David stared at the rows of ordinary Pokémon eggs, hands on his hips and a dramatic sigh escaping his lips. His grand dreams of finding a hidden treasure among the bunch evaporated like steam from a cup of instant ramen. He shook his head. "Well, what did I expect? A Dragonite egg for the price of a Happy Meal?"
Still, the disappointment hit hard, and it was like the universe decided to rub it in.
[You have received +10 negative emotion points from David…]
[You have received +10 negative emotion points from David…]
David blinked. "Oh great, even I'm giving myself negative emotion points now," he muttered, shaking his head. Pikachu tilted its head, clearly amused by David's constant misfortune.
Looking back at the eggs, David couldn't help but snort. Most of these were clearly just the offspring of regular ol' Rattatas and Pidgeys. Nothing special. He wouldn't be surprised if some guy down the street with a pair of pet Rattatas was just tossing their eggs in here for some spare cash.
"Yeah, I'm good," David said, waving dismissively at the display. Pikachu gave a squeak of agreement, nodding along as if it fully understood David's judgment.
But he wasn't here for those anyway. He turned his attention to the incubators lined up neatly on the far wall. That was his real target. Dreepy's egg still needed a proper place to hatch, and he wasn't about to risk it with a shoebox and a heat lamp.
He approached the display and read the labels out loud:
"Basic Incubator: Protects Pokémon eggs from environmental damage... 10,000 Alliance coins."
David scratched his chin. "Okay, that's reasonable…"
He moved to the next one.
"Intermediate Incubator: Simulates a natural environment, constant temperature, reduces hatching time by 30%, protects against most external damage... 50,000 Alliance coins."
His eyes narrowed. "That's… quite a jump. Are they throwing in a babysitter too?"
Then he saw it.
"Advanced Incubator: Simulates a secret environment, reduces hatching time by 50%, constant temperature, shock absorption, and—get this—can survive a ten-story fall without any damage to the egg inside... 100,000 Alliance coins."
David stared at the price tag, then back at the incubator. He squinted at it as if it might reveal some hidden feature, like it could also do his taxes or cook breakfast. Pikachu poked his cheek as if to snap him out of it.
David took a deep breath and slapped his cheeks. "Alright, you only hatch a Dreepy once...hopefully," he reasoned. He stepped up to the counter and pointed at the Advanced Incubator. "That one. Wrap it up. I'm going all in."
The shopkeeper, who had clearly not seen a sale that big in weeks, practically leapt from his chair. "Excellent choice, sir!" he said, clapping his hands together. "It's the best protection for your egg! That thing could survive an earthquake and still keep your Dreepy cozy and warm!"
David raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I don't plan on throwing it off a building or anything, but good to know," he replied, handing over his card with a wince. He watched as the numbers drained from his account, feeling his soul drain a little bit too.
"Well, if that egg cracks, I'm throwing you off a ten-story building to test that theory," David muttered under his breath. Pikachu squeaked in agreement, nodding furiously.
The shopkeeper chuckled nervously, clearly not sure if David was joking. David just grabbed the Advanced Incubator and gave Pikachu a nod. "Alright, Dreepy, you better be worth this... otherwise, I'm setting up a donation jar and making you pay me back," he said with a sigh.
Pikachu just patted his shoulder sympathetically, like it fully understood the concept of debt.
After a whirlwind of shopping, David found himself pushing a heavily loaded cart toward the checkout line. His wallet had already taken a serious beating—200,000 Alliance coins drained in what felt like the blink of an eye. He sighed, tossing six more Poké Balls into the cart, each costing two hundred Alliance coins. In comparison to everything else, it was basically spare change. Not that it made him feel any better.
David rolled the cart up to the checkout, joining the queue. Pikachu sat comfortably on his shoulder, swinging his little feet back and forth, clearly pleased with the haul. David was just beginning to zone out, imagining how many packets of instant noodles he'd be surviving on after this, when Pikachu suddenly perked up.
"Pika pi!" Pikachu chirped, tugging insistently at David's hair.
"Ouch! Easy! What is it?" David winced, rubbing his scalp. He followed Pikachu's gaze toward a shelf packed with small souvenirs. There, hanging neatly, was a red-and-black hat with a Poké Ball symbol stitched smack in the middle. Pikachu's eyes shimmered with pure admiration, as if he'd just discovered the Holy Grail of fashion.
David's stomach dropped. "No...no way. Pikachu, you don't actually want that hat, do you?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might make it true.
"Pika pika!" Pikachu nodded vigorously, eyes sparkling with excitement. He was practically bouncing on David's shoulder, tiny paws pointing desperately at the hat.
David rubbed his temples. "You're a Pikachu! What are you gonna do with a hat? Start a fashion blog? Go to a cosplay convention?" He stared blankly at Pikachu, who just kept nodding like this was the best idea in the world.
"Unbelievable," David muttered. "This morning I joked about it...and now you actually want one? You don't even have hair to mess up!" Pikachu's enthusiasm didn't waver, and David could feel his resolve cracking under the weight of those pleading eyes.
Suddenly, the familiar system prompt flashed before David's eyes:
[Obtained negative emotion value +20 from David...]
[Obtained negative emotion value +20 from David...]
David groaned. His wallet whimpered. Pikachu, however, just kept grinning, eyes still glued to that ridiculous hat. David knew right then and there—he was doomed.
Normally, David would've just waved his hand and bought the hat without a second thought. I mean, how much could a hat really cost, right? But now, things were different. It wasn't just him and Pikachu anymore—there was also the little Dreepy egg sitting back at home, waiting to hatch. Today alone, he'd already shelled out more than two hundred thousand Pokécoins just to buy supplies for the two Pokémon. And who knew what he'd need next? Maybe a crib? Little Dreepy-sized blankets? A tiny ghost-dragon pacifier? He wasn't taking any chances.
"Nope," David said firmly, crossing his arms like he was auditioning for the role of the world's stingiest millionaire. "We're on a budget, Pikachu. We gotta live like we're cutting onions with a butter knife—right on the edge!"
Pikachu's ears drooped instantly. The little guy's eyes grew as wide as saucers, glimmering with the most soul-crushing sadness David had ever seen. It was like watching a Disney movie's saddest scene on repeat. Pikachu leaned in, nuzzling his cheek against David's with the kind of desperation usually reserved for last-minute exam cramming. His big, dark eyes blinked innocently, practically screaming, But I would look so good in that hat...
"No! Nope! Not gonna work!" David shook his head like he was trying to dislodge a bad idea from his brain. He turned his gaze to the cashier, focusing so intensely that the poor cashier started to fumble with the register. "I'm not looking! I refuse to look!"
"Pii...kaaa..." Pikachu whimpered, his voice the very definition of heartbreak. His ears sagged further, and he slumped on David's shoulder like he'd just been told Santa Claus wasn't real. The sheer drama of it all was award-worthy. If Pikachu was an actor, he'd have his own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame by now.
David couldn't help but sneak a glance from the corner of his eye. Pikachu was still perched on his shoulder, unmoving, ears drooped low, staring off into the middle distance as if replaying every bad decision that led him to this hatless existence. His tiny paws clutched David's jacket as if he were holding on to the last shred of hope.
David gulped. Stay strong, man, he thought. Remember the budget. Remember Dreepy! Think about the endless bowls of instant ramen you'll have to eat if you break now.
But Pikachu wasn't budging. The little guy was pulling out all the stops—his silence was practically deafening. David could practically hear sad violin music playing in the background. He shifted uncomfortably. Come on...it's just a hat...how much could it possibly be?
With a deep sigh that could have rivaled an old man's, David finally gave in. "Alright, alright!" he groaned, stomping over to the display. Pikachu's ears perked up faster than a Meowth hearing loose change. "You win, okay? But this is a one-time thing! You hear me? One time! Next time, you're gonna have to do a car wash or something."
Pikachu's eyes sparkled with joy as David plucked the hat off the rack. It was a bright yellow cap with little Pikachu ears sticking out of the top. Ridiculous? Absolutely. But judging by Pikachu's reaction, you'd think David had just handed him the keys to a mansion.
David plopped the hat on Pikachu's head with a dramatic flourish. "There. Happy?"
Pikachu practically vibrated with excitement, rubbing his cheek against David's with enough enthusiasm to short-circuit a power grid. "Pika! Pika!" he squeaked, his voice practically dripping with joy.
David rolled his eyes but couldn't help the grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it," he muttered. "Just because you look like the mascot of a theme park doesn't mean I'm gonna go buying you props every time we walk into a store."
Pikachu ignored him completely, too busy admiring his reflection in the shop window. He adjusted the hat with his tiny paws, making sure it sat just right. If Pikachu had thumbs, he'd probably be taking selfies right now.
David shook his head, chuckling despite himself. "I swear, you're lucky you don't shock me like Ash's Pikachu does. If you did, I'd be flat broke by now. I'd need hazard pay just to buy groceries."
Pikachu turned and tilted his head, giving him a curious look. David blinked back, imagining the absolute chaos if Pikachu ever decided to let loose a Thunderbolt indoors. "Actually, on second thought," David mused, "maybe I'm the lucky one. At least I'm not getting zapped every time I say no."
He could already picture it—him holding a smoking credit card while Pikachu giggled maniacally in his little hat.
And if it ever came to Pikachu zapping Arceus...Oh man, David thought, I'd be standing in front of Arceus himself like, 'Uh, sorry, but Pokémon behavior is purely their own, do not associate with trainer. Please address all complaints to the nearest daycare.'
Pikachu looked up, blinking innocently under his new hat, and David let out a sigh. "You better wear that thing every day. I'm talking every single day, or I'm returning it."
Pikachu beamed up at him, his ears wiggling with delight.
"Yeah, yeah," David grumbled, turning toward the register. "Next time you want something, you're getting a job. Maybe there's an opening for mascot work. You'd crush it."
Pikachu just snuggled closer, tipping his hat as if tipping his cap to his new life of style. David shook his head, muttering under his breath, "I'm doomed..."
The store was completely empty—no queue, no lingering trainers, not even a stray Jigglypuff humming in the corner. After a moment, it was David's turn. He stepped up to the counter, clutching his purchases and balancing Pikachu on his shoulder. Pikachu's new hat sat snugly atop his head, looking very pleased with itself.
Behind the counter stood an elderly shopkeeper—an "uncle" type with a muzzled mustache and a glint in his eye that said he'd scanned a million Poké Ball boxes in his day. David cleared his throat, trying to look confident, but his stomach was doing cartwheels.
The shopkeeper gave David a once-over, squinting like he might recognize him from somewhere. After a thoughtful pause—long enough for Pikachu to yawn twice—he shrugged and started scanning the items. Each beep of the scanner made David's heart skip a beat.
When the final beep sounded, the shopkeeper looked up and said in a neutral tone, "That'll be 250,000 Alliance coins. Credit card or cash?"
David froze mid-reach. "Sorry… how much?" His voice cracked just a little.
"250,000 Alliance coins," the shopkeeper repeated calmly. He tilted his head toward Pikachu's hat. "That hat is a Millennium Limited Edition, launched by Adidas and Brave. Only a thousand in circulation. It's made of nano-materials—stain- and dust-repellent, fade-proof, heat-resistant, corrosion-proof, and it never loses its shape, even if you fold it like origami."
David blinked. He looked at Pikachu, whose ears perked up under the hat brim as if to say, "See? I told you it was top-notch." David's mind raced. A quarter-million coins? For … a hat?
"That's… a little bit expensive!" David managed, forcing a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a cough. He glanced at Pikachu, who tilted his head innocently, cheeks glowing with pride.
David cleared his throat. "Hey, Pikachu, buddy… do you think maybe you could—just this once—pick a cheaper one? Maybe something, I don't know, off-brand? Something that doesn't cost as much as a small island?"
Pikachu's ears twitched. He stared back at David, then at the hat, then back at David—eyebrows raised. In one swift motion, Pikachu adjusted the hat to sit perfectly square, hopped off David's shoulder, and dashed out of the store, leaving David blinking in disbelief.
For a beat, David and the shopkeeper just watched Pikachu's little yellow silhouette sprint off into the street. Then both of them scratched their heads, exchanging a glance of shared awkwardness.
"Well," David said, rubbing the back of his neck, "would you believe me if I said I didn't recognize that Pikachu?"
The shopkeeper let out a angry chuckle, shaking his head. "Not for a second kid."
Inside David's mind, a familiar system prompt chimed annoyingly:
[Obtain negative emotion value +20 from David…]
[Obtain negative emotion value +20 from David…]