"Step right up! Take a look, don't be shy! Freshly baked mid-level energy cubes—premium stuff!" David hollered like a man possessed, setting out his mysterious 'jet' cubes one by one on the rickety booth. His voice rang out across the grimy back alley like a car alarm at 3 a.m.
"Only 2500 coins! And if you find a fake—I'll pay you hundred! That's right! You get paid to catch me scamming you! Now where else do you get that kind of honesty?"
The black market crowd—which was already used to seeing stolen bicycles, counterfeit TMs, and sketchy evolution stones—slowed slightly… and then walked right past, eyes wide with a mix of confusion and pity. One guy gave David the same look you'd give someone trying to sell socks at a funeral.
A woman with a Jigglypuff literally turned and walked the other direction.
Alan, who was watching from the neighboring stall while pretending to arrange his totally-not-fake Pokémon eggs, couldn't hold back a snort.
"Brother," he said with a sigh, "your scam game is so bad, it's painful. I've seen Magikarp do more convincing sales pitches."
David twitched. "Excuse me?" he muttered under his breath, his face twitching with a mix of annoyance and disbelief.
Did this man not realize who he was dealing with?
He straightened up with all the dramatic flair of someone announcing a legendary bloodline. "Listen here, I am the Dark Pirate King of Pacific City! The Champion-to-be! The chosen flower of the Alliance!"
Alan squinted. "The flower of the what now?"
David deflated slightly. "Never mind."
"I'm not scamming anyone," he added quickly. "These cubes? They're legit. Actual mid-level energy cubes. Quality stuff. Made them myself."
Alan tilted his head. "You made them yourself?"
"Yes."
"For the black market?"
"…Yes."
Alan stared at him like David had just announced he was opening a vegan bakery in a steakhouse.
"Come on, man," Alan sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Nobody comes to the black market to buy actual things. Especially not energy cubes. They come here for dubious items, dangerous deals, and regrets."
David pouted like a disappointed toddler. "I just thought…"
"That's your first mistake," Alan muttered.
Still, despite the pity, he couldn't help but admit it: this wide-eyed lunatic was, somehow, completely serious. And that made him dangerous.
Or… at least, entertaining.
Alan was staring at David like he'd just watched a Magikarp audition for a role in a martial arts movie. There was genuine concern in his eyes, the kind you reserve for people who say things like "I can fly" or "Trust me, I've done this on YouTube."
Finally, Alan leaned in close, dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper, and said, "Kid… wanna learn real stall-selling skills from your big bro? I guarantee—GUARANTEE—you'll sell out everything."
David blinked. "Skills? What kind of skills? Sales pitch kung-fu? Jedi mind tricks?"
Alan's eyes gleamed like he was about to sell snake oil to a Gyarados. "The sacred art… of stall hustle!"
With an overly theatrical flourish, he reached into his jacket and dramatically pulled out—what looked like a very abused, possibly chewed-on, barely-holding-it-together book. The cover had more creases than a retired Machop and looked like it had survived a flood, a fire, and maybe a psychic tantrum.
David squinted at the title.
"The Encyclopedia of Black Market Scams (Hardcover Edition)."
"…What."
David's face twitched so violently, his Pikachu actually flinched.
"Hardcover?!" David muttered. "That thing looks like it lost a fight with a Weedle."
The system chimed gleefully in his head:
[Acquired Negative Emotion Value +30 from David…]
[Acquired Negative Emotion Value +40 from David…]
[Acquired Negative Emotion Value +50 from David…]
He stared at the book like it personally offended him. "You're trying to teach me stall-selling skills, and you hand me a scam manual?"
Alan didn't even flinch. He stared at the book solemnly, then whipped a marker from his pocket like a magician performing a trick. "Oops! My bad, bro. Just a tiny typo."
He scribbled furiously across the cover. When he turned it around again, the word "Scams" had been blacked out and messily replaced with "Tactics" in Sharpie.
"Voilà!" he beamed. "The Encyclopedia of Black Market Tactics! See? Totally ethical now!"
David looked at the Frankenstein title job and sighed deeply. "That's not how books work."
"It's how black market books work," Alan corrected proudly.
David rubbed his temples, trying to remember how he ended up here. He was the future Champion, the so-called Dark Pirate King of Pacific City, and now he was being taught sales techniques by a man who couldn't spell "honesty" without crossing it out first.
Then he gave Alan a long, skeptical look. "Let me guess. You didn't write this book. You bought it from some poor sucker, didn't you?"
Alan's eye twitched. "Excuse you! This was passed down to me by my mysterious and legendary master."
The system dinged again, as if it could smell the lies:
[Acquired Negative Emotion Value +20 from Alan…]
[Acquired Negative Emotion Value +30 from Alan…]
[Acquired Negative Emotion Value +40 from Alan…]
David rolled his eyes so hard they nearly evolved.
This was either the best decision he'd ever made… or the dumbest.
Possibly both.
David stared at Alan, who was now flipping through his tattered scam manual like it was the sacred text of black market salesmanship. The guy was grinning, practically glowing with pride. David wasn't sure if Alan was a genius in disguise or just a dangerously confident idiot.
Well, probably both.
As David observed him, a thought occurred: if Alan's IQ was even slightly functional, maybe he shouldn't be doing business. But then again, the black market seemed to be a collection point for every flavor of con job imaginable, so even shouting "Free Legendary Pokémon, just kidding!" probably wouldn't turn heads anymore.
Thanks to Alan's "insight," David now realized yelling about "genuine energy cubes" was a waste of oxygen. He could scream until he evolved into a Loudred, and people would still walk by like he was selling expired milk.
He rubbed his chin, deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed like a strategy game player who just realized he'd built 12 power plants and no army.
Alan, meanwhile, was still pushing his literary masterpiece like a shameless door-to-door scam artist. "So, brother… how about it? You buy now, I'll give you a special discount! Only three thousand Alliance coins! That's 20% off! For knowledge that could make you rich—"
"Absolutely not." David cut him off like a disappointed dad rejecting a pyramid scheme.
Alan's face twitched. "You didn't even haggle!"
"Because I'm not buying a handwritten encyclopedia of how to commit light fraud in a trench coat."
David sighed, still turning over ideas in his head. No matter how he looked at it, selling energy cubes on a black market full of cheapskates and schemers was like trying to sell umbrellas in a drought.
He wracked his brain for a clever plan, some genius tactic that would grab attention—nothing came. No brilliant epiphany. Just the creeping realization that he might actually have to resort to... that.
Reluctantly, he looked at the innocent Pikachu perched loyally on his shoulder.
"Pikachu," he said, voice low and serious. "Time to go back in the Poké Ball."
Pikachu stiffened. No protest. No spark. Just silent compliance as it vanished into the ball with a sad ding.
Because it knew.
It knew exactly what David was about to do.
And somewhere, far away, an innocent civilian's stomach started growling in foreshadowed distress.
Tonight, the toilets would not rest easy.
***
David casually picked up a small sealed pouch from his booth, held it like a magician about to reveal a final trick, and with the grace of a Michelin chef unveiling his secret dish, gently tore it open.
PFFFFT—
Instantly, an overwhelming, mouth-watering aroma burst from the bag like an explosion in a gourmet kitchen. It wasn't just a smell—it was an event. The scent hit the air like a wave of perfectly roasted marshmallows mixed with the soul of a five-star curry.
Within seconds, the entire black market froze.
"What the heck is that smell?"
"Is someone cooking Magikarp over a firestone?"
"Wait—where's Munchlax going? MUNCHLAX COME BACK!"
Panic broke out—not the dangerous kind, but the kind where people start frantically sniffing the air and speed-waddling in the same direction like zombies chasing a buffet line. Every nose in the area was twitching, and every head was turning toward David's stall like he'd just fired a dinner signal into the sky.
The booth, which moments ago was as empty as a ghost town, was now being swallowed by a growing crowd of curious and hungry Trainers, their Pokémon in tow. You'd think he was giving away shiny Pokémon with every purchase.
In the middle of the madness, Alan's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
David, now basking in the sweet, sweet chaos, cleared his throat dramatically like a street preacher about to drop a holy truth bomb.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Gather round! I present to you—the Jet Cube!"
He held up the energy cube pouch like it was the last Golden Ticket to Willy Wonka's evolution factory.
"Certified mid-level energy cubes! Real deal! No knock-offs, no scams, and absolutely zero side effects! Probably!"
That last part was mumbled.
"I'm in such a good mood today, I'm practically giving these away!" David continued, arms wide. "Original price? 4,000 coins per pack. But today, for my lucky customers—only 2,500 coins!"
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then chaos.
"What the—only 2,500?! I'll take ten!"
"Make it twenty! My Charmeleon eats more than I do!"
"GET OUTTA MY WAY! I SAW IT FIRST!"
"Bro I don't even have a Pokémon yet but I'll take five in case I get hungry!"
People were shoving coins into David's hand like he was a vending machine with a broken refund button. Energy cubes were flying off the table so fast, even Alan was starting to look impressed.
As Alan had pointed out earlier, the black market was full of people with empty wallets and big dreams. Trainers who couldn't afford to shop at high-end Breeder shops were suddenly seeing mid-level cubes priced 1,500 coins cheaper than anywhere else.
It was like Black Friday, but with more Growlithes and fewer TVs.
And just like that, the guy who'd been ignored minutes earlier was now the hottest thing in the market—possibly hotter than his own energy cubes.
David smirked as he handed out another bag, thinking:
Step aside, capitalism. It's feeding time.