Ahem. That's right—Reiji hadn't caught a thing. It wasn't just the lack of bait or proper equipment. It was bad conditions. The coastal wind and waves were too strong.
That wasn't an excuse—it was a fact. He was just being honest.
He was an experienced inland fisherman, used to riverbanks and lakes. Of course sea fishing was going to throw him off. Coming up empty-handed was perfectly reasonable.
He, Reiji, a seasoned angler from the heartland, would not accept slander.
Truth be told, anglers hated float-tapping signals the most. You couldn't tell whether to reel in or wait it out.
But since he was using shellfish meat as bait, he didn't need to worry about small fry messing with the hook.
Float-tapping generally came down to two possibilities:
One: small fish were teasing the bait. They were too weak to bite down but were drawn to the scent and kept nibbling. If the bait was too soft, they'd tear it apart without even getting hooked.
Two: a big fish was cautiously testing the bait. If it decided the food was safe, it'd swallow it in one go.
The first case didn't concern him—shellfish meat was too tough for little fish to break up. But the second? If that was what was happening, then he'd hit the jackpot. The moment it bit, the float would sink decisively, like when he caught that Carvanha.
A strong downward pull—"dunking" the float—was a sure sign of a big catch. If the float disappeared completely into the water while moving? That was called a "black float," the dream signal for every angler. It meant: guaranteed hook-up.
Thrum—
Suddenly, the float that had been bobbing and dipping rhythmically slammed downward, the line went taut, and the pull was so strong it yanked Reiji off balance.
But his reflexes were sharp. In an instant, he yanked the rod back, braced it against the rocks, dug in with his feet, and held steady—letting the monster in the sea thrash while he stood firm.
He'd thought it was just a curious small fish playing with the float, but he had been mentally prepared for a big one too. Still, this power—this strength—had surpassed his expectations.
Judging by the strain on his fishing rod, it was at least as strong as the Carvanha he'd caught before.
And that one, he'd hauled in while he was half-starved. No way was he letting this beast go.
Sensing the commotion, Poliwag stopped playing in the water and rushed up the beach, hopping to Reiji's side and cheering, "Yoyoo! Yoyoo!"
Reiji figured the little guy was yelling "Go! Go!" or something similar.
Ever since he'd forbidden it from entering the ocean without permission, Poliwag had obediently stayed on land. Now, it was happily licking its lips—because it knew fish was back on the menu. Sure, kelp was tasty, but meat was meat.
Greens were for emergencies. If given the choice, Poliwag would pick high-protein fish any day.
And seeing Reiji red in the face, straining with effort, Poliwag was sure: this was a big one.
Reiji, however, was struggling. This fish was strong—stronger than expected. Stronger even than the last Carvanha. Its thrashing was relentless, and he worried it might snap his rod in two.
This rod had been with him for years—through countless nights of fishing. He wasn't going to let it break. No way.
He wasn't about to let go of the rod or the fish. He wanted both—no compromises.
With that mindset, he clung to the line and battled the sea creature all morning. Poliwag cheered until it was hoarse, and still the fish struggled.
Finally, as the fish's resistance started to fade, Reiji allowed himself a breath of relief. The intense thrashing had drained the creature—and him too.
But Reiji couldn't rest. He had to keep up the pressure. He had to wear the fish down.
This wasn't just about food—it was about pride. He'd waited all day for a bite like this. He wasn't going to let it slip away.
Even if his muscles burned, he gritted his teeth and kept going. A matter of angler's honor.
He lifted the rod and stepped backward, using its flex to his advantage.
Once, twice, three times—again and again, he worked the fish, each round weakening it further. The beast's struggles became shorter, weaker, until eventually it was completely exhausted.
It had probably used up all its energy during that first furious thrash.
Reiji seized the moment. He was so focused on the battle, he forgot all about Poliwag's training. He poured the entire day into this one fish.
And just as the sun began to dip toward the sea, he finally saw what he'd been fighting all day.
"Kar-karp… karp…"
It wasn't a Koi. It wasn't a regular Magikarp.
It was… a Magikarp.
"…You've got to be kidding me," Reiji cursed when he saw the golden crown-shaped dorsal fin break the surface.
It wasn't that Magikarp was inedible, or worthless. It was that it had no meat.
The damn thing was all bones and sinew, built like a coiled spring. How the hell did it weigh ten kilos and still have nothing edible on it?
He didn't buy it.
Any creature that could flop around with Splash for hours had to have muscle somewhere, right?
Magikarp was famous for its toughness—it could live in polluted water, in oceans, rivers, ponds, puddles… basically anywhere. You could find it in every corner of the Pokémon world. And it was also known for being one of the weakest Pokémon alive, right up there with Wishiwashi.
A pair of underachieving legends: the "Sleeping Dragon and Hidden Phoenix."
...Yeah, that phrase had officially been ruined for him.
Still, it wasn't the Magikarp's fault. When he saw either of those two Pokémon, the first thing that came to mind was that phrase.
And now that it was caught, there was no point in tossing it back. As useless as it might be, it would be wasteful to throw it away.
It was the very definition of a chicken rib—tasteless, but too good to discard.
No matter how much it flopped, it wasn't getting away.
Unless it evolved right now.
But come on. He wasn't James from Team Rocket. He couldn't just kick a Magikarp and make it evolve. He didn't have whatever magical plot armor helped that guy change a weak, pitiful, helpless Magikarp's fate.
Magikarp's evolution was a leap in lifeform—a transformation from pathetic to powerhouse. It took true grit and determination.
At the famous Magikarp Falls, even the success rate of evolution was only 50%. Maybe that had something to do with the mythical idea of a carp leaping over the dragon gate.
If you made it over, it meant you truly longed to evolve.
Reiji had heard the tales. Even though Magikarp evolution was shrouded in mystery, one thing was clear—it didn't happen easily.
And here he was, in who-knew-where, with a wild Magikarp he'd reeled in from the sea. Surely his luck wasn't that bad.
It wouldn't evolve on the spot… right?
…Right?
(End of Chapter)
[+50 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]