Alan, who had been smugly manning his own little booth a few feet away, wasn't laughing anymore. In fact, he looked like someone had just told him that his life savings were now worth less than a Magikarp's tackle.
He sniffed the air again just to confirm his suspicions.
That smell—that smell coming from David's table—wasn't just good. It was illegal levels of delicious. There was no way those energy cubes were fake. They didn't just smell good—they practically sang ballads to your nostrils. Human noses might be fooled, but Pokémon? Nah. Pokémon noses were like bloodhounds on caffeine. They knew.
And the evidence was all around. Dozens of Pokémon had gathered near David's stall, sniffing the air like they were lining up at a buffet. A Growlithe was drooling. A Snubbull was trying to climb the table. Even a grumpy Machop in the distance looked like it was about to cry from hunger.
Alan looked back at his own pathetic little corner of the market.
One guy.
One lonely guy in front of his booth, awkwardly glancing around, unsure if he was in the right place.
"Uh… excuse me," the guy asked politely, pointing at the empty space around him. "Is this the line for something?"
Alan stared at him like he'd just been shot point-blank in the pride. His soul took 10,000 points of psychic damage.
Right in the ego…
Meanwhile, David was having the time of his life. He wasn't just selling cubes—he was making it rain. Surrounded by a noisy, jostling crowd of desperate trainers and even more desperate Pokémon, he tossed cubes left and right like he was some sort of game show host.
"You! Yes, you! You look like your Pokémon haven't eaten since Gen III. Catch!"
He lobbed a pack of the fragrant energy cubes straight at a thin, nervous-looking student in a faded school uniform.
The kid blinked as he caught the pouch mid-air, staring at it like it was a golden ticket.
"M-Me? Really?" the student stammered. "But… why?"
David puffed out his chest, dramatically flicked his messy hair to one side, and declared with a grin, "Why? No reason! Uncle David's loaded today!"
If he had sunglasses, he would've dropped them on his face right then and there.
The student hugged the energy cubes like they were sacred, possibly edible treasure. His eyes sparkled with disbelief and gratitude.
Meanwhile, David's internal system notifications were going absolutely bonkers:
[Gained negative emotion value +10 …]
[Gained negative emotion value +20 …]
[Gained negative emotion value +100 …]
Apparently, making a bunch of trainers jealous was a surefire way to farm negative energy points. David couldn't even keep up with the stream in his head. It was like hitting a jackpot on a slot machine that only paid in salt.
But at the moment, he didn't care. He was too busy being a walking, talking retail miracle.
While Alan sat in the corner getting mentally body-slammed by the sight of David's booming success, David raised another pack high and shouted, "NEXT! Who's got 2,500 coins and a hungry team?"
The line surged again, trainers waving money like they were at an auction.
Alan sighed and muttered to himself, "He's not even using sales techniques… he's just… rich and chaotic."
He looked down at his own "Black Market Scam Encyclopedia (Hardcover Edition)" and sighed.
"Stupid book…"
And David? He was just getting started.
***
As the sweet sound of system notifications echoed in David's ears like a personal choir of petty vengeance, he exhaled in relief. There was something deeply satisfying about profiting emotionally and financially at the same time. He could practically feel the resentment rolling in like waves on a salty ocean.
Some of these folks were so bitter, David was half-convinced they'd rivaled Nakamura in emotional contribution. Not that he counted, but hey—free points were free points.
Meanwhile, the crowd at his booth was turning into a Black Friday stampede without the shopping carts.
"Hurry up, boss! I sent the transfer—where's my energy cube?!" one guy shouted, practically foaming at the mouth.
"Yeah! You're moving slower than a Shuckle in a snowstorm!"
"Hey Handsome~" came a sugar-sweet voice suddenly purring in David's ear, dripping with fake charm. "Can I get a pack of those cubes? Maybe you and I can… have some fun later~?"
David froze like someone had just whispered the plot of a horror movie into his soul. That voice had enough artificial sweetness to rot a Gengar's teeth. He turned his head slowly, half expecting an angel.
Instead, what he got was… something else entirely.
Caked-on makeup. Hair styled like it lost a fight with a Weed Whacker. A smile that looked like it cost someone a monthly salary. A woman in her late 30s—maybe early 40s—giving him the kind of wink that could trigger trauma.
David took a full step back in horror. "Sweet Arceus—what the hell are you?! Has the monster not revealed its true form yet?! Even your plastic surgery needs plastic surgery!"
The woman blinked. Her smile twitched. She might have beaten him up in another time, but she was pushed away by the mob eager to buy the energy cubes.
[Gained +30 negative emotion value from Caren…]
And David? He was thriving.
While he continued tossing bags of "Jet" energy cubes like some deranged Santa Claus, the system notifications kept piling up. He was literally farming negativity—and business was booming.
Occasionally, he'd lob a free bag into the crowd just to stir up drama and soak up the emotional backlash. It worked every single time. The envy was so thick you could bottle it.
But of course, every crowd has that one person.
"Hey boss, how about you give me a discount, huh? I'll take three for 4,000 coins total," one guy smirked, clearly thinking he was slick.
David's eyebrows shot up. Bargain? With him?
"Oh, you wanna haggle?" he said with a devilish grin. "Cool, cool. The price just doubled—now it's 5,000 coins per bag. Go ahead, cut me a deal from there."
"…Wait, what?"
"I believe in your negotiation skills," David said, completely deadpan. "Start slicing."
To his surprise—and delight—the guy actually paid it. Nose wrinkled, pride shattered, but he paid. And he wasn't the only one.
Trainer after trainer shelled out the extra cash. Because even though David's prices had spiked faster than a Gyarados with anger issues, his cubes were the real deal.
Everyone could tell. These weren't your average, mass-produced, tasteless blobs from the Breeder house. These were top-shelf, gourmet-tier energy cubes. Pokémon were licking their chops. Trainers were practically crying. Even the knockoff vendors had stopped shouting and started sulking.
David, surrounded by Pokéballs, credits, jealousy, and desperation, continued his reign as the black market's accidental cube king.
And deep inside, the system's voice rang out again like a sweet lullaby of sarcasm and profit.
[Gained +20 emotional value from Jeff… +40 from Tina… +90 from Kyle…]
He might've been selling food, but it was drama that was truly feeding him.
In less than thirty minutes, David had done the unthinkable.
Over four hundred bags of his homemade "Jet" Cubes—gone. Sold out. Evaporated into the arms of desperate Trainers faster than a Rare Candy at a kindergarten tournament. His booth, once just a humble stack of energy snacks, now looked like the aftermath of a Snorlax buffet. Empty. Ransacked. Glorious.
All around him, Trainers were already tearing open their freshly bought "Jet" Cubes and feeding them to their Pokémon like they were handing out slices of cake at a birthday party. Some even took bites themselves, eyes widening with surprise.
"It actually tastes good?!" one shouted, then looked guilty. "Wait… am I part Pokémon now?"
Meanwhile, David's system was going absolutely ballistic.
Thanks to the unique way his energy cubes soaked up negative emotions while being made, he was now raking in emotional points like a smug psychic leech. Every minute that passed brought in another flood of salty reactions—from jealousy, to regret, to the pure pain of people who'd missed out.
Even better, the Pokémon and Trainers who ate the cubes? Instant bliss. Negative emotions wiped clean. They were floating in a zen state of happiness while David was quietly farming their previous bitterness like a master emotional tax collector.
Between the cubes he sold and the freebies he flung into the crowd earlier like some chaotic Robin Hood, his points were skyrocketing.
Four to five thousand negative emotion points per minute.
David glanced at his system panel.
60,000 points.
His eyes lit up like a kid realizing the vending machine gave back change and the snack.
"If I'd known this was so profitable," he muttered, "I'd have started mass-producing these things ages ago. Why even bother bargaining with people when I can emotionally profit off their past trauma?"
But he didn't get to bask in the glory for long.
Because David—ever the realist—knew one thing for sure: after a sugar rush like this, there was always a crash. In about an hour or two, when the emotional high wore off and people started realizing what had happened…
Well, they'd be back.
And probably angry.
So, like any self-respecting black market magician, David packed up shop at lightning speed.
Because if he was still standing here when the backlash hit?
No amount of emotional points would save him from getting tackled by fifty disgruntled Trainers and at least one very offended Munchlax.
Just as David was halfway through folding up his stall like a man trying to flee the scene of a crime before the police arrived, Alan—who'd been awkwardly sulking in the background like a kid who dropped his ice cream—finally made his move.
He slid in close, rubbing his hands together like a bargain-hunting villain in a cartoon. His smile was so forced it might've been glued on.
"Ahem, Captain Jack," Alan said, trying to sound casual but coming off like he was choking on a compliment. "My dear... business-savvy brother. I was wondering if—by any chance—you had just one more bag of that energy cube left? You know, for a friend? A close friend? A really—uh—jealous one?"
David, who was mid-sprint in his mind, sighed and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a slightly crumpled, half-sweaty bag of "Jet" Cube—the emergency stash he hadn't planned to sell.
"Yeah, yeah. Lucky for you, I've got one left," David muttered. "Two thousand coins. Take it or leave it. I've got a date with not getting mobbed in twenty minutes."
Alan's eyes sparkled. He grabbed the bag like it was a long-lost treasure chest and clutched it to his chest with the grace of a man who'd just bought the last TV on Black Friday. But instead of stepping aside and letting David escape, Alan stayed firmly planted in front of the stall like a Pidgey refusing to budge from your bike path.
"Hey, Brother Jack," he said again, now speaking with the tone of someone about to ask to borrow your car and your Netflix password. "So uh… I've been thinking. You wouldn't happen to sell the formula for this amazing Jet Cube, would you?"
David froze.
He could smell it. Jealousy. Thick, delicious jealousy wafting off Alan like a steaming bowl of regret soup. The guy had clearly been watching the crowd go bananas for David's cubes and now wanted a bite of the pie—or more specifically, the whole damn bakery.
But David wasn't stupid. He'd seen the way Alan had been eyeing his Pokéballs earlier, probably calculating whether his own Geodude could beat Pikachu in a street fight and force a "discount." So if this man wanted the recipe?
Fine.
David beamed. The most innocent, pure-hearted smile ever to grace a face that had just emotionally scammed an entire black market. "Sure, why not? I'll sell you the recipe."
Alan blinked. "Really? Just like that?"
"Oh, absolutely," David said, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Anything for a brother."
If Pikachu had still been on David's shoulder, he would've facepalmed immediately and walked straight back into his Pokéball. Because he knew that look on David's face.
That wasn't a deal.
That was the look David gave right before he handed someone a spoonful of hot sauce and told them it was strawberry jam.
Alan had no idea.
But he was about to find out.
And David? He was already whistling cheerfully, folding his now-empty stall like a man ready to sprint out of town before the emotional refunds started flying.