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As expected, flaunting psychic powers was the most intimidating and shocking move. Once the one-eyed young man realized that Sato was a Psychic, he lost even the nerve to bluff by invoking the Viper Mafias name.
From what he'd seen, the one-eyed youth could basically confirm Sato's strength — he was no doubt a top-tier pseudo Elite-Four. To deny it would be slapping his own face.
On top of that overwhelming power, Sato also had a ruthless way of acting, terrifying anti-surveillance skills, and psychic abilities to boot. Even though the Viper Mafias held massive influence in the eastern districts of Goldenrod City and had yet to suffer from outside enemies, when faced with someone like Sato, unless their boss had lost his mind, they would absolutely avoid conflict with him — and instead look for ways to curry favor, not provoke him.
Psychics had absurd mobility. They were elusive, vanishing and reappearing with a Teleport that could let them slip past any encirclement with ease.
Their counter-surveillance abilities were also terrifying. Unless you had some advanced means of blocking psychic perception, the only one who'd be getting ambushed was you.
Worst of all, Psychics were often overflowing with energy. They could work for days without sleep and remain mentally sharp.
Now imagine such a merciless, cold-blooded enemy setting their sights on you. Unless you too never slept, staying alert every second of every day, you'd never know when he might appear behind you, plunge a blade into your back, and then vanish without a trace. Against an enemy like that, defense was practically impossible. They were without doubt one of the deadliest opponent types in the world.
Once Sato had completely left, the one-eyed youth immediately pulled out a communicator and sent a message. Then he released a Fearow, disappearing into the night sky.
He needed to rush back and report everything about Sato to his boss — otherwise the Viper Mafias might really end up making Sato their enemy.
Not long after that encounter, Sato resumed his nightly justice work in Goldenrod's eastern district. This time, he faced little resistance. Every criminal he ran into was swiftly knocked unconscious, left for the police to pick up and toss in jail.
Goldenrod, however, was a vast city, and its eastern district was equally immense.
Sato knew he couldn't possibly capture every lone criminal scraping by in this place. It wouldn't take long before new outlaws filled the territories vacated by those he'd sent to prison.
He was well aware: crime couldn't be completely wiped out, especially in a sprawling international metropolis like Goldenrod. Many people who couldn't survive otherwise would always be tempted to turn to crime. What he was doing now was only treating the symptoms, not the root cause.
"Whatever. I'm just a small fry anyway. Doing what I can is good enough. Let saving the world be Ash's job. If I can make this city's nights even a little safer, that's already more than enough."
As Heracross once again knocked out a mugger and his Pokémon, Sato returned the stolen property to its owner, then melted into the night under grateful gazes, savoring the feeling inside.
Meanwhile, in the eastern district of Goldenrod, at the top floor of a lavishly decorated skyscraper, two men sat in a brightly lit room.
One was the very same one-eyed youth who had just met Sato. The other was a well-dressed, white-haired old man.
Three Pokémon were present: a Houndoom sprawled at the old man's feet, a Gengar lurking in his shadow, and a Hypno sitting beside him on the sofa.
"So, the meddler causing trouble in our territory these past two nights is a highly dangerous Psychic. And you come back empty-handed, just expecting me to accept his offer? Has the Viper Mafias really grown so weak?"
After patiently listening to the one-eyed youth's report, the old man finally opened his murky black eyes and spoke hoarsely.
Clearly a man of great authority, his gaze carried such pressure that the one-eyed youth instinctively lowered his head.
Hearing his leader's words, the youth dropped to his knees and bowed even deeper, nearly touching the floor. He knew that returning empty-handed had displeased the boss — and that the man was now considering "disposing" of him.
After all, he was nothing more than a blade in this old man's hand. If the blade failed to cut, it was useless — it could be discarded at any time, replaced by another, sharper one.
He also knew that when Sato captured him earlier, his life had already been forfeit. The only reason he was still alive was because Sato needed him as a messenger.
So after relaying Sato's words to his boss, the youth chose silence. Whether he lived or died now depended entirely on the old man's will.
"Get out. Go to the war zone and kill fifty regular Team Rocket members — or eliminate a rival of equal rank."
The old man's cloudy eyes flashed with anger for a moment. Then, after a pause, he closed them again and passed his judgment.
By the usual rules, and his own ruthless habits, the one-eyed youth's failure should have cost him his life.
After all, the young man wasn't a true pseudo Elite-Four level. He was merely someone who had endured brutal trials and earned the recognition of a few pseudo Elite-Four level Pokémon. The old man could easily find someone else to wield those Pokémon in his stead.
The only reason he was spared was that the old man knew the Viper Mafias couldn't afford to waste strength right now.
They already faced the looming threat of the massive Team Rocket syndicate. Internally, some even argued for cooperating with them. The organization was already plagued by both internal and external troubles. If they provoked a "justice-driven" Psychic like Sato on top of it, that would be the final straw.
Sato really might become the one to break the camel's back.
"Han. Are you there?"
After the youth respectfully departed, the white-haired old man opened his eyes again, a sharp glint flashing in their murkiness. He spoke to the empty air.
[I am, sir. What do you need of me?]
The next second, a man in a black suit, wearing a tall black hat and mask, materialized on the floor before him. His words echoed directly in the old man's mind.
"Ten million. His life. Everything else on him is yours."
The old man showed no surprise at Han's sudden appearance. After a moment's hesitation, he named his price.
[That won't do, sir. Minimum is one hundred million. You must understand — this job isn't like the others.]
Han shook his head, replying once again by telepathy.