Arthur Bennett had owned Pokémon for most of his life.
He had battled with them, traveled with them, been injured alongside them, captured them, bought them, and sold them.
So when Ethan walked into the kitchen Saturday morning and asked, “How much do you think Poochyena is worth?”
Arthur didn’t give him a speech about responsibility.
He answered, “More than the Caterpie.”
Ethan stopped.
“How much more?”
“Depends on the buyer.”
That was less useful.
Houndour lay beneath the kitchen table gnawing on a thick rubber toy.
His battle against Maya two days earlier had left him sore, so Arthur had forbidden serious training yesterday.
Today he was fine.
Which Ethan found increasingly interesting.
The Dark Realm was clearly an excellent environment for Houndour.
He trained more comfortably there and seemed to recover well.
How much of his recent development came from that environment was harder to say.
Arthur had been very annoying about the difference between knowing and guessing.
Ethan had decided Grandpa could keep worrying about that.
He had another problem.
Money.
“When are we selling him?”
Arthur took a drink of coffee.
“Soon.”
“You’ve been saying that.”
“Because you’re impatient.”
“We need money.”
Arthur looked around the kitchen.
“Are we starving?”
“For the Dark garden.”
“Habitat.”
“Forest.”
“No.”
Ethan smiled.
Arthur had made the mistake of showing him the orchard map.
Now Ethan knew exactly how much unused land existed north of the productive fields.
The original idea had been half an acre.
Ethan had already mentally expanded it to five.
Arthur had mentally reduced it back to half.
Negotiations were ongoing.
“Fencing costs money,” Ethan said.
“Yes.”
“Plants.”
“Yes.”
“Training equipment.”
“Eventually.”
“Pokémon shelters.”
“If necessary.”
“Maybe a pond.”
“For Dark Pokémon?”
“Some Dark Pokémon like water.”
Arthur stared.
Ethan shrugged.
“Future planning.”
“You own one Dark Pokémon.”
“Currently.”
Houndour stopped chewing.
“Hound?”
“You’re getting friends eventually.”
Houndour returned to the toy.
Arthur sighed.
“Half an acre.”
“We’ll see.”
“I own the land.”
“We’ll see.”
The Poochyena’s evaluation had already been completed.
Arthur had arranged it through a licensed Pokémon assessment center in another town.
Nothing strange about that.
Wild Pokémon were captured and sold every day.
Potential mattered enormously to price, so serious buyers wanted independent verification rather than trusting whatever a seller claimed.
The result confirmed Ethan’s Appraisal.
Species: Poochyena Grade: Beginner Potential: Blue
He was healthy and young, with no significant injuries, good teeth, and good musculature — no obvious behavioral abnormalities beyond the normal aggression expected from a recently captured wild Poochyena.
Ethan read the report again.
“They charged us six hundred dollars to tell us things I already knew.”
“They charged us to tell a buyer.”
“I could tell the buyer.”
“And the buyer would ask why a twelve-year-old thinks he can evaluate Pokémon Potential by looking at them.”
Ethan closed his mouth.
Right.
Appraisal was incredibly useful.
Proving what Appraisal told him was another matter.
Arthur put another sheet on the table.
“These are recent sale ranges.”
Ethan immediately grabbed it.
He read.
Then read again.
“Oh.”
Arthur smiled.
“Still think Caterpie was expensive?”
The Blue-Potential Caterpie had sold for forty-two thousand dollars.
At the time, that had seemed enormous.
Poochyena was different.
It was a Pokémon people actually wanted for combat — not some collector’s novelty, but a genuinely useful Dark type: good senses, plenty of aggression for battle, a solid evolutionary line ahead of it.
And Blue Potential carried the same weight no matter what stood behind it.
“What do you think we’ll get?”
“Legal sale?”
“Yeah.”
Arthur gave him a range.
Ethan’s eyes widened.
“That much?”
“Potential isn’t the only thing buyers pay for.”
“Species.”
“Species.
Age.
Health.
Temperament.
Known moves.
Current Grade.
Breeding value.
Market demand.”
Ethan looked back at the report.
Blue Poochyena.
Suddenly the Poké Ball sitting in their secure storage building looked considerably more interesting.
“Could we get a hundred thousand?”
“Possible.”
“More?”
“Possible.”
“How much more?”
Arthur smiled.
“Depends on the buyer.”
Ethan hated that answer.
They visited the Pokémon Exchange that afternoon.
Not Grayhaven’s small local office.
Arthur drove almost an hour to a larger regional branch.
Ethan had expected something resembling a pet shop.
It didn’t.
The building looked more like a combination of bank, auction house, veterinary center and government office.
Trainers moved through the lobby.
Some carried Poké Balls.
Others were looking at electronic listings.
Large screens displayed Pokémon currently available through registered sellers.
Ethan immediately slowed.
Arthur grabbed the back of his shirt.
“No.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You stopped walking.”
“There’s a Blue Machop.”
“We’re selling.”
“Can we look?”
“No.”
“After?”
“Maybe.”
That meant yes.
Ethan smiled.
They checked in.
Poochyena’s registration and evaluation were verified.
Arthur handled the paperwork.
Ethan watched.
It wasn’t exciting.
Forms rarely were.
The interesting part came when a market specialist reviewed the Pokémon.
Poochyena was released inside a secured assessment room.
A Machoke stood nearby — not because anyone expected trouble, but because recently captured wild Pokémon occasionally disagreed with paperwork.
Poochyena appeared.
“Pooch!”
He looked around, saw Ethan, then Arthur, then the unfamiliar people, and his hackles rose.
The specialist smiled.
“Good alertness.”
Ethan leaned toward Arthur.
“He tried to bite you three days ago.”
“Quiet.”
The specialist checked Poochyena’s movement, teeth, coat, legs, and reaction to commands.
Poochyena did not particularly care about commands.
That wasn’t surprising.
“Recent capture?”
“Yes,” Arthur said.
“Minimal obedience training?”
“Correct.”
“Good.”
Ethan frowned.
“Good?”
The specialist looked at him.
“For some buyers.”
“Why?”
“They want to train the Pokémon themselves.”
That made sense.
The specialist continued.
“Blue Potential certification will attract interest.”
Arthur nodded.
“Direct listing or auction?”
Ethan looked at Grandpa.
Arthur looked at the specialist.
“Expected difference?”
“Direct listing could move quickly.
Auction might produce more if multiple serious buyers compete.”
Ethan already knew which one he wanted.
“Auction.”
Arthur didn’t even look at him.
“We’ll consider it.”
Ethan frowned.
They looked at Pokémon listings afterward.
Arthur had promised.
Technically.
Ethan moved slowly past the screens.
There were hundreds.
Caterpie.
Pidgey.
Rattata.
Sentret.
Oddish.
Growlithe.
Machop.
Magnemite.
Geodude.
Several species Ethan had only seen online.
Potential colors were displayed when certified.
White Pokémon were cheap.
Green cost more.
Yellow climbed sharply depending on species.
Blue—
Ethan stopped at a listing.
MACHOP BEGINNER GRADE BLUE POTENTIAL
The asking price made him whistle.
“That’s more than Poochyena.”
“Probably.”
“Why?”
Arthur stared at him.
Ethan sighed.
“Species.”
“You’re learning.”
Another listing.
GROWLITHE BEGINNER GRADE BLUE POTENTIAL
Ethan nearly choked.
“What?”
Arthur looked.
Then laughed.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s a Growlithe.”
“So?”
“Popular species.
Strong evolution.
Useful typing.
Good reputation.”
“Lucas grew up with one of these?”
“His isn’t Blue.”
“Still.”
Ethan looked around.
This place contained millions of dollars in Pokémon.
Maybe tens of millions.
And this wasn’t even a major national exchange.
Ethan hadn’t expected the whole economy to be this big.
Trainers needed Pokémon.
Breeders produced them.
Wild-capture specialists supplied them.
Ranches raised them.
Companies transported them.
Assessment centers evaluated them.
Veterinarians treated them.
Stores sold food and equipment.
Professional battling was only one piece.
Ethan looked at Arthur.
“How many Pokémon did you sell when you were a Trainer?”
Arthur continued walking.
“Enough.”
“How many?”
“Don’t remember.”
“That’s a lie.”
Arthur smiled.
“Some things don’t need exact numbers.”
“Did you make a lot?”
“I spent a lot.”
“On what?”
“Training.”
That answer interested Ethan.
“Pokémon?”
“Food.
Medicine.
Travel.
Equipment.
Entry fees.
Replacement gear.”
Arthur glanced at him.
“Being a serious Trainer isn’t cheap.”
Ethan thought about all of it at once — the Dark habitat, future Pokémon, travel, professional competition, the Secret Realm underneath everything.
Money suddenly looked less like something he wanted and more like something he was going to need.
A lot of.
They didn’t list Poochyena that day.
Arthur wanted to compare options.
Ethan complained for approximately half the drive home.
Then Arthur said:
“I called someone.”
Ethan stopped.
“Buyer?”
“Maybe.”
“Who?”
“Old contact.”
That got Ethan’s attention.
“Trainer?”
“Broker.”
“What kind?”
Arthur kept his eyes on the road.
“The kind you don’t meet.”
Ethan stared.
Then understood.
“Oh.”
Arthur glanced over.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking too loudly.”
“The black market?”
Arthur sighed.
“Possibly.”
Ethan leaned closer.
“How much?”
“Sit properly.”
Ethan sat back.
“How much?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“But more than the legal exchange?”
“Usually.”
That was interesting.
“Why?”
“Because illegal buyers pay for things legitimate markets can’t always provide.”
“Like what?”
“Privacy.
Restricted transactions.
Avoiding records.
Avoiding taxes.
Avoiding questions.”
“And that’s why they pay more?”
“Partly.”
“Then why doesn’t everyone use it?”
Arthur looked at him.
“Because it’s illegal.”
“Right.”
“And because sometimes the person you’re meeting decides he’d rather take your Pokémon and your money.”
Ethan paused.
“Oh.”
“Or sells your name.”
“Oh.”
“Or works for someone worse.”
“Okay.”
“Or you’re walking into a police operation.”
“I understand.”
“Or—”
“Grandpa.”
Arthur smiled.
“The legal market charges you money for safety.”
“And the black market pays more because there’s less safety.”
“Essentially.”
Ethan considered that.
“Do you trust this broker?”
“Enough to speak to him.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
Ethan knew Arthur well enough to stop there.
Mostly.
“Can I come?”
“No.”
Immediate.
“Why?”
“You’re twelve.”
“So?”
“So no.”
“I found Poochyena.”
“And I own the truck.”
“That’s not related.”
“It is when I’m driving.”
Ethan folded his arms.
Arthur laughed.
Two days later, Arthur received both estimates.
The legal exchange expected Poochyena to sell somewhere around the lower end of six figures, depending on bidding.
The private offer was substantially higher.
Ethan stared at the number.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“That’s—”
“I can read.”
Ethan grabbed a calculator.
Arthur watched.
“What are you doing?”
“Garden.”
“Habitat.”
Ethan ignored him.
Fencing.
Clearing.
Soil.
Plants.
Training equipment.
Security.
A proper Pokémon shelter.
Maybe—
“Stop.”
Ethan looked up.
“What?”
“You’ve spent it.”
“No.”
“You absolutely have.”
“We need investment.”
“We need an actual plan.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Ethan looked back at the number.
One Poochyena.
One.
And Poochyena wasn’t even remotely the most valuable Pokémon that could exist inside the Realm.
That thought was dangerous.
Arthur apparently recognized the expression.
“We are not going hunting for Blue Pokémon.”
Ethan looked innocent.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You made the face again.”
“What face?”
“The money face.”
Ethan smiled.
Arthur pointed at him.
“Capture limits still exist.”
“I know.”
“We still need to avoid patterns.”
“I know.”
“And we’re not stripping wild populations out of the Realm.”
“I know.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
Ethan sighed.
“I know.”
“Good.”
Then Ethan pointed toward the offer.
“So?”
Arthur leaned back.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Why?”
“Because more money doesn’t automatically mean better.”
Here it came.
Ethan expected a speech.
Arthur didn’t give one.
He simply tapped the legal estimate.
“Safe.”
Then the private offer.
“Not safe.”
“How unsafe?”
“That’s what I’m determining.”
Practical.
Ethan could accept practical.
“So if your contact is good?”
“We consider it.”
“And if not?”
“Legal sale.”
Simple.
Good.
Ethan liked simple.
That afternoon, Arthur took Ethan toward the northern edge of Bennett Orchards.
Houndour ran ahead.
No leash.
Private property.
The productive berry fields gradually gave way to older orchard land.
Fewer workers came this far north.
Some of the original berry trees had been removed years ago, and grass and young trees had begun reclaiming the unused sections.
Ethan knew the area well now.
More importantly, he knew what was underneath it.
The Secret Realm.
Or rather, the concealed underground chamber containing its portal.
Arthur carried a measuring wheel.
Ethan carried flags.
Houndour carried nothing.
Naturally.
“Why here?” Ethan asked.
Arthur kept walking.
“You wanted a Dark habitat.”
“Yeah.”
“We need to secure the portal.”
Ethan stopped.
Arthur continued another few steps before looking back.
Ethan’s eyes widened.
“Oh.”
Finally.
He understood.
The portal was hidden underground.
For now, that was enough.
But Bennett Orchards wasn’t going to remain exactly the same forever.
Workers came and went.
Equipment needed repairs.
Land could be cleared.
People could wander somewhere they weren’t supposed to.
And if Ethan eventually became a serious Trainer, there might be even more people visiting the property.
Arthur pointed around them.
“If we’re going to spend money fencing off part of the orchard anyway, we might as well fence off the part nobody should be wandering through.”
Ethan smiled.
“That’s smart.”
“I occasionally manage it.”
“So the Dark garden protects the Realm.”
“Habitat.”
“Dark garden.”
Arthur sighed.
“The habitat gives us a perfectly ordinary reason to restrict access to this part of the property.”
Ethan looked around again.
Suddenly he saw the land differently.
Fence.
Locked gate.
Security cameras.
Pokémon warning signs.
Training grounds.
Dark-type plants.
Maybe eventually Dark Pokémon living here.
Nobody would question why visitors weren’t allowed to wander freely through a privately managed Pokémon habitat.
Especially one containing battle-trained Dark types.
“And the portal?”
“Stays underground.”
“Obviously.”
“We don’t build anything directly over it yet.”
Ethan frowned.
“Why?”
“Because construction requires workers.”
Oh.
That was a problem.
Arthur pointed toward the concealed access area.
“We secure the larger property first.
Anything near the actual entrance, we handle ourselves.”
“So nobody knows there’s anything underground.”
“Exactly.”
Ethan looked impressed.
Grandpa was good at hiding illegal things.
He decided not to say that.
Probably healthier.
They started measuring.
Arthur wanted half an acre.
Ethan wanted more.
“Acre.”
“Half.”
“Two.”
“You negotiated in the wrong direction.”
“One.”
“Half.”
“Three quarters.”
Arthur stopped.
Ethan smiled.
“That’s reasonable.”
“You own one Dark Pokémon.”
“Currently.”
Houndour barked from farther ahead.
Ethan pointed.
“He wants three quarters.”
“Houndour doesn’t understand land measurement.”
“You don’t know that.”
Arthur continued walking.
Half an acre it was.
For now.
They marked a rough boundary surrounding the sensitive section without putting the actual portal chamber at its center.
Arthur was careful about that.
Anyone looking at the property later should see a Pokémon habitat.
Not:
THIS PARTICULAR SPOT IS IMPORTANT.
Ethan planted another flag.
“What kind of fence?”
“Strong.”
“How high?”
“High enough.”
“Can we electrify it?”
Arthur looked at him.
“What exactly are you planning to keep in here?”
“Future.”
“Future isn’t a Pokémon species.”
“Could be.”
“No.”
Ethan laughed.
They continued.
At the far edge, Arthur stopped.
“Gate here.”
Ethan looked toward the orchard road.
“Why?”
“Vehicle access.”
“For what?”
“Food.
Equipment.
Pokémon transport.
Maintenance.”
Ethan nodded.
This was becoming real — not some enormous Dark forest, not yet, but a real Pokémon habitat.
Arthur pointed toward another section.
“Small shelter eventually.”
“Training building?”
“Eventually.”
“Battle field?”
“Eventually.”
“Pond?”
“No.”
Ethan frowned.
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“I thought about it yesterday.”
“And?”
“No.”
“We’ll revisit that.”
“We won’t.”
Houndour came running back.
He’d been exploring the perimeter.
Ethan crouched and rubbed his neck.
“What do you think?”
“Hound!”
“See?”
Arthur planted another flag.
“That means absolutely nothing.”
“He likes it.”
“He likes mud.”
“Still counts.”
They eventually reached the section closest to the concealed underground entrance.
Arthur became more serious.
“No outside contractors past this point.”
Ethan nodded.
This part wasn’t funny.
“Ever?”
“Unless we eventually have a way to guarantee they can’t discover anything.”
Arthur looked toward the ground.
“For now, anything here is ours.”
Repairs.
Clearing.
Construction.
Security.
Arthur and Ethan could handle smaller jobs themselves.
Anything larger would need careful planning.
Ethan looked toward the future habitat.
“Could we eventually put a building here?”
Arthur considered it.
“Maybe.”
“A Dark Pokémon shelter.”
“Maybe.”
“Training center.”
“Maybe.”
Ethan pointed downward.
“And underneath—”
“The portal.”
Ethan smiled.
A normal-looking Pokémon facility above.
The most valuable secret in their lives below.
That was cool.
Arthur apparently saw the expression.
“Years from now.”
Ethan’s smile disappeared slightly.
“Why does everything take years?”
“Because buildings don’t grow overnight.”
“Pokémon can build.”
Arthur stared.
“Machamp.”
“No.”
“Conkeldurr.”
“No.”
“Excadrill.”
“Absolutely not.”
Ethan laughed.
They walked back toward the center of the marked area.
Houndour ran across the grass.
Ethan imagined the field finished.
Tall fencing around the perimeter.
Trees providing shade.
Nightbloom growing beneath them.
Natural obstacles instead of nothing but artificial training equipment.
A proper running course.
Targets.
Shelters.
Maybe some Dark-type berry plants they hadn’t discovered yet.
And eventually—
more Pokémon.
Poochyena.
Murkrow.
Nickit.
Maybe Pokémon Ethan hadn’t even encountered.
His own Dark team would grow up here, train here, live here.
And beneath all of it—
the Realm.
Hidden.
Protected.
Ethan looked at Arthur.
“How much?”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The money question.”
“We need to know.”
Arthur pulled out his notebook.
“Initial fencing isn’t terrible.”
“How much?”
Arthur gave him a rough estimate.
Ethan winced.
“That’s terrible.”
“You wanted secure Pokémon fencing.”
“What about cameras?”
“More.”
“Gate?”
“More.”
“Shelter?”
“Later.”
“Training equipment?”
“Later.”
“Nightbloom?”
“We already have that.”
Ethan brightened.
“Free.”
“Not free.
We had to find it.”
“That’s basically free.”
Arthur gave up.
The money from Caterpie had been exciting because it was money.
Poochyena felt different.
Not emotionally.
Practically.
Money could become something.
Fencing.
Security.
Training equipment.
Better food.
Travel.
Pokémon.
Eventually buildings.
And now the Dark habitat had another purpose.
It wasn’t only somewhere good for Houndour.
It was camouflage.
Anyone looking at Bennett Orchards in the future would see exactly what Arthur wanted them to see: a former Trainer and his grandson developing a specialized Dark-type Pokémon habitat.
Of course it was fenced, wired with cameras, closed to strangers, and full of Ethan’s Dark Pokémon spending enormous amounts of time there.
Nobody needed to ask what was underneath it.
Ethan looked toward Arthur.
“So when are you calling your broker?”
Arthur stared at him.
Ethan smiled.
“What?”
Houndour barked.
Arthur sighed.
“Tomorrow.”
Ethan’s smile widened.
One Blue Poochyena wasn’t going to pay for the shelter, or the training ground, or any of it — not yet.
But it would pay for the fence.
Houndour trotted back over and flopped down across the flag line like he already owned the place.