Of course, there was absolutely no way David was going to wear that maid outfit himself. He was many things—a shameless gambler, part-time scam artist, full-time emotional chaos gremlin—but even he had his limits.
Mostly.
Probably.
Still, true to his unreasonably smug nature, David refused to let anything he pulled out of a system gacha go to waste. That was a personal principle. The only exception? Items that had already scammed him three times and called him a loser in Morse code.
He stared down at the maid outfit now sitting on his couch like a cursed object from a haunted boutique. It shimmered slightly. The frilly lace trim almost seemed to taunt him.
David rubbed his chin like a cartoon villain mid-scheme.
"If I can't wear it…" he murmured, pacing dramatically, "then someone else can."
His eyes slowly slid sideways toward the unsuspecting Pikachu, who was lounging peacefully by the table, licking the remnants of moo moo milk off its paws.
David leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Don't you think so, Pikachu?"
Pikachu froze. Its ears twitched. Slowly, like a horror movie jump scare in reverse, it turned its head and locked eyes with David.
Pikachu: [Σ(°△°|||) — shocked rodent noises intensify]
[Negative emotion value +40 from Pikachu...]
[Negative emotion value +50 from Pikachu...]
[Negative emotion value +60 from Pikachu...]
David grinned.
"Aw, come on, don't look at me like that! It's adjustable size, stain-resistant, and comes with auto-cleaning features! You'll be the most fashionable mascot this side of Cerulean City!"
Pikachu started slowly backing away, clearly trying to calculate the nearest window it could escape through.
David, meanwhile, just smiled wider, basking in the glorious chime of negative emotion points ringing in his ear like victory bells.
David had finally gotten his petty revenge on Pikachu for breaking his already barely-holding-it-together table—one that probably would've lost a fight with a stiff breeze anyway. Feeling smug and spiritually refreshed, he turned toward Ralts, who was still innocently sweeping up splinters and table dust like a hardworking little gremlin.
But then, something shifted.
Ralts paused mid-sweep, his psychic little senses tingling.
He felt it.
A sudden chill. Like a ghost had licked the back of his neck.
He turned around slowly—and froze.
There stood David.
Holding the maid outfit.
The one from the cursed gacha draw. Lacy, frilly, sparkly. The whole catastrophic package.
David grinned like a man who'd just discovered a legal loophole for crime.
"Raaaalllts," he cooed, voice dripping with mischief. "Since we drew this beautiful outfit, it would be such a shame to waste it. Don't you think?"
Ralts: "Lalu?"
Translation: What the actual hell is happening right now?
Before the poor psychic could blink, his entire world blacked out in a blur of pink ribbons and betrayal. When he came back to consciousness two seconds later, he was fully dressed.
The maid outfit had adapted.
It had reshaped itself to fit Ralts's small frame perfectly, hugging his tiny shoulders like it had been designed by some perverse PokéParis fashion house. The frills swayed. The lace sparkled. A pink bow sat squarely on his chest like the final blow to his dignity.
David and Pikachu stared.
Then they nodded together in synchrony.
David: "Criminal."
Pikachu: "Pika pi..."
(Translation: Oh, we're going straight to PokéHell for this.)
David, still clapping his hands like he'd just crafted a masterpiece, declared, "It's settled! Ralts shall now develop professionally... as a maid."
He looked skyward with mock sincerity.
"The system prepared the outfit. Clearly this was fate. Not my decision at all. No blood on these hands."
Ralts, to everyone's surprise, seemed... okay with it?
In fact, she began to twirl slightly in place.
As if the outfit could read her mind—and let's be real, it probably could—it shimmered and transformed. One moment it was standard black-and-white maid attire. The next, it had upgraded with subtle pink trimming and a magical girl vibe that practically screamed "Ralts-chan, Sparkle Sweep Activate!"
David gasped.
"She's evolving... emotionally."
Pikachu muttered under his breath in Pokéspeak, probably something not suitable for daytime TV.
And yet, as Ralts admired herself in the reflective side of David's phone screen, clearly enchanted by the transformation, David felt... proud.
He also felt extremely relieved, because if Ralts hadn't liked it, the only other option for that maid outfit would've been his own body—and as he'd said many times before, "There's only zero or infinite times you wear womenswear. I choose zero."
"Ralts," David said in his best motivational speaker voice, "this is your reward. Wear it with pride. And also—clean with pride. Labor builds character."
Ralts, caught between joy and job obligations, gave a crisp salute with a tiny white-gloved hand.
"Lalu Lalu!"
Translation: Capitalism intensifies.
Re-energized and now 15% cuter, Ralts resumed cleaning the debris of the shattered table with double the enthusiasm. The dress even adjusted to add a cute little apron pocket, which filled itself with sawdust like magic.
David watched his new tiny maid work with glowing satisfaction.
Pikachu, however, was staring at the scene like he'd just watched someone bribe a toddler with glitter to do tax fraud.
He squinted at David.
Then at Ralts.
Then slowly raised a paw to his forehead in exasperation and looked away, sighing heavily. Scamming this liitle girl to wear a maid outfit, then making her work extra, I might not be human, but you are a real dog!
[Negative emotion value +20 from Pikachu...]
[Negative emotion value +30 from Pikachu...]
[Negative emotion value +40 from Pikachu...]
David grinned as the notifications chimed in like sweet, chaotic music.
"Keep it coming, boys. Daddy needs another ten-roll."
David, completely ignoring Pikachu's judgmental little face, dusted himself off, cracked his knuckles with dramatic flair, and marched off to the bathroom like a man about to commit to battle.
"Time to wash these lucky hands," he muttered, splashing water like it was holy and he was preparing to exorcise the gacha demons.
His reflection stared back at him, probably questioning every life decision that had led to drawing a universal maid outfit and forcing his Pokémon into a domestic cosplay fantasy. But David just winked at the mirror like an overconfident game show host.
He dried his hands, strutted back to his room, and pointed at the system interface like he was selecting a PowerPoint slide.
"Alright, System. Encore! Ten more C-tier rolls. Let's see what other nightmares you've cooked up today."
[Spending 10,000 negative emotion points. Ten consecutive draws in progress...]
[drip...drip...drip...]
[Successful draw!]
Here it came. The Seven-Colored Wheel of Disappointment.
[Congratulations to the host for obtaining: Thank you for participating *1.]
[Congratulations to the host for obtaining: Thank you for participating *1.]
David groaned. "Here we go again…"
[Congratulations to the host for obtaining: Fire Stone (low-level) *1.]
[Congratulations to the host for obtaining: Galar Zigzagoon egg (elite).]
[Guaranteed reward: Explorer Set *1 (Custom trainer gear—auto-cleans, transforms style based on need.)]
David blinked.
"Well. That's… actually not terrible?"
No sign of the elusive golden light, sure—but this was still a massive upgrade from the last draw, which had pretty much amounted to gag items and emotional trauma.
He stared at the Fire Stone. Low-tier, but still valuable. If he sold it, he'd easily bag 700,000–800,000 Alliance coins. For a broke teenager with a dream and a pile of student debt in Pokémon form, that was a massive payday.
"Not bad," he muttered. "Could definitely fund a new table. Or twelve."
Then his eyes landed on the Galar Zigzagoon egg.
"Ohohohoho—look what we have here!"
He carefully picked it up like it was made of glass and dreams. The egg shimmered slightly, patterned with bold black and white stripes, a hint of punk rock energy oozing off it like it was ready to scream into a tiny mic and trash a hotel room.
But what really caught his attention was the timing. He'd been meaning to pay back Melissa—his homeroom teacher, guardian angel, and professional guilt-inducer—ever since his bank balance didn't resemble a horror story anymore.
Now he had the means.
And maybe, maybe, this egg could be part of the repayment. If that doesn't work, he can always repay her with his handsome body .....
After all, when someone looks after you for three years straight—without being paid, and despite your emotionally chaotic tendency to name Bulbasaurs things like "Garlic Bastard"—they deserve more than a polite thank-you card.
He remembered how Melissa used to casually drop snacks and coins into his locker like it was a vending machine for human kindness.
Whenever he was too stubborn to accept her help directly, she'd somehow find ways to sneak around it.
"Oh, did you find some money on the ground again, David?" she'd ask with a knowing smile.
"Wow, must be my lucky day," he'd say while sweating internally.
She worried about whether he ate on time, whether his clothes were clean, whether he'd grown another millimeter in height—basically, she'd done everything except adopt him and stick him in a Poké Ball.
And yeah, sure, David had always told himself she was like a big sister... but that narrative was starting to wear thin. His emotions were drifting towards forbidden territory.
Because when he thought about paying her back, it wasn't with an awkward "thanks, sis!" energy.
It was more like, "Maybe I should repay her in installments... and also take her out for dinner... and maybe hold her hand... Bring her back to the apartment... strictly for appreciation purposes, obviously."
He coughed awkwardly, dragging his rowdy thoughts away from that rabbit hole.
Back to the egg.
He looked at it again and nodded. "This'll be my interest payment."
Melissa had saved his butt more times than he could count. When he needed money the most—when he was one ramen packet away from selling his shoes—she was the one who stepped in. No questions asked.
And yeah, lots of people are happy to celebrate with you when you're winning. But how many are willing to throw you a lifeline when you're drowning in bills and emotional damage?
He'd never forget that.
David clutched the egg gently and sat down, a rare flicker of sincerity crossing his face.
"Soon, Melissa. I'll pay you back for everything. And this time… maybe I'll do it without setting anything on fire."
Pikachu, overhearing from across the room, raised an eyebrow and shook his head silently.
Translation: You absolutely will set something on fire.
It just so happened—by some twist of fate or maybe the universe finally throwing him a bone—that Melissa's absolute favorite Pokémon were Galarian Zigzagoon and Furret. And not just in a casual, "oh that's cute" kind of way. No, she was obsessed. Her entire apartment looked like someone had sneezed a pile of Zigzagoon plushies into every corner. Throw pillows? Zigzagoon. Curtains? Furret. Coffee mug? Sentret with a bowtie. You couldn't even sit down without being judged by at least five raccoon-eyes from different angles.
David had been to her place once for tutoring, and the moment he walked in, he thought he had stumbled into a Pokémon-themed IKEA showroom curated by someone with an unhealthy love for stripey rodents.
But for all her adorably nerdy obsession, Melissa never actually owned a Galarian Zigzagoon. Why? Because unlike David, who had a bottomless pit of emotional trauma and bad life decisions fueling his gacha addiction, Melissa had standards—and a bank account that had been through three years of feeding, clothing, and low-key sponsoring a semi-feral teenager who refused to accept charity like it was a poison status.
Even after saving up 300,000 credits from skipping meals and budgeting like a calculator with anxiety, she still never bought herself a Pokémon egg. Because David—our charming disaster of a protagonist—always came first.
So now that he had this egg, this perfect punk-rock Galarian Zigzagoon egg with attitude and spikes and eyeliner energy, he knew exactly what to do with it.
Give it to Melissa.
He could already picture it: Melissa, holding the egg in her hands like it was made of gold, her eyes misty, her mouth trembling, whispering, "David… you idiot… this is the best thing anyone's ever done for me."
And then maybe she'd hug him. And maybe, maybe, he wouldn't die from emotional overload.
"As for the guarantee reward…" David muttered, turning to glance at the explorer suit now draped over his couch like a fashion-forward survival blanket.
It was sleek, rugged, and more high-tech than anything he'd ever owned. It cleaned itself (praise be), adjusted to environmental needs, and could change styles based on the situation. Basically, it was the Swiss Army Knife of outfits.
"No more buying overpriced PokéMart gear that falls apart after three forest trips," he grinned. "I'm officially upgrading from 'hobo with a backpack' to 'guy who looks like he might actually know what he's doing.'"
His eyes then flicked to Ralts, who was still scrubbing crumbs off the table in her freshly-donated maid outfit like she was trying to pay off an anime debt.
"Don't worry, you're part of this glow-up too," David said, giving her a thumbs up.
Ralts didn't respond, but the way her eye twitched suggested she was reconsidering her entire existence.
And finally, with his loot sorted and his moral compass temporarily aligned with good karma, David took a deep breath.
"Alright, System," he said, cracking his knuckles like he was about to arm-wrestle fate. "We're not done yet. Let's kick this thing up a notch."
[Command confirmed: Initiating B-Rank draw. Cost: 100,000 negative emotion points.]
This was it.
The big one.
The highest-stakes draw David had ever dared attempt.
He was about to burn through more negative emotion points than he'd ever spent in one go—and honestly, that was saying something. It had taken weeks of emotional sabotage, dramatic monologues, Pikachu-related betrayals, and public humiliation to rack up this kind of score.
"Let's go big or go home," David muttered.
His heart pounded. His palms itched. Even Pikachu in the corner was watching with a tense expression, clutching a popcorn kernel like it was a stress ball.
This was it.
The ten-pull to rule them all.
David took a deep breath, trying to steady the shaking in his hands. This was it—the big one. No more playing around with C-tier hand-me-downs and participation trophies. This was the B-rank prize pool, baby. The real deal. The kind of draw that separated amateurs from unhinged gamblers.
"Alright, System," David said, dramatically pointing his finger at nothing in particular, "ten pulls from the B-tier prize pool. Let's roll!"
[Command received. Spending 100,000 negative emotion points. Ten consecutive B-level draws in progress.]
Immediately, a gigantic, seven-colored roulette wheel exploded into his mind's eye. It was at least five times bigger than the sad little C-tier one, and it sparkled like a unicorn had vomited on a disco ball.
The pointer began spinning furiously, colors flashing, tension building, David's internal monologue screaming louder than a soap opera cliffhanger. Pikachu watched from the couch with a half-eaten rice cracker frozen mid-air near his mouth, eyes wide like he was witnessing either a miracle or the world's slowest financial disaster.
drip… drip… drip…
The wheel slowed. Lights blinked. David held his breath like he was trying to impress an underwater Snorlax.
[Draw complete! Processing results…]
[Congratulations to the host for obtaining: Secret Treasure Upgrading Scroll! (Use on any secret treasure below high-tier. 30% chance of successful upgrade!)]
David blinked. "A scroll? Oh great, I can finally cosplay as a wizard with anxiety."
Still, 30% was better than nothing—assuming he didn't accidentally burn it trying to toast a marshmallow.
[Congratulations to the host for obtaining: Ability Capsule – Individual Choice! (Allows a Pokémon to change its Ability to any of its natural abilities.)]
David's jaw dropped. "Holy crap. That's actually amazing. This is... like Pokémon steroids but legal. And probably gluten-free!"
He couldn't believe it. Two draws in, and he'd already hit jackpot items. For once, it looked like the system wasn't actively trying to sabotage him with "Thanks for Participating" medals and existential dread.
And there were still eight more to go.
David chuckled ominously, eyes glinting like a raccoon who just found a box of open cookies.
"Oh, we're eating good today."