Jake stood frozen, one hand slapped over his mouth, eyes wide like he'd just blurted out a state secret during a lie detector test on live TV.
He was horrified.
"What the hell…" he muttered under his breath, voice muffled behind his palm. His pupils darted around the classroom, locking eyes with several stunned classmates.
They were all staring at him like he'd just kicked a puppy.
Jake frantically shook his head, panicking like a guy who just realized he hit 'Reply All' on a company-wide email trash-talking his boss.
No, no, no. That's not what he meant to say!
Why had his mouth gone rogue?
Inside, his thoughts were spiraling.
"Why did I say that out loud?! I was just thinking it! What kind of freaky brain betrayal is this?!"
Though Jake was a bit of a two-faced gossip and a professional grumbler, he wasn't stupid. It didn't take long for him to connect the dots.
His eyes narrowed and swung over to David, who was leaning casually on a desk, smiling with the smug satisfaction of a cat who had just pushed a glass off the counter on purpose.
Jake's rage-meter hit the redline.
[Obtained from Jake's negative emotion value +100…]
[Obtained from Jake's negative emotion value +110…]
[Obtained from Jake's negative emotion value +120…]
Meanwhile, the students who had just minutes ago believed Jake's "Tom must've cheated" theory were now glaring at him like a plate of expired sushi. Their faith in his judgment evaporated the moment he called the class a bunch of low-IQ scumbags.
One particularly offended student stood up and pointed at himself.
"Hey, Jake," he said slowly, "what do you think of me, huh?"
Jake clamped both hands over his mouth like he was holding in a sneeze, but the words still oozed out between his fingers like cursed slime.
"Oh, you? You're an idiot!" Jake spat helplessly. "Your family wasted money buying you a flashy Gym potential starter thinking it'd make up for your nonexistent talent. If your parents hadn't bribed the system, you'd be failing gym class right now!"
You could practically hear the record scratch.
The room went dead silent again, the kind of silence that only happens when someone's funeral just got scheduled mid-conversation.
The student—Li Xiao gangbang—stared back in shock. His jaw dropped. Then clenched. Then dropped again. He looked like he'd just been told his pet Growlithe got run over by a Snorlax. ( 😏)
[Negative emotion value +50 …]
[Negative emotion value +100 from Jake…]
[Negative emotion value +60 …]
[Negative emotion value +110 from Jake…]
David raised an eyebrow as the system pinged away like a slot machine jackpot. He rubbed his chin.
"Wait a second…" he muttered. "Why am I getting Li's negative emotion points?"
He paused. Realization slowly dawned.
"Hang on. You mean to tell me—everyone who gets mad at Jake right now counts as my emotional loot?" he whispered to himself.
To confirm his theory, he casually pointed to another guy sitting nearby.
"Hey Jake," David said smoothly, "what do you think about him?"
Jake's eyes bulged. He shook his head furiously, but the potion had him in a verbal chokehold. He turned to the student and blurted:
"This guy ? Please. You put on this fake hardworking act just to impress the teachers. Guess what? You're still a chubby mess with a secondhand personality! And your girlfriend's cheating on you, by the way. Yeah. Saw her walk into a hotel with some black dudes three nights ago."
There was a collective gasp.
The victim—Sandeep—froze. At first he looked angry. But that anger quickly gave way to a strange, unsettling realization.
Wait… what?
His face slowly turned ghost white.
David could see the exact second Sandeep's brain melted. He pulled out his phone in a trembling hand and stumbled to the back of the classroom. Within seconds, his voice could be heard—full volume, full heartbreak, yet the moans of his girlfriend with the black dudes were louder.
"WHY?! I BOUGHT HER FLOWERS! I EVEN SHARED MY RARE CANDIES WITH HER! WHYYYYY!"
[Negative emotion value +50 from Sandeep…]
[Negative emotion value +100 from Jake…]
[Negative emotion value +60 from Sandeep…]
[Negative emotion value +110 from Jake…]
David actually felt a flicker of guilt. Just a flicker, though.
He walked over and gently patted Sandeep's shoulder like a supportive friend who was also maybe a little bit responsible for his emotional collapse.
"Hey," David said gently. "Look on the bright side. Maybe she's just… networking. You know, building a career. We can always support her future on… Pornhub?"
Sandeep burst into a fresh round of sobs.
[Negative emotion value +100 from Sandeep…]
David nodded to himself.
Yep. Theory confirmed.
The Truth Potion was forcing Jake to say every vile thing he'd ever thought, and every single person offended by it was feeding David a sweet stream of negative emotion points.
It was glorious.
And judging by the way Jake was sweating like a roast ham in a sauna, the show wasn't over yet.
***
David, as usual, was up to no good—and loving every second of it.
While other students in class were busy pretending to study or sneakily watching Pokémon battle clips on their tablets, David was gleefully collecting negative emotion points like they were rare candies. This time, his source of premium-grade drama fuel was none other than his best disaster of a friend, Jake—a human confessional booth with no filter and zero survival instincts.
David leaned in, notebook in hand, smirking. "Jake, what about her?"
Jake didn't even blink.
"Bah! She's uglier than a burnt Garbodor and still has the nerve to call herself cute every day! Honestly, it's disgusting to look at!"
Gasps rippled across the classroom like a chain reaction of Pikachu's Discharge.
David snorted, scribbling that down with glee. "Okay, okay. What about him?"
Jake smirked like a man who had just unlocked the gossip badge of honor. "Oh, his girlfriend told me in secret that he—ahem—can't 'do it,' if you know what I mean. So, she went and slept with his dad."
The entire room fell into a stunned silence.
Even the class's resident troublemaker Tom dropped his pen and mouthed, "Bro, what?!"
David didn't know whether to laugh or file a trauma report on behalf of the dude in question. Jake had just casually nuked someone's entire family tree and moved on like he'd ordered lunch.
Jake, meanwhile, sat there like a proud Meowth who'd knocked over twenty flowerpots and blamed the wind.
David carried on, going around the room one by one, asking Jake for opinions on each student like a chaotic game of hot takes roulette. By the time they reached the thirtieth victim, David had gathered enough negativity to charge a Gengar for a decade.
Out of roughly thirty students, only a handful had trauma-induced romantic tragedies. The rest were now full-blown enemies of Jake, glaring at him with the collective rage of a Magmar in rush hour.
Jake, still seated with a smug face and absolutely no awareness of the social apocalypse he'd just triggered, finally looked up and saw… hell.
A swarm of students was slowly closing in on him, eyes glowing with vengeance, like a pack of Mightyenas who'd just spotted the meat delivery guy.
"You absolute idiot," Tom whispered from the sidelines. "You just offended the whole class."
Someone in the back yelled the words that would become the official declaration of war.
"BEAT HIM UP!"
That was it.
Jake's smirk melted like a Snover in a sauna. His eyes darted across the room in pure horror as sleeves were rolled and fists were clenched.
"You bastards! Don't come any closer!" Jake shrieked, backing away frantically, arms flailing like a Psyduck in a panic attack. "My body is very precious! If I break, you can't afford the repair bill!"
No one cared.
Jake stumbled backward, eyes wide with terror, until his back hit the corner of the classroom. Trapped. No escape. He hugged his head and squatted down like a kid caught cheating on his Pokémon knowledge exam.
"Wait, wait, I didn't mean all of it! I was joking! That stuff about the dad thing—okay, maybe that was true, but I swear I only said it out of love!"
His voice cracked halfway through the sentence.
David, standing nearby with a wide grin, couldn't help but chuckle. Watching Jake, the big-mouthed gossip factory, now reduced to a shivering ball of regret in the corner, was poetic justice at its finest.
There was something deeply satisfying about it.
A man who flew too close to the gossip sun… and got burnt.
And yet, even while half the class prepared to legally redecorate Jake's face, David couldn't stop laughing. Not because he enjoyed the suffering—well, maybe a little—but because Jake did it all to himself. Every savage confession. Every insult. Every nuclear-level truth bomb.
Jake was like a walking disaster episode with a voiceover by drama.
And as the mob prepared for retribution, David scribbled one last note in his journal of chaos:
"Next time: Ask Jake about the teachers."
Roughly three or four minutes after the chaos erupted, the classroom finally started to settle. The mob had dispersed, some students casually returning to their seats like they hadn't just tried to legally remove someone's spine. Others wiped tears from laughter off their faces. A few were still recovering from the psychic damage caused by Jake's earlier gossip.
And speaking of the culprit…
Jake—who had been flattened like a Snorlax taking a nap on a mudslide—finally began to rise from the floor. His face was swollen beyond recognition. Honestly, he looked less like a high school student and more like a poorly-drawn Grumpig. His nose was the size of a small balloon, one eye was barely open, and there was a distinctly squished vibe to his whole skull.
Just as Jake managed to wobble halfway upright, the door swung open.
In walked Melissa, the homeroom teacher, clutching her coffee and clipboard like she was about to give a lecture on cellular division.
She looked up.
Saw Jake.
Paused.
And then, without thinking, stepped directly on him.
THWUMP.
Jake hit the floor again with a surprised yelp, face-first, like a pancake thrown by fate.
The classroom erupted in laughter. It was unfiltered, full-blown, gut-busting laughter—the kind that makes your ribs hurt and your soul feel lighter. Students were slapping desks, wiping tears, and gasping for air. Even Tom nearly fell off his chair. David bit his sleeve to keep from howling.
Melissa blinked, startled. "Wait—who is this?" she asked, adjusting her glasses and pointing to the crumpled mess at her feet. "Is he... one of ours?"
Jake slowly peeled himself off the floor, wobbling like a Magikarp out of water.
Tears of pure betrayed emotion trickled down his bruised, ballooned cheeks as he croaked out in that unmistakable, squeaky-drake voice:
"Teacher Melissa... It's me. Jake."
Melissa's eyes widened. "Jake?! What the—what happened to you?!"
Jake's finger shot out, trembling, pointing at the entire class like a victim in a crime documentary.
"They... they hit me!"
His voice cracked so hard, someone in the back genuinely asked if a balloon had popped.
Melissa's expression changed instantly. Her smile dropped like a Wobbuffet's win rate. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the classroom. The temperature dropped five degrees. The students all suddenly became fascinated with their textbooks, shoes, ceiling tiles—anywhere but her gaze.
David even ducked behind his wall of stacked textbooks like a cowardly architect hiding from divine wrath.
Melissa wasn't stupid. She knew Jake was annoying, but thirty students against one?
That screamed classroom felony.
"David!" she barked, eyes locking on him like a Heat-Seeking Hyper Beam. "What happened here?"
David scratched the back of his head, awkwardly. "Uhhh... I mean… It's a bit complicated."
Realizing this was spiraling, David sighed and went for the nuclear option. "Fine. Jake, buddy," he said, turning to the human piñata. "Tell us what you really think of Teacher Melissa."
The room went dead silent.
Jake blinked. He looked at Melissa.
Then looked back at David.
Then back at Melissa.
For a second, just a second, he had a flicker of self-preservation.
He shook his head quickly and clamped his hands over his mouth.
But alas... Jake's mouth had other plans.
Even muffled behind his fingers, his voice pierced through the classroom like a Gardevoir's screech.
"She wears clothes that revealing every day—obviously trying to seduce men!"
The class collectively gasped.
Jake wasn't done.
"She only cares about David! Always calls him to stay after class! Probably told him to sleep with her, too!"
David: "???"
Melissa: (╬ Ò ‸ Ó)
[Mega Rage Mode Activated.]
In that single moment, the mood in the classroom turned from "ha ha, funny" to "someone's about to catch a lawsuit… or a Thunder Punch."
David just blinked. "Bro… why am I in this episode?!"
System notifications started popping into David's head like it was a mobile game:
[Melissa's Negative Emotion +100]
[David's Negative Emotion +50]
[Jake's Negative Emotion +100]
Melissa stood perfectly still. Her pretty face had gone completely icy. Her fists clenched so tightly, even her clipboard cracked slightly under pressure.
She slowly approached Jake.
"Jake…" she said, voice trembling with barely contained wrath, "you're coming with me."
"W-Wait, Miss—hold on—I didn't mean it like that! That was just—uh—dark humor! Satire! Freedom of speech!"
But she wasn't listening.
Melissa grabbed Jake by the collar with the strength of a Machamp.
"Since you love talking so much," she said sweetly, "you can explain everything to the grade director."
David winced as Jake got dragged across the classroom like a sack of potatoes headed for judgment day. The door slammed behind them.
Then a loud KICK was heard, followed by Jake's distant, tragic scream as he was launched directly into the office.
Lesson of the day: Sometimes silence is golden.
In the classroom, David sat frozen in his chair, face pale, eyes glazed over like he'd just watched his life's work go up in flames. Which, technically, he had.
If he'd known Jake was going to open his mouth and launch a verbal Molotov cocktail at his carefully constructed romantic master plan, he never would've asked him a thing. Honestly, what good ever came from letting Jake speak? The man's mouth was a cursed artifact.
David slumped over his desk in despair. His "Melissa Capture Plan"—a slow-burn strategy involving casual flirty compliments, shared glances with emotional bonding, slowly get her to see him as a romantic partner, and eventually a romantic confession after becoming a Professional Pokémon Trainer—was now in smoldering ruins.
(Note: Anyone becoming a professional trainer considered fully adult and mature and can do whatever they want. So it's not uncommon for a student to date their teacher after graduation and trainer license. Wish you were at that earth, huh?)
All because Jake decided to blurt out, in front of thirty witnesses and the woman in question, that Melissa wanted him to "sleep with her."
He had never wanted to use a Psychic-type move to erase everyone's memories more in his life.
Meanwhile, the only thing keeping David from melting into a puddle of secondhand embarrassment was the sweet, sweet ding of system notifications whispering in his brain:
[Obtained from Jake's Negative Emotion Value +500…]
[Obtained from Jake's Negative Emotion Value +500…]
[Obtained from Jake's Negative Emotion Value +500…]
David blinked. Then blinked again.
"Wait… five hundred? Each?!"
He stared at the mental system panel like it had just handed him a lifetime supply of Ultra Balls. His theory had always been that negative emotional energy could be harvested for personal gain—something about it powering up his mental abilities or helping him become stronger—but this was next-level.
Sure, Jake was probably crying like a kicked Snubbull right now, but that amount of emotional fuel from one person? That wasn't normal. Even for Jake.
"Dang," David muttered under his breath. "That man is a goldmine of trauma."
And he was still racking it up. Somewhere down the hall, Jake was probably being given a stern lecture—or more likely, Melissa was dropkicking him into the next building. Either way, the system kept pinging like it was getting free Wi-Fi from his pain.
Tom leaned over from his seat with a concerned look. "Hey, uh… are you okay? You look like you just had a spiritual awakening."
David leaned back, grinning faintly. "I think Jake might actually be useful for something."
Tom blinked. "Are you high?"
"No," David said, eyes shimmering with purpose. "I'm farming."
Tom gave him a wary look and slid back to his seat. "Right. Well, if you start talking to the furniture again, I'm telling the nurse."
As David sat there, basking in the emotional fallout Jake had triggered, the system fed him one more confession Jake had screamed on his way out the door, echoing down the hallway:
"Also! Jason wears push-up socks! And Kelly's been using her twin brother's ID to win school tournaments!"
David nearly choked.
Yep. Emotional chaos was profitable.
And Jake was the most valuable mess in the building.
****
David sat at his desk, chin propped on one hand like a bored philosopher contemplating the tragic collapse of his love life. His brain, however, was still spinning circles around Jake's betrayal from earlier. That man's mouth was like a self-destruct button—press it once and boom, your dignity's gone, and your crush thinks you're a walking HR violation.
Just as David was mid-panic fantasy where Melissa suplexed him into the janitor's closet for being allegedly her secret lover, Tom's voice snapped him out of it.
"Hey! Bro! Let's bounce! School's out!" Tom called out from the doorway, already halfway into his backpack like it owed him lunch money.
David blinked. "School's… over?"
"Unless you've got a hot date with the chalkboard, yes."
David glanced around. Sure enough, the classroom was nearly empty, save for a few stragglers pretending to study while clearly watching videos under their desks. He sighed, packed up his bag, and followed Tom out the door.
Melissa was still nowhere in sight, which, given her current kill-on-sight mood toward Jake—and by association, anyone who ever made eye contact with Jake—was probably a blessing. David made a mental note to let her cool down for at least 48 hours before daring to show his face again. Maybe bring flowers. Or a peace treaty.
That evening, David fell back into routine. After a quick dinner (leftover pizza from three nights ago, because he lived life on the edge), he hit the backyard for Pokémon training. Pikachu was still stuck at Level 38, hovering just below his next power spike. Ralts, on the other hand, had finally hit Level 6 and was no longer tripping over its own stubby legs every time it tried to dodge an attack.
Progress. Slow, but progress.
Once training was done, David took a freezing shower—half because he needed it, half because he couldn't stop remembering Jake screaming about Melissa in front of the entire class. He dried off, flopped into bed, and passed out in three seconds flat. Tomorrow was another big day.
By the time the sun rose, David was already up. Barely. Groggy-eyed and swearing at his alarm clock, he scooped Ralts into its Poké Ball and slapped Pikachu's little cap on its head.
Originally, David hadn't planned to bring Pikachu to today's practical combat class. He figured he'd ease Ralts into action first—let the little guy get a feel for the arena before throwing him into the fire.
But then he remembered Jake.
Specifically, the 500 negative emotion points Jake had gifted him in a single meltdown.
And just like that, David changed his mind.
If he wanted more of those juicy emotion points, he needed to keep winning. And for that, he needed Pikachu. Ralts could ride the bench today.
Pikachu perched proudly on his shoulder like a fuzzy yellow general, tail twitching in anticipation. David zipped up his hoodie, adjusted his bag, and marched toward school with the solemn determination of a man ready to harvest chaos.
The campus was alive with excitement. Today marked the beginning of full-time practical Pokémon training for senior students—no more lectures, no more textbooks, no more falling asleep on a pile of flashcards and drooling on the syllabus. From here on out, it was all battles, bonding, and bruised egos.
The school's battle stadium stood like a modern coliseum, buzzing with activity. Inside, the facility pulsed with protective Rift energy—a type of safe-field tech that kept Pokémon from getting seriously hurt during combat. Think of it as bubble wrap for high-impact tackle moves.
With the stadium officially certified by the Pokémon League, it was one of the few legal places students could spar without getting fined—or expelled.
As David stepped into the arena, the sight before him looked like organized chaos. Students were everywhere—testing moves, strategizing, dramatically yelling commands like they were auditioning for a reality show.
Some were already paired off and battling, others were still trying to figure out which end of their Poké Ball was up. One kid was even lecturing his Magikarp like a disappointed dad.
David scanned the crowd.
Jake wasn't here.
Which was surprising, considering Jake had the subtlety of a Psyduck on caffeine and the ego of a Snorlax on a crowded bus. He usually made a dramatic entrance at every possible opportunity.
David shrugged, adjusted his grip on Pikachu's Poké Ball, and headed toward the registration desk.
Today wasn't about drama. It was about strategy, points, and maybe—just maybe—finding another emotionally unstable opponent to milk for those sweet system rewards.
Because if Jake's breakdown was worth 500 points…
David smirked.
Imagine what a public defeat would get him.
****
The moment David stepped into the battle arena, the air got tense—and not the usual tense like before a math pop quiz. No, this was more like the "someone just saw their ex with a new haircut and now there's going to be blood" kind of tension.
Across the stadium, Jake—who looked like a bag of resentment in human form—locked eyes with David. His face was twisted like he'd been chewing lemons for a week straight, and the faint purple bruise on the corner of his mouth was still proudly on display.
David tried not to smirk.
That little bruise? Courtesy of Melissa's right hook. Apparently, confessing your undying, totally fabricated love for your class monitor in front of the entire grade was a fast track to getting kicked out of the dean's office and slapped onto the school's "Do Not Invite to Prom" list.
Jake had been forcibly ejected within five minutes, reported to the school board, and came this close to being held back a year. The only reason he was still allowed in the building today was because the principal, perhaps fueled by caffeine and poor judgment, decided to give him one last chance.
Jake had spent the entire night sulking in his room, contemplating his existence and maybe Googling "how to file emotional distress claims against electric rodents." But by morning, he'd shifted gears. His bruised pride had been marinated overnight in vengeance and desperation.
Today, he had one goal: defeat David in the combat class and reclaim his title as "Guy Who Isn't a Complete Joke."
He saw David walking in, and like a piranha spotting a slow-moving toe, he struck.
"TEACHER!" Jake barked, bolting upright with the energy of a man who definitely didn't cry in the shower last night. "I want to challenge David!"
The battle instructor—an older man who looked like he spent his weekends screaming at TV screens during football matches—raised an eyebrow and turned toward David.
"Well, David? You up for it?"
David, still wiping sleep from his eyes and adjusting Pikachu's little baseball cap, yawned. "Sure. Why not."
Jake sneered. "Don't be a coward, David! Be a man!"
David blinked slowly. "I just said yes, calm down."
The room stirred instantly. A ripple of gossip and muttered side-comments spread like wildfire.
"Is Jake off his meds again? He's challenging David?"
"Dude, David's Pikachu has biceps under that fur, I swear."
"Yeah, that mouse is scary. It blinked at me once and I saw my GPA drop."
"I heard Pikachu bench-pressed a Machoke last week. With one paw."
Even the shy kids in the back who never spoke were now silently mouthing, 'Rest in peace, Jake.'
Jake, of course, heard none of this. He was too busy having a full anime villain monologue in his head. The logic went like this:
David may have a strong Pikachu and a flashy Ralts.
But neither came from a noble family or a fancy breeder.
That Pikachu? Probably lured in with snacks and empty promises.
The Ralts? Just lucky. Probably wandered into David's backyard and got tricked into a Poké Ball.
But Jake? Jake had strats.
He had a Bulbasaur, yes—who he lovingly referred to as "Garlic Bastard" on bad days—but more importantly, he now had a second Pokémon: an Onix.
That's right. A 28-foot rock snake with an attitude problem.
Jake had even fed it a secret enhancement item from his family stash. He wasn't sure what it did exactly—it came in mysterious packaging and might've been labeled "For External Use Only"—but Onix glowed after taking it, and that was enough for Jake.
To him, this was a guaranteed win. A Pikachu against a literal boulder serpent? Game over.
Jake was practically vibrating with smug energy as he stepped onto the battlefield. "Let's see your little electric rat handle this!"
David strolled casually to the opposite end, adjusting Pikachu's hat like a baseball coach about to ruin someone's career. He leaned down and patted Pikachu on the head.
"Okay, buddy. Your official debut. Win this, and I'll let you eat ketchup on anything tonight. Even cereal."
"Pika!" Pikachu responded with the pure joy of a creature that lived for food-based bribes.
He hopped down onto the field, tiny but unshakable, sparking with excitement.
Jake threw his Poké Ball with theatrical flair. "Go, Onix!"
With a dramatic THOOM, the Poké Ball exploded open, and the ground literally shook. A massive gray serpent of boulders erupted from the light, towering over everyone. It roared, dust flying, dramatic entrance music almost audible in the background.
David didn't even flinch.
"Oh cool," he said dryly. "You brought a gravel rollercoaster."
Jake grinned like a guy who just bet his life savings on a horse race with one leg. "This is the end for your Pikachu!"
The class around them couldn't stop whispering.
"Wait, did he just bring an Onix?"
"How the hell did he catch one of those?"
"Didn't he once fail a test by spelling 'Pokémon' with a Q?"
"I heard he bribed it with raw onions."
Meanwhile, Pikachu stretched like it had just woken up from a nap, sparks dancing from its cheeks.
Jake sneered, but not before getting in one last confession as he dramatically pointed forward.
"You think you're so clever, David? Just you wait! Onix is going to crush you! CRUSH YOU LIKE… like how I crushed on Rachel for two years and she still doesn't know my name!"
David blinked. "What?"
"Also!" Jake shouted, now fully spiraling, "You think I'm scared of your stupid Pikachu? Hah! You know who scares me? Tasha from Chemistry! She once made her Growlithe do push-ups! PUSH-UPS!"
David looked at the teacher. "Can we start before he confesses to arson?"
The referee, now visibly regretting every life decision that led him to this job, raised a hand and bellowed, "BEGIN!"
Onix roared, Pikachu crouched, and the battle began—one massive, stony beast against a tiny electric mouse with a big appetite and an even bigger ego.
Jake cracked his knuckles. "Hope your Pikachu brought a helmet."
David cracked his neck. "Hope your Onix brought a will."
The stadium held its breath.