"Oh, you! You look like a harmless, wide-eyed little fatty, but you're actually dishonest to the bone! Playing mind games with me, huh?"
Miles laughed out of sheer frustration. To teach the little guy a profound lesson, he decided to dish out some hardcore 'tough love.'
Thrusting out his right hand, he dramatically blew a hot breath onto his palm as if channeling some peerless inner energy.
He swung his arm in a wide arc. The sheer force tore through the air, landing a heavy, merciless slap right onto Munchlax's bouncy, plump rear.
"Take my ultimate Flaming Iron Sand Palm!" he shouted.
Smack!
A crisp, resounding slap echoed through the cramped rental apartment. A bright red handprint was left clearly stamped across Munchlax's grayish-blue backside.
"Munch?!"
'Master?! Are you for real?!'
The little Pokémon's eyes, which had just been gleaming with secret delight, instantly bulged wider than a Tauros's. It turned its head around to stare at Miles in absolute disbelief, radiating genuine shock as if it had suffered a monumental betrayal.
'Oh, crap... I think I put too much into that,' Miles thought.
A twinge of guilt and heartache washed over him as he stared at the red mark. He quickly crouched down and gently rubbed Munchlax's behind to soothe the pain.
In truth, only Miles knew the real story. Slapping that resilient layer of fat had generated a massive recoil, leaving his own hand numb and stinging!
He wanted to gasp in pain, but to maintain his authority as a Trainer, he forced his expression to remain perfectly stoic.
On the surface, he was tenderly comforting his Pokémon. In reality, he was pitifully using Munchlax's bouncy rear to massage away the agonizing pain in his own hand.
His epic 'Flaming Iron Sand Palm' had hurt his opponent a little, but dealt devastating self-damage.
"There, there. A spanking only hurts for a second. It won't do any real damage," Miles said, his tone shifting into an earnest lecture while he continued to rub. "I hit you that hard because you needed to remember this."
"The outside world is dangerous. What if I wasn't home and you opened the door for a stranger? You could be kidnapped by bad guys. Then you'd never see me again, and you'd never get to eat any more delicious food. What would you do then?"
Right at that moment, Munchlax's aggrieved thoughts transmitted clearly into Miles's mind.
'Waaah... so unfair... This is the first time Master has ever hit me this hard! But I really memorized it! There are scary bad guys outside, so I absolutely, positively can never open the door for any strangers! Not even if they try to tempt me with super yummy Pokéblocks!'
'But... Master's Flaming Iron Sand Palm was amazing! My butt was on fire! Master must be the strongest Trainer in the whole world!'
Hearing that innocent stream of thoughts—full of grievance yet still brimming with absolute trust and blind admiration—left Miles feeling torn. His heart ached for the silly little guy yet he couldn't help smiling with relieved tenderness.
This little fatty had actually mistaken the sheer sting of the slap for real fire? Its bizarre logic was simply too adorable! Then again, extreme pain transmitted through the nerves did often carry a fiery, burning sensation. The little guy's perception was technically quite sharp.
'It seems this hardcore tough love was super effective,' Miles thought, nodding in satisfaction.'
At the same time, he couldn't help but marvel at how convenient and overpowered the 'Voice of All Things' skill truly was.
If he didn't have this cheat ability to hear the inner thoughts, there was no way a human could perfectly tailor his teaching methods or understand the emotional inner worlds of these magical creatures.
Certain that Munchlax had thoroughly realized its mistake, Miles issued the command to deactivate the skill.
Keeping it active drained his Influence Points far too quickly; every second burned through his precious reserves. He had to remember to toggle it off immediately after use to save his resources for when it truly mattered.
"Alright, the alarm is lifted. Let's go get the food," he said, patting Munchlax's head.
He stood up and headed for the security door. He had just placed a massive order for top-tier Pokémon kibble on the local city network.
Munchlax was in the middle of a ridiculous growth spurt, its appetite turning into a literal bottomless pit. To keep his little glutton from gnawing on the table legs out of sheer hunger in the middle of the night, Miles had practically drained his wallet—ordering a staggering one hundred and fifty pounds of food in a single go.
Even packed in heavy-duty ten-pound vacuum bags, that was still fifteen massive sacks. Stacked together, it would form a spectacular mountain of kibble.
Click!
The security door swung open, triggering the dim motion-sensor lights in the hallway.
Standing at the threshold was a middle-aged man in a blue uniform, his face lit up with an almost overly enthusiastic, respectful smile.
It was the owner of the delivery station downstairs.
"Oh! Master Miles! My great benefactor! I've come to deliver your goods personally!"
Seeing Miles, the boss's face scrunched up into a mass of happy wrinkles.
"Oh! Master Miles—my great benefactor! I've come to deliver your order personally!"
The moment he saw Miles, the boss's face crinkled into a bundle of delighted wrinkles, his smile practically overflowing with enthusiasm.
Under normal circumstances, he relied on hired workers and Fighting-type Pokémon to handle heavy deliveries. The only reason he had set everything aside to come in person was twofold: first, to express his heartfelt gratitude face-to-face, and second, to take the opportunity to get on good terms with the renowned Pokémon appraiser.
"You're too kind, Boss. 'Master' is really too much," Miles replied with a light, courteous laugh. "We're neighbors—it's only natural to look out for each other. And thank you for making the trip up here yourself."
Although he was an authoritative, aloof, and sharp-tongued Appraiser on his stream, he maintained an easygoing, approachable demeanor in everyday life.
While chatting with the boss, Miles's sharp gaze had already drifted over the man's shoulder, landing on a massive, visually oppressive shadow looming behind him.
Miles had expected the boss to bring along one of the usual porters—a Machop-line Pokémon—to handle the hundred and fifty pounds of cargo.
Instead, the "laborer" standing behind him was something else entirely—an incredibly rare specimen radiating the raw, violent presence of an armored tank.
It shared a few traits with the Machop family: a deep blue body… and overwhelming, monstrous strength hidden beneath its frame.
'Heracross…!' Miles's eyes flickered with surprise.
Heracross stood like a colossal rhinoceros beetle, magnified several times over and built for battle. Its entire body was encased in a dense, midnight-blue carapace that gleamed with a cold, metallic sheen under the dim hallway lights.
The sheer density of that armor—its hardness—was enough to deflect bullets or even withstand a blade without leaving so much as a scratch.
Jutting straight up from the center of its broad, rounded head was a massive horn—thick as a heavy jousting lance. At the tip, it split into a lethal fork, resembling a grim reaper's bowtie from a distance, or a razor-edged entrenching tool up close. In battle, it could easily launch opponents ten times its own weight high into the air.
At the base of that imposing horn sat two small but highly sensitive antennae—biological radars capable of detecting scent molecules across vast distances, guiding it toward its favorite sweet tree sap.
Yet the most striking contrast lay in its face. Its eyes and mouth clustered neatly beneath the horn, giving it an unexpectedly gentle expression. Bright yellow sclera framed its dark pupils, and its mouth naturally curved into a soft, "W"-shaped smile. Despite the heavy, intimidating armor, it carried a strangely docile—almost goofy—charm.
Heracross
Miles's sharp, professional gaze swept downward.
Its forelimbs were noticeably longer than its hind legs, packed with dense, well-defined muscle. This structure—reminiscent of real-world burrowing beetles—allowed it to dig through hard soil and stone or tear through thick roots with ease. From its wrists extended sharp, menacing bone spurs, while its claws curved into hooked, gripping digits.
In contrast, its hind legs were shorter but incredibly sturdy, with thigh muscles bulging like stacked boulders—built to withstand the violent recoil of its own immense strength. Stabilizing spikes protruded along the outer thighs, enabling it to anchor itself firmly into the ground or tree trunks.
With this perfectly balanced lower body, it could unleash the full extent of its monstrous power without sacrificing stability for even a moment.
This was the ultimate violent machine—a perfect fusion of Bug and Fighting types. A heavy-duty powerhouse that debuted at its peak, with no evolutionary forms—Heracross.
'Honestly… it looks just like Kabutack', Miles praised inwardly. 'That heavy armor aesthetic paired with such a badass name… way too cool.'
Beside his legs, Munchlax poked its round, grayish-blue head out to peek.
But the little Pokémon's burning gaze wasn't on Heracross at all.
It was locked—like a starving wolf—onto the fifteen bags of premium Pokémon kibble draped across the Bug-type's body.
Its mouth slowly fell open. A crystal-clear strand of drool stretched from its lips—'Plop'. Right onto Miles's slipper.
Standing at the doorway, the station boss watched this bizarre scene with a puzzled look. Why was this Munchlax staring at the food with such… unsettling intensity?
Then he remembered how ferociously it had eaten earlier. That explained everything. The little guy clearly ate like a reincarnated starving ghost.
"Yes, only Heracross can handle this kind of load with ease," the boss said with a satisfied smile before giving the order. "Heracross, go ahead and carry everything inside for Master Miles."
Heracross gave a calm nod. Its thick, hydraulic-press-like arms lifted five bags in each hand without the slightest strain—
And with effortless balance, it stacked the remaining five across its back.
A crushing weight of one hundred and fifty pounds pressed down on the Pokémon—yet despite standing under five feet tall, Heracross didn't so much as break a sweat. There was no heaviness in its steps, no strain in its posture. It moved as effortlessly as if it were carrying nothing more than a bundle of cotton.
According to the Federation's Pokémon Biological Pokédex, a fully grown Heracross could use its mighty horn to hurl objects one hundred times its own weight into the air.
The key word—'effortlessly'.
Which meant the one hundred and fifty pounds it carried now didn't even count as a proper warm-up. Its true strength was simply beyond imagination.
Heracross stepped into Miles's slightly cramped apartment and carefully set the bags down, stacking them neatly in the corner. Not a single harsh thud echoed through the room. Every movement was controlled, precise—
The perfect image of a reliable, hardworking, and utterly uncomplaining laborer.
It was impossible not to admire a Pokémon like that.
"Tsk… people always say the Machop line are the best helpers in the transport industry," Miles muttered, watching the broad back with clear appreciation. "But after seeing this… Heracross is even better."
"On top of that, once a Heracross matures, its strength and physique are already at their peak. There's no need to carefully plan evolutions like with Machoke or Machamp. This is practically a miracle worker."
"Hehe, you've got a sharp eye, Master Miles!" the boss said with a proud grin. "This one's truly top-class when it comes to heavy lifting."
However, a bitter, helpless expression quickly replaced the boss's proud smile. He rubbed his lower back with lingering fear and let out a long sigh.
"But… as capable as this big guy is, it has one fatal flaw." He hesitated for a moment. "Its temper."
"It needs to consume a huge amount of highly sweet natural tree sap—or special nectar—every single day. And when it's eating… it becomes extremely protective. You absolutely cannot interrupt it."
As he spoke, the boss lifted the hem of his blue uniform, revealing a horrifying bruise—swollen, purple-black, and spreading across his side.
"Look at this! Just last week!"
His expression turned pained as he recalled the incident.
"Packages were piling up at the station, and I urgently needed it to unload a truck. I saw it dragging its feet, slowly licking a jar of sap, and I got impatient. So I walked over, smacked its horn, and told it to hurry up."
He shook his head, still shaken.
"And just like that, it snapped! Didn't even look at me—just lowered its head and used that horn like a forklift to fling me over ten feet!"
He exhaled heavily.
"If it had used an actual Move… I might not be standing here talking to you."
The boss looked at Miles with a pleading expression.
"Master Miles… you're experienced. Please, give me some advice. Is there any way to fix this explosive, food-guarding temper?"
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