Pokemon : The Master of Dragon-Types

Chapter 461 461: 461. Dawson

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The incident with Roman and Ares created a ripple within certain circles, even if it never became public.

Jacob's position was a sensitive one — he was in the middle of constructing the Giant Laboratory and leading a second research team, both of which attracted considerable attention. The fact that a private investigation had been conducted on the laboratory's premises only added fuel to speculation among those who were paying attention.

Jacob himself remained unmoved. Two Pokémon at Quasi-Heavenly level — that was what Roman had brought to surveil him. It was almost difficult to take seriously.

The opponents Jacob had been dealing with lately were a different category entirely. Trainers with Champion-tier Pokémon. A Legendary Pokémon in Regieleki. After operating at that level for months, Roman walking onto his construction site with two mid-tier Pokémon felt less like a genuine threat and more like an awkward mistake.

It wasn't really Roman's fault. From the outside, Jacob looked like a High School Cup Champion whose team was still at Gym Leader level. Two Quasi-King Pokémon would have been more than sufficient to handle that. Roman simply hadn't known what he was actually walking into.

Roman himself, sitting in the police station, was still trying to process exactly that. Failure was one thing — that happened. But to fall into a deep sleep alongside both his Pokémon without seeing, hearing, or sensing a single thing from the opponent? That required something well above Quasi-King level. King, at minimum, or a Champion-tier Pokémon outright.

The more he sat with that realisation, the colder he felt. He had no powerful backers, no meaningful connections. Antagonising someone with that kind of protection behind them was not something he had budgeted for when he took the job.

The pay had seemed too good to be true.

It was.

Ares had been waiting outside the police station for some time. When Roman finally walked out, he let out a long breath and pulled him into a quick, relieved embrace.

"What actually happened out there?" Ares dropped his voice, eyes searching Roman's face.

"Not here. Let's go." Roman's expression was flat and serious. He caught Ares by the arm and they left quickly without looking back.

At a business hotel in the Imperial Capital, Jacob sat across from a man in his early forties. The man had a composed, well-groomed appearance and a faint, practised smile — the kind that didn't reach the eyes. He was looking directly at Jacob.

Two people flanked him. On one side, a man around thirty in black-framed glasses, hair neat, posture attentive — clearly there in a supporting role. On the other, a young woman, perhaps twenty, polished and well-presented in a fitted blazer, wearing a pleasant smile that she maintained with obvious effort.

"Dr. Jacob, I owe you an apology." The man — his name was Dawson Braddock, the actual director behind the detective agency, a seasoned Ace Trainer — spread his hands with a look of practiced contrition. "My employees acted outside their bounds and caused you unnecessary trouble. I take full responsibility."

Jacob looked at him without expression.

He didn't believe a word of it. A director who didn't know what jobs his own agency was taking — that wasn't how these operations worked. But he let the man finish.

"Allow me to apologise properly." Dawson lifted his glass and drank it without ceremony.

Jacob waited.

"Boss Dawson," he said, his tone even, "I'm not here to make this difficult. Give me the client's information, and we can both go about our day."

The smooth confidence in Dawson's expression flickered for just a moment. He recovered quickly, reaching for his glass again. "I can see my apology wasn't sufficient. Let me do better."

He drank three more glasses in quick succession, grimacing slightly at the burn.

Jacob sat back and watched without comment.

He wasn't impressed by the gesture, and he wasn't going to pretend otherwise. Dawson was an Ace Trainer at best — not Heavenly King, certainly not anyone whose position or connections gave him any real standing with Jacob. But the point wasn't whether Jacob was worried about Weston. The point was that if he let this go with nothing more than a few drinks and a vague apology, he was making it easy for the next person to try the same thing.

Make it too cheap to cross the line, and people would keep crossing it.

Dawson needed to understand there was a cost. Jacob said nothing and kept his gaze steady.

Sensing the approach wasn't working, Dawson turned to the young woman beside him. "Sadie — Dr. Jacob doesn't seem interested in drinking with me. Why don't you keep him company? If he's not satisfied today, you keep going."

The woman named Sadie blinked, turned to Jacob with wide, slightly watery eyes, and drank her glass without further prompting. Her expression tightened briefly at the burn.

Jacob watched the performance for a moment. Then he reached across to the table, picked up two large bottles of baijiu that had been left there, and set them down in front of Dawson with a quiet thud.

"You clearly enjoy drinking. Help yourself. I'll have the waiter bring more if you run out."

Dawson's expression curdled. Sadie went pale.

"Jacob." Dawson's voice had lost its warmth. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

Jacob looked at him calmly. "One question, Boss Dawson. Can you give me the client's information? If yes, we can have a real conversation. If no, I'll see myself out."

Dawson's face worked through several expressions before settling on something strained. "Dr. Jacob — you understand our industry. Handing over a client breaks every rule we operate by. If word got out, we'd be finished. Surely there's a number that makes this easier."

Jacob's mouth curved slightly. "I understand what you mean."

He stood and walked toward the door.

"Dr. Jacob." Dawson's voice followed him, sharper now. Jacob kept walking. "We're both going to be working in the Imperial Capital — there's no reason to make enemies over this."

Jacob paused at the door and looked back. The expression on his face was not warm.

Dawson held his gaze, then pressed forward, his tone shifting into something more pointed: "The Dragon King has already been reassigned to the Magic City. Your network here is thinner than it used to be. Drink with me, name a price, and we move on. More allies, more options."

"More allies, more options," Jacob repeated flatly. He shook his head. "Not the kind of allies I'd want. Not the kind of options worth having."