Chapter Seventy-Five: The Scallion Duck Has Gone Viral

Heath found himself at the Pokémon Center once again. Lately, he felt as if he’d been there far too many times. In the past four years, aside from the occasional food delivery, he had rarely set foot in the Pokémon Center. After all, he hadn’t had a Pokémon of his own, and he’d been weighed down by a mountain of debt. Thankfully, things were much better now, and Heath finally had his own Pokémon—soon, he’d have his third.

“Nurse Joy, how’s Charmander doing?” Heath approached Joy Snow, handing her three portions of savory pancakes he’d made from the day’s leftover ingredients at his stall.

No matter the world, medical staff were always incredibly busy, running off their feet. Heath understood Joy Snow’s workload well, so these pancakes were his small way of thanking her for all her help.

“Charmander’s recovering well,” Joy Snow replied, filling in a medical chart as she spoke. “But for some reason, whenever it sees things like whips or candles, it becomes extremely resistant.”

Heath’s expression grew peculiar; he could guess why Charmander was so apprehensive. Apparently, little Adams had some rather unusual hobbies—if someone saw that set of tools, only a specialist would believe they weren’t for professional use.

“So, can I take Charmander home today?” Heath asked expectantly. Charmander’s discharge still hinged on Joy Snow’s approval.

“Of course. Just remember what I said: Charmander shouldn’t do any strenuous exercise for now. Wait until its skin heals before resuming training.” Joy Snow nodded, then ruffled her hair in frustration and returned to her chart.

Heath slipped out immediately, sensing that even the gentle Nurse Joy could lose her temper. After all, there were no saints immune to irritation in this world.

With Joy Snow’s consent, Heath headed to the ward and found Charmander sitting on a chair by the bed, holding an orange high in the air, staring at it with unwavering focus.

Heath watched with curiosity. He’d noticed before that Charmander was a particularly attentive Pokémon—last time, even after Heath had opened the cabinet in his food truck, Charmander hadn’t noticed at all. Now, Heath stood directly behind him, yet Charmander remained absorbed in raising the orange. The movement seemed oddly familiar.

“Isn’t that the exercise Farfetch’d used to do?” Heath stroked his chin, recalling how he’d taught Farfetch’d to use that set of fitness equipment—lifting dumbbells in exactly this manner.

But that lazy duck hadn’t touched the equipment since. Clearly, fleeting enthusiasm never lasted.

“Char!” Startled by Heath’s voice, Charmander jerked, crushing the orange in his grip, leaving Heath both amused and exasperated.

“Charmander, I’m here to take you home.” Heath crouched before him with a gentle smile, extending his hand.

Charmander hesitated, glanced nervously at Heath’s hand, then slowly placed his own paw atop it. Heath could feel the slight tremor—it was clear Charmander was still anxious, but trust took time to build, and Heath was in no hurry.

“I’m going to put you in the Pokéball now, all right?” Heath took out a standard red-and-white Pokéball. Charmander nodded, and Heath breathed a sigh of relief. One Zorua was enough—if he had another Charmander, he’d start to worry about being targeted by Pokémon poachers on his travels.

Taking Charmander with him, Heath drove his food truck back to the dorms. He prepared dinner for the Officer Jennys and, while he was at it, made a meal for his Pokémon too.

To welcome the new addition, Heath organized a small barbecue—of course, without any alcohol. He pulled out some red-and-blue cola from the food truck’s fridge.

“Welcome, Charmander,” Heath said warmly, pouring him a glass of Charizard Cola. Charmander accepted it a bit nervously.

“Another poor soul has boarded this ship—what a pity,” Zorua sighed, gnawing on a skewer of meat.

Heath rapped Zorua on the head. What was with this guy, making him sound like some kind of Pokémon abuser? But Charmander seemed oblivious, focused entirely on devouring the roast duck that Farfetch’d had personally cooked.

Perhaps, worn out from all the “non-stick” training, Farfetch’d had decided to help Heath by making roast duck as a form of rest and relaxation. Heath didn’t object, but stood by to give pointers.

“Looks like we have a little foodie in the team now,” Heath remarked, watching Charmander munch the duck meat faster and faster, unable to suppress a laugh.

“Leek!” Farfetch’d flapped its wings proudly, evidently pleased with itself. Heath glanced at him; his skills at roasting duck had indeed improved.

“So, Farfetch’d, how’s your non-stick technique coming along?” Heath asked, deciding to humble the overconfident Pokémon.

“Leek-leek says its wings are sore. It’ll practice again tomorrow,” Zorua translated, mouth full of oily meat, making Heath worry whether his fur would end up stuck together.

Heath sighed at Farfetch’d’s laziness—so much for all that bravado. It seemed this “non-stick” technique would be a long-term endeavor.

Just as Heath was about to say something else, he noticed that Charmander had already finished the roast duck and was now standing beside Farfetch’d, staring intently at the duck’s two legs.

Heath glanced at the roast duck—sure enough, both legs were gone.

“You, why are you so lazy? How can you be a chef if you’re that lazy? You even promised Sister Maple you’d master it,” Heath chided, though most of his attention was still on Charmander.

Charmander’s mouth began to water. He wiped it, swallowed, then opened his jaws and aimed at Farfetch’d’s legs.

“Leek! Leek!” Farfetch’d flapped its wings in protest, completely unaware of the threat beside him.

The next second, a small burst of flame shot from Charmander’s mouth, singeing a patch of feathers on Farfetch’d’s foot.

Heath watched the scene before him, his expression growing ever more peculiar.