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The Poké Ball rolled half a turn in his palm; Ariel didn't spare it a second glance.
The leader was still submerged. He counted the beats, waiting for that massive dark shadow to surface again, waiting for its dorsal fin to break the water—
He threw it.
The Poké Ball traced a seventeen-meter arc, smashing down right against the leader's head. A red light sucked it in, and the Gyarados vanished into the sphere.
The ball hit the water, bounced twice, and sank.
The indicator didn't surface.
One second, two seconds, three seconds.
The vibration stopped.
Greninja scooped the Poké Ball out of the water and tossed it back.
Ariel caught it with one hand, gave it a squeeze, and clipped it onto his belt.
With the leader gone, it took less than two minutes for the remaining Magikarp swarm to scatter.
These creatures had no concept of strategy; they only recognized strength. Once the leader fell, the survivors fled.
The Gyarados were separated in the chaos, fighting individual battles and being caught one by one.
Ariel stood at the bow, looking at the stretch of sea that had been a chaotic mess twenty minutes ago; now, only a few stragglers remained circling the surface.
As the combat members performed their final cleanup, these isolated Gyarados were defeated one after another.
The setting sun pressed the water into a deep orange. In the distance, a few seagulls skimmed low, their wingtips brushing the water before they turned and flew away.
The area was cleared.
...
The submarine's inner cabin was much quieter than the outside. The insulation suppressed the sound of the waves to a slight vibration. The lights were white and leaned toward a cold hue.
Yuki sat by the control console, holding an electronic tablet, waiting for Ariel to enter.
Ariel took off his coat at the hatch, hung it on a hook, and walked over.
Yuki handed him the tablet.
"Thirteen high-aptitude Gyarados captured."
"Aptitudes range from Superior to Gym Leader Level."
She said, "Three deaths. The corpses have been recovered and are in the cryogenic chamber. There are over a hundred other Water-type Pokémon kept in temporary Poké Balls."
Ariel didn't take the tablet, only glancing at the numbers.
He nodded.
"Casualty report."
Yuki flipped down a page.
"Number One: torn right shoulder, moderate bleeding, treated. Number Two: hit in the chest by a tail swipe, preliminary diagnosis of minor rib fracture, will confirm with X-rays back at base. Number Three: fractured left leg, stabilized with a splint, autonomous movement restricted. Number Four: a cut on the face from a fish scale, not deep. Number Five: hand burn from Water-type energy splash, treated. Number Six: sprained right knee, slight walking issues, not serious. Number Seven: bumped head, minor concussion, under observation. Number Eight: torn webbing on left hand after being grazed by a Gyarados. Number Nine: multiple abrasions all over from tumbling underwater, four stitches on the deepest wound on the back."
Yuki paused.
"Zero fatalities."
Ariel placed the tablet back on the console without saying a word.
He walked toward the rear cabin.
Numbers One through Nine were scattered across two rows of seats, their heads bowed.
Number Three's left leg was propped up on the adjacent seat, the splint neatly tied.
Number Seven leaned against the cabin wall with eyes half-closed, someone watching over him.
Seeing Ariel enter, everyone straightened their backs.
Number Three tried to stand but was held down by the person next to him.
Ariel's gaze swept across their faces. He didn't speak, standing in the center for four seconds.
Silence itself was enough.
"You were three seconds too slow."
He said,
"When we return, training will be doubled."
The rear cabin went silent for a beat.
Number Nine was the first to respond: "Yes, sir."
Then everyone followed, in unison.
No frowning, no complaining.
Despite the fractures and stitches, their responses were just as crisp as if they were answering a roll call on the training grounds, rather than nursing injuries in the back of a jolting submarine.
Ariel glanced at Number Three.
Number Three understood:
"It was my mistake, sir. It won't happen again."
Ariel turned and left.
He sat in the front cabin, leaning against the wall, and closed his eyes.
The foundation of this group wasn't bad—the fact that they could still respond like this after a fight showed they hadn't been truly broken.
Injuries were the price, but their mental state hadn't collapsed, which was more critical than technical errors.
For many, what broke after their first hard battle wasn't their bodies, but something else.
They hadn't broken.
Ariel was very satisfied with this.
Team Rockets' medical technology was sufficient; these injuries, whether fractures or wounds from Pokémon attacks, could be healed quickly.
...
The submarine docked under the cover of night.
The pier lights were a cold white. Two logistics personnel waited outside to take the crates of Poké Balls, while the injured Team Evil members were carried away on stretchers.
They would receive Team Rockets' highest quality treatment.
Yuki walked beside Ariel, archiving the tablet and syncing the data.
"Are we sending this data to headquarters?"
"Send it."
"What should I note?"
"Standard report."
Yuki clicked her tongue. Without looking up, she typed as she walked. After a few words, she stopped:
"The phrase 'standard report'... if headquarters asks why the capture rate is so high and there were only three deaths, how should I respond?"
"Let them figure it out themselves."
Yuki paused, glanced up at him, then looked back down and typed six words in the remarks column—
"Analyze the specific situation yourselves."
Ariel said nothing, which was a tacit agreement.
"By the way, keep ten high-aptitude Gyarados to distribute to each member of Team Evil."
Ariel added.
"And what if the Superiors are dissatisfied with that?"
"Remember, within the Team Rockets organization in Hoenn, no one can tell me what to do except for Lady Ariana."
Ariel's words were startling, but his tone was incredibly flat.
Yuki nodded excitedly beside him.
In her heart, Lord Ruth's majestic image became a bit more concrete.
...
The news spread through the base twice as fast as he had estimated.
Two logistics members he encountered in the corridor stopped and nodded to him, giving him an extra look—not the routine greeting kind, but a look of confirmation.
Team Rockets had its own way of circulating information. What someone did never needed a formal announcement; it always found a way to leak out first.
Team Evil took down an entire sea area, thirteen high-aptitude Gyarados, hundreds of Water-type Pokémon, under Ariel's command.
As these words circulated internally, the weight they carried was heavier than any formal report.
Internally, reputation determined resources, task priority, and how much the higher-ups were willing to allocate to you.
Ariel had no romanticized views on this system, but he knew how to use it.
More importantly—Team Evil now had its first reason for existing.
It was no longer just a code name; after today, it was a unit with a track record. People knew what it could do and who its commander was.
This kind of recognition had nothing to do with honorary certificates.
Ariel walked into his room, lined up the Poké Balls on the shelf one by one, and stood by the window for a while, looking at the harbor at night.
The sea breeze drifted in through the window crack, carrying a salty, fishy scent.
He thought of the way Greninja had scooped up the Poké Ball and thrown it back. It was a bit lazy, but accurate—likely knowing he would definitely catch it, so it didn't bother aiming carefully and just casually flicked it over.
Understanding didn't need to be spoken.
He turned, sat down at the desk, and opened the next mission file.
There was still much to do.