As expected, when the food was placed in front of Squirtle, the Pokémon didn't even bother to taste it—pushing the dish aside with disdain.
Watching the carefully crafted Pokémon food—meticulously made by extracting flavors from berries and other ingredients to suit Squirtle's taste—being rejected without a second glance, Lars Flavian's eyes filled with anger.
Yet, the target of his anger wasn't Squirtle, but the exam proctor who had deliberately sabotaged his efforts.
As the surrounding jeers grew louder, Lars slowly adjusted his state of mind, gradually calming himself down.
With the other participants finishing their preparations, Lars' dismal score had already cemented his failure in this round. Some contestants with similarly low scores simply left the exam grounds, knowing they'd have more opportunities in the future—there was no need to waste time here.
Listening to the boos and shouts, Lars steadied himself, waiting patiently for the third round of the exam to begin.
The final test required the apprentices to diagnose and treat Pokémon based on their condition.
Most of the Pokémon assigned to the examinees were relatively mild-tempered, with proctors patrolling to ensure no accidents occurred.
However, Lars' assigned Pokémon was an Ekans confined in a cage—its furious eyes and writhing body making it appear terrifying to onlookers. But to Lars, the Ekans radiated fear and panic.
In addition to the difficult assignment, the exam proctors intentionally distanced themselves from Lars, as if eagerly anticipating him being bitten.
When Lars opened the cage, the startled Ekans lunged forward—but he deftly dodged, having anticipated the attack. He quickly found pressure points along Ekans' body, massaging it to calm the agitated creature.
Initially prepared to continue its assault, the Ekans abruptly slowed its movements. Lars seized the moment to continue his massage, gradually soothing the Pokémon before beginning his diagnosis.
As the Ekans grew increasingly docile—almost affectionate—the same people who had mocked Lars began to grow uneasy, fearing that his skill might prove them wrong. Desperate to provoke a mistake, they made noises to startle the Ekans.
One of the proctors noticed and approached Lars, discreetly shielding him from view.
Without warning, faint powder drifted through the air. The moment Ekans inhaled it, it began to struggle again—but still within Lars' control.
Brushing the powder aside, Lars remained unfazed—he had seen such underhanded tactics countless times before.
If his guess was correct, the next step would be his elimination.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, the proctor recalled Ekans into its Poké Ball.
"You are disqualified."
Expressionless, Lars showed neither surprise nor anger—nor did he protest.
In the beginning, he had complained about the unfairness. But after so many repetitions, he'd grown numb to it. What still surprised him was how quickly his registration for the exam had been discovered.
"If you're willing to hand over the item, you can become a Breeder right away—along with the League's full support. But if you continue resisting... next time, failure will be the least of your worries."
The proctor patted Lars' shoulder, feigning encouragement as he whispered.
"Your methods are pathetic."
With a sneer, Lars shrugged off the man's hand and walked away.
Thanks to Gardevoir's special abilities and Ron's guidance, Lars' last shred of hope in the League was fading—creating an opportunity for Ron to strike.
Returning to the dilapidated inn where he stayed, Lars handed a few crumpled League coins to the owner before leaving to buy two meat buns with his remaining money. He was now penniless.
Compared to Trainers or Coordinators, Breeders required just as many resources—books, berries, and ingredients for crafting Pokémon food or Pokéblocks.
Even certified Breeders struggled to break even, let alone apprentices like Lars.
Staring down the road ahead, Lars felt lost. He had no idea what to do next.
The proctor had been right about one thing: the League had the power to ensure he would never become a certified Breeder.
Lars had tried countless times, begged countless people—but the result was always the same.
In his desperation, he even considered joining Team Rocket—just to fulfill his master's dying wish.
Before he could dwell on the thought, a hooded figure suddenly appeared in front of him. The next moment, Lars' entire body went numb—and with a flash of light, he vanished.
"Who are you?!"
Glaring at the black-robed Ron, Lars didn't dare make a move.
The telekinesis and Teleport used to abduct him—as well as the shrunken Poké Balls floating in Ron's palm—left no doubt that the man was a Psychic.
Of course, this was not something that Ron, with only a trace of psychic power, could accomplish alone. It was thanks to Gardevoir, hidden nearby, who intervened.
"Kindred spirits."
Looking at Lars Flavian, Ron was certain the other man would understand his meaning.
"I've seen your Breeder Qualification Exam. I'm sure you know it yourself—if you continue like this, you'll either submit or fade into obscurity as an ordinary person."
"But I think... you're very likely to end up like me, hunted by the League, forced to hand over what they want."
"You should know the League's power, and even more, you should know that with your current strength, you can't resist them. The only reason they haven't acted against you yet is because they're playing with their prey, or perhaps trying to grind down your edges and turn you into their lapdog!"
Staring hard at Ron, Lars Flavian's eyes had unknowingly turned blood-red. However, the composure he'd cultivated over the years allowed him to calm down, refraining from making any rash moves.
"Now, you have a choice. One: join me, work for me, and in return, I'll help you fulfill your wish.
Two: refuse, and I'll send you back. After that, whether you report me to the League or do whatever else you want is entirely up to you."
"Now... make your choice."
Ron calmly waited for Lars Flavian's response.
He had already laid out the pros and cons. What remained was not something Ron excelled at, nor something he wished to press further. This was simply how Ron recruited subordinates—leave it to fate.
Hearing Ron's awkward persuasion, Lars Flavian didn't know what to say. In the end, he could only reply with a single sentence.
"Lars Flavian... from today, you're my boss. By the way, boss—do you have any money?"
Seeing Lars Flavian suddenly break into a smile, Ron suddenly had the feeling that perhaps... he was the one being targeted.
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