Valora City breathed like a living thing — alive with noise, color, and unrelenting motion.
Aiden walked its streets quietly, feeling the pulse of countless lives moving around him. Huge LCD screens broadcast battles from the League circuits. Street vendors hawked roasted berries and skewered Magikarp. A pair of trainers argued over a disputed match, their Pokémon snarling at each other in the dust.
To a casual eye, it was all surface-level brightness.
But Aiden knew better.
There were always shadows beneath the lights.
"There's more to the world than what the League shows you, son."
His father's words, from long ago, whispered in his mind.
An old warning — and an invitation.
Tonight, Aiden would see those shadows firsthand.
It began with a glance.
An old man slumped against a cracked stone wall, bundled in rags, his fingers tapping against his knee in an odd rhythm.
Their eyes met — briefly.
The old man tapped the side of his nose twice, then jerked his head toward a narrow, half-hidden alley.
Aiden didn't react outwardly. He simply adjusted the hood of his jacket higher and pulled a black cloth mask over his face — a small precaution he had prepared in advance.
Then he slipped into the alley.
The farther Aiden moved from the main streets, the more the city changed.
Trash littered the path. The warm neon glow faded, replaced by pale, flickering bulbs swinging from rusted hooks. The smell of oil, damp concrete, and something sharper filled the air.
At the end of the alley, a door waited — plain steel, dented, no markings except a single camera lens blinking red above the frame.
Aiden stood in front of it, letting the camera capture him.
After a few seconds, the lens turned green, and the door creaked open.
No words.
No guards.
Just silent permission.
The air inside was heavier. Greasier.
Dim corridors stretched into a massive underground space — a hidden bazaar stitched together from abandoned basements and old subway tunnels.
Stalls had been thrown up haphazardly: folding tables, wooden counters, even crates stacked into makeshift storefronts. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
And everywhere, people bartered.
Trainers, merchants, smugglers.
Some wore masks like Aiden.
Others showed their faces openly — either too arrogant or too powerful to care.
Aiden kept his steps steady, letting his eyes roam without focusing too long on anything.
The first booths were almost laughably mundane:
Low-grade Pokéballs stacked like apples. Tattered trainer supplies. Faded maps of uncharted wilderness zones.
But as he moved deeper... the wares grew stranger.
And darker.
Meat vendors hawked their gruesome goods with greasy grins.
Magikarp fillets — dirt cheap, stacked in bloody pyramids.
Tentacool arms — slippery and twitching, packed in melting ice.
Tauros ribs — sold by weight, marbled red and white.
Worse were the "premium cuts."
Rapidash flank — charred and sizzling, offered at absurd prices for 'high-end' restaurants.
Luxray steaks — bloodied and fresh, the golden hide tanned separately for designer clothes.
Aiden's stomach twisted.
He knew, academically, that not all Pokémon were treated as partners.
In the wild world outside the League's sanitised dream, many were prey.
But seeing it — smelling it — was different.
It was horrifying.
And very, very real.
The Pokémon for sale were no better off.
Other booths sold Pokémon.
Displayed like merchandise.
A litter of low-talent Pidgey chicks chirped weakly in a cramped wire cage — 25,000 Pokédollars each.
A Machop with a Green Talent — his muscles already bulging unnaturally — glared from inside a reinforced pod. 350,000 Pokédollars.
A rare Bagon (Pre-Evolution) with a confirmed Purple Talent — 80,000,000 Pokédollars.
Further down, the truly rare creatures were displayed behind thick glass walls:
Metang (Mid-Evolution, Purple Talent) — 200,000,000 Pokédollars.
Gabite (Mid Evolution, Green Talent) — 95,000,000 Pokédollars.
Garchomp (Fully Evolved, Purple Talent) — Pricetag: 850,000,000 Pokédollars.
At the very back of the market, in a separate section ringed with private guards, the Pseudo-Legendaries were whispered about.
Rumor said a Dratini with a Purple Talent had been sold for 1.2 billion Pokédollars just a few months ago.
No one I could see dared even approach that area unless they walked with bodyguards.
Rare pre-evolutions sold for fortunes. Final evolutions with confirmed high talents could buy small cities.
Aiden stared at the Garchomp behind reinforced glass, its crimson eyes tracking him lazily.
One casual flick of its claw could rip a man apart.
"Someday..." he thought, "I'll need power like that."
But not today.
Past the cages, Aiden found a battered kiosk where a squat woman tended a rusted Talent Testing Machine.
A crude sign hung overhead:
TALENT TESTING SERVICES
1st Scan: 1,500 Pokédollars (10% Failure Chance)2nd Scan: 20,000 Pokédollars (30% Failure Chance)3rd Scan: 50,000 Pokédollars (50% Failure Chance)
(Note: No Refunds. Machine Errors are your problem.)
He watched as a desperate young trainer fed a pokeball into the machine.
The result flickered across the cracked screen: Blue Talent.
The boy sagged in relief — then cradled the ball like it was made of gold.
Aiden knew the truth, though:
Every test after the first carried a rising chance of failure — and false readings were devastating.
It was a game of chance.
Like everything down here.
There were other, stranger booths too:
Shiny Stones — 250,000 Pokédollars.
Dusk Stones — 300,000 Pokédollars.
Illegal Evolution Whips — devices capable of triggering premature evolution. 5,000,000 Pokédollars.
And rarest of all:
A shard of the Azure Flute, sealed in a glass case guarded by six Machoke.
Listed price: 800,000,000 Pokédollars.
Power — true, world-shaking power — had a price here.
And it was measured in blood and gold.