Chapter no.65 An Unfair Trade

Austin slipped off the stage without a glance back, vanishing into the crowd like smoke. Behind him, Daisy’s voice echoed across the arena, announcing the next match. He didn’t care. A faint buzz in his pocket confirmed it: Green was already in motion, intercepting Damien’s entourage. All the noise. That bought him a few precious minutes. Time enough.

He found Damien sulking alone behind the staging corridor, arms crossed, jaw clenched, glaring at nothing.

“Hey, hey,” Austin said, voice easy.

Damien didn’t look at him. “What the hell do you want?”

There was venom in his tone, bitterness laced with humiliation. Good. That would make what came next smoother.

“I’ve got a proposition. Thought you might be interested.”

“If you’re trying to sell me one of your trash T-shirts,” Damien scoffed, “save it for your twelve-year-old fanbase.”

Austin’s eye twitched, but his smile held.

“Not that. I’m here to talk about Charmander.”

That got Damien’s attention. He turned, eyes narrowing. “What about it?”

“I want him. I’m offering a trade.”

Damien snorted. “Right. Like I’d just hand him over. My dad didn’t raise an idiot, you don’t get something for nothing.”

“No,” Austin agreed. “He raised a monster who only takes.”

That made Damien stand up straighter. “Watch it.”

Austin shrugged and gestured toward the gondola station just off the gym’s edge. “Let’s talk somewhere quieter. We’ll go to the Pokémon Center. Neutral ground.”

Damien hesitated, then followed.

The gondola drifted quietly over the glittering canals, the Cerulean skyline reflected in the water below. The only sound was the soft dip of Austin’s paddle slicing through the water. Damien sat opposite him, foot tapping, arms still crossed.

Austin handed him a slim black folder. “Here. Read.”

“What is this?”

“Your reflection,” Austin said. “Start flipping.”

Damien opened the file and skimmed the first page. His eyes narrowed. Then the second page. The third. His posture shifted. The silence stretched as he read, each sheet exposing a new layer of rot and crime linking found by Detective Lyle during the private investigation. By the fourth page, Damien’s hands were shaking.

“Where the hell did you get this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Damien’s hand twitched toward his belt. “Do you have any idea who my father is?”

Austin’s smile sharpened. “Yeah. I do. That’s why I haven’t hit ‘send’ on this yet.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out his burner phone, letting Damien see the email draft on the screen. Multiple recipients, league officials, major news outlets, two Pokémon rights organizations, and one very prominent Saffron City journalist with a taste for scandal.

Damien went pale.

“You really want to do this?” he hissed. “You think they’ll touch me? My father could buy the Indigo League if he wanted to.”

“Sure,” Austin said, still paddling. “He could try. But the question isn’t what he can do. It’s what he will do when his company stock tanks thirty percent after the headlines hit. When protestors are camped outside your house. When sponsors start pulling out and half of Kanto’s social media is screaming for Charmander’s release. You think your dad’s going to go to war for his disappointing, talentless son?”

Damien’s face twisted.

“Don’t push me,” he said. “I swear, if you…”

Austin dropped the paddle. The boat swayed slightly as he leaned forward, eyes suddenly cold.

“No,” he said quietly. “You don’t push. You don’t bluff. You don’t threaten. You sit there and listen, because I’m the only reason you’re not in a jail cell tonight.”

For a second, the air went heavy. Damien looked away. “…What do you want?”

“The trade still stands,” Austin said, straightening. “You give me Charmander, and you get the file.”

Damien didn’t hesitate this time. “Fine. Deal.”

“Not done yet.” Austin reached into his bag and tossed him a folded piece of paper.

Damien caught it. “What’s this?”

“A letter,” Austin said. “From you. To Charmander. You’re going to read it before the hand-off. Loud enough for him to hear it. Convincing. Sincere. You’re going to fake the best performance of your life. Cry, if you can.”

Damien opened the letter and scanned it. His brow furrowed. “This is pathetic. I’d never say half this crap.”

“You’re going to say all of it. Because it’s not about you. It’s about him. You’re going to give him closure. A goodbye he can believe in. One that lets him walk away from you with dignity. Something you’ve never once given him.”

Damien crumpled the paper slightly in his fist. “Why? Why go this far? Why risk all this for one dumb Pokémon?”

Austin studied him, quiet for a beat.

Then, without a trace of humor, he said, “Because he still tries.”

Damien blinked.

“That little fire-lizard,” Austin continued, voice low and steady, “stood up after a type-advantage hit. Tried to obey a move he wasn’t ready for. Smiled when people finally saw him. He gave everything for a trainer who never earned it. And if that doesn’t matter to you, then you’ve already lost something you’ll never get back.”

He leaned forward again, face-to-face.

“And because some of us remember what it’s like to be small. To be overlooked. To be loyal to someone who didn’t deserve it.”

Damien said nothing. His knuckles were white.

Austin sat back, picking up the paddle again. “We’ll be at the Center in ten. Memorize the letter. You screw this up, the file goes public.”

“…This isn’t over,” Damien muttered.

Austin’s paddle didn’t pause. “Keep telling yourself that.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The Pokémon Center glowed with clinical calm… pale light, polished tile, nurses moving with soft, practiced efficiency. It was a place of healing, of safety. And right now, it was about to become the site of a liberation.

Austin handed Pikachu over to a nurse with a quiet nod, the mouse gave a tired but trusting “Pika” before being wheeled off for treatment. Austin didn’t watch him go. He turned to Damien, who looked as if he were walking to his own execution. They stepped into the Support Office, a sterile side-room lined with consoles and identity verifiers.

“I’m here to request a transfer of ownership,” Austin said flatly.

The attendant blinked, recognizing both trainers immediately. “Ah, of course. Please provide both your Ids.”

Austin scanned his card.

Damien hesitated.

Austin rolled his eyes and handed over a notepad. “Here. Write my Trainer ID down before you forget it. I know numbers are hard for rich boys who use daddy’s wallet instead of their brain.”

Damien’s jaw clenched. His hand shook slightly as he wrote the digits down. But he didn’t say a word. He couldn’t.

Not anymore.

The process took moments. Charmander’s name blinked across the terminal screen as his registration swapped from Damien Calloway to Ash Ketchum.

With that final beep, it was done and now came the hard part.

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Austin led Damien down a quiet hallway, away from the Center’s crowds and healing chambers to a gardened corner just outside the emergency bay. Quiet. Private.

“Now,” Austin said, voice low. “Do your part.”

Damien sneered but said nothing. He pulled out the Poké Ball and released Charmander.

The small flame-tailed Pokémon emerged with a soft burst of light… and immediately stared down at the ground.

No celebration. No cheer. Just quiet shame. As if he already knew what was coming.

“Look at him,” Damien muttered, tone sharp with disgust. “Still moping. You’d think he’d finally evolved into something useful.”

There was a crack, not of violence, but of a boot slamming down onto the tile.

“Try again!”

Damien froze, the paper half-unfolded in his hands.

“You want him to believe you?” Austin continued, voice low. “Then say it like you mean it. From memory. Or the deal’s off.”

Damien stared at him teeth clenched, face pale, sweat just beginning to gather at his temples. His fingers twitched, crumpling the page. But he didn’t argue.

Austin didn’t need to say what they both already knew: if this wasn’t convincing, it would all come crashing down.

So Damien tucked the letter away, stood tall, and looked at Charmander. Damien did something unthinkable, he dropped to one knee.

His voice was steady. Too steady. Like he was reading lines from a script buried in his skull. But each word was wrapped in enough emotion… controlled tremble, faltering breath… that for Charmander, it was impossible to tell the difference.

“Charmander… I was cruel to you. I gave you orders you weren’t ready for. Blamed you for things you didn’t understand. I made you feel like you were never enough. Like you were the problem.”

Charmander’s head tilted, eyes shimmering.

“But you always tried. No matter what. Even when I yelled, even when I called you weak… you gave everything. You kept believing in me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

Damien took a breath, and for a moment, his hands trembled not from acting.

“You deserve better. You are better. You’ve got a fire in you stronger than any TM, stronger than anything I ever gave you. You could become a Charizard who soars past the clouds. I believe that now.”

Austin watched him in still silence.

“But I’m not the trainer who’ll help you do it.”

Charmander’s eyes widened.

Damien leaned forward, one hand hovering above the ground, his voice softening just enough to hurt.

“I’m not good enough for you.”

Charmander shook his head.

“So… I want to ask you something.”

Damien swallowed hard.

“Can you promise me one thing?”

Charmander nodded.

“Will you become his Pokémon?”

There was silence.

Then the little lizard surged forward into Damien’s arms, clinging like he was still hoping this was all a bad dream.

“Char… char…”

Damien’s arms stiffened, but he didn’t push him away.

“You promised,” he said finally, voice soft.

Charmander froze.

Austin crouched nearby, holding out a hand. Calm. Open. Patient. “I know this is hard,” he said gently. “But I promise… I’ll help you grow. One day, you’ll look down from the clouds and know you made the right choice.”

Charmander looked at Damien. Torn.

“GO TO HIM!”

Charmander flinched. His eyes trembled. Slowly, painfully, he let go.

He walked one step at a time toward Austin’s outstretched hand.

Then he placed his claw in the boy’s palm.

Austin smiled soft, but certain. “Nice to meet you, Charmander,” he said. “I’m going to be your new trainer.”

Charmander turned back, one last time.

Damien was already walking away.

“Char!” he cried out, one last call. One last plea for recognition.

But Damien never looked back.

The fire-lizard shivered and Austin caught him in a quiet hug.

“Cry all you want,” Austin murmured. “You’ve earned it. And it just means you’re strong enough to feel it.”

Charmander broke quietly at first, then all at once, sobs muffled against Austin’s chest as the trainer just held him and let it happen.

A few minutes later, Charmander wiped his eyes with the back of his claw.

Austin crouched beside him, voice soft.

“We’ll take it slow, okay? You’ve been through a lot. This is a big change for both of us.”

Charmander nodded, sniffling.

“We’ll figure it out. One day at a time.”

Austin glanced down at the strange discoloration on Charmander’s back…

His brow furrowed.

“Nurse Joy should take a look at that,” he murmured, quietly returning Charmander to his Poké Ball.

But as he turned toward the hallway, he froze. Professor Oak was standing there, arms crossed, expression unreadable but his eyes were sharp, fixed on Austin like he already knew something. The look said one thing: I want answers.

Meanwhile Damien stormed down the Pokémon Center hallway, thumb jabbing at the buttons on his clunky silver Pokétch, the outdated model barely keeping up with his fury.

Ring… Ring… Click.

“Oi, bitch,” he snapped. “Get my father on the line right now…”

“Hmm,” a low, gravel-like voice replied, sharp and cold as steel. “So that’s how you speak to my secretary?”

Damien froze. His stomach twisted.

“F-Father,” he stammered, “I thought… I didn’t mean to…”

“Angry?” the voice roared, so loud Damien winced, pulling the device away from his ear. “You’re angry? You ruined your own name and mine! I’ve had investors breathing down my neck for the last hour! You’ve turned our company into a liability!”

“I… I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

“Oh, excellent,” his father hissed. “Not only a failure, you’re an ignorant one. Turn on any channel. You’re famous now. Your crimes are all on national television.”

Damien went rigid.

“F-Father, I know who—”

“Shut up.”

The words hit like a slap.

“I’m sending someone to collect you. You’re done here. Don’t speak. Don’t move. Don’t think.”

The call ended with a dead click.

Damien stood there, shaking, staring at the Pokétch like it had betrayed him.

Then the rage hit. Hot. Burning.

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Austin was speaking with Professor Oak in the Center lobby, hands casually tucked into his jacket.

“You son of a bitch!” Damien roared, storming in. “You set me up!”

Austin turned calmly, not surprised. “Oh look,” he said dryly, “the garbage crawled back.”

Damien lunged, fist raised in a wild, uncoordinated punch.

“Predictable,” Austin muttered.

He sidestepped effortlessly and as Damien stumbled past, off-balance.

CRACK!

Austin’s elbow slammed into the boy’s nose with clean, brutal precision. Blood sprayed. Damien collapsed to the floor, clutching his face with a strangled cry.

“Pro tip,” Austin said, crouching next to him. “If you’re gonna sucker punch someone, don’t announce it first like you’re in a bad action movie.”

Before Damien could retort, a figure stepped between them.

“Enough,” said Professor Oak.

“Piss off, old man!” Damien spat, wiping blood on his sleeve.

Big mistake.

Without warning, the aged professor pivoted, hooking Damien’s waist and with shocking strength suplexed him into the polished tile. The impact made several nurses jump. Damien’s head bounced with a dull thud and his body went limp.

Austin blinked. “Holy sh… Professor, how?”

Oak straightened with a casual grunt, dusting off his lab coat. “Oh, I used to wrestle back in the day,” he said with a small smile. “Before I took up science.”

Austin looked down at Damien, unconscious, arms sprawled awkwardly.

“Well, what happens to him now?”

Oak’s smile faded. The humor left his face, replaced by something heavier.

“For starters,” Professor Oak said, “the League will have to respond to the media outcry. Damien’s trainer license will be suspended pending a full investigation — and any associates who helped cover up his actions will face the same.”

Austin listened intently.

“His Pokémon will be taken into foster care,” Oak continued, “unless they’re linked directly to any criminal activity. If they are… they’ll be quarantined for further examination or, in severe cases, placed in rehabilitation facilities.”

He exhaled through his nose, his tone sharp now.

“But honestly? That’s a slap on the wrist if you ask me. I’m filing a formal complaint with the Department of Trainer Welfare. They’ll be coordinating with Kanto’s Special Investigations Bureau. And they don’t play games.”

Austin raised a brow. “And what about his rich dad?”

“Mr. Calloway will be investigated thoroughly. If I had to guess,” Oak added with disgust, “he’ll disown Damien publicly. Paint him as a rogue son, a bad apple. Then pull some PR stunt… donate to a few charities, issue a press statement about abuse prevention. All a smokescreen to protect the brand.”

“So they’re basically done.”

Oak gave a slow nod.

“I’ve lived long enough,” he said, “to stop being afraid of men who think their wallets make them gods.”

Austin gave a respectful nod. “Thanks for the help.”

“No, thank you, dear boy,” Oak said, glancing back with a tired but warm smile. “Looks like you ended up with one of the three starters you always wanted, eh? Charmander was your second choice, wasn’t he?”

Austin chuckled. “Yeah. Always thought he had something special. Don’t worry, I plan to treat him as an important part of the team.”

“Of course,” Oak said with a nod. “He deserves that.”

Austin tilted his head. “Actually, Professor… can I ask you something?”

Oak raised a brow. “Go ahead.”

“Why isn’t Charizard a dragon-type?” Austin asked, his face scrunched in mock confusion. “You’d think wings, fire-breath, the whole deal, he’d qualify. But no. Flying type.”

Oak laughed. “Ah, that debate. Believe me, it’s caused more than a few arguments at interregional conferences.”

He motioned for Austin to walk with him. “There was a report out of Johto a few years back…”

“Oh no,” Austin muttered, grinning. “A research paper. We’re gonna be here a while.”

“Hush now,” Oak said, smirking. “You brought this upon yourself.”