Aiden stared at the flickering board and swallowed hard. This world wasn't built for dreamers; it was built for survivors. And he wasn't planning to let his Pokémon become anyone else's merchandise. The air inside the Black Market was stifling, a dense cloud of uncertainty.
Standard Rates for Pokémon Sales
The list wasn't presented like an official document.
It looked like whispered rules — dirty truths stitched into the bones of the world.
Aiden read carefully:
Pokémon value in the Black Market was determined by four brutal criteria — their Life Stage, Talent Color, Evolution Stage, and Species Rarity.
Life Stage and Base Pricing:
Infant Pokémon — the youngest and weakest, barely able to hold their own — were often worth the least.
They fetched prices starting as low as twenty thousand Pokédollars, sometimes reaching a hundred thousand if there was any sign of exceptional potential.
Child-stage Pokémon — slightly stronger and able to battle meaningfully — were more valuable.
Even those with common talents could draw eighty to four hundred fifty thousand Pokédollars, especially if they were a rarer breed or had evolved early.
Youth-stage Pokémon — starting to show maturity and early tactical growth — attracted real interest.
Particularly gifted ones could sell for anything between three hundred thousand and two million Pokédollars, depending on other factors like species and move expertise.
Apprentice-stage Pokémon — those who had tasted serious battles and started sharpening their instincts — commanded higher fees.
A decent Apprentice Pokémon might earn its seller five million, while stronger specimens, especially those gifted with rare talents, could bring in up to forty-five million.
Veteran Pokémon — seasoned, durable fighters — became true investments.
Their asking prices started from fifteen million, soaring up to one hundred twenty million Pokédollars when matched with strong bloodlines and talents.
Champion-class Pokémon — the elites, few and far between — were often considered priceless assets by trainers or collectors.
A single Champion with strong talents could be sold for fifty to five hundred million without hesitation.
Sovereign-class Pokémon — almost mythical in power — were never openly traded.
On the rare occasion they surfaced, their asking price began at three hundred million and could easily push into the billion mark, depending on their mastery and bloodline.
Talent Color and Influence:
White Talent Pokémon — the most common and basic — were priced the lowest. Even fully grown, they rarely sold for more than a few hundred thousand Pokédollars unless they had exceptional strength.
Blue Talent Pokémon — slightly above average — were valued at roughly two to three times higher than their White counterparts at every comparable stage.
Green Talent Pokémon — naturally gifted and quick to grow — demanded serious money.
A Green Talent at Apprentice stage could be a small fortune by itself.
Purple Talent Pokémon — the rare elite — were the undisputed kings of the market.
Even at the earliest stages, a Purple Talent Pokémon sold for millions.
Fully grown and final-evolved, they became treasures worth entire cities.
Evolution Stage and Price Multipliers:
Pokémon in their basic form were valued modestly unless they had outstanding Talent or came from rare lineages.
Mid-evolved Pokémon — those who had crossed their first evolution — were seen as far more valuable, often selling for one and a half times the base price.
Fully evolved Pokémon — standing at the apex of their species — were treated like living weapons.
They often commanded three to five times the base price, especially if battle-tested.
Species Rarity:
Common Pokémon — like Starly, Bidoof, or Zubat — remained at standard prices without significant boosts.
Uncommon and Rare Pokémon — such as Eevee, Riolu, or Shieldon — fetched ten times the price of a common counterpart, purely because of their scarcity.
Pseudo-Legendary lines — like Gible, Dratini, and Bagon — were treated almost like crown jewels.
A single Youth-stage Bagon with Purple Talent could easily be valued at eighty million Pokédollars or higher.
Mastery of Battle Skills:
Pokémon who had mastered their techniques — achieving Advanced or Expert Move Mastery — were greatly sought after.
Each Advanced move added around 20% to their value.
Each Expert-level move bumped their price by 50%, sometimes more if the move was rare or critical in competitive battling.
A Pokémon with multiple Advanced or Expert-level techniques could easily double its asking price.
Finally, tucked at the bottom of the holo-screen, a smaller warning glowed:
Talent Testing Machines available.
First scan costs 1,500 Pokédollars and carries a 10% chance of error.
A second scan costs 15,000 Pokédollars, but error rises to 30%.
No more than three attempts allowed.
After the third scan, the machine would permanently lock the result, accurate or not.
Aiden stared at the flickering board and swallowed hard.
This world wasn't built for dreamers.
It was built for survivors.
And he wasn't planning on letting his Pokémon become anyone else's merchandise.
The air inside the Black Market was stifling, a dense cloud of desperation, cold commerce, and muted cruelty.
Even as Aiden slipped through the shadowed alleys, mask snug against his face, he could feel the weight of what he'd seen cling to him like smoke.
In a dark corner, a Talent Scanner buzzed erratically.
A frail-looking Lotad sat trembling inside the glass chamber, while two men in leather jackets jabbed at the machine's buttons, arguing over whether its Blue reading could be trusted.
Aiden didn't need to stay.
He didn't need to watch.
And yet he did.
The machine beeped again — error.
One man cursed and slapped the side of the scanner hard enough to rattle its frame.
The Lotad whimpered, the faint light from its shell flickering.
"This place..." Aiden thought grimly, turning away, "is a graveyard for trust."
He adjusted his hood lower over his head and picked up his pace, weaving carefully through the maze of booths — some selling evolution stones, others auctioning off battered TMs, and some even offering cursed items whispered to have been pulled from ancient ruins.
A single booth near the exit caught his eye:
Rows of black-market Poké Balls, cheap and unstable, stacked like fruit crates.
One false ball — improperly sealed — and the Pokémon inside might tear itself apart on release.
He didn't linger.
By the time Aiden finally emerged into the cold night air, it was like he'd surfaced from underwater.
He tugged the mask down from his face and inhaled deeply — and still, it didn't taste clean.
The darkness of the Black Market clung to him.
Above, Valora City was alive again.
Streetlights buzzed and flickered; windows glowed with warm yellow light.
The wide stone streets hummed with late-night traffic — trainers chatting, merchants wheeling carts, Pokémon scurrying alongside their masters.
Normal life.
For a second, Aiden stood there at the boundary between two worlds:
One of shadows and blood deals, and another of smiles and sparkling storefronts.
"The League knows about it," he reminded himself.
"They just let it happen. Because... they need it."
It wasn't a fair world.
But it was the world he had chosen to walk through.
His stomach rumbled, cutting through the bitterness in his mind.
Aiden spotted a small restaurant tucked between two larger buildings: "Stonestep Tavern — Famous for Trainer Meals!"
It looked cheap, crowded, and warm.
Perfect.
Inside, the air was thick with the smells of roasting meat, fresh bread, and searing spices.
The place buzzed with the easy energy of travelers — rookies counting their coins, veterans comparing battle scars, breeders swapping news about rare finds.
Aiden slipped into a booth by the window, still tense from the market.
He ordered quickly: grilled meat skewers, berry rice, a side of roasted veggies, and a tall glass of sharp cider.
As he waited, he leaned back and let his mind drift.
The images from the market haunted him — the prices, the cold negotiations, the trembling Pokémon behind glass.
But he forced himself to push them aside.
He wasn't there to judge the world.
He was there to survive it.
His meal arrived fast and hot, the smell alone enough to make him forget his worries for a while.
Aiden ate hungrily, savoring the rich spices and tender meat.
Each bite seemed to drive the memories a little further away.
Around him, conversations rose and fell:
"Did you hear? Some kid in the southern district caught a Beldum!"
"Nah, that's just a rumor. Nobody finds Beldum wild anymore."
"I'm telling you, if you want a proper fighting-type, you gotta buy one. No one's giving away Riolu these days."
He listened without meaning to, cataloging the knowledge.
Every scrap of information might be useful later.
When he finished eating, he tossed a few crumpled Pokédollars onto the table and stood, tugging his jacket tighter against the night chill.
The walk back to the Pokémon Centre was quiet.
Aiden's footsteps echoed on the empty stone streets, the city around him slowly falling asleep.
Here and there, a late-night trainer hurried by, Poké Balls clipped tight to their belts.
The Centre's broad, red-lit sign was a beacon in the dark.
Inside, it was peaceful — trainers resting, nurses moving quietly between counters.
The clean smell of disinfectant and fresh berries washed over him, a strange comfort after the chaos of the Black Market.
Aiden approached the front desk.
The familiar pink-haired nurse looked up and smiled warmly.
"Good evening! You must be Aiden, right? In the morning, take the opportunity to visit the gym while I help with the registration procedures."
He nodded, his voice rough with fatigue.
"Thanks. I'll be back in the morning."
The nurse handed him a simple keycard.
"Room 17 B. Top floor. Sleep well, trainer."
He murmured his thanks and made his way down the hallway, his boots silent against the polished floors.
The room was small but clean: a narrow bed, a desk, a small window overlooking the city.
Aiden tossed his jacket over the chair, kicked off his boots, and collapsed onto the mattress.
Above him, the ceiling fan spun lazily, humming a soft lullaby.
But sleep didn't come easily.
As he stared up into the dark, the images of the Black Market lingered behind his eyes.
The fear.
The cruelty.
The cold prices hung over living creatures like price tags on meat.
"One day," he promised himself, his hand tightening into a fist,
"I'll be strong enough that no one — no one — will ever put a price tag on my team."
And with that silent vow, Aiden finally let exhaustion drag him down into a restless, dreaming sleep.