Morning headlines blared big news: under pressure from major global powers, Japan had abruptly halted its discharge of nuclear wastewater into the Pacific Ocean. Early that same day, it had begun releasing a small volume, around ten tons, only to cease operations after a fierce international backlash.
Governments around the world, especially the mighty United States of America, had applied enough pressure to force Japan to back down. For the time being, the world breathed a sigh of relief. But tensions remained.
Japan's Foreign Ministry insisted that they had no long-term solution to deal with the ever-growing accumulation of radioactive water. They vowed to reconsider dumping it into the ocean in the near future.
Sitting at his office desk, Ethan scrolled through the day's reports. Distaste flickered in his eyes. "So they tested the waters literally and caved under global outcry. They're saying only ten tons got out so far. That's small, but the principle stands. If they do it again at scale, it could be catastrophic." He shut his laptop with a weary sigh. "The more I follow this, the more it feels like a ticking time bomb."
Yet part of him felt relief that his newly hatched plan centered around Suicune might buy the world some time. Since Suicune's gene had become available, he'd poured his heart and resources into speeding its development.
If Japan eventually resumed dumping, perhaps Suicune could mitigate the damage. He found the situation distasteful, but if it propelled a new Pokémon's birth and showcased Pokémon's potential to protect the planet, so be it.
...
A light knock at the door pulled Ethan from his thoughts. Annie entered, carefully balancing a wide-eyed Pikachu, Timmy. She looked exasperated yet amused. "Mr. Grave," she began, "I have a few updates. First, we've had calls from eight hospitals wanting to buy Hoothoot. They want to place combined orders for a discount."
Ethan gave a short laugh. "In such a hurry, are they? I guess the success at Tarvok City's Holistic Hospital is creating a buzz."
Annie nodded. "Exactly. They say 300,000 Dollars per Hoothoot is steep. They're hoping for a discount."
Ethan leaned back, crossing his arms. "Hoothoot is specialized. If they want multiple birds, we can do a group purchase price. Let's say if they buy twenty or more total, give them 50,000 off each. 250,000 a piece."
"All right, I'll let them know." She patted Timmy's head, who squeaked in protest. "We've also had a half-dozen phone calls from the same group of hospitals. They plan to handle insomnia cases just like the Holistic Hospital does. Hard to blame them, Hoothoot's success has been plastered everywhere in local media."
Ethan cracked a small smile. "Let them talk. As long as each hospital ensures good working conditions for the Pokémon, it's fine by me. I don't want them overworked or exploited. We can't let Hoothoot become another piece of equipment they push to its limits."
Annie nodded. "Understood. I'll include a usage protocol in the sales agreement maximum daily hours and mandatory rest times. That covers your concerns, right?"
"Perfect," Ethan said, satisfied.
After Annie left, Ethan opened new online articles about Hoothoot's medical usage. The old director of Tarvok City's Holistic Hospital had given a glowing interview, praising the "Hoothoot Hypnotherapy" for severely insomniac patients.
The piece was half testimonial, half advertisement for the hospital's new approach. Dr. Sun also appeared in the interview, recounting his own experience and confirming that patients with chronic insomnia quickly entered a deep, restful state under Hoothoot's gentle gaze.
"I didn't believe it at first," said one quoted patient. "But the moment I locked eyes with that little owl, my entire body unwound. I slept an unbroken eight hours in the hospital ward. Before that, sleeping pills barely gave me three hours. If Pokémon Biotech sold these Hoothoot to individuals, I'd buy one in a heartbeat."
Ethan saw numerous netizens echo this sentiment in the comment sections:
"Why limit such a therapy tool to hospitals? I want to buy one for personal use!"
"Hypnosis can be abused if it's in the wrong hands. Maybe it's safer at hospitals."
"Thank you, Mr. Grave, for giving us hope for a medication-free solution!"
None of it surprised Ethan. They'd predicted this scenario. Let people clamor, he thought. He'd prefer controlled usage at first, ensuring Hoothoot wouldn't be weaponized. The day might come when private ownership was okay, but not until the public learned enough to avoid misdeeds.
He glimpsed Timmy scurrying away, chasing after Annie. "She's always doting on that Pikachu," he murmured, shaking his head. "No wonder it's so chubby."
Another beep from his phone signaled new headlines about Japan's nuclear predicament. Larger powers insisted on a complete halt to wastewater dumping, but the official statement from Japan's environment minister declared the storage capacity might max out within a year. Their only recourse, as they insisted, was ocean dumping. The rest of the planet, outraged, demanded alternative solutions.
Ethan rubbed his temples, feeling the tension. "Looks like they'll stall for a while, but eventually they'll push it again. That's when Suicune might be crucial, as a symbolic or literal solution." Even if Suicune could not decontaminate an entire ocean alone, it could demonstrate a new path like a living purifier technology.
The Japanese government might hire Pokémon Biotech at an astronomical fee, or perhaps ally with them to develop specialized water cleanup. If done right, Ethan's project might yield a second wave of global Pokémon appreciation.
"I just hope Suicune's emergence is timely. If they postpone the water release, it gives me a window to hatch Suicune, test its powers, and prove to them it can work."
He propped his chin on one hand, letting the idea simmer. It felt a little mercenary to expect a large payoff from a crisis, but that was business. His top priority was to ensure nuclear contaminants wouldn't pollute the sea, not just to fill his pockets. Still, if Japan footed a massive bill to support Pokémon-based cleanup, so be it.
...
Around noon, Annie returned with fresh updates from her calls. Timmy clung to her shoulder, drowsy from midmorning play. "Mr. Grave, the group of hospitals is excited about the 50k discount on 20 or more Hoothoot. They might finalize the order next week. Each facility wants two or three."
Ethan's brows rose. "That's 40 or 50 total. Have we enough Hoothoot in the pipeline to meet that demand?"
Annie shrugged. "We're breeding them steadily, but with no illusions that we can meet giant orders overnight. James lab says we can supply around 10 to 15 grown Hoothoot next month if all goes smoothly, plus more later."
Ethan chuckled. "They'll have to queue. That might keep them from overbuying. We can't conjure them instantly, especially if we want to maintain quality and safe breeding."
Annie smiled. "Exactly. By the way, the director from Holistic Hospital wants the two freebies you promised once we have extra supply. I told them, 'Yes, but wait until next batch matures.'"
"Good," Ethan responded. "The Holistic Hospital earned it by pioneering the therapy. Let them keep being our pilot site."
...
Sipping a newly poured mug of coffee, Ethan leaned back in his desk chair. The nuclear crisis might be stalled, but the world was still on edge. Meanwhile, Hoothoot soared in popularity, opening new medical markets. And somewhere behind the scenes, Suicune's creation advanced quickly in Lab No. 2's super culture tank. If that legendary Pokémon emerged soon, it might become the final piece bridging the environmental crisis and the public's desire for hope.
"Busy times," he mused softly, scanning the latest data from the culture tank. Suicune's growth was indeed rapid. The embryo had formed a day earlier than he'd expected. All signs indicated a stable creation he might see it hatch within two weeks if the nutrient consumption pattern held true. Perfect timing to coincide with the Victoria show.
He rose, glancing out the floor-to-ceiling window at the bustling city. Tarvok City thrived under midday sunshine, people rushing to lunches and appointments, oblivious to the bigger crises. At Pokémon Biotech, staff hammered away at breakthroughs large and small like Hoothoot solving insomnia or a legendary Pokémon soon to address a nuclear hazard.
Clutching the coffee, he headed down the corridor, searching for James. It was time to finalize the expansions needed for extra lab space. With a wave of new Pokémon and surging Hoothoot demand, they desperately needed bigger facilities. That, plus the potential collaboration with Japan, might change everything.
Walking quickly, Ethan's mind whirled with half-formed plans: would Suicune appear in the Victoria show if it hatched early? Could it overshadow the eight new Pokémon or the unveiling of cheaper Pokémon prices? Possibly. Yet each crisis or challenge also spurred Pokémon's acceptance like Hoothoot's sudden surge in healthcare. Perhaps every adversity confirmed a single truth: Pokémon were merging deeper into daily life, from hospitals to environmental rescue.
"That's what we wanted from day one," he reminded himself, turning a corner. "A real synergy between these creatures and humanity, bridging the impossible. If Suicune or Hoothoot can heal human troubles, then we're on the right path."
He exhaled, then gave a determined nod. "Let's keep going. The world is watching."