Chapter 95: The Reason For Despair
In other words, Marrow Cleansing and Bone Transformation might just be a gimmick hyped up by the Pokémon Breeder Association to make money.
A beverage that can be put in a vending machine shouldn’t possibly have such a magical effect like Marrow Cleansing and Bone Transformation.
“Gulp~” Zuo Hang and Pikachu swallowed their saliva at the same time.
They were both very hungry.
Whether it was Moo Moo Milk or Purple Qing Qing, neither was what he wanted.
What Zuo Hang wanted to eat was the food in the red packaging placed in the middle of the vending machine—high-concentration compressed biscuits.
Reta’s body craved this kind of food intensely. Zuo Hang guessed that Reta probably often robbed things from vending machines too; he now had the impulse to punch the vending machine.
Zuo Hang and Pikachu exchanged a glance.
“Pika~” A flash of determination appeared in Pikachu’s eyes, with electric arcs flickering on its cheeks.
“—Thud!” Zuo Hang punched the glass of the vending machine.
“Beep! Beep! Beep!!” The vending machine emitted a piercing alarm, and red lights flashed internally.
The vending machine’s glass was shattered by the powerful punch. Zuo Hang swiftly grabbed a handful of compressed biscuits from the vending machine and stuffed them into his pants pocket.
Pikachu directly reached for the red can at the bottom of the vending machine. Zuo Hang looked down—”Coca-Cola???”
No way, sir, has Coca-Cola already become a cross-dimensional mega-corporation?
“—Smack~”
Zuo Hang thumped Pikachu on the head.
“Spendthrift kid! At least grab something expensive!”
“Pika!!”
Pikachu immediately retorted.
‘Your compressed biscuits are super cheap too! No one call out anyone!’
Zuo Hang sighed.
This gray electric mouse was exactly like his own kid. Zuo Hang had suspected before that this Reta was himself from another world, and after seeing Pikachu grab happy water from the vending machine, this matter was basically confirmed.
“It’s you again, you brat! Put down the stuff!” As soon as the vending machine’s alarm sounded, a middle-aged man holding a baton rushed out from the alley. He was wearing a black uniform, with a baton at his waist, and a Growlithe following behind him.
The man’s reaction was exceptionally quick, as if he had been waiting in the alley for Reta all along.
A segment of unfamiliar memory appeared in his mind—this sheriff who suddenly appeared was an old acquaintance of Reta’s—Detective A Mister, whose name was unknown, responsible for cases like theft and pilfering, specifically keeping an eye on jobless “wandering orphans” like Reta.
“Woof!” Growlithe bared its teeth and barked ferociously at Pikachu.
“Pi!! Ka!!!” The dirty little electric mouse also bristled instantly, ears and tail both perked up, looking ready to battle Growlithe for three hundred rounds.
Zuo Hang grabbed Pikachu by the scruff of the neck.
“Fight my ass! Time to run!”
With that, Zuo Hang held Pikachu, his pockets stuffed full of compressed biscuits, and right in front of the sheriff, grabbed a can of “Purple Qing Qing” from the vending machine.
After doing all this, Zuo Hang dangled Pikachu and exploded with cheetah-like speed. Even the running-specialist Growlithe had no chance of catching up.
“Kid! Registration for Canghai City’s Lower Deathmatch Arena has started! Didn’t you want to make a name for yourself? Here’s your opportunity!” The detective shouted toward the fleeing Reta.
Upon hearing the words “Lower Deathmatch Arena,” Zuo Hang immediately turned back from afar.
Detective Old A held a newspaper in his hand, with news about registration starting for Canghai City’s Lower Deathmatch Arena.
Deathmatch was a legal competition event in this world.
Any wild-card martial arts trainers without identification could participate in the competition.
No regard for background, no regard for Pokémon, no need for eight gym badges—anyone could sign up to participate.
Detective Old A said, “Reta kid, I have to warn you: though deathmatch can make you famous, once you enter the Deathmatch Arena and put on the limiter, if you don’t get first place, you’ll be a slave of the Deathmatch Arena forever.”
“After Lower Deathmatch is Upper Deathmatch, and after Upper Deathmatch you still have to challenge the Deathmatch Heavenly King. How strong that man is, I don’t need to tell you.”
“No need to say more, I’m definitely going.” Zuo Hang as Reta said.
Detective Old A had been taking good care of him these years, turning a blind eye to the vending machine robberies.
At the beginning, Detective Old A was a detective bursting with a sense of justice, but after being tripped up by Reta several times, he gave up chasing this kid.
One was a low-level detective handling thefts, the other a orphan wandering under bridges—the two were extremely similar in some ways, both unable to see the road ahead.
Birds of a feather flock together; even in mutually opposing professions, they could always find some common ground.
Looking at Old A in front of him, Zuo Hang suddenly remembered that the staff member who gave him the red reagent in the final match was this Old A.
Reta, who originally relied on his own strength to fight deathmatches, might indeed have needed that reagent, but for Zuo Hang, who relied on commanding Pokémon to battle, that reagent was somewhat redundant.
Ronan, whom Zuo Hang had beaten, was the champion of the Upper Deathmatch Arena, and above the champion was still the Deathmatch Heavenly King.
The rules of ordinary challenge matches were that the top four in the challenge match could gain the title of Elite Four, and first place was the Champion. Champion was a title above Elite Four.
But the Deathmatch Arena’s rules were the complete opposite. Because it was deathmatch, there wouldn’t be a top four—only one champion.
When the Upper Deathmatch Arena’s champion consecutively defeats four champions with winning streaks from the Lower Battle Arena, they can temporarily claim the Deathmatch Champion title and battle the previous Deathmatch Heavenly King—win, and they can remove the limiter on their wrist, truly escaping the Deathmatch Arena’s restrictions.
Deathmatch Heavenly King.
This was a title that could only have one holder in the entire world, with higher prestige than other Elite Four titles, but the cost to obtain it was equally deadly.
Ronan, whom Zuo Hang defeated, was a Deathmatch Arena champion who had failed a challenge.
If the challenge failed, the Deathmatch Champion needed to win four more matches as Arena Champion.
Zuo Hang, who had obtained Reta’s memories, knew clearly—this session’s Deathmatch Heavenly King was an existence like a towering mountain—Iron Fist with external training and the Mythical Pokémon Zeraora, a level that any martial arts trainer had to look up to.
Ronan was strong, but far from enough to beat the Deathmatch Heavenly King.
That despairing expression of losing all will to fight against the Thunder Kirin was probably because he knew that even if he challenged again, he couldn’t win against the Deathmatch Heavenly King—challenge failure, fight four matches, challenge again, fail again, trapped in an endless vicious cycle, forever unable to remove the limiter on his arm.
Since that was the case, it was better to end his life as a martial arts trainer in a grand and heroic manner.
Losing to that arrogant electric light, as a martial arts trainer, wasn’t shameful.
