Late at night, Japanese Prime Minister Mugiwara Aizawa sat in his office, deeply concerned about the situation in Japan. The nuclear leak there was a mess inherited from his predecessor, and year after year it fell on Aizawa's shoulders to deal with the problem. For the first few years of his term, he poured money into dealing with the nuclear waste, hoping to delay it as long as possible.
But every year the volume grew. By now, there were more than a million tons of stored radioactive liquid. Japan's capacity was nearing its limit; Aizawa knew that next year he might have no choice but to dump it into the ocean.
Prime Minister Aizawa felt the pressure all the time. Although Japan officially spent a staggering $70 billion a year to deal with Japan's waste, no truly effective solution had emerged. Each method offered only temporary relief. In the end, the "only solution" seemed to be to dump it at sea.
But that posed enormous risks to Japan's own fishermen, whose livelihoods depended on the ocean. Half a month ago, the government attempted to release a small test batch of the wastewater. The resulting pressure from various countries and Japan's own people was overwhelming. Protests erupted, and Aizawa's approval ratings sank even further.
Sighing, Aizawa recalled that his Environment Ministry had insisted that unless some miraculous new technology appeared soon, the only realistic way to deal with the problem was to dump the waste into the Pacific Ocean. He'd hoped outside powers like the United States or other developed nations would offer help, but none had. So the prime minister had all but resigned himself to condemnation if he chose to move forward.
"This is so difficult," Aizawa muttered, rubbing his temples.
Suddenly, he heard approaching footsteps.
"Prime Minister, the embassy of the Alverez Kingdom has just contacted us..." Aizawa's aide rushed in, slightly out of breath.
"What is it?" Aizawa frowned. Normally, he did not like interruptions this late in the day, but he trusted this aide's judgment.
"Their ambassador is here and wants to meet with you. He claims that the Kingdom of Alverez has a solution to our nuclear waste problems... so I..."
"Send him in."
A flicker of hope crossed Aizawa's face, though he remained cautious. The idea that the Kingdom of Alverez (which often competed with Japan on the world stage) had a real solution sounded almost too good to be true. Still, the aide's excitement was understandable; if it turned out to be real, it could change everything.
Within minutes, the ambassador from the Kingdom of Alverez arrived. Aizawa wasted no time:
"Your country can help us with the crisis in Japan?" he asked bluntly.
The ambassador smiled. "Yes. My government has just instructed me to contact you immediately to discuss the matter."
Aizawa narrowed his eyes. "What method do you claim to have? The top experts of the United States are baffled. Our own scientists admit no solution. Does the Kingdom of Alverez really have anything?"
"I wonder if you've heard of 'Pokémon,' a biotech company from the Kingdom of Alverez," the Ambassador said.
"I have heard of it," Aizawa admitted. In fact, the name "Pokémon Biotech" had recently appeared in various circles. They were producing unusual genetic organisms with remarkable abilities, creating hype among fans. But could they handle radioactive waste?
The ambassador nodded. "They are offering a genetically engineered organism capable of cleaning up nuclear waste. The company wants to negotiate terms with Japan: if you let them handle the waste, you pay them accordingly."
"A gene bio-method to purify nuclear waste?" Aizawa repeated skeptically. His government had come across numerous research proposals, none of which had been successful. "We would certainly pay if it worked," he added. "But can it really?"
The ambassador shrugged slightly. "That's for your government to decide."
Still, the brief conversation was enough for Aizawa. The Ministry of the Environment soon issued a public statement: Alverez Kingdom's Pokémon Biotech claimed to have a technology to solve Japan's nuclear waste problem, and planned to demonstrate it on site within days.
The news exploded around the world. Headlines proclaimed:
"Pokémon Biotech to solve Japan's nuclear waste crisis?" "World's leading scientists fail, but 'Pokémon' claims breakthrough." "Miracle solution or publicity stunt?"
Japan's Environment Minister told reporters about "a genetically engineered creature from Pokémon Biotech that can clean up nuclear contamination. Many major news outlets picked up the story, flooding their front pages with the sensational claim. With the Japanese fiasco already a hot topic, this announcement put the spotlight squarely on Pokémon Biotech and its lead designer, Ethan Grave.
Reaction was swift and polarized. Some were optimistic, citing Pokémon's past successes with evolutionary genetics. Others derided it as a public relations stunt. Animal rights groups denounced Pokémon Biotech for planning to expose a living organism to radiation. Many veteran biologists scoffed, insisting that it was impossible to neutralize radioactive elements so easily.
Nevertheless, the Internet was abuzz. The entire world, from casual netizens to government leaders, was discussing Pokémon Biotech that night. Back in the Kingdom of Alverez, Pokémon Biotech employees received calls from friends and family, all asking if it was true. They, too, were unsure what to say, since Ethan had yet to make an official statement.
Inside the company, employee chatter lit up internal forums. But their faith in Ethan remained strong: the man had performed one scientific miracle after another, so if anyone could pull this off, it was him.
"We'll see," they told each other, waiting for the final demonstration that could save an entire ocean from radioactive doom and cement Pokémon Biotech as the world's most daring biotech innovator.