A/N: From today as per previous announcent release schedule will be once a week on Sundays for the month of Feb. Thank you for your continued support. Guys please check out my original novel Arcane Script and support it with powerstone and adding it to your library.
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Grandpa didn't continue speaking after that.
Instead, he stood up, stretched his back slowly, and walked toward the backyard as if the story had simply… ended there.
For him, it probably had.
I followed.
The sun was already dipping, casting long golden lines through the coconut trees. Grandpa moved with practiced ease, the kind that ca from doing the sa things for decades. Freshly caught fish lay on a wooden slab. He descaled them calmly, water splashing rhythmically against the ground. No rush. No ceremony.
The outdoor grill was lit.
Fire crackled softly.
Spices ca out next—salt, turric, chili, coriander—simple, local, familiar. He rubbed the mixture into the fish with his hands, fingers sure, movents confident. This wasn't cooking.
This was mory.
The mont the fish hit the grill, the air changed.
A rich, smoky aroma spread instantly, cutting through the salt and greenery of the coast. My stomach tightened, saliva pooling before I even realized it. So things didn't change, even after the world did.
As the fish sizzled,
Grandpa started the story again "Then we...."
Grandpa POV
After that… I started taking Gyarados to the beach.
At first, it was just and him.
The fishern noticed, of course. How could they not? A creature like that doesn't move quietly. Nets were dropped mid-nd. Boats that had been half-pushed into the water were dragged back onto sand. n who had faced storms their entire lives stood frozen, unsure whether to run or pray.
They were afraid.
I didn't bla them.
I raised my hand and told them to stay back. Gyarados stayed coiled in the shallow water, half-subrged, eyes calm but watchful. He didn't roar. Didn't threaten. Just existed.
That was enough.
For two days, no one ca close.
On the third day, a Tentacool washed ashore, weak and tangled in debris. Gyarados moved first—not violently, just enough to pull it free and push it back into deeper water.
The fishern saw that.
Fear alleviated a little.
Curiosity followed.
One man stepped forward with shaking hands and offered food to Gyarados.
After they got familiar with Gyarados and feebas one of the braver one offered food to a wild poliwag, but to a Poliwag that had been lingering near the rocks for days. The Poliwag hesitated, then stayed.
That's how it started.
Not with commands.
With watching.
With learning.
With Gyarados standing there like a wall the sea itself respected.
He fought often in those early days. Stronger Pokémon ca from the depths—angry, territorial, drawn by the coastline and the easy food. Gyarados t them head-on. Every fight sharpened him. His movents beca cleaner. His power more precise.
He learned control.
And once he learned control… he grew bold.
He began going farther out.
At first, I stayed on shore.
Then on the rocks.
Then, one day, he looked back at .
And I went with him.
Battling is in his nature. That much is clear. But it isn't mindless. It's… purposeful. Like he understands that strength exists to draw lines others won't cross.
That's when negotiations began.
Not with words—but with presence.
Zone leaders in the sea don't think like land Pokémon. Territory isn't fixed. It moves. Shifts. Breathes with the tides. Gyarados fought so. Stared down others. Ignored those who understood without testing him.
Slowly, boundaries ford.
Three miles from the coast.
That beca the line.
Powerful Pokémon were not allowed past it.
No exceptions.
Younger Pokémon and weaker ones like Poliwag, Goldeen, Wingull—could approach the shore. So even found partners among the fishern. That was allowed. Encouraged.
Gyarados ensured the rules were followed.
For Pokémon.
For people.
Most of his ti now, he spends near Sindhudurg Fort. There's a school of Magikarp there—always has been. He watches them like a guardian pretending not to care.
There's one in particular he favors.
Don't ask why.
Beyond the three-mile mark, there's a standing non-aggression agreent. No sudden raids. No reckless hunting near human routes.
The sea near Malvan is safe now.
Safer than it's been in years.
But peace creates new problems.
Fish numbers are dropping. Too many mouths. Too much competition. Pokémon need to eat. Fishern need to fish. If balance tips too far, desperation sets in.
And desperate Pokémon don't negotiate.
That's why we're talking now—not about fighting, but about preservation. Shared routes. Seasonal limits. Areas where no one hunts at all.
The sea isn't just territory.
It's a system.
And if it collapses… everyone pays the price.
Grandpa looked at for a long mont, then spoke slowly.
"So, Mr. President," he said, voice dry but eyes sharp, "this is your problem to solve."
I didn't argue.
I just smiled.
"Oh, that's not really a problem," I replied lightly. "I'll give you a manual for underwater plant cultivation—species that Water-type Pokémon actually like to eat. Kelp variants, fast-growing algae, root-anchored sea grasses. Low maintenance, high yield."
His brows knit together.
"I'll also give you a secondary feed recipe," I continued, "one that uses processed seaweed mixed with berries—regular ones and sea berries. Nutrient-dense, easy to store, easy to distribute."
He stared at .
"You make it sound simple."
"The system is simple," I said. "Execution isn't. You'll need manpower."
That snapped him back to reality.
He snorted. "Manpower isn't easy to find. And we can't afford to spend money without returns. Fishern barely make enough as it is."
I nodded once.
"Which is why I'm not asking you to spend blindly," I said. "Tell —during all this ti… did you find anything in the sea zones that people or trainers could actually use?"
He leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. For a mont, he looked like he was scanning the ocean again instead of the room.
"Well," he said finally, "there's a zone with Shellder and Clamperl. I saw pearls there. Real ones. Plenty of them."
My smile widened slightly.
"Go on."
"There's also a Staryu group," he continued. "Their territory has this… fine, shiny dust. It settles on rocks like sand, but it sparkles even underwater. I don't know if it's useful, but it doesn't look normal."
Interesting.
"And," he added, lowering his voice a fraction, "there's a Lapras zone farther out. Beneath it—natural formations. Could be a Water Stone deposit. Not confird, but I've seen the glow."
That did it.
I leaned forward.
"Pearls," I said calmly, ticking them off on my fingers. "Psychic power ampilfiers, costic-grade, and trainer equipnt applications."
"Staryu dust," I continued. "Very likely refined material for move catalysts, energy conduction, or light-based applications."
I looked up at him.
"And Water Stones?" I finished. "That alone funds an entire coastal economy."
Grandpa stared at .
Slowly.
Then he laughed.
A deep, satisfied laugh.
"So," he said, shaking his head, "you're saying the sea feeds Pokémon… and Pokémon feed the people."
"That's how balance works," I replied. "You don't extract blindly. You integrate."
I stood.
"I'll formalize it," I said. "Coastal cooperatives. Pokémon-managed zones. Revenue split between fishern, maintenance, and ecosystem preservation."
I t his eyes.
"You find the people who already understand the sea," I said. "I'll make sure the system protects them."
Grandpa leaned back again, a familiar, stubborn smile on his face.
"Tch," he muttered. "Looks like you really did grow into this role."
Then, after a pause—
"…Just don't forget where you learned it from."
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