"If by some stroke of dumb luck there's a hidden pearl among this pile of industrial garbage—something that can turn your life around—then it means you aren't fated to die today. I will point it out to you," Miles stated, his eyes as cold as frost.
"But if all eighty-eight of these eggs are nothing more than worthless weeds, then you will quietly swallow that bitter pill. After this appraisal, regardless of the outcome, our connection is completely severed. Whether you live or die from then on will have absolutely nothing to do with me!"
His words lacked any emotional fluctuation, yet they pierced through the screen like the frigid winds of Siberia, chilling Brother Motorcycle to the bone.
The middle-aged, bald man on the other end of the screen—who just moments ago had been crying tears of despair over his impending bankruptcy and threatening to end his own life—was now nodding furiously like a chick pecking at grain.
Having experienced the dizzying heights of turning a bicycle into a motorcycle, the hellish plummet into total ruin, and now this desperate lifeline tossed by Miles's mercy, the man's psychological defenses had been utterly shattered and rebuilt.
Gone was the arrogant, opportunistic swagger of a veteran gambler from the underground blind box market.
He now stood as meek and obedient as a grade-schooler being punished by the principal.
"I understand! I understand it all! Master Miles...your rules are absolute!" Brother Motorcycle swore to the camera, frantically wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with his rough sleeve.
His voice trembled with the ultimate humility and relief of a survivor.
"I swear I'll never touch those deadly egg gambles again! As long as you can help me recover even a little of my losses and patch the hole I made in my family's finances, I'll… No, I'll go work at an electronics factory tonight, tightening screws on an assembly line! I'll live an honest life and never get greedy again!"
Seeing this burly man tamed so thoroughly left the tens of thousands of viewers in the livestream absolutely dumbfounded, triggering a tidal wave of cheers and amazement across the chat feed.
[Viewer "Midnight Heartbreak Club": LMAO! Bro is reformed! Where did all that crying and threatening to hang himself go? Faced with Master Miles's suffocating aura, even an old gambling dog has to kneel! This is the ultimate way to cure villains!]
[Viewer "Wild Pokémon Breeder": Talk about the carrot and the stick! Master Miles's psychological manipulation is at the absolute pinnacle! Brother Motorcycle probably treats the Master as his guiding spirit now. If he tells him to go east, he wouldn't dare look west!]
[Viewer "Outlaw John Doe": Gamblers only listen to reason after experiencing true despair and a harsh reality check. Master Miles is doing the most merciful deed with the coldest tone! W Streamer. Someone clip this hardcore anti-gambling PSA!]
[Viewer "Quiet Rich Lady": Hmph, glad he knows what's good for him. Anyway, Master, hurry up and take a look for him! I'm super curious if there are actually any fish that slipped through the net among these eighty-eight blind boxes he bought for 118,000 bucks!]
[Viewer "Frontline Melon Eater": Blind guessing a total wipeout! Since it's a scam, why would the black market boss put anything good inside? The Master is just doing his best and leaving the rest to fate.]
[Viewer "Rational Analyst": Not necessarily. Underground black market counterfeit workshops usually operate on assembly lines. When dyeing Bellsprout eggs in bulk, it's inevitable that a few high-quality seedlings with exceptionally tenacious vitality might survive the pigment erosion. It all depends on whether Master Miles's eyes can pierce through the eggshells!]
Looking at Brother Motorcycle's submissive demeanor and the explosive popularity of the chat feed, the frost on Miles's face finally thawed a fraction.
He knew perfectly well that establishing himself as a top-tier Pokémon appraisal master in this world required more than just ability.
He needed an aloof, transcendent persona that couldn't be hijacked by moral kidnapping.
"Alright, stop pledging your loyalty. Tears can't be exchanged for cash in the real world. Time is precious, and this is a top-tier connection billed by the second."
Leaning forward slightly, Miles crossed his hands under his chin.
His deep, dark eyes instantly sharpened with intense focus, resembling a priceless, high-precision genetic scanner powering up.
"Next, do exactly as I say. Point your phone camera at the batch of eggs you bought. Keep your wrist steady, don't shake, and now take the camera over them clearly, one by one."
"During this process, I'll help you pick out any seedlings that still have some breeding value or decent potential."
"You can keep those good seedlings to incubate yourself, and once they hatch into healthy baby Pokémon, you can list them on a legitimate trading site."
"The price of a living cub is absolutely much higher than selling dead eggs of unknown origin, allowing you to slowly fill the hole in your principal."
"As for the industrial waste and dead eggs that I judge to be utterly worthless..."
He paused, delivering his final warning with severe gravity.
"You will either sell them off cheaply as standard Bellsprout blind boxes for a few dozen bucks or physically destroy them! You are absolutely forbidden from scamming others under the banner of 'Top-Tier Fire-Type Blind Boxes', do you understand?!"
"Understood! Understood! I'll do whatever you say! If you tell me to smash them, I'll smash them!" Brother Motorcycle rejoiced as if granted a general amnesty, the light of hope reigniting in his bloodshot eyes.
He could already envision banknotes fluttering back into his pockets under Miles's guidance.
He scrambled up from the floor, grabbing his phone to scan the rows of constant-temperature incubators.
However, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, as if remembering something immensely important—something he was rather proud of.
Turning toward a separate, small incubator nearby, he carefully cradled a single egg in his hands.
Whether it was the evenness of the color or the faintly visible flame patterns on its surface, this egg was undeniably much more pleasing to the eye than the rest.
"Master Miles! Could you help me look at the one in my hand first?" Brother Motorcycle licked his dry lips, a look of anxious anticipation and sheepish pride surfacing on his fleshy face.
"This egg... I squatted on the ground at that black-hearted friend's stall for over half an hour, studying it with a flashlight!"
"I combined all the appraisal guides from several top-tier egg gambling forums to meticulously select this treasure of the stall!"
"That black-hearted friend even praised my sharp eyes and called me an expert!"
"Please take a look for me. Even if it isn't a Charmander, among Bellsprouts, this surely counts as a one-in-a-million top-tier talent, right?"
Seeing Brother Motorcycle's comical expression begging for praise, the stream watchers immediately burst into laughter.
[Viewer "Veteran Breeder Old Wang": Oh my god! This bro actually believed those so-called 'egg gambling guides' on the internet! Out of ten people posting forum tutorials on how to read patterns, nine of them are shady scammers selling fake eggs!]
[Viewer "Keyboard Holmes": Classic gambler psychology! He really thinks he's the chosen one who mastered a dragon-slaying technique. Little does he know, in the dealer's eyes, he was just an easy target waiting to be scammed! When the boss praised your sharp eyes, the subtext was 'this pig is so easy to slaughter'!]
[Viewer "Market Insider": To be fair, even knowing it's a scam, the curvature and color of the egg in his hands really are the most flawless and perfectly disguised out of the whole pile. Who knows, maybe a blind cat really did find a dead mouse, and he actually picked out a Bellsprout with high IVs?]
Sitting in front of his screen, Miles didn't even bat an eyelid at the flood of teasing comments or Brother Motorcycle's hopeful gaze.
Unbeknownst to anyone, deep within his retinas, the ghostly blue light of the [Eye of Pokémon Insight] casually swept over the egg the man treated as a priceless treasure.
Instantly, an incredibly detailed, standardized system appraisal panel—visible only to Miles—unfolded without reservation:
[Target: Pokémon Egg (Embryonic Stage)]
[Type: Grass / Poison]
[Gender: Unknown]
[Level: Lv. 0 (Unhatched)]
[Ability: Chlorophyll]
[Nature: Rash (+Sp. Atk, -Sp. Def)]
[Base Stat Rating: D (Worse than weeds, unworthy of training)]
[Overall IV Potential: E- (Depleted genetics, severe congenital deformity)]
[Fate Entry: A Puddle of Mud (White) - An out-and-out piece of bottom-tier industrial waste! The industrial dyes ingested by the mother have completely penetrated the eggshell's breathing pores, leaving the embryo in a state of chronic hypoxia and neurotoxin damage. Even if it miraculously hatches, it will absolutely be a mentally deficient, limb-atrophied defective pokemon incapable of casting even a basic 'Vine Whip'.]
'...'
Taking in the gruesome, utterly atrocious Fate Entry analysis, Miles rolled his eyes internally.
This guy's luck and so-called experienced eye were appallingly bad!
The treasure of the stall he had so painstakingly selected was actually the most foul-smelling puddle of mud in the entire garbage pile.
However, Miles obviously couldn't just read the data off the system panel to the live chat.
Not only would that fail to convince anyone, but it would also expose his biggest trump card, making him look like a charlatan spouting nonsense.
What he needed was to deliver the egg's final death sentence using a flawlessly logical appraisal camouflage that no one could pick apart.
"Brother," Miles began, picking up his thermos and taking a slow sip of water.
He spoke with a chillingly flat tone that seemed to pierce straight through the soul.
"Take that so-called 'top-tier' egg of yours, place a high-powered flashlight underneath it, and zoom in the camera. Let everyone broaden their horizons."
Confused but obedient, Brother Motorcycle hurried to comply.
As he flipped on the intense beam of the flashlight, the light tried to pierce through the orange-red shell.
Yet, bizarrely, the egg's light transmittance was exceptionally poor; a murky, dead-black shadow coalesced at its base.
"Do you see that?" Miles's voice echoed like a forensic examiner delivering a verdict over an autopsy table.
"That superficial nonsense you learned on the forums only taught you to look at the shell's color and patterns. But it conveniently skipped the most fundamental piece of common knowledge: the breathing pores!"
"Pokémon eggs are living things! They need to exchange oxygen with the outside world through microscopic pores on the surface of their shells."
"Look at the egg you picked. Its surface is as smooth as a manufactured artifact. Why?"
"Because that cheap industrial dye was painted on entirely too thick to cover up the Bellsprout's base color! It completely suffocated all the breathing pores on this egg!"
Pointing at the dead-black shadow, Miles's eyes turned ruthless.
"That dark mass isn't some well-developed, top-tier embryo! It's necrotic bruising caused by long-term, severe hypoxia coupled with pigment toxin penetration!"
"We can't even call this egg's potential 'average'—it is literally a puddle of pure, rotting mud!"
"Even if it miraculously hatched, it would be a brain-damaged cripple that wouldn't even have the basic instinct to feed."
"Your so-called half-hour of meticulous selection was essentially signing your own death warrant!"
Pure mud!
A brain-damaged cripple!
Miles's devastating and logically watertight pathological analysis slapped Brother Motorcycle across the face like a series of echoing slaps.
The man's shiny bald head instantly flushed a deep purplish red.
Caught between embarrassment and absolute despair, he wished he could dig a hole in the concrete floor with his toes and hide inside.
[Viewer "Curious Trainer": Pfft hahaha!!! Pure mud!!! A goddamn puddle of rotting mud!!! Master Miles's mouth is more venomous than a poisoned Ekans! He didn't leave the bro an ounce of face!]
[Viewer "Late Night No Drinking": An absolute fatality! The Master's flashlight transmittance analysis is brilliant! Not only did he pinpoint the pathology, but he also effortlessly mocked that bullshit forum guide! The Bro: "My meticulously chosen top-tier egg is actually a brain-damaged cripple that doesn't even know how to breathe?! My heart is as shattered as this eggshell!"]
[Viewer "Wild Pokémon Breeder": Master Miles's theoretical knowledge is terrifying! Embryonic nerve necrosis caused by blocked pores—even in a professional breeding facility, you'd need meticulous observation with specialized equipment to catch that. He saw right through it with a single glance through a screen! I'm completely in awe!]
"A-Alright... Master, I... I get it. I'll throw it aside right now..."
Awkwardly rubbing his hands together, Brother Motorcycle cast the egg into the furthest corner of the room with extreme disgust, as if disposing of a nauseating piece of dog crap.
"Cut the crap and hurry up. Hold your phone and pan steadily, starting from the first row. Wait for my commands," Miles ordered, acting as the mine-clearing director, too lazy to look at the man's constipated expression any longer.
"You got it! You got it! Look at this first one in the first row..."
Treating his words like a royal decree, Brother Motorcycle held his phone with perfectly steady hands, beginning his scan of the densely packed constant-temperature incubators.
It was only then that the viewers in the live chat got a perfectly clear look at the situation.
It had only flashed by briefly before, but now, taking it all in, they could clearly see that every single Pokémon egg radiated a tantalizing, gently warm orange-yellow hue.
Under the dim lights, they reflected an intoxicating gambler's luster.
If an ignorant layman saw this scene, they'd likely assume they had stumbled into the underground vault of top-tier Fire-type Pokémon.
[Viewer "Late Night No Drinking": Holy crap! Whoa! Good heavens! Every single one is a dyed 'Charmander egg'! This visual impact is insane!]
[Viewer "Wild Pokémon Breeder": What a reckless waste of natural resources! If these were authentic Charmander eggs, this room would be worth millions! What a pity they're all just Bellsprout waste catalyzed by industrial dye.]
[Viewer "Frontline Melon Eater": They all look exactly the same! How the hell are you supposed to pick? The difficulty is on par with finding a specific birthmark on one of several hundred identical twins! Even with his unnatural eyesight, Master Miles will probably misjudge a few this time, right?]
"Are all eighty-eight of your eggs here?" Miles asked, his brow furrowing slightly at the densely packed clusters on the screen.
A quick glance told him the numbers didn't add up.
"N-No," Brother Motorcycle gulped, a hint of cautious fawning in his tone.
"It's too small in here; they wouldn't all fit. There are about forty more... I was afraid they wouldn't be warm enough, so I moved them out onto the balcony. The sun is great out there; they can soak up some rays."
Hearing the words "balcony" and "soak up some rays," Miles's eyes instantly turned fiercely severe.
"Is your brain filled with water?!" he reprimanded sharply, his voice exploding like thunder.
"These are living Pokémon eggs that are on a countdown to hatch! The ultimate taboos are sudden temperature shifts and direct sunlight!"
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
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