The "Complex," as Jack called it, was no longer just a very fancy studio apartments anymore. Through a mixture of constant construction, clever tinkering, and what he swore were totally legal permits (though any sane person would question that), it had been transformed into his very own private multi-room training facility. Each chamber had a unique design tailored to the specific needs of his Pokémon, while the backyard sprawled outward like a miniature battle coliseum and beyond habits and training grounds for various different Pokémon.
Spacial technology is straight up bullshit. Like Tenchi Muyo levels of bullshit.
Turns out making habits based on Toriko areas from the manga very possible and very profitable. Sure all the money is going Repel Towers, and all the materials make the area very rich in energy.
Bad news his method kinda got found out and the material used are quickly going up in price and variety.
Good news they are shit are using the correct amount of Tera shards and Type-Gems on making habits.
The land itself had been bought dirt-cheap through the Pokémon League's Land Survey program—pre-zoned areas already prepped for trainers who wanted to invest in growth. Jack didn't care about the technicalities; what mattered was that it was his.
Totally legal, of course. Jack smirked every time he thought about it — "legal" by the thin definition that the permits were signed by someone, somewhere. Whether the League knew he had just casually carved out an underground monster gym was another question entirely.
Of course, Mnemosyne and Calypso weren't really fit for land-based battles. They were still fish Pokémon, meaning they didn't exactly have the mobility of Nassau or other starters. The system had clearly spelled it out: they'd need to hit at least Level 15 before unlocking the "float in air" function that allowed aquatic Pokémon to battle outside of water without collapsing into useless heaps. Just like in the games.
So, until then, the sisters had their own routine. They fought sea monsters. Poor bastards. They didn't stand a chance against the combined fury of Mnemosyne's stoic, tidal rage and Calypso's gleeful, reckless aggression.
So many broken bones.
But today wasn't about them.
Jack hiked a few hundred meters west along the mountain path, stopping at one of the cleared training zones. The League had outdone themselves—the terrain here was rugged, broken into small sandpits, ridged hills, and a stretch of marshland. Perfect variety. He plucked a Poké Ball from his belt and pressed the release switch.
With a burst of light and an explosion of energy, Nassau appeared. The Totodile flexed his stubby arms and let out a guttural roar, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. The little croc radiated the kind of energy usually reserved for wrestlers hyped up on caffeine and adrenaline.
"Oh YEAH!" Nassau bellowed, striking a pose he'd clearly stolen straight from late-night wrestling shows. Jack had only told him about Earth's WWE "Attitude Era" one hundred times, but apparently that had been enough to infect the poor gator permanently.
Maybe Jack had overshared.
…Nah. He definitely hadn't told enough.
"Aye, Nassau!" Jack called, lips curling into a mischievous grin. "It's time to train like Momoyo!" His voice took on a reverent drawl as he invoked the name, drooling slightly at the memory of the curvy martial artist from a completely different universe. Was she Japanese? Chinese? Honestly, Jack had given up trying to sort nationalities here. Kanto and Johto were clearly Japanese. Unova was American. Alola was Hawaii. Galar… British? English? London? United Kingdom? He had no idea what the actual difference was supposed to be.
Geography wasn't his strong suit.
Its not like Earth Jack gave a damn about European girls anyway. Well he did because he was a versatile n**a and loved all women of all colors. But a hot white girl is a hot white girl doesn't matter where.
But none of that mattered. Nassau was already bouncing on his heels.
"YEAH, BOSS MASTER!" the Totodile replied with all the raw sincerity of a soldier answering his general.
Jack narrowed his eyes, slipping into his best mock-serious tone. "Alright. Let's get it done."
This was as "serious" as Jack Sparrow ever got. It Disney Jack, Poke Jack, Earth Jack—they were all lazy, reckless archetypes of the same man.
Disney Jack, the trickster rogue, relied on wit and lies, weaving out of situations with cunning rather than courage. Morally gray. Occasionally heroic. Always self-serving.
Poké Jack, the teenager he currently embodied, was indulgent and sarcastic—a gambling, womanizing brat who lived for thrills. Selfish, arrogant, hedonistic… yet loyal in his own crooked way.
And Earth Jack, the mold beneath it all: highly intelligent, strategic, and cripplingly lazy. A gamer, a dreamer, a slacker. Yet when pressed, when the stakes became too high to ignore, he would act. Calm, sharp, dependable—even if he cursed himself the entire time.
All three Jack's identities combined made him a dangerously unmotivated bastard, but one with the capacity for brilliance when pushed. And right now, his family's shadow loomed large. If he failed as a trainer, deportation was the least of his worries.
Mum will never let him another woman touch ever again.
So here he was, pretending to be serious.
"During that battle," Jack began, hands folded behind his back like a drill sergeant, "you get a D-."
Nassau froze mid-pose. "Wha—"
"Marcus is obsessed with me—" Jack said and no he is not. "—but he's not a bad trainer. If it weren't for your pre-training diet and Aqua Jet, you would've lost. Even then, you barely scraped by. Marill had better mastery over his moves than you."
Nassau puffed his cheeks, about to protest, but Jack cut him off.
"What happens when your opponent counters Aqua Jet, huh? What happens when Dragon Dance takes too long and they just rush you? Don't forget—your defenses are shite, mate."
The words hit hard. Nassau's shoulders slumped. He knew Jack was right. His scales weren't as tough as they should be, and his Aura—the thin film of energy every Pokémon carried—was weaker than others of his kind. He could hit like a truck, but taking hits? Not his specialty.
And yet, Nassau didn't realize how unique he truly was. His diet of monster meat, berries, bone-powder, and blood-enriched energy blocks had done something strange to his biology. Without knowing it, he'd gained two natures.
Natures weren't personality quirks, not really. They were biochemical pathways. Genetic enzymes determining how a Pokémon's body prioritized growth, energy use, and resilience. Scientists had been studying them for centuries, and still barely scratched the surface.
Not that Nassau or Jack understood why.
Originally, Nassau had been Jolly, his enzymes favoring speed and agility. But thanks to Jack's feeding experiments — energy-drenched monster bones, muscle-pumping blood, Pokéblock plans ripped from the system — his Sheer Force ability awakened unnaturally early. And when that happened, it overwrote part of his enzymes, layering Adamant nature on top of Jolly.
A Totodile with two natures. A freak. A miracle. A dude that knows how to punch.
Jack didn't know any of that. Nassau didn't either. What they did know was simple: Water Gun sucked.
Instead, Nassau had two powerful tools: Aqua Jet, and Bite.
And it was Bite—enhanced by Sheer Force—that stood out most. Normally, Bite had a 30% chance to flinch. But under Sheer Force, the flinch was stripped away, leaving behind raw, brutal strength. And somehow, Nassau had already pushed his mastery of that ability up to 12%. Unheard of for a Pokémon his age.
Not that Jack knew. He didn't even realize moves could be mastered in percentages.
Jack crouched low, his eyes narrowing. "So we need to work hard, aye? Work harder than anyone else. Then, after that—then we can be lazy as we fucking want."
Nassau's eyes lit up. That was all the motivation he needed. He thrust his claws skyward, tail whipping back and forth. Beating things up was his favorite hobby. Beating his sisters up was even better—though it tended to get him in trouble.
"Let's do it, Boss Master!" he barked, bouncing with uncontainable energy.
Jack grinned, teeth flashing. "Oh, hell yes. Another motivational speech by yours truly. Add that to the collection. What is that now, three?"
"…More like two," Nassau muttered.
"Shut it." Jack straightened. "In that case, let's start with the basics, mate."
He raised a single finger. And waited.
Nassau stared at the finger. Ten seconds. Twenty. A full minute. His brow furrowed, sweat dripping down his scaly face. After ten whole minutes, Jack finally snapped.
"Weeell? Use Gyo, mate!"
Startled, Nassau forced every drop of energy into his eyes. For a fleeting moment, the blurry outline of a number shimmered on Jack's fingertip. A blob, indistinct. But something.
He called it out. Wrong. Jack sighed.
"Thousand push-ups, mate. And put these on."
He tossed a bundle of gear onto the dirt. Blue bands, metallic clasps, shimmering faintly with Aura energy. The Totodile Sheer Force Set—training weights designed specifically for his gator. The system had provided the blueprint, and Jack had cobbled them together with his own hands.
Nassau strapped them on—and gasped. The "weights" sank into his Aura, pressing down on him, restricting every movement.
Jack smirked. "Non moriar omnia. Perfer et obdura. Hic dolor proderit tibi olim."
Latin. Dead tongue. A language that didn't exist in this world. To Nassau, it was pure sorcery.
"As of now," Jack continued smoothly, "your sisters are swimming in the gravity section. Calypso's in the Waterfall Plaza. Mnemosyne? Underwater cyclone hellzone."
He said it casually, like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Nassau gulped.
"Now…" Jack spread his arms wide. "Let's start, mate."