
"Top 10," Viper said, voice sharp as a blade. "Exchange Center. Collect your rewards."
Enzo's TR Device buzzed once in his hand.
His rank number glowed on the screen like a target.
Rank #1
He slid it into his pocket, adjusted the strap of his backpack, and started walking.
The walk to the Exchange Center felt different once the Top 10 started moving.
No screaming. No panic. Just controlled footsteps, sharp eyes, and that quiet shift where everyone goes from shock back to business. Predators resetting their posture.
Enzo felt attention stick to him like heat.
And the first one to make a clean move was Laurence.
Archer's protégé approached with calm professionalism—hands visible, posture straight, no direct threat, no theatrics. The kind of guy who didn't raise his voice because he didn't need to.
"Enzo," Laurence said, like the name was already filed somewhere. "Good job."
Enzo gave him a small nod. Nothing more.
Laurence continued, voice low enough to avoid feeding the crowd behind them.
"Archer values results. So do I." A brief pause. "Join us in a group. You'll get further with cover."
It was an offer, but it was also a test—see if Enzo flinched, if he reached for safety, if he acted grateful.
Enzo kept his face blank.
"I appreciate it," he said evenly. "But no, thank you for the offer."
Laurence didn't look offended. He didn't push. He just measured Enzo again, like adjusting a mental ranking.
Laurence tilted his head a fraction, leaving a door open, for utility.
"If I ever need anything… You can come to us, we will help you."
Enzo was silent for a beat, then nodded once.
"Thank you," he said.
After that, Janine and he traded glances.
She didn't speak.
She just gave a short, clean nod—warrior respect, nothing soft, nothing submissive.
Enzo returned the same nod.
No smiles. No extra words.
On the side, Henry stood like a wound that refused to close.
He just stared.
Pure hatred, the kind that made his jaw tighten and his fingers twitch, as if he wanted to break something in his hands. Like Enzo's and the others above him, in the ranking, had stolen a life he believed he deserved.
Enzo ignored him like he was background noise.
Then Ariana's four subordinates tried to make their move.
They stepped in together, synced, confident—until they saw Laurence stepping away from Enzo.
The four slowed.
A glance between them.
Recalculation.
They drifted off, keeping distance, and settled into watching from far away with rancor in their eyes.
Viper arrived without ceremony.
He didn't look at Janine. Didn't acknowledge Laurence. Didn't even spare Henry a glance.
His eyes landed on Enzo.
A pause—just long enough to confirm the choice.
Then a single finger pointed.
"You," Viper said. Flat. "Follow."
Enzo didn't hesitate.
He felt eyes track him as he stepped away from the group. Laurence's expression didn't change, but the look in it sharpened. Janine watched in silence. Henry's hatred tightened.
Viper walked ahead, not checking if Enzo followed, because people didn't disobey Viper.
They passed a side corridor Enzo hadn't used since the private negotiation room.
Same door.
Same thick metal.
But now—
Something was off.
Viper stopped at the threshold and didn't enter.
He just tilted his head, a permission that didn't feel like permission.
"Go."
Enzo stepped in.
The door shut behind him with a soft thunk that sounded too much like a lock.
And a shape sitting in the deepest part of the room.
A man in a hood. Still. Patient. Like he owned the concept of silence.
Enzo's body reacted before his mind could label it.
Pressure hit his chest—physical, dense—like the air had thickened into water, and his lungs were trying to breathe through it anyway. His heart didn't race.
It tightened.
Instinct screamed one clean word:
DANGER.
The System didn't bother with its usual neat formatting.
It snapped into his vision like a flinch.
[ WARNING ]
Shadow density: ABNORMAL
Threat present: GENGAR
Level: ???
Potential: ???
Moves: ???
Even the System didn't want to finish the sentence.
Enzo didn't move.
He didn't step back.
He didn't reach for a Poké Ball.
He did something colder.
He sent a thought into his own shadow—sharp as a command.
"Don't react. Stay still."
Gastly, hiding beneath him, answered with a quiet pulse.
The hooded figure didn't speak.
The pressure increased for half a second, as if testing how much Enzo's ribs could take before they cracked.
Enzo held his breathing steady anyway.
Then—
"Enough."
One word.
Not loud.
But the room listened.
The pressure vanished instantly, like a hand had been lifted off his throat.
Enzo could breathe again.
The hooded man leaned forward, and the darkness moved with him in a way darkness shouldn't.
He pulled the hood back.
Grey hair, short and rough. Beard along the jawline. A scar running like an old decision down the side of his face.
His eyes were calm, and that was the most terrifying part.
"I'm Nero," he said, like an introduction and a verdict at the same time.
Enzo's stomach didn't drop.
His mind went still.
He knew the name.
Even the lowest material grunt knew Nero's identity.
the legendary leader of the Team Rocket Shadow Unit.
The division that didn't ask permission…
Enzo made a controlled bow—perfect posture, no panic in it.
"A pleasure," Enzo said. "Enzo."
Nero watched him like he was reading a document that hadn't been written yet.
Then he spoke, voice low, almost conversational.
"Men show what they are when they're afraid."
Enzo didn't pretend he hadn't been afraid.
He just kept his voice clean.
"Is that what this was?" he asked. "A test?"
Nero's mouth curved—barely.
"Yes."
Enzo nodded once, like he accepted the logic.
Then, without flinching or trying to impress, he asked the only question that mattered.
"Did I pass?"
Nero looked at him for a long beat.
Then:
"Yes, sit down."
Enzo didn't exhale in relief. He just filed it away and sat in front of Nero.
Nero reached into his coat and placed something on the table with a soft click.
A card.
Not a normal receipt. Not a cheap token.
A black credential with a red Rocket "R" and a strip of embedded data that looked expensive.
"Your reward, Mr. Number 1, Fifty thousand Rocket Points," Nero said.
Enzo's eyes flicked to it—only once.
Nero continued, tone almost amused.
"Your previous sale was one 169 000 RP, now a total of 219 000 RP."
Nero leaned back, folding one leg over the other.
"And now?" he asked. "What will you do with it?"
Enzo didn't lie.
Lying to Nero wasn't bravado. It was suicide with extra steps.
"I'll buy a specific Pokémon," Enzo said. "Then I'll spend the rest on Poké Balls, TMs, and ingredients."
Nero's gaze sharpened a fraction.
"Ingredients," he repeated. "For Pokéblocks?"
Enzo didn't blink.
Nero's voice stayed calm, but a hook slipped into it.
"Pokéblocks…? How does an orphan from Cerulean know how to make that?"
Enzo held his eyes. Held the pressure without letting it re-enter.
Then he answered with a half-truth so clean it couldn't be disproved.
"Orphans notice what people with homes ignore."
Nero stared at him.
Then he let out a small breath—almost a laugh, but not quite.
"Fair."
His tone hardened slightly, not cruel, practical.
"Don't sell that to anyone," he said. "Not openly. Not casually." A pause. "Only people you trust should know."
Enzo nodded.
Nero's eyes drifted, as if the conversation had already moved on.
"You said a specific Pokémon," he reminded. "Which one?"
Enzo didn't hesitate.
"Porygon."
For a heartbeat, Nero didn't react.
Then he laughed.
A real laugh this time, surprised.
"Porygon," he repeated, like the word didn't belong on this island.
He wiped the edge of that amusement away and looked back at Enzo with something closer to interest.
"You're really different, aren't you?" Nero said.
Enzo stayed silent.
Nero leaned forward slightly.
"I can get you the permission to buy one," he said. "Today."
Nero's smile came back—thin.
"You consider a proposal," he said. "Nothing signed. Nothing promised." A pause. "You just think about working under me."
Enzo didn't nod too fast.
Didn't show emotions.
He kept it controlled.
"I'll consider it."
Nero accepted that, as if it were enough.
Then he lifted his TR Device and made the call like ordering a drink.
"Viper," Nero said. "Bring me a Porygon, please."
He stood, the room darkening around him for a moment as if his shadow was getting up with him.
As he moved toward the door, he paused just long enough to leave one last line behind him—soft, but sharp.
"Attention to your TR Device."
Then he was gone.
The door opened.
And Enzo was left sitting with a black card worth fifty thousand points on the table.
Viper came back alone.
No smile, no small talk—just that same controlled face, like he was negotiating with a spreadsheet instead of a human. But the air around him had changed. A shade more… cooperative.
He shut the VIP door behind him and tossed a Poké Ball onto the table like it was a coin.
"Porygon," he said. "Green potential."
Enzo didn't reach for it yet. "Price?"
Viper's eyes flicked over him once—measuring. Then, almost lazily: "Eighty thousand RP." A beat. "Call it a friend price."
"Fine," Enzo said.
Viper slid the ball closer. "Anything else?"
Enzo answered by placing his list down. Short. Precise. No explanation.
Viper read it, and the corner of his mouth twitched—barely. "Hurricane," he murmured, like he was tasting the word.
Enzo didn't blink. "It's practical."
"Of course it is." Viper tapped the terminal, then glanced up. "Forty thousand."
Enzo nodded once.
"Thunder Punch and Fire Punch," Viper continued, eyes scanning.
"21 500 RP each."
He said it like it was casual—like those numbers weren't enough to bankrupt most recruits for life.
Enzo didn't hesitate. "Add them."
Viper's gaze dropped to the rest. "Thermal suits, tactical packs, thirty Poké Balls, a tent, magnetic belts…" He paused, then added with mild amusement, "its doable."
He started pushing items across the table one by one: the Poké Balls in a sealed sleeve, the belts in rigid packaging, the suits folded tight with the Rocket "R," and a compact tent bag with straps thick enough to drag a body.
Then came the last part.
Ingredients.
Viper printed the receipt anyway and slid it across.
— RECEIPT —
Porygon (Green Potential): 80,000 RP
TM Hurricane: 40,000 RP
TM Thunder Punch: 21,500 RP
TM Fire Punch: 21,500 RP
2 Thermal Suits (Team Rocket issue): 8,000 RP
2 Tactical Backpacks: 4,000 RP
30 Poké Balls: 6,000 RP
1 Large Tent: 2,000 RP
2 Magnetic Belts: 4,000 RP
Field Kit Upgrade Pack (batteries, seals, tool roll): 12,000 RP
Ingredients: 32,000 RP
TOTAL SPENT: 219,000 RP
Enzo signed it and then looked at his balance.
BALANCE: 0 RP
Enzo stared at it for half a second.
Zero.
He didn't feel panic. He felt… clean.
First, the thermal suit, black Rocket issue, thicker than it looked. He slid his arms in, zipped it up to the collar, and felt the insulation settle against his skin like a second layer of intent. Comfort and control.
Then the new tactical bag. He swapped straps with quick, practiced movements, shifting weight until it sat tight against his back—higher, closer, built to run without bouncing.
One magnetic belt went on last.
Click.
The locks snapped shut around his waist, and the belt's slots hummed faintly as the magnets recalibrated. He practiced a quick-draw with an empty hand—smooth, precise—then clipped the Poké Balls in, one after another, until the belt looked like a fully loaded rack.
Enzo rolled his shoulders once, feeling the difference.
"Now I feel better." He no longer looked like the other recruits; now he looked more like a full-fledged Team Rocket member.