Pokémon: Master of the Rain Team

After watching the chubby kid disappear into the distance, Reiji was left with only a vague understanding of how one becomes a League-certified rookie Trainer.

The kid’s explanation had been incomplete. To really get a full picture of the requirements, he’d need to ”interview” a few more locals—ideally kids—to sort everything out.

What Reiji didn’t know was that after leaving him, the chubby kid had actually been feeling grateful, thinking Reiji was a ”good person” for not hurting him.

But when the boy saw his parents anxiously waiting at the gates of their apartment complex, a cold wind blew past. In that instant, the boy sobered up—and burst into tears.

”Waaah! Mom! Dad! I got robbed! He took 5,000 Pokédollars!” he cried, running straight into his parents’ arms.

”You little pig! Why are you only coming home now?! I told you to come back early! Why didn’t you listen?!” his mother shouted furiously, assuming he was lying again.

”Enough, honey,” his father said more calmly. He immediately noticed something was wrong. Squatting down, he spotted white silk on the boy’s shoes.

”What else did he take?” the father asked gently.

”Just the 5,000 Pokédollars…” the boy sniffled. But with his dad there, he felt safe and stopped crying. After all, his dad was a strong, experienced Trainer—he could definitely beat that robber and keep him safe.

”Just the money, huh… Then it’s probably just a petty thug looking for pocket change. As long as you’re not hurt, that’s what matters,” the father said, patting him down to check for injuries.

Seeing no visible harm, he decided not to report it to the police. He intended to find the punk himself. But that could wait—tonight, he needed to stay with his traumatized son.

As long as that thief kept preying on others, he’d show up again. And when he did, he’d be caught.

Besides, the robber hadn’t taken the boy’s Pokémon or hurt him. That only confirmed the father’s guess—it was just some punk after petty cash, not worth escalating too far.

Meanwhile, the so-called ”punk” Reiji was already dragging a new target into another alleyway, continuing his data-gathering operation on how to become a certified rookie Trainer.

The new victim, who had also wet himself in terror, gave him almost the same answers as the chubby kid—but with a few more details this time.

After robbing a small amount of cash to mask his real motive and keep the victim focused on the money, Reiji let the sniveling boy go.

Then he mugged a few more rookie Trainers and passersby.

Eventually, though, he heard police sirens in the distance. Thinking they might be after him, he promptly left Kinnow City and returned to the wilderness.

By the end of the night, he’d pocketed over 20,000 Pokédollars—and finally pieced together the real conditions for becoming a League-certified rookie Trainer:

First, you must be at least ten years old, capable of basic self-care. That means healthy limbs, sound mind, and the ability to function in daily life.

Second, you must have a Pokémon that you’ve fully captured and who follows your commands. This is to prevent accidents from unruly Pokémon going berserk and injuring people.

Some cities prohibit bringing Pokémon into town to avoid such incidents. But Kinnow City was a tourist destination—banning Pokémon would scare off visitors. So, exceptions were made.

Third, you need a verifiable home address, family background, no criminal record, and valid ID documents—not just yours, but also from your parents or legal guardians.

Reiji couldn’t help but curse: ”Damn, it’s just like the civil service exams in my past life…”

Fourth, you must have a stable income and minimal debt. The League wants to ensure you can afford to raise a Pokémon. Usually, this is evaluated through the parents’ financial standing, not the kid’s—after all, a ten-year-old can’t even support themselves, let alone a Pokémon.

Fifth, you need 10,000 League contribution points, also known as mission points. Pokémon Centers often post simple missions from local residents—designed for kids to complete in exchange for rewards. The rewards convert into contribution points.

The exchange rate is 10 Pokédollars to 1 point. So, 10,000 points equals 100,000 Pokédollars.

Rich families find this laughably easy. Just buy the points.

Also, when unregistered Trainers complete Center missions, the League takes a cut of the payout—basically a tax, though a low one.

Sixth, and deadliest of all: you need a sponsor. That sponsor must be a League-certified veteran Trainer, with no criminal record, a stable home, family background, and valid ID.

A score of 5 is required on the criminal record. Even 4.5 fails. A credibility score of 4 just means the veteran Trainer has a ”few issues.” To sponsor someone again, they must go a full year without incidents to reset their score.

Now Reiji finally understood why the chubby kid had said his dad had to go with him—his dad had to be his guarantor.

Damn this nepotism-filled League.

And being someone’s sponsor came with consequences. Most veteran Trainers wouldn’t risk their score for strangers.

The moment their sponsored rookie messed up—got arrested, broke the law, or got detained by Officer Jenny—the sponsor would get penalized too.

Sponsoring someone meant taking on double the risk, half of which you couldn’t control.

Sure, for the rich, losing points meant nothing—just a loss of benefits like Pokémon Center privileges, contribution points, and base wages.

League benefits always came with obligations. Trainers could be summoned to missions at any time: repelling wild Pokémon invasions, handling rogue outbreaks, clearing dangerous Pokémon in the wild, even war…

So yeah, Reiji had mixed feelings about the League’s rules. For most people, the benefits outweighed the downsides. But rookie Trainers didn’t get many benefits—just access to Pokémon Centers.

Still, that was huge: free lodging, food (even if basic), and free medical care. That alone was priceless for Trainers.

But only for League-certified Trainers—rookie or veteran. The higher your rank, the more perks you unlocked.

So, how did Reiji stack up?

Requirement 1: Age 10+ — barely qualifies.

Requirement 2: One starter Pokémon — barely qualifies.

Requirement 3: Real ID and family info — orphan, no ID, fails.

Requirement 4: Stable income — um… do ”unofficial” jobs count?

Requirement 5: 10,000 points — um… ”unofficial” again?

Requirement 6: Sponsor — can I sponsor myself?

He met only two of the six requirements. The rest? Hard fail.

He understood the League’s rationale—Trainers were people wielding serious power, so tight screening was only natural.

Good thing he hadn’t set his hopes too high. Reality slapped hard, just as expected.

Good thing he took that money from the chubby kid earlier—at least he got to vent a little.

Honestly, he should’ve slapped that brat for bragging about his dad right to his face.

Wait a minute… if that kid’s sponsor was his dad, and he was certified, then that meant the dad was a veteran Trainer.

That could’ve gone very badly.

Thank Arceus they didn’t come looking for him. Otherwise, he would’ve had to flee for real.

Never assume the League is all sunshine and roses like in the anime.

This world? No utopia here. Still a world where your background mattered.

Just another society that runs on connections and privilege.

The League is a massive, cross-regional organization that spans nine regions, countless islands, and secret zones. No one in their right mind should think they’re some harmless do-gooders.

Let’s be real: soft nations don’t survive. And the League? They’re anything but soft.

In truth, any law-abiding citizen with a job could meet all six requirements—except maybe the sponsor part, which only becomes an issue if the kid’s an orphan.

But if you’ve got parents? Come on. Most adults are or were Trainers. Maybe they’re not passionate anymore, but they’re veterans—more than enough to vouch for their kid.

And if not? Just throw some money at it. Everything’s for sale—including someone’s credibility.

Once Reiji got a real identity, maybe he could do that too.

First two requirements? Already cleared—no need to spend.

Third? Could bribe an orphanage to fake records and adopt him.

Fourth? Could fake a job or pay someone to arrange it.

Fifth? 10,000 points = 100,000 Pokédollars. He made 20,000 in one night. Five nights = done. (Not robbing again, of course.)

Sixth? Sponsor? Just buy one. Someone will sell their integrity for the right price.

All that… just to become a law-abiding, positive, upstanding citizen.

Why is it so damn hard?!

For someone undocumented like him, this League was downright unfriendly.

Are they trying to push him into Team Rocket?

If even money couldn’t get him certified…

Then screw the League. Screw being a Trainer. He’d go full outlaw. Join Team Rocket and embrace the black-market life.

Fuming, Reiji mounted Pelipper and returned to the forest. With no legal identity, the wilderness was the only place he could live.

He didn’t even dare rent a room in town—one ID check, and he’d be jailed.

Back in the woods, he unpacked his tent and sleeping mat, then had Poliwhirl inflate the tent.

It was 3 a.m. Time to sleep.

”Spinarak, you’re on watch tonight. Don’t fall asleep.”

”Yito, yito,” Spinarak replied, immediately spinning a web around the tent perimeter. Anything that touched it would set off his senses.

As Spinarak secured the perimeter, Reiji and Poliwhirl entered the tent. Spinarak would watch the outside, Poliwhirl would guard the inside.

If he was serious about buying a legal identity, he needed funds.

And to get funds, he needed to sell the poacher’s loot.

The League officially banned Pokémon trafficking, so he could only sell on the black market.

He’d even asked around during his robberies—turns out, unless it’s a protected, rare, or endangered Pokémon, trades are usually overlooked.

Breeding centers, safari zones, ranches, trade fairs… even Magikarp were openly sold. James got scammed many times.

But none of those channels could move hot goods like his.

Those could only be sold underground.

Just like with the rookie Trainer certification, Reiji was a total newbie when it came to the black market.

But maybe that port bar the chubby kid mentioned—Midnight Lounge—could lead to something.

The black market wouldn’t be easy to navigate. He’d need to prepare carefully before sneaking in.

Tomorrow. He’d start tomorrow.

”Poliwhirl, goodnight…”

”Yobo…”

Poliwhirl didn’t sleep.

In this unfamiliar forest, everything felt alien and dangerous. It couldn’t protect Reiji at all.

It felt just like when they first met—helpless and unsure, unable to find food or do anything useful.

It thought evolving would make it stronger.

But in a new place, it was back to square one.

”Yobo… yobo…”

[End of Chapter]

[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]

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