Leaning back in his recliner, Old Hard glanced at his pocket watch. It was already six o'clock.
He slowly got up, shut the front door of the antique shop, and walked into the back room—his private living space.
Old Hard had opened this antique shop many years ago, back when the city was a very different place. Time passed, and both the shop and its owner aged with it. People began calling him "Old Hard," and the nickname stuck.
Smoke rose gently from the stove. Before long, Old Hard had finished cooking a simple dinner: a plate of stir-fried vegetables, cabbage with tofu, a small dish of leftover pickles, and a bowl of plain white rice.
Next to the table, Kentaro—the Tauros he raised—munched contentedly on the fresh hay Old Hard had prepared for him.
Old Hard had always gone the extra mile for his companion. Even getting up early every morning to take Kentaro outside the city so he could blow off steam was exhausting. But the old bull was more than a pet—he was a partner and a reliable means of transportation.
After dinner, Old Hard brewed a pot of tea, pulled out an old, worn book, and slowly flipped through its pages. If nothing unusual happened, he'd be in bed by nine.
But tonight, something did happen.
Knock knock.
There was a knock at the door.
Grumbling, Old Hard got up from the recliner he'd been looking forward to sinking into. That's why he had so many recliners around the house—to fall into comfort wherever and whenever he needed.
"Who is it?"
When he opened the door, he found a stranger in a black cloak standing silently on the doorstep.
On instinct, Old Hard reached for Kentaro's Pokéball. The fog in his eyes cleared instantly, his expression sharpening.
"I'm Ghost Fox. Mind letting me in?"
The voice from under the cloak was eerily neutral—neither distinctly male nor female.
After a moment of hesitation, Old Hard stepped aside and gestured him in, then led the visitor to the back room.
Old Hard might look like a kind old man, but Jack knew better.
There was blood on Old Hard's hands—just as much as Jack's. He simply got out early, built up enough connections, and rebranded himself as a respectable antique dealer.
Unlike someone like Willy, who let his Pokémon stagnate once he became an agent, Old Hard never slacked on training. Those morning walks were actually rigorous workouts for Kentaro. Every so often, he'd take his whole team for intense, specialized training. He invested resources, trained consistently, and made sure his strength never dulled.
That was why even among elite agents, Old Hard had a solid reputation.
"I've heard of the Ghost Fox for a long time," Old Hard said as he settled into a chair, alert and focused. "But what would someone like you want from someone like me?"
Jack cut to the chase. "No need to pretend. You know how I operate. If I came to you, then I already know who you are."
"I want you to be my agent. Focus mainly on Excellent-level missions. If there are high-end Elite jobs, those are fine too."
"I'm not here to negotiate—just give me a clear answer."
Old Hard blinked, surprised by the direct approach. He sat quietly for a moment, then nodded.
That was the power of reputation. The moment Jack revealed himself as Ghost Fox, Old Hard stopped playing it safe and started thinking seriously.
"No problem," he said. "Pleasure doing business with you."
As a seasoned agent, Old Hard was well aware of Jack's reputation. He even knew how Jack's previous three agents had died.
So even though Jack seemed more like a lone wolf than someone who worked through handlers, Old Hard agreed without resistance.
As it happened, he had several tricky Excellent-level jobs that had been hard to assign. He suspected the Ghost Fox might finally be someone who could pull them off.
"Let's do this then. Leave me your contact info so I can reach you. If things change, just keep me in the loop."
"I'll filter jobs that suit your style. Ten percent commission. I'll handle all logistics."
"If a client specifically asks for you, I'll pass the job details along—you decide whether to accept."
Without hesitation, Old Hard offered generous terms.
"Pleasure working with you."
A gloved hand extended from the cloak and placed a note on the table.
"Pleasure working with you," Old Hard echoed, picking up the note and quickly copying down the contact information. Then, without hesitation, he tossed the original into the fireplace.
With that, Jack stood up and left.
At the doorway, Old Hard watched as the cloaked figure disappeared into the shadows of a nearby alley. He knew this was just the beginning. Real partnerships were forged through results.
The true test would be in how the next few missions played out.
The moment the cloaked figure vanished into the alley, the illusion dissipated.
The person Old Hard had just spoken to wasn't Jack—it was a robot double. Jack, hiding nearby, retracted the decoy into his system's storage space.
Naturally, Jack would never put himself in harm's way during a face-to-face negotiation, especially with someone as dangerous and experienced as Old Hard.
While they spoke, Jack had secretly deployed his invisible Haunter to plant a hidden surveillance device in the room—just in case.
Old Hard had sensed something was off. He searched discreetly but couldn't find the monitor.
Eventually, he just chalked it up to the Ghost Fox's skill and cunning.
Not long after they reached their agreement, Old Hard contacted Jack and issued his first mission.
The target was classified as Excellent-level. The challenge lay not in his individual strength, but in the fact that he was the leader of a small gang—surrounded by plenty of backup.
But Jack wasn't worried.
For someone who specialized in high-precision bombing and surgical eliminations, numbers meant nothing.
Old Hard had designed this mission as a test. He wanted to confirm whether Jack was truly the infamous Ghost Fox—and whether he was as capable as the rumors suggested.
Jack, for his part, had every intention of passing the test with flying colors. If he wanted steady access to high-reward missions, he needed to prove that he was more than just a name.
And prove it he would.