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Seeing that the shopkeeper hadn't recognized him, David let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. He gave Pikachu a little pat on the head. "We're in the clear, buddy," he whispered, and Pikachu blinked back up at him, not entirely sure what he was talking about but happy to be involved.
David strolled through the aisles with Pikachu perched cheerfully on his shoulder. The shop was surprisingly well-stocked, with shelves packed tightly with all sorts of Pokémon supplies. Some items looked like they'd been dragged straight out of a mad scientist's lab. Others just looked unnecessarily expensive.
"Deep-Sea Ore Solvent—enhances the energy of Water-type Pokémon. Price: 100,000 Alliance coins," David read off the label, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull. He glanced at Pikachu, who was sniffing at a low-hanging display of Oran Berries. "A hundred grand? Does it come with a Water-type mansion too?" he muttered.
He moved further down the aisle, stopping in front of another shelf. "Volcano Rock Solvent—boosts Fire-type energy. Price: 110,000 Alliance coins." David rubbed his eyes as if he'd misread it. Nope. Still the same number of zeroes. He raised an eyebrow. "I'm starting to think I'm not the target demographic for this place, Pikachu."
"Pi…ka?" Pikachu tilted its head, clearly as confused as David. It poked at a dusty bag of something labeled Premium Soil for Ground-types, sending a puff of dirt into the air. David coughed and waved his hand in front of his face. "Yeah, let's not touch stuff. I don't want to owe this guy my life savings."
As David wandered the aisles, he mentally crunched some numbers. "Alright, so... 100,000 for Water-types, 110,000 for Fire-types... Do they think trainers are billionaires or something? I was over here thinking I could catch a Weedle and just train it up slowly. Now I'm starting to think I'd have to sell a kidney just to afford a Potion."
Pikachu glanced up at him, still blissfully unaware of its trainer's financial meltdown. It pawed at a toy Poké Ball on one of the lower shelves, squeaking it obnoxiously until David nudged it back into place. "Yeah, enjoy that sound now, buddy. At these prices, that toy might cost more than my rent."
He finally made his way to the energy cube section, where the shelves were lined with neat little stacks of brightly colored cubes. Each one had a label with its type and price. "Fire-type low-level energy cube, 300 Alliance coins per piece. Electric-type low-level energy cube, 300 Alliance coins. Water-type mid-level energy cube, 3,000 Alliance coins…" David read aloud, trailing off as he spotted the price. He took a step back, as if the cubes might suddenly charge him for just looking at them.
Pikachu's eyes lit up at the sight of the electric-type cubes, sparking with excitement—literally. A tiny jolt crackled from its cheeks, and David instinctively stepped back. "Whoa, easy there, Sparky! You zap me and I might not be able to afford a trip to the hospital at these prices."
He did some quick mental math, glancing back and forth between Pikachu and the energy cubes. "Alright, Pikachu," he said, squinting like he was making a life-or-death decision. "If you can generate about 900 Alliance coins worth of electricity a day, you might actually be able to pay for your own food."
Pikachu gave him a deadpan look, as if to say, Seriously? That's your plan? David ignored the judgment in its eyes. "One low-level energy cube a day should be enough, right? Keeps you healthy, maybe even boosts that sparky attitude of yours." He reached out and picked one off the shelf, weighing it in his hand like it was a bar of solid gold.
He eyed the mid-level energy cubes, stacked neatly with their pristine price tags. Three thousand a pop. He whistled low. "Mid-level cubes are a bit out of our league right now. We'd need to win the lottery or rob a Team Rocket base for that kind of cash."
Advanced energy cubes weren't even on display. David assumed they were either locked in some secret vault or available only to trainers whose pockets were deeper than a Wailord's belly. He shook his head. "Man, the starter Pokémon filters out poor people, and now the food does too? I'm starting to think you need a trust fund just to be a trainer."
Pikachu blinked at him, seemingly content with whatever David decided. David looked back at the aisle of shiny, overpriced cubes. "Well, at least we know the struggle is real for everyone," he said, patting Pikachu on the head. "Let's grab a few of these low-level ones and pretend like we belong here."
He picked up three of the Electric-type cubes and walked toward the counter, his wallet already groaning in protest. "Guess we're eating ramen for the next week, huh, Pikachu?" he joked, half-laughing, half-crying. Pikachu just let out a cheerful "Pika!" as if ramen sounded like a great idea.
David only sighed, knowing full well that between the energy cubes and his endless supply of apples and ketchup, they were living on the edge of nutritional bankruptcy.
"Hiss! These energy cubes are so expensive! A thousand Alliance coins for just one?" David's eyes bulged as he stared at the price tag. He had to double-check to make sure there wasn't an extra zero slapped on by accident. Nope. It was real. "That's enough for a decent meal!"
He glanced over at Pikachu, who was sniffing around the display shelf, oblivious to its trainer's financial panic. "Hey, buddy, did you know you're eating better than I am?" David muttered. Pikachu, blissfully unaware, just gave him a cheerful "Pika!" before poking at a shiny package.
David did some mental math, which was never his strong suit, but even he could see where this was going. "Alright, one cube is good for a single meal...and you eat three times a day…" he counted on his fingers, mouthing the numbers like it was a life-or-death calculation. "That's 3,000 Alliance coins a day...times 30 days in a month…that's…that's…"
His brain almost short-circuited. "That's nearly 90,000 a month!" he yelped, almost dropping the cube he was holding. "And for a year…360,000 Alliance coins!" He clutched his chest dramatically, swaying back and forth like he was about to faint. Pikachu, watching this strange performance, just blinked in confusion.
David imagined himself a year from now, huddled under a bridge, clutching Pikachu for warmth while eating cold instant noodles because all his money went to energy cubes. He shook his head violently. "Nope! No way! That's a one-way ticket to Brokesville!"
Pikachu tilted its head, completely lost but still happy to be part of the conversation. David scratched his chin, eyes lighting up with a dangerous mix of desperation and determination. "I got it! I'll make my own energy cubes!"
Pikachu blinked twice. "Pika?"
"Think about it, buddy! If I can make these things myself, we save a fortune! I bet I could whip up a batch way cheaper than what these stores charge." He looked around the shop, nodding like he'd just cracked the code to unlimited money. Pikachu nodded along, mostly because David seemed excited and that was good enough for it.
But reality slapped David right in the face almost immediately. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Wait…making energy cubes isn't like cooking ramen. You need to know nutrition, energy absorption rates, flavor compatibility…all kinds of stuff. It's like Pokémon MasterChef…"
David thought back to his endless hours spent playing Pokémon games and reading about their diets and care. He wasn't just a casual fan; he was the kind of fan who knew what a Pikachu should eat to boost its electric output by 5% and what berries would make its fur shinier. "Okay, maybe I got this. I mean, how hard could it be?"
Pikachu looked skeptical, but David ignored it. He was already running through ideas in his head, planning out ingredients, and even mentally setting up a little kitchen lab in his mind. "I'm telling you, Pikachu, this is genius! I'll be the next top Pokémon chef! I'll call it…uh…David's Delicious Discs! How's that sound?"
Pikachu just stared, unblinking.
"Fine, we can work on the name later. The point is, I'm gonna make these myself and save us a ton of money. And when that Dreepy I've got hatches…" His eyes went wide as he suddenly remembered the little dragon-type egg he had sitting back at home. "Oh no…that thing's gonna eat more than you!"
David's mind flashed with images of his wallet bursting into flames. "I'm gonna have to make energy cubes by the truckload!" He let out a deep sigh, shoulders slumping. "Melissa's 300,000 might not even cover that little guy's first month…"
Pikachu looked up at David, a bit worried now as it saw its trainer's expression go from determined to desperate. David straightened up and puffed out his chest. "Nope, not giving up. I'll make it work. If I have to become a master energy cube chef, then so be it. It's either that or we both start learning how to enjoy canned beans."
David wandered over to the berry section of the store, Pikachu still comfortably perched on his shoulder. Compared to those overpriced energy cubes, the berries were practically a steal. Most were priced between two hundred and three hundred Alliance coins, and even the really fancy ones barely scraped a thousand.
David picked up a handful of different berries, inspecting them like he was some sort of fruit connoisseur.
"Magost Berry... Belue Berry... Nomel Berry..." he muttered to himself, tossing each one into the basket. Pikachu tilted its head, watching with mild curiosity.
The best part? Each berry could be used to make over ten energy cubes. Sure, you needed a few different types for each batch, but even then, the cost was still miles cheaper than the pre-made ones. David did some quick mental math—well, sort of; he just guessed and hoped he was right—and figured each serving of energy cubes would cost less than a hundred. A hundred! That was practically charity.
Feeling pretty pleased with his little cost-cutting revelation, David turned his attention to the machines lined up near the back of the store. They glimmered under the fluorescent lights like they were tempting him to go broke.
There were two types of machines: semi-automatic and fully automatic. The semi-automatic ones required some manual work—like actually mixing the berries yourself—but the quality of the cubes was way better. That's why all the real Breeders swore by them. If you wanted those shiny, top-tier energy cubes that made your Pokémon look like it just stepped out of a spa retreat, you had to do some of the work.
The fully automatic machines, on the other hand, were basically plug-and-play. Chuck the berries in, press a button, and voilà—out popped energy cubes. It was idiot-proof, which was right up David's alley, but the price? A whopping 400,000 Alliance coins. His jaw almost hit the floor. Four. Hundred. Thousand. He could practically hear his wallet shriek from his pocket.
"Yeah, that's gonna be a hard pass," David mumbled, glancing back at Pikachu, who was still chilling on his shoulder, completely oblivious to David's financial crisis.
The semi-automatic version was much more reasonable, coming in at 80,000. Still painful, but at least it wouldn't mean living off ramen noodles for the next six years. With a dramatic sigh, David picked out a semi-automatic machine and added it to his cart.
His gaze flicked to Pikachu, who seemed to be enjoying the ride on his shoulder, and then to the bank card Melissa had forced on him. He winced, mentally calculating his balance. His heart bled a little at the thought of dropping 100,000 Alliance coins just to make sure Pikachu didn't look like it crawled out of a back alley.
"Pikachu, you better be grateful," he said, shaking his head. "This is a big investment. I'm talking three years of Breeder training, and I'm bumping it up to fifty years working as power generator. No more three-year plans for you, pal."
Pikachu just blinked, completely unaware of the life-long work contract David had just mentally signed it up for.
David felt a weird sense of satisfaction at this imaginary deal he'd struck. He straightened up, confidence restored, and strode toward the Pokémon egg section like he was on a mission. Pikachu, on the other hand, suddenly shivered, feeling a strange chill crawl up its back. It glanced behind but saw nothing and scratched its head in confusion.
David ignored the little guy's confusion and turned his attention to the rows of incubators in the egg section. There were rows upon rows of Pokémon eggs, each with a neat little sign displaying its info.
[Oddish (Grass, Poison)]
[Gender: ♂]
[Level: 0 (Egg stage)]
[Ability: Chlorophyll (In sunny weather, speed doubles)]
[Character Talent: Bold (Defense +, Attack -)]
[Individual values: HP (2), Attack (10), Special Attack (9), Defense (0), Special Defense (11), Speed (23)]
[Skill: None]
[Carry items: None]
[Potential: Common]
David's eyes skimmed over the rest: Rattata, Pidgey, some Caterpie... nothing that really stood out. It was like window shopping in a bargain bin. The highest potential one there was a Gym-level Bulbasaur with a price tag that nearly made him faint—1.3 million.
He almost wanted to laugh. Like he'd just casually have that amount stuffed in his back pocket.
He scanned the rows one more time, feeling a little deflated. He'd come in here hoping to find some sort of jackpot, a hidden gem he could snatch up for cheap. But instead, it was just average egg after average egg.
David sighed. So much for his big plan. If there was a prize for wishful thinking, he'd probably win first place.