Within ten minutes, the shopkeeper had already gathered everything on David's ridiculous mega-list.
To be fair, the berries David wanted weren't exactly exotic or legendary. Most of them were common fruit found in low-level secret realms—basically the Pokémon world's version of the local farmers' market. The Breeder House ran regular expeditions into those areas to stock up, so they had plenty lying around, collecting dust and regret.
And now, thanks to one hyperactive lunatic with a questionable plan and zero financial planning, the shopkeeper had just unloaded a mountain of it. David had somehow spent 200,000 Alliance coins in one go. If anyone else did that, they'd be honored with a loyalty plaque on the wall. When David did it, it just felt... suspicious.
Still, money was money.
From nearly banning him for life to now practically rolling out the red carpet, the shopkeeper's transformation was instant. His inner capitalist had won the civil war.
"These berries—don't worry, I'll have them sent right to your place!" the shopkeeper beamed, suddenly acting like David was his long-lost favorite nephew.
He was even rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain who'd just tricked the hero.
David just nodded coolly, pretending he hadn't spent all his rent money on fruit and laxatives.
Business, as always, was booming—at least in David's completely unhinged version of reality.
Unlike those flashy Breeder Houses that made bank selling high-end Pokémon with shampoo-commercial-level hair, this shop was more of a bargain bin operation. No cute Eevee bundles here—just berries. Buckets and buckets of berries.
Sure, the unit price of a berry was barely more than a sneeze, but the profit margins? Oh, baby. Fat. Especially when the buyer was an unhinged maniac like David, who thought "budget" was a Pokémon move.
That's why the shopkeeper hadn't kicked David out on sight today. First, he needed to clear inventory. Second—and more importantly—he had started connecting the dots. Anyone hoovering up this many berries probably had a solid supply chain behind them. And since David clearly radiated the energy of someone who'd once gotten lost in a revolving door, there had to be at least two proper intermediate Breeders working behind the scenes.
There was no way he was the one making those mid-level energy cubes. Right?
If he could butter up whoever was really pulling the strings, the shopkeeper figured he could strike a sweet deal—he'd provide the berries, and those mystery experts could handle the cube-crafting.
Win-win. Unless David blew up the shop again.
David, of course, immediately noticed the dramatic shift in the man's attitude—from "get out of my store" to "can I carry your bags, sir?"
He squinted at the shopkeeper and muttered, "You know, I kinda miss the old you… that surly, bitter, 'get off my property' energy. It had charm."
For once in his life, David felt powerful. Respected. Feared, even. It was glorious.
[+30 Negative Emotion Points ...]
[+40 Negative Emotion Points ...]
[+50 Negative Emotion Points ...]
David practically basked in the notifications like they were sunlight and he was a lizard on a rock.
The shopkeeper stood there, staring at David like he was the physical embodiment of heartburn.
"…You really don't sleep well at night unless someone's chasing you out with a broom, huh?" he muttered under his breath, resisting the very real urge to punt David out the door like a football.
Cheap little gremlin.
Still, the shopkeeper wasn't an idiot. He had a pretty good idea what David wanted with so many berries. And since that meant potential profit (or at least fewer unsold figs rotting in the backroom), he forced the grudge deep, deep down into his spleen and slapped on a customer-service smile so fake it should've come with a warning label.
"Alright, will that be card or cash, sir?" he asked sweetly, as though they hadn't almost murdered each other last week.
"Card!" David beamed, pulling out the bank card that Miss Melis had given him with the confidence of a man who definitely hadn't checked his balance in a while.
The shopkeeper took it, slid it through the card machine with the elegance of a seasoned cashier—
Beep!
A pleasant female voice chirped: "Insufficient funds."
The shopkeeper blinked. Huh. Must've been a glitch. Maybe a smudge on the strip? Static electricity? Mercury in retrograde?
He slid the card again.
Beep!
"Insufficient funds."
Again.
Beep!
"Insufficient funds."
Now the machine was just being petty.
The shopkeeper slowly turned to stare at David, eyes twitching.
David, for his part, smiled like an idiot and gave him two enthusiastic thumbs up.
This was fine. Everything was fine.
The shopkeeper stared at David like he'd just witnessed a car crash in slow motion. A quiet, painful "why me" kind of stare.
Meanwhile, David stood there with the most innocent, cherubic smile you'd ever see on someone who was clearly full of it. He scratched his head sheepishly and leaned in with mock embarrassment.
"So uh… what if, hypothetically… I got a discount?" he asked, as though that was a completely reasonable request after getting his card publicly humiliated by the card reader.
The shopkeeper blinked.
[Internal file: shock.jpg has crashed.]
He looked like someone had just slapped him across the face with a wet Magikarp.
"…Didn't you just say—very loudly—'No discounts!'?" he finally sputtered. "And didn't you—also—swear you weren't lying, or else you'd be a puppy?!"
David didn't even flinch.
Instead, he puffed out his chest, raised his hand like he was taking an oath, and barked proudly: "Woof!"
The shopkeeper looked physically ill.
David, however, was doing the emotional math in real time. If barking like a dog could shave off thirty grand from the total price, then honestly? He'd bark in a musical.
And judging by his smug grin, he had no regrets.
The shopkeeper's mouth opened, but no words came out. His eyes twitched. His pupils shrank to pinpoints. This—this!—wasn't just shameless behavior. This was Olympic-level shameless. This was the kind of bold, unapologetic nonsense that could topple empires.
Where was this kid's moral compass? Had it been pawned for Poké Balls?
In the background, David stood there looking like a hero who'd just won a court case by meowing in Latin.
[+50 negative emotion points ...]
[+50 negative emotion points ...]
[+50 negative emotion points ...]
The emotional damage was irreversible.
Seeing the shopkeeper standing there frozen like a broken vending machine, David quickly seized the moment with the grace of a seasoned con artist.
"Okay, okay, hear me out," he said, raising both hands as if calming a wild Tauros. "Uncle, how about this—just toss in those worthless berries you've got rotting in the back?"
He added with a totally straight face, "This isn't a discount! It's waste management. I'm helping you."
In truth, David had his eyes on those bottom-shelf berries from the very beginning. He just hadn't dared bring it up earlier because the moment he walked in, the shopkeeper looked about one scowl away from assault charges.
Now that his card had publicly failed and his dignity was already roadkill, David figured—might as well go full goblin mode.
The shopkeeper, on the other hand, was having a crisis of faith.
"I THANK YOU, DAVID. I REALLY DO," he screamed internally, his eyes twitching and his soul slowly exiting his body through his ears.
David could see the man spiraling, but that didn't stop him from turning the shameless dial up to eleven.
Since the card balance had betrayed him harder than a crit from a Rattata, David had no choice but to unleash his true power: Elite-Level Bargaining, Honed by Years of Window-Shopping and Free Samples.
It was pure chaos energy.
The shopkeeper, still stunned by David's earlier "bark-for-cash" stunt, stared at him long and hard. But David's face was dead serious. Not even a flicker of irony.
Eventually, the shopkeeper sighed. A long, tired sigh. The kind of sigh that said, "I give up. Let the gods sort this out."
He nodded, completely defeated.
After all, he was still convinced that someone with David's smug confidence had to be working with at least two serious intermediate-level Breeders.
There was just no way this scruffy weirdo knew how to make real energy cubes himself.
Right?
In the end, the shopkeeper gave David a discount. Not out of the goodness of his heart, of course. No, the man was playing the long game. He figured David wasn't just some broke lunatic barking for discounts—no, there had to be serious people behind this chaos. Probably two mid-level Breeders backing him, because how else could anyone chew through that many berries like it was popcorn at a Snorlax movie marathon?
And so, the deal was done.
The original bill? A soul-crushing 200,000 Alliance coins.
What David actually paid?
150,000.
That's right. A full 50,000 knocked off. Just like that.
As if that wasn't enough, the shopkeeper sighed through his teeth, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then muttered the final blow to his own dignity: "You know what, take another 20,000 off. Just... go."
It was like watching a man lose a game of chess in five moves and still shake hands like it didn't hurt.
David blinked. "Wait, really?"
The shopkeeper nodded solemnly, looking like he'd just signed over custody of his dignity. "Yes. But there's a condition."
David raised an eyebrow. "I knew it. Here comes the soul-binding contract."
The uncle leaned in, face full of fake business charm. "If you, or whoever you're working with, make any good energy cubes—any—you bring them to me first. Deal?"
He pointed at David like he was trying to Jedi mind trick him into loyalty. "I want first dibs. I've been good to you."
David, now fully aware that he was being treated like a courier for someone far more competent, gave the man a slow, exaggerated nod. "Uh-huh. Totally. I'll let the 'others' know."
He even did finger quotes.
The shopkeeper smiled, smug with satisfaction. "Good. Don't forget your old pal when you're swimming in premium cubes and cash."
David smiled back, pretending like he had absolutely no idea what the man was talking about.
Because he didn't.
Wait—how did this guy even know I make energy cubes? David thought, scratching his head. Did someone snitch? Or is he just guessing based on how many berries I bought?
But then again, maybe it didn't matter. The man had just given him a 70,000-coin discount. He could think David was secretly Professor Oak for all he cared.
With that, David tapped his card one last time—this time, blessedly, it went through—and gathered his things.
A literal mountain of berries now headed to his place. Probably enough to make his neighbors file a noise complaint about the "fruit-scented cargo truck" blocking the street.
He left the store grinning like a man who just robbed a bank legally.
Mission: Bargain Raid—Complete.
David skipped home like a guy who just conned his way into free samples, a discount, and moral victory all in one day.
He had no clue how long the shopkeeper would stay deluded about these "mysterious mid-level Breeders," but hey—not his problem.
The road back home never felt lighter.