Pokemon Paldea [339-340] (Patreon)

Chapter 339: The Miltank Forced to Roll

Lucas's voice cracked like thunder out of a clear sky right beside Victini's ear.

Its body went rigid; it even forgot to maintain invisibility for a moment and accidentally revealed half of its right hand.

Truly—accidentally showed a hand.

Nurse Joy paused slightly, a trace of doubt flickering in her eyes.

What was that—was it a Pokémon?

Seeing that familiar creamy arm and those orange three-toed fingers, Lucas sighed. He'd already had a hunch on the road when he noticed Comfey interacting with someone.

A Pokémon this mischievous that can also turn invisible—could the clue be any clearer than pointing straight at Victini?

So Lucas had known from the start that Victini had snuck along, and he hadn't minded much. He just didn't expect the little guy really thought it was undetected—staring at the berry juice and drooling, yet stubbornly refusing to show itself.

Maybe once it was found out, Victini just gave up pretending. It popped right into view, crystalline liquid at the corner of its mouth, and eagerly took the two cups of berry juice Lucas handed over.

"Vii~"

One cup of sweet-and-tart berry juice down, and Victini clasped its cheeks with delight like a little mouse that had stolen some cheese.

"Look how greedy you are," Lucas scolded with a smile. Then he turned to the surprised Nurse Joy, who was staring at Victini, and asked, "Nurse Joy, do you think having Shuckle make the medicine is feasible?"

Pulling her gaze away from Victini, Nurse Joy lowered her head, pondered briefly, and replied.

"It should be feasible. I've heard that in the far-off Johto region, many pharmacies use Shuckle's ability for compounding."

"If I recall correctly, the principle is—"

Nurse Joy pulled a book from the side, flipped to the relevant page from memory, studied it for a moment, and spoke with certainty.

"Shuckle can secrete a mysterious bodily fluid. It can, to a certain extent, stimulate the efficacy of berries and herbs while fermenting them into the purest juice and medicinal extract."

"However, the only drawback is like the berry juice we just drank. Because it lacks filtration and other refinement steps, the juice and extract can be a bit viscous, making the mouthfeel somewhat sticky."

"If you gather several herbs whose properties don't conflict with that sour leaf in your hand and stuff them together into Shuckle's shell, it should be able to produce the medicine."

Her answer was very detailed—practically laying out a path in front of Lucas.

Taking out pen and paper, Joy wrote down a few mild herbs that practically don't conflict with others and should blend well with the secret seasoning: the Sour Seasoning. She handed the list to Lucas with a slight smile.

"Consider it helping you run an experiment. But when the other herbs you mentioned with different effects mature, I'd prefer you try your own pairings."

Not even at beginner level, Lucas didn't refuse. He accepted the paper and nodded solemnly. "Understood."

"But judging from the two bottles of berry juice we had, the results may vary a lot."

Nurse Joy could win with force, but her brain wasn't just for show, either.

Based on the bottle colors and her Pokémon knowledge, she could guess the different colors likely came from different individual Shuckle.

At her concerned reminder, Lucas offered the answer he'd already prepared.

"I've considered ways to handle that, too."

After buying some vegetables at the market, it was nearly five in the afternoon by the time Lucas returned to the farm.

Victini was happy to help carry the basket—probably thanks to having two cups of berry juice in a row.

Back at the farm, Lucas received the newly delivered tack from Oranguru.

It was custom-made for Mudsdale's build. The overall color was brown—matching Mudsdale's coat—with black and orange accents to make it look less plain.

For riding Pokémon, many trainers and ordinary families have a habit of ordering a set of tack. It makes riding more comfortable and prevents things like the inner thighs getting rubbed raw as if you were riding a horse bareback.

Tack also secures you well, preventing accidental falls from a running or flying ride Pokémon that could cause tragic accidents.

Lucas and Mudsdale would be entering the Pokémon Marathon in Los Platos Town—so professional riding gear was necessary.

Lucas and Oranguru brought the tack to the ranch area, arriving just in time to see five Miltank curled into balls, roaring past along a high slope. Whether speed or force, they seemed to be approaching the limit.

The move Rollout—a physical Rock-type move. In the games, each consecutive hit doubles the move's power: from the second Rollout onward, it's 2x, 4x, 8x, and 16x.

If Defense Curl is used beforehand, the power theoretically doubles again.

In reality, while cumulative power still exists, the real determinant is the compounding speed and momentum during the roll.

All this was info from Whitney, the Miltank rolling expert.

If the four adolescent Miltank on the farm were enjoying the thrill of wind-at-your-back speed, then the Miltank Lucas got from Hanzawa was in a race against life and death.

Focus on the two Pokémon trailing behind the rolling Miltank—one crackling with electricity, one wreathed in flames—following unhurriedly like supervisors.

They were Luxray and Arcanine, invited by the four Miltank to keep them exercising and prevent obesity.

But to the Miltank brought back from Hanzawa Ranch, their supervision felt less friendly.

Hanzawa's philosophy was to keep Miltank comfortable and happy—whatever they liked.

Whitney's philosophy was the opposite extreme: exercise and holistic health.

As a result, after arriving at the ranch, the Miltank with the rare Sap Sipper Ability, armed with a bottomless stomach, spent at least fourteen hours a day eating grass, leaving only eight for sleep.

Letting it eat freely, its growth outpaced even the Moltres at the time, becoming the farm's new reigning chow champ.

No matter how strong its digestion, that level of binging still showed on its body.

If the other Miltank were high-speed rolling spheres—

The Sap Sipper Miltank was pure meat-bullet impact. It rolled with "dong dong" bounces and had impressive spring to it.

Compared to the four companions, its Rollout was a bit half-hearted.

Often, after rolling a while, it would act like it tripped on a stone, flop onto the grass spread-eagled, panting and playing dead like a salted fish.

Yet this one had the best stamina of the five. It was pure laziness.

To help it lose weight, Arcanine and Luxray would give it a nip of flame on the rump or a harmless tingle of electricity to perk it up—just enough to drive it to finish the daily laps.

If Arcanine and Luxray were busy, they'd ask Sawsbuck and Skiddo to come by and occasionally butt it with their horns mid-run to boost its momentum.

Even its own kind worried it would literally become spherical at this rate, so they had to take slightly aggressive measures.

Thankfully, effort pays off. While not yet average-sized, it no longer looked as shockingly obese as at the start.

Singed by fire and jolted by electrotherapy, the Miltank let out a performative wail and grudgingly resumed rolling.

Lucas and Oranguru fell silent for a moment, then chose to detour to find Mudsdale.

Let's pretend we didn't see that.

Later, they'd prepare tasty, nutritious, but slimming food for Miltank and use the massage techniques from Whitney's "Miltank Massage Notes" to give it a proper rubdown.

After all, this was an initiative the Pokémon organized themselves. Whether he supported or opposed, it felt awkward to get involved.

Best to act like he didn't see.

The detour cost some time, but before sunset, Lucas and Oranguru reached the mud paddock where Mudsdale stayed and fitted the tack snugly.

Oranguru had taken the measurements, and though Lucas trusted its reliability, he was still a little uneasy before fitting.

Fortunately, both the measurements and the maker's craftsmanship were excellent. The price was a bit high, but the materials felt top-notch to the touch.

The tack not only fit Mudsdale perfectly, it didn't hinder its movement at all.

The moment it went on, Mudsdale seemed to awaken a memory deep in its blood, gesturing for Lucas to mount.

Thanks to often riding Dragonite, Lucas swung up in one smooth motion, looking like a true professional equestrian.

The golden dusk fell upon Mudsdale and Lucas, coating them in a halo.

Under Oranguru's gaze, the trainer and Pokémon began training with the goal of winning the upcoming Pokémon Marathon.

Chapter 340: The Helplessness of a Salaryman

July 22, early morning. Clear skies; not a cloud in sight.

Lucas got up early, feeling refreshed to greet the new day.

Today was the soft launch of the farm's new milk subscription service.

For Lucas, the trust of the nine customers who chose to subscribe to Moomoo Fresh Milk without him leveraging his name had to be honored and carried forward.

At the ranch area—

After yesterday afternoon's high-intensity exercise, the Miltank were still groggy. Their eyelids drooped and yawns came one after another.

With Oranguru's help, the drowsy Miltank were led to a newly built room on the ranch's edge.

Inside was a refined rectangular machine made of the best food-grade materials, with five milking stations—just enough to milk five Miltank at once.

It was the automatic milker Lucas had custom-ordered from a manufacturer in Levincia City.

Thankfully, Lucas had already let the Miltank try it out beforehand, and they weren't bothered at all by the cup-like attachments.

If anything, despite their grogginess, they were a bit expectant.

With their nutrition intake, every morning they suffered engorgement.

If they knew how to operate the machine, they wouldn't even need Lucas—they'd relieve the pressure themselves.

As the machine hummed softly, Moomoo Fresh Milk was drawn out, funneled through clean tubing that was sanitized after every use, and collected in the machine's dust-proof cooled milk tank.

Finally, the bottling function filled the prepared glass bottles, sealed them, and stamped the date.

Technology really does free up labor.

If Lucas did all this manually, he'd have to get up at four or five in the morning at least.

Customers had ordered only forty bottles—about 750 ml each—so the rest stayed chilled in the machine's reservoir, awaiting use for dairy products.

Once the five Miltank were done, they let out a satisfied low and stepped aside.

Then the long-waiting Poliwrath and Politoed team, assisted by the machine's self-clean cycle, used Bubble Beam to wash everything down.

After cleaning, two Skiddo took their place at the milker. With the cups attached, a small batch of goat milk was collected the same way.

By the time Lucas and Oranguru brought the day's goods outside the milking room, a line of proud Corviknight waited under Dragonite's lead.

Yesterday, Lucas had asked through Third Scar for nine Corviknight, led by Dragonite, to deliver fresh Moomoo milk and goat milk to nine households across Los Platos Town.

Beside each Corviknight sat a black basket that matched their glossy armor.

The baskets were custom-fit to the bottles, with grooves to lock them in and prevent collisions and breakage in flight.

After Lucas loaded each Corviknight with the appropriate bottles for their destination, they gripped the stiff, special-material baskets and took off in order, flying toward their targets.

Their posture was like Corviknight carrying air taxis across Galar's skies.

It was already 6:40 a.m.

"Drago~"

Dragonite waved regretfully to Lucas in farewell. With a heavy task today, it couldn't indulge in their daily hug—only after the job was done.

As Dragonite's orange silhouette vanished into the horizon, Lucas placed a hand over his chest. He felt a rare flutter of nerves today.

But he believed his trained Dragonite and Corviknight, who had passed his tests, would complete this first delivery flawlessly.

High in the blue, Dragonite beat its small wings lightly, winds curling at its sides as if guarding a monarch.

Its gaze dropped below. Beyond the nine Corviknight flying in a V-formation, Dragonite's attention scanned the outskirts for a pink silhouette.

According to Lucas, Corviknight, as highly intelligent avians, were born for delivery and aerial transport.

Their steel talons could hold cargo steady—up to several hundred pounds over hundreds of kilometers.

Corviknight were also masters at memorizing routes—once they'd been somewhere, they almost never forgot.

But in Paldea, Corviknight taxis and delivery services never took off—because another evolutionary line occupied that niche:

Tinkatink, Tinkatuff, and Tinkaton.

Especially Tinkaton: from the ground, it could smash rocks skyward and nail Corviknight in midair.

Wild populations across Paldea made Corviknight unusable for taxis or delivery. That was the real reason.

Even at high altitude, Dragonite's eyesight rivaled any bird's. Today, its job was to check for that species' presence in the area around the town.

Lady Luck seemed kind today—no terrifying pink figures for Corviknight appeared nearby.

But Dragonite didn't dare relax.

Why? It vaguely remembered, during airborne naps, seeing pink hammer-wielders in forests or ruins.

When the nine Corviknight crossed into town and split off toward their destinations, Dragonite flapped, traced their lingering currents in the air, and, guided by the wind, followed the route of the one it worried about most.

…

Los Platos Town, 145 People's Road.

Unlike pigeonhole-like apartment blocks, the families here had lived in town for generations.

They'd bought land at the best rates and lived in a neighborhood of detached houses built under a former mayor's plan.

Naruto, 29, male, salaryman.

Like most ordinary people's growth track—or perhaps a blessing living up to his name—Naruto had a normal yet lucky, happy childhood.

After entering the workforce, he met his now-wife Hinata, fell in love, married, and inherited this detached house from his parents. With no mortgage pressure, they had their five-year-old daughter, Himawari.

But lately, his lucky buff seemed to have expired. His devoted stay-at-home wife developed resentment for reasons unknown. After his repeated prodding, she voiced her dissatisfaction.

Their five-year-old Himawari was smaller and slighter than other girls at school—looking underdeveloped. Teachers had visited several times, suspecting child neglect.

Hinata asked other moms and found some were paying big money to order the freshest Moomoo milk from the neighboring Mesagoza equivalent, shipped by cold chain.

They loudly touted the huge nutritional gap between truly fresh Moomoo milk and bottles that had sat for days.

Like the last straw on a camel, Hinata—already anxious—voiced vague complaints to her husband coming home from work.

Why could their family not even afford fresh Moomoo milk for their child's nutrition, buying only who-knows-how-old supermarket stock?

Hinata knew she was being unreasonable and burdening her hardworking husband; guilty, she wept and said she should get a job at a ranch on the outskirts to help.

Naruto fell silent—feeling powerless.

Himawari was growing; a bottle a day was essential. Supermarket Moomoo milk was about 500 League credits, but ordering from the next city with delivery would be at least 1000 per bottle.

Nearly double monthly expenses. For a one-income household, it was heavy pressure. He couldn't bear to send his wife—who ran the home and shuttled their child—to work as well.

Until a few days ago, on the way home, he met a familiar-looking young man handing out flyers with a white-haired primate Pokémon by his side.

Though he'd once dreamed of being a trainer, that dream had faded. His starter, a Fuecoco, had become his wife's kitchen helper.

Only in rare free time did he crack a beer and nostalgically watch old battle tapes of trainers' heated Pokémon matches.

He was sure he'd seen that young man somewhere, but work-fatigue rusted his brain after hours. He couldn't recall, just stood there.

By the time he came to, the young man was smiling, offering him a flyer.

Oddly, though the young man was doing what most would call gig work—handing out flyers—his smile was so dazzling it stung. Naruto took the flyer as if burned and fled.

That confidence—it was a sun too bright for the current him to face.

Back home, he realized he was still clutching the flyer. On a whim, he didn't toss it, but opened it to read.

The tagline made him pause in surprise.

It was an ad for a milk subscription: fresh, same-day-morning Moomoo milk delivered, at a price he could bear.

Maybe he wanted to roll the dice. He sent his address and order to the address on the flyer.

Time passed, and the appointment window arrived.

Naruto got up early for once. His wife and daughter still slept.

In the dark living room, he paced anxiously around the table, stepping lightly so as not to wake them.

At 6:55 a.m., right on time, came knocking at the door.

Naruto sprang like a drowning man to a lifeline, scrambled to the entry, and gently opened the door with an expectant smile. "Good morning—"

He looked at the visitor and froze.

He saw—an affable Dragonite and a valiant Corviknight with three claw marks across its chest!

In Dragonite's hands, the black basket held the two bottles of Moomoo milk he'd ordered!

One for his wife Hinata, who kept house and cared for their child; one for their growing daughter Himawari.

As a former would-be trainer turned salaryman, Naruto still recognized many Pokémon—besides the white-furred orangutan he'd seen with that young man.

Before him stood the epitome of power and rarity: the Dragon-type Dragonite—

And Corviknight, clad in black armor that flashed a soul-piercing gleam in the sun, perfectly hitting Naruto's buried aesthetic weak point.

Both were strong—and cool. They were exactly the kind of Pokémon he'd dreamed of as a young trainer.

Good lord—had the times left him behind?

People were using Dragonite and Corviknight—absolute studs in looks and power—to deliver Moomoo milk now?!