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Ethan had already signed up for the solo competition a while ago.
The team registration, however, was only submitted on the second day.
That same day, Ethan declined the group's invitation to train together. After finishing his morning classes, he headed straight for the Card Crafter Association.
After making cards over the past few days, his Spirit Crystals were nearly depleted again. He'd originally thought a hundred or so would last a while, but they burned through fast once you actually started spending them.
And this was without creating any Tier 3 cards.
If his success rate was 100%, it wouldn't matter. But it wasn't. Failed attempts still consumed materials.
Inside the Card Crafter Association, various client requests were posted on the walls, and people milled around selling cards in person. There were two reasons sellers came here instead of listing online: first, the system charged transaction fees, and second, defective products weren't allowed on the marketplace.
Take Sir Galahad, for example.
He was a Tier 3 Purple card by nature and possessed uniqueness — it was impossible for anyone to recreate an identical Purple-grade Sir Galahad. However, people could create weakened versions, or a Galahad from a specific point in the legends — younger, less experienced.
A card like that might only be a Tier 2 Blue. It could still be sold, but the market wasn't great. A Tier 2 Galahad could only charge blindly; in actual combat, he was pretty average.
There was also a system mechanic called Completeness. Generally, if a card's Completeness exceeded 70%, the creation succeeded. This was essentially a pity system for novices — most beginners couldn't draw the card face perfectly or input a story that was fully complete and logically consistent.
But low Completeness affected quality, strength, and performance. And cards below 90% Completeness weren't allowed on the official marketplace.
Only the card's owner knew its exact Completeness score — unless someone tested it in actual combat. You could also get a rough sense from the card's color: a high-quality Blue card would have a slight purple tint, while a low-quality one would be tinged with white.
Plenty of veterans exploited this. They'd sell low-Completeness cards at slightly below market price, and newcomers would snatch them up thinking they got a deal — only to discover in battle that their "bargain" was barely functional.
As for Ethan, he wasn't here to sell. He was here to see if there were any custom orders that suited him.
Just expanding his deck to fifteen cards had drained him down to about fifty Spirit Crystals. And that was without creating a single Tier 3 card.
Part of the problem was that Tier 2 cards were tricky to calibrate. If the imagined power level exceeded the Tier 2 ceiling, the creation failed. Too low, and it dropped to White quality.
It was like trying to stuff a Saiyan-level warrior into a starter card — the system just wouldn't allow it.
Arriving at the Association and looking up at the massive building, Ethan couldn't help but marvel at the importance this world placed on Card Makers. Even with the original body's memories, seeing it in person still hit different.
People were shouting near the entrance, hawking cards. Ethan ignored them and walked straight into the main hall.
On a wall to the side of the lobby, dozens of request forms were pinned up.
This was what he'd come for.
He could sell his own cards — Purple cards would fetch serious money — but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Every card he created from his own imagination felt like half his child. Asking him to sell Pikachu to a stranger? Not happening.
And selling unknown Blue cards on the marketplace was nearly impossible. Buyers could only see a basic description and the card face — no detailed abilities or functions. So most people searched for specific cards they already knew about.
That was why so many sellers were outside hawking in person.
Ethan scanned the request forms one by one. Most were looking for standard Arthurian knight cards or generic support cards. Nothing special.
Until he reached the middle of the wall, where a pink form caught his eye.
[Request: Custom intelligent pet-type Purple card. Tier 1 or Tier 2, either acceptable. Core requirement: cuteness.]
[Reward: Starting at 100 Spirit Crystals. Details negotiable in person.]
A phone number was listed below.
Ethan's eyes lit up. Tier 1 and 2 cards were exactly his sweet spot right now. And as for cuteness? The Pokémon series had hundreds of suitable candidates.
More importantly, a thought hit him like lightning: he could mass-produce Pokémon Purple cards.
Ordinary card systems were built around singular characters with unique story paths — making it nearly impossible to create duplicate high-quality cards. But Pokémon were different. Pokémon weren't unique individuals. As long as he set different living environments, backstories, and personalities, he could create entirely separate Pikachu cards — different individuals of the same species.
And most Pokémon couldn't speak. They wouldn't accidentally expose the secret that his cards retained memories across summons.
Mass-producing Purple cards...
Ethan's heart hammered. This was simply unimaginable in this world.
If it worked, the Spirit Crystal problem would be solved forever.
But unless absolutely necessary, it was better not to flood the market. Draw too much attention and people would start asking questions.
He pulled out his phone and dialed the number on the request form.
"Hello." A deep male voice answered.
Ethan blinked. He'd assumed someone requesting a "cute pet card" would be a woman.
"Hi — I saw your request form at the Card Crafter Association. I wanted to ask if you have specific requirements for the custom pet card? Like, are you looking for something common like a cat or dog, or something more unique?"
Two seconds of silence. "Custom? You mean you can make a card to my specifications? You're not just selling something premade?" The surprise in his voice was obvious.
"That's right. I can design and build it to your preferences."
Another pause. "How about this — text me. We can go into more detail there."
He gave his number.
"Sure." Ethan hung up and sent a text.
The reply came in under two seconds: "Hello. You're saying you don't have a finished card — it's pure custom work?"
"Correct. I can design the card according to your specific needs," Ethan replied.
Half a mile away, on the top floor of the Meridian Tower, Nathan Graves sat behind a wide mahogany desk, staring at his phone.
He'd posted this request a month ago. Over a dozen people had contacted him since then, and every single one was trying to sell a premade pet card. Not one person had offered to build something custom.
Custom card creation was no joke. Even veteran Card Makers with decades of experience wouldn't guarantee they could produce a Purple card on demand.
Nathan tapped on Ethan's social profile. The most recent post was a university acceptance letter from last year.
A sophomore?
A sophomore student is taking custom orders? Nathan frowned. Honestly, he was more inclined to think this was a prank.
But he genuinely needed a suitable pet card. After a long internal debate, he typed: "Is it convenient to meet in person? I'm on the top floor of the Meridian Tower. I can send you the address if you're coming."
"Sure. On my way."
A few minutes later, Ethan stood at the entrance of the Meridian Tower.
Glass curtain walls rose dozens of stories above him, reflecting the afternoon sun. The place made Bayshore Tech's nicest building look like a storage shed.
In his previous life, after more than a decade of freelance work, he'd never once set foot in an office building this nice.
The express elevator took him straight to the top floor, where Nathan's secretary was already waiting.
"Mr. Cole? Mr. Graves is expecting you. Right this way."
She led him to a heavy oak door and knocked.
"Come in."
Ethan pushed the door open and was immediately struck by the view. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked half of Bayshore City. The floor was polished hardwood that gleamed like glass. Potted plants sat in the corners. The desk was spotless. A lounge area with leather sofas occupied one side of the room.
"Hello — I'm Nathan Graves." Nathan stood, poured a glass of water, set it on the coffee table, and gestured to the sofa opposite his. "Have a seat."
"Thank you, Mr. Graves. I'm Ethan Cole." Ethan took the glass carefully. His fingers touched the cool surface, and he relaxed a fraction.
This was his first time doing business in a setting like this. He felt a little out of his depth.
"Just Nathan is fine." Nathan smiled, his tone warm. "So — you can really build a card to spec? No joke?"
"No joke." Ethan shook his head. "I can't guarantee it'll perfectly match every detail of what you have in mind — everyone's definition of 'cute' is a little different. But I'll do my best to design it to your preferences."
Nathan nodded and got straight to business. "Do you have any cards you've already made? I'd like to see your style."
"I do." Ethan pulled out his deck and found the Pikachu card. "This is a Tier 2 Purple card I made called Pikachu. Take a look."
He activated it. After a flash of light, Pikachu landed on the coffee table with a cheerful "Pika!" and tilted its head at Nathan, ears twitching.
The moment Nathan saw Pikachu, his expression changed completely.
He'd seen plenty of pet cards in his life — most modeled after real animals. Cats, dogs, rabbits, birds.
But this was something else entirely. Bright yellow body, pointy ears, two little red circles on its cheeks. It didn't look like any real animal he'd ever seen — more like something from a children's picture book brought to life. So cute it was almost weaponized.
"This style is... very unique." Nathan reached out and gently patted Pikachu's head.
Pikachu didn't resist. It nuzzled his palm.
"Do you have others in this style?" Nathan asked.
"Just this one for now," Ethan said. "But everything I make going forward will have a similar aesthetic. If you like it, the custom card will feel just like this."
Nathan was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice had softened noticeably.
"Let me tell you about my situation. My wife and I divorced recently. I have custody of our daughter. Her name is Evie — she's seven, and she absolutely loves cats."
He paused.
"But Evie is allergic to cat dander. Keeping a real cat is impossible. I originally wanted a cat-type pet card, but I found out that most animal cards retain their real-life biological traits. Cat cards still shed fur, and Evie would still have allergic reactions from touching them. So I started looking for something different."
Ethan nodded. "You want a pet card that doesn't shed and won't trigger her allergies."
"Exactly." Nathan's eyes drifted to Pikachu. "After seeing this, I had an idea. For a card in your art style — is the fur the same as a real animal's? Does it shed?"
That question stumped Ethan.
He genuinely hadn't noticed. Pikachu got summoned all the time, but he'd never once seen it shed fur.
"I'm... honestly not sure," he said. "I've never paid attention to it. No one's ever asked before."
Nathan didn't seem disappointed. After a moment's thought, he said: "Then let's try making a cat-type one. Regardless of whether it ends up being allergy-safe, as long as it's in this art style and it's a cute Purple card, I'll pay 100 Spirit Crystals for a Tier 1, or 200 for a Tier 2."
He looked at Ethan steadily. "If it turns out to be hypoallergenic, I'll raise the price. We can negotiate the specifics later."
"Deal!" Ethan agreed immediately.
Under normal circumstances, a Tier 1 Purple card sold for twenty or thirty Spirit Crystals at best. Nathan was offering a hundred minimum, with room to go higher. This was a gift from the heavens.
"You can start now? You don't need to go home and brainstorm?" Nathan raised an eyebrow.
"No need. I already have something in mind." Ethan said. "Do you have a quiet space? I can make it right here."
Nathan looked genuinely surprised, then smiled. "Use my office. It's quiet enough. How long do you need? I'll step out so I don't disturb you."
"Half an hour."
"Done." Nathan grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "I'll take a walk downstairs. There's a water cooler in the corner if you get thirsty."
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
Only Ethan and Pikachu remained in the office.
Pikachu hopped onto his shoulder and nuzzled his cheek.
"Time to work." Ethan smiled, patted its head, then recalled it.
He already had the perfect candidate in mind: Eevee.
Technically, Eevee was closer to a fox than a cat. But what Nathan didn't know wouldn't hurt him. The people here had never seen either species in animated form — and Eevee looked cat-like enough. Big eyes, fluffy mane, small and cuddly. Nobody would question it.
Twenty minutes later, a Tier 1 Purple card was complete.
On the card face, Eevee lay on a patch of grass with wide, expressive eyes — docile and adorable.
( IMAGE HERE )
Ethan held it up, examined it, and set it down with a satisfied nod.
Right at the half-hour mark, the office door opened.
Nathan walked in holding a cup of boba tea, which he handed to Ethan. "Grabbed this downstairs. Didn't know what you liked, so I went with classic pearl, thirty percent sugar."
"Thanks, Nathan." Ethan took the cup, genuinely touched. He hadn't expected the man to think of that.
Nathan's gaze fell on the Eevee card sitting on the desk. He walked over, picked it up, and studied it closely.
The Eevee on the card face was even cuter than he'd imagined. Soft brown fur, big liquid eyes, an alert little face that radiated intelligence.
"This is called... Eevee?" Nathan looked up.
"Yeah. Eevee — Tier 1 Purple." Ethan nodded. "I set her personality to be playful and well-behaved. She can also help watch over kids. Should be a perfect fit for Evie."
Nathan said nothing. He just activated the card.
A flash of light, and a small Eevee appeared on the desk.
It looked around curiously, spotted Nathan, and padded over to nuzzle his finger with its head.
Nathan reached out and stroked its fur.
Silky. Soft. And not a single hair came loose.
He rubbed it again. Checked his palm. Perfectly clean.
Again. Still nothing.
"I'm very satisfied," Nathan said, setting Eevee down. "But ultimately, Evie's opinion is what matters. She has to like it."
He paused. "Regardless of whether Evie likes it or not, I'll give you 200 Spirit Crystals. If she does like it, I'll add another 300 — total of 500. If she doesn't, you can make another one, same terms."
"Five hundred Spirit Crystals?" Ethan almost choked on his boba.
"Yes." Nathan smiled. "This Eevee is very much to my liking. It's worth every crystal."
There was something else he didn't mention. His daughter's name was Evie. And this creature was called Eevee.
Evie and Eevee.
He really, really liked that.
"I'll transfer 200 now. The rest tonight, after I've shown Evie."
"Thank you, Nathan." Ethan nodded, his heart singing.
They completed the transaction through the system. Once the transfer confirmed, the deal was done.
"I'll have my secretary show you out," Nathan offered.
"No need — I can find my way." Ethan declined politely.
Walking out of the Meridian Tower and into the afternoon sunlight, Ethan couldn't keep the grin off his face.
This trip to the Card Crafter Association had been very much worth it. Not only had he solved his Spirit Crystal shortage, but he'd found an entirely new revenue stream.
Ee vee! Vee-vee! - Plz throw powerstones.