Officer Jenny sat down in Silas's room without asking, her emerald hair swaying as she crossed one leg over the other. Her tone was cool, yet carried authority.
"Trainer Silas. In recognition of your outstanding performance in yesterday's Alliance conscription mission, I am authorized to grant you your reward. In addition to ₽50,000 Pokédollars in cash, 500 AlliancePoints have been credited to your account."
She withdrew a neat stack of banknotes from her jacket pocket, placed them squarely on the table, and stood.
Her sharp, handsome features softened into a smile.
"I hope you continue to show excellence, and that your strength serves the Alliance well. I wish you the best."
With a final nod, Jenny turned and left, boots clicking against the wooden floorboards.
Silas remained, his eyes lingering on the cash and the number flickering on his Pokédex account.
"Five hundred points… worth about half a million Pokédollars," he mused inwardly. "Generous of the Alliance… almost too generous."
But free benefits weren't something he'd ever refuse. Calmly, he slipped the rewards into his pack.
...
Meanwhile, Officer Jenny walked down the corridor in high spirits. Her merits within the Alliance had risen sharply in recent weeks. A promotion no longer seemed out of reach.
But her smile turned sly.
"Reward distribution really is a lucrative post. Shame that Silas is a direct descendant with second-tier clearance—untouchable. Can't skim from him."
Her gaze drifted back toward his door. She sighed regretfully.
"Civilians though… now that's different."
Among the dozens of trainers drafted into Rusturf Tunnel, some were commoners, some direct descendants of noble lines, and some like Silas—people with serious backing.
For civilian trainers, Jenny had no hesitation. Their rewards could be swallowed whole; who would dare speak against her? Even the League rarely bothered to defend them. For direct descendants, she usually shaved ten, twenty percent from the top. It all flowed quietly into her own purse.
Just as she was savoring the thought of profit, her phone buzzed sharply at her hip.
"Captain Jenny? This is urgent!" crackled the voice of a subordinate, nearly drowned by shouting in the background. "A group of civilian trainers have gathered at the police station entrance! They're accusing us of embezzling their Alliance rewards and demanding an explanation!"
Jenny's lips curled in disdain. Her voice was cutting, scornful.
"A few lowly civilians think they can challenge me? Arrest them. Charge them with provoking trouble."
"Yes, Captain!" came the hurried, respectful chorus before the line went dead.
Jenny smirked. She had done this countless times, and it had never failed. Even if word leaked out, the Jenny family's influence was too deeply entwined with the League. Scandal was buried as quickly as it rose. The truth was simple: the Jenny family was the League.
.....
Later that morning, Silas descended to the Pokémon Center lobby. The place was still quiet at this hour. He approached a self-service terminal, inputting commands swiftly.
"First, turn in the Whismur."
After haggling with the mission board's buyer, he secured a satisfactory payout. His account ticked upward as Alliance Points flowed in.
Satisfied, Silas spent heavily-purchasing the training manuals for Crawdaunt and Sharpedo, and with the remaining points, secured one for Murkrow as well.
He left his account drained. Points sitting idle were useless; better to invest immediately in his partners' growth.
Still, his eyes narrowed as he glanced at the other Poké Balls hidden in his pack.
"Those… I'll hold for now. The black market will fetch a better price once things settle. With Team Aqua and Magma's chaos, the underworld will be turbulent for weeks."
Risk was unnecessary. He already had resources enough.
With the Center's hall still empty, Silas reserved a private training ground.
He unclipped a Luxury Ball from his belt.
"Murkrow-come out."
Kraa!
The black crow burst forth, circling above his head before perching on his shoulder.
"Today, your task is to master Tailwind. For a Flying-type fighter, it's one of the most vital skills you'll ever learn. No slacking."
He set a weighted ring from his spatial pack, tightening it around Murkrow's leg.
"Second gear. Begin."
.....
Hours passed beneath the blazing sun. Silas kept to the shade, stopwatch in hand, issuing commands with cold precision.
"Murkrow, Tailwind-again. Feel the breeze. Hold the energy. Don't let it scatter."
Kraa-kaa!
The Dark-type gathered flying energy around itself. Black feathers shimmered, invisible currents rising until the air itself seemed to shift. A faint breeze whipped through the training ground.
Silas's eyes glinted. "Good. Keep it steady. Remember—the word 'tailwind' is in the flow. Maintain the stream."
Murkrow's wings blurred, speed surging as the currents embraced him. To the naked eye, he became nothing more than a flicker of shadow darting across the grounds.
Silas's expression didn't waver. His orders came rapid, relentless-like a machine. But he never crossed the line. The regimen was exact: enough to push Murkrow's limits without breaking them.
At last, he raised his hand. "Stop."
Panting, Murkrow dropped onto his shoulder again, feathers damp with sweat, wings trembling under the weight ring.
Silas removed it carefully, brushing the crow's ruffled plumage with an almost tender smile.
"Not bad. You've improved a lot. Let's head back-I'll comb your feathers."
Kraa…
Murkrow leaned against his neck, exhausted but content, giving a tired caw as the breeze around them finally stilled.
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(End of chapter)