The true genius of laxatives, David thought as he watched the aftermath unfold, wasn't in helping digestion.
No, no. Their real value?
Double-dipping emotional pain.
You see, when a Pokémon eats a horrifyingly bad energy cube and suffers emotionally, you get your sweet, sweet negative emotion points. But what if—what if—you could kick their suffering into bonus round?
Simple. Add laxatives.
"Why stop at a single harvest," David muttered smugly to himself, arms folded like an evil mastermind watching his chaos bloom. "When you can wring 'em dry?"
If he could get that first wave of suffering from taste trauma, then add a second round from digestive disaster, that's what he called efficiency. That's what he called a qualified system user. Environmental? No. Ethical? Also no. Profitable? Absolutely.
"Don't blame me," David whispered dramatically to the ceiling, as if expecting Arceus to smite him. "Blame the laxative for not being smart enough to detect which Pokémon were actually constipated!"
He nodded sagely.
"Some heroes clear forests. I clear bowels."
Meanwhile, in the real world—behind him—chaos unfolded.
Both Pikachu and Ralts had just returned from the bathroom looking like they'd seen the gates of the underworld. They were momentarily relaxed, even relieved. The kind of deep release that lets you contemplate life on a philosophical level.
But then came... The Second Wave.
Gurgle... gurgle... BLORP.
They froze.
Their wide eyes darted around in terror.
Ralts clutched its belly with both hands, while Pikachu dropped to his knees, whispering "Pika... why?" like a man begging for answers after a tragic war flashback.
And just like that—
[Obtained Negative Emotion from Pikachu +30]
[Obtained Negative Emotion from Pikachu +40]
[Obtained Negative Emotion from Ralts +20]
[Obtained Negative Emotion from Ralts +30]
David stood proudly, soaking in the constant ding-ding-ding of the emotion harvesting like it was music from the gods. A symphony of suffering.
He gave a satisfied nod, grinning from ear to ear.
"As expected of me," he whispered, absolutely thrilled with himself, and completely lacking in any form of guilt or remorse.
A true professional.
Who knew a single bite-sized energy cube could be so... profitable?
David leaned back with a satisfied smirk, arms crossed like he was posing for an evil genius calendar shoot. "Two full waves of negative emotion points from just one cube," he whispered to himself. "That's value."
Sure, the thing cost him nearly double what a normal mid-grade cube would. And yes, it was loaded with premium ingredients like delicious powder (aka 'flavor camouflage'), negative emotion collector juice (don't ask), and just a hintof industrial-grade laxatives.
But that's not even counting the man-hours he poured in, grinding Berries, adjusting pH levels, dodging judgmental stares from his Pokémon, and—most importantly—adding exactly 37 grains of laxative per cube, for maximum emotional payout.
"And what do Pikachu and Ralts have to sacrifice?" David continued, talking to no one like a mad scientist monologuing in a villain lair. "Just a tiny bit of emotional trauma and possibly a few bathroom breakdowns? In exchange for a gourmet cube with top-tier nutrition?"
He threw his arms up dramatically. "It's basically charity!"
Unfortunately, right as David was basking in the brilliance of his scam—I mean, enterprise—he was hit with a Saffron-colored bolt of electricity the size of a rolled-up sock.
"BWAAARGHH—!"
Before he could even finish screaming, a pale purple psychic blast slammed into him from the other side.
WHUMP.
David's body twitched as it landed face-up on the couch like a fried noodle, one shoe still on, mouth slightly open, eyes rolled halfway back.
"Pika! Pickup!!"
"Lalu! Lalu!!"
Pikachu and Ralts, both clutching their stomachs like little toddlers who ate too much gas station sushi, stomped off toward the bathroom again in a rage.
Apparently, they didn't appreciate being used as emotionally profitable laxative experiments. Go figure.
Yet, even in their furious state, the two little Pokémon showed restraint. They only zapped him into unconsciousness once—truly the picture of mercy.
When dawn rolled around, David blinked awake with the crusty-eyed expression of someone who had lost an MMA fight in his dreams. Every inch of his body screamed, "YOU GOT ZAPPED BY A RODENT."
Tingling? Everywhere. Dignity? Nowhere.
He sat up slowly, groaning like a broken vending machine, and looked over at Pikachu and Ralts—both curled up and snoring, blissfully unaware that their trainer had only just avoided becoming a cautionary tale in a Breeder newsletter.
David stared at them for a long moment. Not out of guilt, of course. Just... cautious admiration.
They had paid a heavy price the day before.
Not because he cared.
But because if that laxative still had any lingering effects...
They might wake up and electrocute him again.
And honestly? He wasn't emotionally ready for round two.
After waking up feeling like a toaster had tried to romance his spine, David peeled himself off the sofa with all the grace of a leftover pancake. He staggered to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, ran a toothbrush across his teeth like he was sanding drywall, and called it a morning.
Time to restock.
If he was going to keep harvesting negative emotions with his sinister little snack cubes, he was going to need more berries—a lot more. The batch he had before?
Completely wiped out after yesterday's potion-mixing frenzy. It was barely enough to keep Pikachu's daily snack habit going for a month, let alone fuel a full-on emotional exploitation empire.
So off he went, strolling through the familiar streets like a totally innocent guy who definitely didn't drug his own Pokémon with gourmet laxatives the day before.
David turned into the corner of the market he'd visited yesterday, humming like a man who was about to do something financially irresponsible again. There it was: the Breeder shop.
Ah yes, the same lovely store that he had suckered into giving a 90% discount on a 'special opening deal.' He half expected a red carpet and a "Welcome back!" sign.
But instead…
The front of the shop had a brand new sign hanging over the door. A shiny wooden plaque, elegantly engraved.
"No dogs. Nobody named David."
There was was even blurry picture of him attached , clearly taken from the shops cctv.
David froze mid-step.
"…Excuse me?"
The sign didn't blink.
He stared at it, as if by sheer will he could make the words rearrange into something less offensive. They did not. The sign was very clear. No canines. No him.
A long pause. Then:
[You have received +20 negative emotion points.]
[You have received +30 negative emotion points.]
[You have received +40 negative emotion points.]
David blinked as the notifications popped into his vision like salty confetti.
"Oh good," he muttered. "Glad my pain is profitable."
Seriously though, what was with the hostility?
It's not like he cheated the shop out of money or made him pay for buying those stuff, although he could have.
All he did was aggressively negotiate a discount worth several hundred thousand PokéDollars, argue for an hour, and emotionally wear down the store owner until he got his way.
Totally fair business tactics.
And yet here he was, officially banned alongside dogs and (probably) wild Rattatas.
Honestly, he wasn't sure which part stung more—being treated like a public nuisance, or knowing that his greatest achievement as a customer had landed him on a signboard of shame.
David stood outside the breeder shop, staring up at the "No Dogs. No David." sign with the kind of silent fury reserved for people who get banned from Starbucks for 'abusing the refill policy.'
He gave a dramatic sigh, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then muttered, "Oops. My foot slipped."
With all the subtlety of a bowling ball in a library, he kicked the door open and sprinted inside like he hadn't just been publicly outlawed by a wooden sign.
Behind the counter, the shopkeeper was enjoying his morning newspaper, probably expecting a peaceful day free from chaos.
Nope.
The second he spotted David, his face dropped faster than a Magikarp in a drought.
"You again?!" he growled, already standing up to throw him out like a bag of expired Poké Puffs. "What are you doing here?! I told you, you're banned!"
David raised his hands innocently, like he was a misunderstood angel instead of a professional emotional extortionist.
"Relax, Uncle Discount. I'm not here to start trouble—I'm here for legitimate business this time."
"Don't care! Don't want it! Get out!"
The shopkeeper wasn't buying a single syllable. He was already pointing at the door like David was radioactive.
David, unbothered, casually reached into his bag and pulled out a glorious stack of shiny, soul-destroying discount vouchers.
A dozen of them.
He fanned them out like playing cards. "Well, if you don't want to trade," he said cheerfully, "I guess I'll just stand outside and hand these out to whoever comes. One by one. Maybe someone else wants a half-price Glalie balm, hm?"
The shopkeeper's eye twitched so hard it probably registered on a seismograph.
"You still have those damn vouchers?! How?! We stopped printing them a month ago! You said you had no more last time!"
David smiled innocently. "That's not really your concern, is it? Point is—I've got 'em. And I'm not afraid to use 'em."
He glanced outside with exaggerated thoughtfulness, as if scanning for the best target. "That lady with the baby Pokémon looks promising. Maybe she'd like to save a few thousand Pokébucks today."
"Wait! WAIT!" the shopkeeper shouted, practically vaulting over the counter in panic.
He looked like a man on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Which was fair, because at this rate, David was going to tank the entire store's monthly revenue out of pure spite and excessive printing privileges.
The shopkeeper no longer cared how many vouchers David had, or how many loopholes he'd exploited. If those got handed out? The month was over. Lights off. Dreams shattered.
And David knew it.
"Alright, alright! Just tell me what the big business is!" the shopkeeper finally groaned, looking like a man who'd just agreed to sell his soul for one quiet morning.
David smirked like a cat who had not only eaten the canary, but also sold the feathers for a profit.
He reached dramatically into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper like it was the ancient scroll of secrets.
"I'm glad you asked, good sir," he said with exaggerated pride. "Behold—my shopping list!"
The shopkeeper took the paper suspiciously. His eyes skimmed down the neatly written list, and the further he read, the wider they got.
"One hundred... Figy Berries... green oranges... Thunderfruit... Electric Root Extract?! What is this, a potion lab or a smoothie bar?!"
David stood proudly like he was ordering caviar instead of berries.
"I want one hundred of each item. No substitutions. No judgments. Just bag 'em."
The shopkeeper looked at him like he'd just demanded to buy a Legendary Pokémon in bulk.
"That's... that's over 200,000 Alliance coins!"
"I know," David nodded solemnly. "Big dreams come with big grocery bills."
The shopkeeper narrowed his eyes, deeply traumatized by previous encounters. "You're not using those vouchers again. You hear me? No coupons. No 'buy one get six free.' No fake discounts that mysteriously bankrupt my business overnight."
David gasped, hand to chest in theatrical offense. "Sir! I am wounded. I would never do that to you. This—this is pure business. No schemes. No scams."
"You swear?"
"If I'm lying... I'm a puppy," David declared with a straight face.
There was a pause. A long, uncomfortable silence.
The shopkeeper stared hard, as if trying to detect puppy ears sprouting on David's head. Eventually, he let out a long sigh, defeated once more.
David, meanwhile, stood there nodding confidently—completely ignoring the fact that his card balance wasn't even close to 200,000.
But hey, confidence was half the con.