David wandered the black market for another good half hour, soaking in the bizarre energy of the place like a tourist at a haunted flea market.
By now, he had a decent grasp of how things worked in this chaotic wonderland of scams, sketchy deals, and shady merchandise. Even though the black market wasn't under the League's official jurisdiction—obviously, since no one was being arrested for selling "Mew hair extensions"—it somehow had its own system of order.
Apparently, stalls couldn't just be set up willy-nilly. You had to pay for your own patch of ground like it was prime beachfront real estate. Not only that, but you could rent space by the day or even by the hour. "Flexible leasing for flexible criminals," David muttered under his breath. "Truly, the customer service here is top tier."
It was weirdly… civilized. Like a shady farmers market run by polite outlaws.
But after strolling for so long, David's stomach finally made its opinion known.
"Hoooot-hooooot…"
That wasn't the sound of a wild owl Pokémon. That was his stomach, groaning in protest like it was auditioning for a horror movie. He clutched his midsection dramatically.
"Ugh. I knew skipping breakfast would come back to haunt me," David groaned. "All I did this morning was buy ingredients and brew those Jet Cubes like a lunatic chemist. I didn't even smell toast!"
He looked at the little yellow freeloader perched happily on his shoulder.
"Pikachu, we need food. Desperately. I'm one stomach rumble away from chewing on a Poké Ball."
"Pika!" Pikachu nodded furiously, rubbing his own round belly in solidarity.
The two of them stood there, bonding over their mutual hunger like survivors in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.
"Alright then," David said with a dramatic point toward the food stalls. "Let's eat first. If we're gonna set up our own sketchy stall and hustle until sundown, we'll need energy. Preferably in nugget form."
"Pika-chuuu!" Pikachu cried, eyes sparkling at the mention of food.
And so, the two hungry hustlers set off—one boy, one electric mouse, both dreaming of deep-fried salvation.
David pushed open the rickety door of a small diner tucked away at the edge of the black market. The place was mostly empty, save for a few scattered souls chewing in silence like life had personally offended them. It had that faded-grease smell of old oil and desperation, but to David—whose stomach was now threatening a full rebellion—it smelled like heaven's food court.
He shuffled in with Pikachu still on his shoulder like a captain entering a tavern with his loyal parrot. Finding a seat against the wall, he flopped down dramatically and yelled toward the counter like he owned the joint.
"Hey, boss! I'll take one tomato scrambled egg noodle, add chicken fries, and toss in a cold can of Coke!"
"Coming right up!" the chef called back with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't heard a normal order in weeks.
David barely had time to scroll through his PokéNav before a steaming plate of noodles, crispy golden fries, and a chilled can of Coke magically appeared in front of him like the universe was finally apologizing.
He cracked his knuckles, ready to dig in—and that's when it happened.
A voice oozing with sugar and poor life decisions floated over from the next table.
"Baaaaby, let me feed you this noodle!"
"Haha, nooo, you eat it, babyyyy! We eat togetherrr!"
David paused, chopsticks mid-air. He glanced sideways. A young couple was seated at the next table, leaning in so close it looked like they were trying to fuse into a single overly affectionate being. The girl dangled a noodle in front of her boyfriend's mouth like she was feeding a zoo animal. They then slurped one single noodle together like it was some tragic reenactment of Lady and the Tramp, but worse because it was real.
David blinked. Pikachu blinked. His appetite blinked and briefly ran for the exit.
He felt something dark and cold settle inside him—like someone had just handed him a plate of dog food with a side of public discomfort.
[Negative emotion value +30 from David…]
[Negative emotion value +40 from David…]
[Negative emotion value +50 from David…]
He wasn't the only one cringing. Other diners glanced up too, some shifting uncomfortably, others looking around like they were hoping a fire alarm would go off and rescue them from this nightmare.
But no one said anything.
Until David.
He leaned over, patted Pikachu on the head, and spoke loudly with the wisdom of an old man who had seen too much:
"Pikachu, listen to me. This is why you've gotta train hard and be successful. Otherwise…" —he motioned toward the couple, still mid-slurp— "one day, you'll be splitting a single noodle with your soulmate for ten Alliance coins, wondering where it all went wrong."
He placed a hand on his chest and added solemnly, "Promise me, you'll never live like that."
The entire shop went silent.
The noodle couple froze, mid-romance. The girl blinked. The guy choked slightly. Both of them slowly turned red—one from rage, the other from embarrassment.
[Obtained negative emotion value +30 from Random Chick…]
[Obtained negative emotion value +30 from Random Dude…]
David casually returned to his food, humming as he dipped a fry in ketchup, looking like he'd just done a public service. Pikachu nodded approvingly, clearly in agreement.
And just like that, balance was restored.
***
After David's very public monologue about poverty noodles and life lessons to Pikachu, the diner was left in stunned silence. The young couple at the center of the romantic disaster—still blushing from emotional whiplash—slowly stood up like they'd just lost a Pokémon battle without even getting to attack.
The girl looked like she was ready to file an emotional damage claim. The guy looked like he wanted to crawl into his noodle bowl and disappear. Together, they shuffled out of the restaurant with the kind of shame usually reserved for reality show contestants who get eliminated in episode one.
David, meanwhile, casually slurped up his noodles as if none of it had happened. Pikachu tilted his head, trying to follow the sudden moral lesson like a student who forgot to read the syllabus.
Seeing the little guy so focused, David gave him a hearty pat on the back and nodded like a wise old professor. "Exactly, Pikachu. That's why, when we get home, you're running electricity duty for five hours straight. Gotta keep the lights on somehow!"
The restaurant froze.
Crowd NPCs: ???
Pikachu blinked.
The math wasn't mathing. Electricity duty? Five hours? Was he… was he the generator?
Still, loyal as ever, Pikachu just nodded. Poor thing.
The people sitting nearby, mid-bite, stared in horror. One lady stopped mid-chew. A guy holding a hot dog slowly lowered it like he'd just witnessed a crime.
"What kind of monster makes his Pikachu pay the utility bill with its body?" someone whispered.
"And why did it agree!?" another muttered.
[Negative emotion value +20 from Onlooker 1…]
[Negative emotion value +20 from Onlooker 2…]
David's ear twitched as the system dinged in his head again. He raised an eyebrow and looked around, only to find multiple diners scooting away from him like he'd just pulled a knife from his sock.
Some were quietly sliding toward the exit. Others outright bolted, food abandoned like they'd dined with a serial villain.
David blinked, then sighed. "Okay, maybe the eyeliner and black coat combo was too much today."
Pikachu, still unsure whether it was being praised, threatened, or conscripted into energy slavery, just nodded slowly again.
Another peaceful lunch—ruined by public affection and misunderstood electric rodents.
After absolutely demolishing his lunch like a starving Snorlax at a buffet, David leaned back in his chair and let out a satisfied sigh.
His belly was full, his conscience was light (somewhat optional, really), and Pikachu was licking the last crumbs off the table like a vacuum cleaner in yellow fur.
"Alright, boss! Time to settle the bill!" David called out confidently, patting his stomach like he'd just conquered the final boss of hunger.
The restaurant owner strolled over with the calm efficiency of someone who'd done this routine a thousand times and held up a payment scanner. "That'll be 100 Alliance coins. Swipe or cash?"
David blinked. His brain short-circuited for a moment. "Wait… what?"
"One hundred," the boss repeated, even slower this time, in case David was hard of hearing or basic math. "You got the tomato egg noodles, the fried chicken, and the Coke, right?"
David squinted suspiciously. "What's it made of, golden tomatoes and caviar chickens?"
The boss, unfazed, casually pointed to a greasy, handwritten price list taped on the wall behind him.
Tomato Egg Noodles: 10 coins
Chicken Fries: 40 coins
Coke: 50 coins
David stared at the list. Then back at the boss. Then back at the list. A vein twitched on his forehead. "FIFTY for a Coke!? Is it carbonated with diamonds?!"
He wasn't sure whether to throw the can at the wall or frame it.
A few black lines metaphorically slid down David's face. "This place isn't a restaurant—it's daylight robbery with side dishes."
He cracked his knuckles dramatically. "Alright. Looks like it's time to introduce this establishment… to the Bloody Dark King of the Pacific."
Pikachu, perched on David's shoulder, tilted his head. He had no idea what a "Bloody Dark King" was, but he could sense it was probably the kind of title that comes with a lot of yelling and unpaid bills.
David had barely taken a step toward the counter when suddenly—
WHOOSH.
Half the customers in the restaurant jumped up and ran over to the boss, like unpaid interns desperate to stop a PR disaster. They crowded around him, whispering frantically.
"Boss! That guy… that's him," one of them hissed.
"The one from the egg stall incident last month!" another added in a terrified whisper. "He's the reason that stall owner retired early and started selling insurance!
And right before, he was talking about using that Pikachu as a generator for the house! This guy's evil!"
The boss's eyes widened. He peeked over the counter, looked directly at David—and then immediately dropped like a rock, vanishing behind the counter faster than a Diglett under pressure.
Only the top of his head was visible now, along with a single shaking hand waving a white napkin like a flag of surrender.
"Good sir!" the boss stammered. "No charge today! Please—it's on the house! We love your… uh… presence!"
David blinked, caught completely off guard by the sudden generosity.
He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he wasn't about to question free food.
He turned to Pikachu, smugly. "You see, buddy? Being scary has its perks."
Pikachu, still licking chicken crumbs off his cheek, gave a tiny burp of agreement.
David strutted out of the restaurant with all the confidence of a man who just pulled off a successful dine-and-dash—but legally.
The sun hit his face, the breeze ruffled his trench coat, and he felt like an action hero leaving an explosion behind him in slow motion.
Meanwhile, Pikachu looked up at him, his little face full of awe and horror.
Pikachu's inner monologue: This is the first time I realized… if you have no conscience, even shady black market restaurants will give you free lunch. Terrifying.