Pokemon: The Legendary Trainer

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"Not a single one of them was the guy, huh, Growlithe?"

After his last visitor left, Sato gently patted Growlithe, who had just poked his head out from under the table, and asked softly.

Growlithe, after finishing a juicy steak Sato had grabbed for him, shook his head, indicating he hadn't found the person who attacked Sato on the deck among the guests here.

In fact, when the celebration began, Sato had discreetly released Growlithe and instructed him to search the banquet hall for his attacker.

Unfortunately, the culprit was being very cautious, seemingly content with securing a Gyarados or perhaps afraid of Sato's strength.

After stealing the Gyarados from him, the assailant had gone into hiding.

"Hmph, as long as you're still on this ship, I'll track you down eventually."

With that thought, Sato nodded and recalled Growlithe to his PokéBall. He left the hall, now a bit cold and messy, save for a few passed-out, drunk sailors.

Then he headed to the restroom, where he changed his clothes and even altered his appearance a bit, before returning to his cabin to rest.

After Sato returned to his room, the ship finally entered a state of "true" quiet—though some people were still very much awake.

In a luxury cabin not far from Sato's, a stern-faced middle-aged man sat cross-legged in a single armchair, across from two masked figures dressed in black, seated on a long sofa.

Behind the two seated figures, five more black-clad individuals wearing masks stood still, though their masks lacked a number, unlike the seated figures.

The middle-aged man was dressed in a stylish white suit and had a buzz cut. He held a partially smoked cigar in one hand, adorned with several gemstone-studded gold rings, looking very much like the head of some big company. On his shoulder sat a Hoothoot, seemingly asleep, its eyes closed. However, the occasional psychic wave it emitted betrayed that it was, in fact, fully alert.

The two seated masked figures contrasted in size—one was tall and burly, with the number "5" on his mask, while the other was petite, with the number "7."

Aside from the two small slits on the masks, the black attire and masks completely obscured the figures. Both sat or stood with perfect posture, and they hadn't moved a muscle since entering the room. Their gazes, peeking through the narrow mask openings, were equally devoid of any emotion.

It was as if they were soulless puppets or mere phantoms, aiming to minimize their presence so thoroughly that the middle-aged man almost felt they weren't even there.

Clinging quietly to the backs of the standing black-clad figures were Joltiks and Grubbins, just as motionless as the people they accompanied.

The room's lights were off, and the curtains were drawn tightly, leaving only a single small candle to provide faint illumination.

"Why did you have to drag innocent people into this? The mission didn't say anything about attracting Gyarados, did it? If this ship hadn't had strong defenses, almost everyone would've perished at sea. Are you deliberately making things difficult for me?"

After studying the two masked figures in silence for a long time, the middle-aged man sighed and broke the silence himself, seeing that neither of them seemed willing to speak first.

"We lacked manpower. For the sake of the light, some sacrifices are necessary."

After a brief pause, the tall, burly figure on the left finally replied coldly.

"Agreed."

After the burly figure in black responded, the petite masked figure beside him also spoke, her tone equally devoid of emotion.

"That's nonsense. Don't forget your place—you owe your very existence to them. Forget it, you Night Division types are all the same. Now, where's the item?"

Hearing their unfeeling responses, the middle-aged man's face tightened, fists clenched, but he held back from raising his voice in anger. After all, he wasn't their direct superior; his role was simply to provide cover for them. No matter how much he spoke, they wouldn't listen.

"It's not here. The intelligence was flawed."

The pair's reaction to his words hinted at a slight change in mood, as they responded in unison without waiting this time.

"Impossible. Blackfish's information has never been wrong. If you can't find it, the blame's on you, no one else. If you don't retrieve the target before this voyage ends, then too bad—you'll both be stuck in the mire for another five years before you get a chance to leave."

The flickering candlelight cast shadows on the middle-aged man's stern face. Though disappointed by their lack of success, a flicker of satisfaction flashed in his eyes as he whispered.

"We haven't yet searched the captain's quarters, but the guard there is formidable. We need assistance."

Hearing his comment, the petite masked figure shifted slightly before speaking.

"We only need the strongest sailor diverted. Facing him alone, the two of us have little chance."

As soon as she finished, the burly masked figure added, "If the mission fails, it won't end well for you either, Mr. Wigel. After all, your daughter is with us."

Before Wigel could object, the burly figure had already spoken, and in that instant, Wigel's eyes widened in fury. The Hoothoot on his shoulder also opened its eyes, glowing a faint blue, causing the room's lighting to flicker and the candle flame to waver.

"You will get your help, Number Five, but remember—this is the first and last time. Rules are rules."

Suppressing his rage, Wigel spoke coldly, his tone sharp. With that, the Hoothoot on his shoulder closed its eyes once more, resuming its stillness.

"As you wish."

With this satisfactory answer, the two masked figures on the sofa stood up in unison, ready to proceed.

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