Chapter Fifteen: The Hidden Reality

The stars and moon hid behind the black clouds.

The manor lay crouched in the darkness like a wild beast at rest.

It was midnight, and throughout the estate only the even sound of breathing remained. The Growlithe that guarded the gates during the day was deep in sleep within its kennel. Houndoom, assigned to patrol at night, prowled alert and fierce through the grounds, its jaws opening and closing unconsciously as if yearning to tear something apart.

Within the mansion, all was draped in the silence bestowed by the late hour. The ancestral portraits hung along the corridor walls stared with their usual wide-eyed, solemn yet gentle smiles. Only the occasional gust of wind lent those smiles an unsettling, sinister quality.

In a small room, the flickering flames in the hearth cast a shadow that stretched and shrank, making the figure by the fire seem ghostly and insubstantial. Reflected in the window’s glass, his face bore only gloom and gravity. At his feet, a rabbit-like creature covered in black fur ringed with golden circles—an Umbreon—lay quietly, feigning sleep. But the red eyes that opened from time to time betrayed its constant vigilance.

“Well, Mr. Mayor, still awake at this hour? Waiting anxiously for my news, are you?”

A particularly insolent voice drifted in from outside the window. The mayor saw a blur before his eyes, and then a grinning man with a large sack slung over his back appeared outside, a Malamar at his side.

Umbreon sprang up at once, retreating and tensing, lowering its back and baring its teeth, the blood-red eyes fixed unwaveringly on the man beyond the glass.

Malamar, beside its master, returned Umbreon’s glare with a mocking, provocative smirk.

Yet Umbreon seemed not to notice it, maintaining its focus on the man and holding itself ready to attack. The mayor beside it remained expressionless and silent, only shifting his gaze to Malamar.

The man snorted derisively at the scene.

“So the mayor’s blade hasn’t dulled after all—always prepared to take me out? Why the fuss? How about you hand me a few coins, and I’ll twist my own head off and sell it to you?”

At these words, the mayor finally reacted, lifting his eyes to the man’s face and fixing him with a cold, indifferent stare, as if looking at a man—or perhaps at a dog.

The man shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Though there was no real force in that look, it made his skin crawl as though needles pricked his back. He wanted to crack another joke, but when he opened his mouth, no words came.

There was a brief silence between them.

“I’ve finished the job. That kid will never send any more messages and will never appear before you again. Now, pay up.”

The man finally spoke, his tone hard and impatient, eager to leave.

“Fine. The money will be transferred to your account first thing in the morning. I’ve added two hundred thousand extra. For the next two years, do not return to the Kanto region.”

The mayor’s tone was cold and grim, his gaze still unwavering.

The man’s expression softened at the promise of payment. He pressed his lips together, held the mayor’s stare for a moment, then twisted his mouth into a sly grin. “Rest assured, Mayor. We hunters have our reputation to keep. Oh, and—” He slapped the bulging sack on his back, his grin growing even more brazen. “Would you care to inspect my handiwork? The little brat was quite the needle in a haystack.”

As if in response, the sack jerked violently, its contents struggling. Malamar moved immediately, using Hypnosis, and the sack fell still.

Seeing the mayor nod, the man clicked his tongue—so the mayor wasn’t so generous as to forgo inspection after all.

He set the sack down, opened it, and revealed a boy’s head. The youth lay inside, unconscious.

The mayor nodded, but his face turned suddenly cold.

“You will make it look like an accident, one that arouses no suspicion… correct?”

At this, a chill shot up the hunter’s spine, making him shudder as goosebumps sprang up.

“Of course, of course. My word is good,” he stammered, flustered.

He truly felt uneasy now. He had only wanted to assert himself and not lose face, but somehow had provoked the mayor of Viridian City instead.

“Get out! If you succeed, never show yourself before me again. If you fail, you’ll never have the chance to appear before anyone.”

The mayor’s threat was icy and unyielding.

He was thoroughly disgusted with this hunter. Did the fool really think that a couple of years of licking blood off knives gave him the right to act out in his presence? When the mayor himself was fighting for his life, this so-called hunter was likely still playing in the mud.

“Yes, yes, understood,” the hunter replied quickly.

With that, the hunter and Malamar vanished with a flash, gone from the mayor’s sight.

Umbreon relaxed at last, casting a scornful glance at the spot where the two had disappeared, its intelligent eyes mocking their hasty retreat.

The mayor reached down to stroke Umbreon's head, murmuring softly, “Nothing but a rat that can’t stand the light.”

Suddenly, the sound of a door opening came from behind.

“Daddy, I had another nightmare!”

A boy, tears and terror on his face, burst through the doorway and flung himself into the mayor’s arms as he turned.

“I dreamed that Morning’s Beedrill pressed its stinger to my neck. He said if I didn’t hand over my Charmander, he’d kill me.”

The ten-year-old sobbed in his father’s embrace.

The mayor’s expression shifted—from anger, to disappointment, to helplessness, and finally settled into indulgent affection.

“It’s alright, Bailey. From now on, Morning won’t bully you anymore.”

Hearing this, Bailey raised his head, cheeks puffed in indignation. “Daddy! I want that orphanage torn down!”

“Very well—Daddy will take care of it tomorrow.”

“Daddy, I want my Charmander back! You have to get it from the forest for me!”

“Of course—Daddy’s already sent someone to find it. There will be news soon.”

“Daddy! I want—”

“Yes—”

———

“Kid, you’ve got rotten luck. You don’t blame society for your misfortune? If you’re going to pick on someone, don’t pick a tough target. Thought you could show off that bit of talent by browbeating the mayor’s son? Even stole his Pokémon? The mayor’s a ruthless man, his son a worthless brat, and you’re no better. I can’t touch the mayor and his boy, but taking you out is doing society a favor. You don’t even qualify for a real beating from the world—what luck is that?”

“Ah, well, nothing more to say. Maybe next life you’ll get it right—start over, don’t make the same mistakes. It’s a shame, not even getting a chance to set things straight.”

The hunter pulled the boy, Morning, from the sack and gazed at the innocent face, sighing as he glanced toward the nearby cluster of Victreebel. A look of regret tried unsuccessfully to mask the excitement in his eyes. He readied himself to heave the boy toward the waiting carnivores.

“Do better in your next life.”

“Charmander—Ember!”