The world didn’t need another Rocket grunt. Giovanni knew that.

  What it needed——were specialists. People with potential. The kind that, in another life, might've been laughed at. Dismissed. Wasted.

  Not this time.

  The back offices of the Viridian Gym were usually off-limits to the average trainer. But for James, the space had become his classroom. A pristine desk, stacks of financial reports, Rocket inventory manifests, and Matori—his instructor, judge, and sometimes babysitter.

  “You forgot to calculate shipping costs again,” Matori snapped, red pen flying across James's report. “If we buy TMs in bulk from Unova, it factor in cross-regional tariffs.”

  James winced. “Right. Right. I just… thought the price was so good!”

  “And that’s how we lose millions,” Matori said flatly.

  Growlithe barked once from the side of the room, tail wagging as it pounced on a Smoochum in mock combat. Baby Pokémon were sparring gently while James worked—his Growlithe, Meowth, and a few others Giovanni had recently acquired.

  “Again,” Matori continued, “Your family fortune is vast, but wealth isn’t infinite. If you want to build something of your own, you’ll need more than your name.”

  James adjusted his tie nervously. “I… I do. I really do.”

  From the observation window above, Giovanni watched silently. Another case, he mused, that his had never used properly. In another world, this boy was a punchline. A rich, pampered fool chasing love and failure.

  Not here.

  Here, he would be crafted into Rocket’s future face. A charming heir, polished in both business and battle. And if he slipped? Giovanni had just the right people to catch him.

  Later that afternoon, the Gym lights dimmed as the next challenger stepped onto the field. A cocky teenager with a spiky mohawk and two Poké Balls clipped to his belt.

  “I came to take the badge from the big boss himself,” he sneered. “But I guess this little furball’s my warm-up?”

  Meowth stretched lazily onto the battlefield, tail flicking once before settling into a battle stance.

  “No substitutions,” Giovanni said simply. “Just Meowth.”

  The challenger tossed out a Machop first.

  Meowth’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t even glance back at Giovanni. He didn’t need to.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The bell rang.

  Machop lunged—Meowth dodged, fast. Too fast. He danced around punches like he’d seen them coming five seconds ago.

  Then, with a feint left and a spin to the right, Meowth landed a perfectly-timed to the back of Machop’s head. Out cold.

  The second Pokémon—a Gastly—came next. Trickier, floating, phasing in and out. But Meowth stayed calm. Waited. Lured it in.

  Then—. Straight through the illusions. One clean hit.

  The battle was over.

  Meowth didn’t speak—not out loud. But as he turned to walk back toward Giovanni, he muttered just under his breath:

  “This guy thinks I’m just a cat. Buddy, I’m the cat.”

  Giovanni raised an eyebrow. Barely had to give a command.

  he thought.

  Out loud, he said only: “Matori. Add tactical development to Meowth’s training schedule.”

  As Meowth trotted past, tail high, he added in a grumble: “Sheesh, I deserve a raise…”

  Giovanni leaned forward, voice low. “Careful what you say. You keep talking like that in public, and Oak might dissect you out of curiosity.”

  Meowth froze.

  “...Noted.”

  In a remote town blanketed in snow, Jessie scammed her third tourist of the day with a fake map to a “famous hot spring” that didn’t exist. Her fingers were cold, her coat thin, and her stomach was empty.

  She ducked into an abandoned bus stop and hugged herself.

  No one ever gave her answers. Just whispers—about a woman named Miyamoto, who’d vanished chasing a legend. The name “Team Rocket” was never far behind.

  The snow crunched.

  She turned—and saw him. A tall man in a black coat, flanked by a Persian, cutting through the wind like it wasn’t even there.

  Giovanni.

  “I knew your mother,” he said simply. “She worked under Madame Boss. Chasing Mew.”

  Jessie blinked, wide-eyed. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not.” He stepped closer. “She was brave. One of our best. But the mission cost her everything. And Rocket? It left you behind.”

  Jessie looked away. Her hands curled into fists. “So what? You here to recruit me? Just because I’ve got her blood?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m here to offer you something better.”

  A pause.

  “Education. Training. A life. You want to be A Trainer? You can. Under Rocket’s guidance. Quietly. ”

  She hesitated. So much pride in her chest, but... too many nights like this. Alone. Cold. Angry.

  “Do I get my own room?”

  Giovanni smirked. “Eventually.”

  Jessie folded her arms. “Then... fine. But I’m not calling you ‘boss’.”

  He turned. “You will.”

  Back at Rocket HQ.

  James, half-absorbed in a finance report and absentmindedly juggling a Poké Ball, turned a corner—and crashed straight into someone.

  Papers flew. The Poké Ball hit the floor and rolled away. James stumbled back, eyes wide.

  “” he blurted, heart racing.

  The red-haired woman bristled. “”

  She shoved him back, blue eyes blazing. “Do I like someone who collects creepy porcelain dolls and locks people in basements? The name’s ”

  James blinked. “W-Well—no! I mean—not exactly—it’s just—the hair—”

  “” Jessie snapped. “And Don’t get it twisted.”

  Meowth strolled by with a rice ball in paw, barely pausing as he gave the scene a sideways glance.

  “Oh great,” he muttered, “He’s got trauma. That explains much.”

  James straightened his coat, face flushed. “I—I was just caught off guard…”

  Jessie rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Just don’t make it a habit.”

  James blinked again. “Wait—are you new here too?”

  “Yeah,” Jessie said, already walking off. “And if you compare me to that Jessiebelle again, I’ll feed you to your own Growlithe.”

  She disappeared down the hall, leaving James standing there, stunned.

  Upstairs, Giovanni watched the exchange play out on the security monitor. He took a thoughtful sip of coffee.

  “This,” he muttered to Matori beside him, “is either going to be a disaster… or a masterpiece.”