Pokemon: My Trainer Simulator

In the Sand Division, there should only be one person called "boss."

That's what Kashiwagi had always thought.

But now he realized that the highest-ranking officer of the Sand Division, Ao Shirō, was also called "boss" by his subordinates instead of "leader."

This was a serious problem.

It might seem like just a title, but it carried undertones akin to the phrase, "The lord of my lord is not my lord."

Kashiwagi hoped he was overthinking things, but the more he learned, the more he felt the Sand Division was a ship on the verge of capsizing. It could sink at any moment.

All he could do was hope the Sand Division remained intact until he became strong enough to stand on his own.

The fox-like man leading Kashiwagi inside suddenly turned his head as they stepped into an elevator and said, "The name's Ryūka."

"Pleased to meet you."

Kashiwagi responded softly, casting a sidelong glance at his Aron to check on it. It was merely curiously looking around at the surrounding metal objects, which allowed him to relax.

Pokémon were creatures of near-human intelligence, but their reason often wasn't strong enough to suppress their instincts—the instinct to lash out, the instinct to reproduce, and the instinct to eat.

Though Kashiwagi had fed Aron well before coming here, if it couldn't resist the urge to chomp on some of the surrounding iron, it would be a problem.

Ryūka pressed a button, and the elevator began its slow descent.

He glanced at Kashiwagi and the obedient Aron sitting at his feet, its body pressed close to his ankle. Then, he asked,

"Did you bring it out of the trial grounds?"

"Yes. I thought it was fate, so I tried to capture it."

"What about the one assigned by the Division?"

"I exchanged it for financial support. I was worried about my lack of experience in raising Pokémon for the first time."

"Hah… At least you're self-aware. A lot of people get their first Pokémon and immediately want a second one, only to fail at taking care of either." Ryūka chuckled.

Creak.

The elevator reached the bottom.

Kashiwagi found himself in a massive underground space filled with layers of makeshift tin houses, dimly illuminated by colorful neon lights. Steel beams and pillars crisscrossed the area, with scattered piles of abandoned iron boxes and barriers made of iron mesh.

It looked like something straight out of a dystopian sci-fi game—a slum in Quincy Street's shadowed underbelly.

[The Underground City.]

The hidden, darker side of Quincy Street. A paradise for criminal organizations, and a hell for the impoverished. If the surface had a token police station, the Underground City was completely under the rule of violent gangs.

The strongest fist determined the rules.

Kashiwagi had rarely come here before; it was both dangerous and unnecessary, and he'd never been the type to seek trouble.

As he looked around, Ryūka adjusted his glasses and said, "I like rational people. If you don't mind, stick with me."

"Eh?"

Kashiwagi blinked, about to respond, when the man who'd called him in yesterday approached.

"Oh, you're early! When I was your age, I—ah! Ryūka, sir! Good morning!"

The man immediately stood at attention and saluted with wide eyes.

"Good morning to you too," Ryūka said, waving him off before turning to the surprised Kashiwagi. "As you can see, I'm a Sand Division officer in charge of recruiting new members."

"My apologies for being rude earlier—"

"Don't bother with unnecessary formalities. The boss is waiting for you. Hurry up." Ryūka gave Kashiwagi a shove on the shoulder.

With little choice, Kashiwagi followed the other man and continued deeper into the Underground City with Aron close behind.

In the Sand Division, the rank below the highest officer was that of an officer—a middle-ranking leader responsible for ten squads, each consisting of ten people. In other words, Ryūka oversaw 100 official members.

Was someone this young really an officer in the Sand Division?

Kashiwagi mulled this over and recalled gossip he'd once heard about the Sand Division—a man who inherited his father's position and defeated all challengers in just one month.

That had to be him.

While Ryūka's starting point was much better than his own, achieving this was still impressive.

Considering Ryūka had lost his backing, his situation back then must have been dire.

"Hey, are you close with Ryūka?"

The man leading him interrupted Kashiwagi's thoughts.

"No, we just met and exchanged a few words." Kashiwagi shook his head, not intending to flaunt any connections. On the contrary, he worried his casual attitude earlier might've been taken as disrespect.

Such incidents were all too common in Quincy Street. One of his colleagues had once been harshly punished for forgetting to greet a senior member.

Kashiwagi discreetly scanned his surroundings. There weren't many people in the Underground City, and those he did see were mostly quiet observers.

Unlike the jealous or mocking looks he'd often encountered on the surface, these were largely curious, even friendly.

Soft murmurs could occasionally be heard but didn't sound malicious.

"You're pretty lucky. Ryūka rarely invites people to his Team. They've got great benefits and a good atmosphere." The man's tone held a hint of envy.

Kashiwagi offered a polite smile. "I owe it to you. If you hadn't reminded me, I wouldn't have made it here today."

"Haha! You've got a silver tongue, kid. Go on, the boss is inside."

The man clapped Kashiwagi on the back and pointed to a tin structure ahead.

Loud, thumping music and rhythmic pounding came from within, making it sound both thrilling and intimidating.

Kashiwagi glanced at Aron, saw that it appeared unbothered, and cautiously stepped inside.

The room opened up into what resembled a boxing arena—complete with a massive octagonal cage, bright fluorescent lights, and screens playing various recordings.

The booming speakers blared raucous, adrenaline-pumping music, like a lively competition was underway.

However, there was no audience in sight.

Inside the cage were a towering man nearly two meters tall and a Machamp, trading blows and dodging each other's strikes. Despite wearing boxing gloves, the sound of flesh hitting flesh was still visceral and alarming.

Kashiwagi watched for half a minute before the Machamp suddenly landed a solid punch to the man's abdomen, causing him to spit out a bloodied mouthguard and collapse, panting heavily on the floor.

"…"

Kashiwagi's lips twitched as he met the Machamp's gaze. It motioned towards the downed man with its chin as if to say, "What are you waiting for? Give me a hand."

Reluctantly, Kashiwagi climbed into the ring, helped the man to the corner, and handed him a towel and water.

The man accepted them silently, keeping his head down. Only after catching his breath did he look up, revealing a pair of fierce eyes.

"Who gave you permission to step into the ring?"

Kashiwagi cast a sidelong glance at the whistling Machamp, who had its hands behind its head. "…Sand Division rules."

The man frowned. "Huh? What rule?"

"As a Division member, you must prioritize the boss's safety." Kashiwagi kept a calm face.

"Hmph!"

The man sneered, removing his gloves. "Quick-witted, aren't you? Put on those gloves and fight it for a round. Survive, and I'll overlook your breach of etiquette."

"…Fine."

Kashiwagi quietly picked up the gloves, a sense of helplessness washing over him.

By this point, it was clear he'd been set up. What baffled him was why the highest-ranking officer would resort to such petty tricks. Couldn't they just talk openly? Relying on hearsay had definitely been a mistake.

Unfortunately, he had no right to refuse.

Whether the intentions were good or bad, this sense of helplessness—of being unable to say no—was awful.

"My leg just recovered, too…"

Kashiwagi flexed his right leg. A single round was usually three minutes, but judging by the Machamp's ferocity, lasting even ten seconds would be a miracle.

Opposite him, the Machamp cracked its knuckles, its punches whistling through the air. There was no hint of remorse for its prior actions—only a cruel smile.

Just as it approached, however, a silver figure suddenly stepped between them.

"Grrr!"

Aron growled a warning at the Machamp.

"Ah, I'm such an idiot. I was so flustered I forgot about you."

Kashiwagi crouched down, patting Aron's head. "It's fine. Go wait for me below. This'll be over quickly."

"Grr!"

Aron turned to him and barked seriously, as if to say the Machamp was too dangerous to face head-on.

If only I could refuse…

Just as Kashiwagi prepared to coax it again, a loud whooshing sound came from above—something moving at terrifying speed!

Whoosh!

The Machamp's punch missed its mark.

Surprised, it turned to look at Kashiwagi, who had rolled to the side with Aron in his arms. Kashiwagi's face was stern, his brows furrowed.

"You've already started, even though there's still a non-combatant here?"

"Ha!"

The Machamp smirked and beckoned him forward.

From the corner, the man who had been drinking water spoke up. "It's letting you two fight together. Consider yourself lucky."

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