Chapter 207: To Suck or Not to Suck

Three more days passed after Xiaosheng left.

By the time Galarian Corsola had finally been trained by him into the habit of eating on time, waking up to look for food more precisely than an alarm clock.

Baimu knew his chance had come.

So.

This time he deliberately did not prepare Galarian Corsola's lunch, acting as if he'd forgotten, and began eating on his own.

The other few Pokémon also buried their heads and ate wildly, deaf to anything outside the meal, focused solely on gnawing the food in their dishes.

Galarian Corsola looked left, looked right, and after a long while couldn't find its bowl; the already gloomy expression grew visibly gloomier.

It tentatively stretched out a feeler and waved it, trying to draw Baimu's or the surrounding Pokémon's attention, only to find that no one reacted.

Its entire face instantly took on a doubly depressed posture.

Galarian Corsola: (′へ`、)

Baimu kept a calm face on the surface, but in truth began looking forward to it coming to complain to him, or directly fighting the other Pokémon for food.

... It did seem a bit inhumane, but the main point was to stimulate Galarian Corsola, to pull it out of its twenty-three-hours-and-fifty-minutes-a-day slacking time by three or four hours, taking the first step toward a normal Pokémon's activity frequency.

Turning the idea of obtaining food into motivation was, after all, a little better than curling up all day long.

Coercion was definitely coercion, but only in the inducement phase.

Unfortunately, Galarian Corsola had been slacking for so many years that it absolutely couldn't be changed from passive to active by just one small trick from Baimu.

No food given?

Then it just wouldn't eat.

Galarian Corsola cut the power on the spot, closed its eyes, stopped floating, and dropped to the floor with a clatter.

Baimu: "..."

Boldore and the others, who had long been on edge: "..."

Dreepy: "Mo Nao mo Nao mo Nao~"

No big problem, expected as much.

Although he was certainly looking forward to it in his heart, it was perfectly normal for Galarian Corsola to keep its mouth shut.

The real tug-of-war had only just begun!

Baimu quickly finished his meal, placed Galarian Corsola at the head of the bed, arranged it like a decorative ornament and left it alone, gave up his usual fondling, and led a group of Pokémon as if heading to the battle area to fight.

The instant the door closed.

Galarian Corsola opened the eyes it had closed.

Outside the door, Baimu, holding his phone and watching the surveillance, breathed a sigh of relief; he had actually been a little worried Galarian Corsola would slip away.

Don't be fooled by the window being shut tight—for a Ghost-type Pokémon, a mere sheet of glass meant nothing; it could go out whenever it wanted, easily.

Now it seemed this one couldn't even be bothered to slip away.

He didn't go to the battle area.

Baimu ordered a coffee in the leisure area, watching the surveillance while trimming Dreepy's fur, and an entire morning slipped away like flowing water.

Noon.

He deliberately made some glowing dishes with especially strong aromas, packed them up, and brought them back to the room.

Opening the door, he saw Galarian Corsola properly staying at the head of the bed; it clearly sensed him return, but showed no reaction whatsoever.

Baimu didn't mind either. He took out the lunchbox and began distributing food to Boldore and the others; the corner of his eye caught Galarian Corsola opening its eyes, so he deliberately took out its food bowl and shook it.

When the meal officially started, he quietly hid the food bowl again, and deliberately piled Boldore's portion high, creating the impression that the food had been snatched away by Boldore.

Lunchtime arrived.

Galarian Corsola, following habit, floated over as slowly as a snail.

Ghost-type Pokémon could indeed float without needing the Levitate Ability, but speed was still divided into fast and slow.

Galarian Corsola's floating speed belonged to the slow category—whether it was naturally so or related to its personality, influenced by its slacker genes, was unknown.

All the Pokémon began their meal.

Galarian Corsola arrived, spun in place three hundred and sixty degrees, and didn't find its portion.

This fellow froze like it had crashed, stunned and motionless.

Chansey felt an inexplicable pang of heartache, and pleaded with her eyes toward Baimu; the latter silently shook his head, merely holding up one index finger at it.