Naturally, shady things went on in secret too.
Of course, it wasn't anything like the dark underworld—at most, it was just a group of impoverished folks who had banded together for various reasons. Many of them were lazy and idle by nature, gathering into gangs of so-called "Renaissance-style thugs."
They were basically a stain on Emerald City's local population—an embarrassment people tried to ignore.
The leader of the group, a purple-haired punk with a flashy haircut, grinned cheekily and said,
"Come on now, we're just here to have a little get-together with some friends."
"Oh right, their names are Dyson and Anna—children of that old bastard Mikel~"
Originally, the server had planned to kick these embarrassing troublemakers out.
But upon hearing the name "Mikel," the server immediately returned to their post, though their tone was still laced with disdain as they coldly warned:
"Don't disturb the other guests. We've got a VIP client dining at the Pokémon Restaurant today. If you upset the higher-ups, you'd better start shopping for your coffin!"
Upon hearing that, the group of punks immediately became much more restrained.
They made their way toward Nathan's private dining room, only regaining their cocky demeanor once they arrived at the door.
Since not all the food had been served yet, the door wasn't locked.
As the group pushed the door open, they noticed Nathan looked familiar—but the moment they saw Dyson and Anna, their faces immediately twisted into brazen grins.
Seeing this, Nathan sighed and shook his head helplessly.
Figures. Another cliché drama.
He just wasn't sure whether this mess was due to Dyson or the Pokéblocks.
If it was the latter, then Nathan definitely wouldn't let these punks off easy.
After all, raising and training Pokémon was expensive—Nathan had been counting on the Pokéblocks to help fund it all!
Before Nathan could speak, the purple-haired punk strutted up to Dyson and said with a sneer,
"Well, if it isn't our good ol' buddy Dyson!"
"No money to lend us, but plenty to dine in such a fancy place. Real solid of you, huh?"
With that, the gang of thugs struck their usual tough-guy poses.
It was all for show, really.
Their usual routine was just intimidating small street vendors to extort protection money—but those vendors weren't exactly saints either.
In short, it was a case of scum preying on scum—flies sucking the blood of mosquitoes.
Watching Dyson's expression darken, the purple-haired punk pressed the advantage and barked,
"Relax, we're not trying to make things hard for you. Just hand over that cube recipe or whatever it's called, and we'll all be good, yeah?"
By this point, Nathan had a clear idea of what was going on.
Ah, so it was his fault after all.
With someone like Miss Evelyn backing the Pokéblocks, they were bound to draw attention from powerful financial players.
As long as someone noticed the Pokéblocks in Dyson and Anna's possession, this kind of trouble was practically inevitable.
'Hah… Seems like refusing to give those guys a share was absolutely the right move.'
Nathan chuckled coldly in his heart.
Back then, he simply didn't trust anyone else to manage the product properly.
Just look at how companies founded by others were so easily swallowed up by capital, leaving their creators penniless on the streets.
He, Nathan, was a Pokémon Trainer—not some scheming businessman.
Rather than getting tied up in drama, it was better to partner with trustworthy people and build a small, stable studio.
Slower was fine. The goal had always been raising Pokémon anyway.
But after what happened today, something had shifted in Nathan's heart.
No matter the world, the dirty face of capital never changed.
In that case…
"Hey. Tell me—who sent you?"
Nathan slowly stood up from his seat, his voice calm but chilling.
"And who the hell are you? Think you can butt into the Locke Family's business?!"
The purple-haired punk snapped back without hesitation.
Thinking his words didn't carry enough threat, he even pulled out a Poké Ball—summoning a Raticate in a flash.
Judging by its aura, it was around level 25 to 27.
But it looked malnourished and lacked vitality.
Seeing the Raticate, Nathan became even more certain that these punks were being used.
They couldn't even name the Pokéblock properly, and they couldn't afford to feed their own Pokémon—how could they possibly understand the value of the Pokéblock recipe?
It was laughable.
With a casual toss, Nathan sent out a Poké Ball—his Metagross appeared, eyes cold and emotionless.
"Metagross. Take out the Raticate and restrain the others."
"Right now, I strongly suspect you're connected to the Dark Spirit Organization."
Seeing that it was a Metagross, Nathan didn't bother with commands—he let it act freely.
This was the world of Pokémon.
The gap between genius and mediocrity, between rich and poor, was not something that time alone could bridge.
Even that punk might have once graduated from some university.
Metagross's eyes glowed light blue.
Its psychic power immediately froze the group of thugs in place—and put the Raticate to sleep in an instant.
"I'll give you one last chance. Tell me who sent you."
"Otherwise, I'll have no problem throwing you all in prison for collusion with the Dark Spirit Organization!"
Staring at them with eyes devoid of emotion, Nathan's voice was chillingly flat.
He was more than happy to treat people kindly.
But only if they bore him no ill will and didn't threaten his interests.
Once either condition was broken—sorry, Nathan could turn into a dark anti-hero in the blink of an eye.
The punks widened their eyes in fear. Despite being older than Nathan, they found him scarier than most gang bosses.
Aside from the purple-haired punk, the rest were frozen stiff—barely able to move their eyes.
"You—! Fine, I'll talk! I'll talk!"
The purple-haired punk had wanted to stall for time, but as the psychic grip around him grew tighter, he finally cracked and screamed in despair.
Combine that with Metagross's emotionless stare and Nathan's cold gaze, and his mental collapse was inevitable.
"Don't waste my time. My patience is wearing thin."
Nathan walked to the door and locked it from the inside, his tone dead serious.
Anna and Dyson weren't surprised by any of this.
They'd already seen this side of Nathan back when they were running for their lives from Tyranitar.
So even if you gave them a hundred reasons, unless they had a way to deal with Steelix, betrayal wasn't even an option!
Not that they were that kind of people to begin with.
And most importantly—the recipe Nathan gave them had issues by design.
Thanks to the system's modifications, even a thousand years of research wouldn't allow anyone to replicate high-quality Pokéblocks from it.
…
"We don't know exactly who wants to snatch the recipe from Dyson," the punk confessed quickly, "but they promised—if we got the formula, each of us would get a rare and powerful Pokémon!"
As the psychic pressure eased slightly, the purple-haired punk rushed to explain.
Nathan raised an eyebrow at that.
They offered rare Pokémon instead of money...?
That didn't sound like the style of those industrial capitalists in the Pokémon sector.
Then again, it made sense.
After all, Nathan was a genius trainer.
Anyone thinking about stealing from him would have to consider his future potential.
This world wasn't one where money could solve everything.
No matter how cunning a capitalist was, in the face of a champion-level Pokémon—they were still nothing but ants.
"So, I wasn't wrong to suspect you guys?"
Nathan murmured, his gaze shifting subtly as he stared at the group.
If it had been a corporate group, they'd have offered cash—no way they'd give away Pokémon.
Between Pokémon and Pokécoins, the former was far more precious.
Instead, it reeked of the Dark Spirit Organization.
They were notorious for their shady tactics.
They lacked financial power, but had easier access to Pokémon.
Though "generous" might not be the right word.
The Pokémon they gave away were either disabled rejects or unruly ones who'd rather die than accept a new trainer.
In the hands of the Dark Spirit Organization, such Pokémon usually became test subjects.
And those without research value? They were used as tools to force others into submission.
Just thinking about that made Nathan's gaze darken.
And with that—he called the police.