David's voice echoed through the classroom like a well-aimed Poké Ball bouncing off a wall.
"Garlic bastard!"
There was a long pause.
You could hear a pin drop. Or at least the exact moment someone's brain short-circuited trying to process what they just heard.
Every student in the room slowly turned their heads toward David like they were in a slow-motion replay.
Was that… what they thought it was?
Someone two rows over leaned toward their friend and whispered, "Did he just call Bulbasaur a garlic bastard?"
The friend blinked, still confused. "Wait, is that a real Pokémon? Is that from a regional variant or something?"
"No way," another voice chimed in, "That can't be a real name. He's messing around, right?"
"I dunno," someone near the back said thoughtfully, "Sounds kinda believable, actually. I mean, it does look like a salad with legs…"
Melissa, one of the top students in class and self-proclaimed Bulbasaur fan, frowned and looked up from her notes. Her brow furrowed like she was trying to solve a particularly offensive math equation.
"David… what did you just say?" she asked, her tone calm but loaded with the kind of disbelief usually reserved for when someone claims Magikarp is secretly strong.
David, completely unfazed, smirked and stood his ground. He looked like a man proud of what he'd just done.
"I said," he repeated, slowly and clearly this time, "Garlic. Bastard."
Another moment of absolute silence passed.
This time, it landed perfectly. His voice was flat and casual, like he was reading out loud from a menu.
Everyone's eyes followed David's gaze to the blackboard.
There, centered neatly in chalk, was an innocent little Bulbasaur. Its wide eyes looked out at the classroom like it knew it was being talked about but didn't know why. The plant bulb on its back sat there like an overgrown clove of garlic just waiting to be thrown into a stew.
And that was it.
The mental image clicked in everyone's heads.
Boom.
The classroom erupted.
"WHAT?! That's Bulbasaur, you animal!" someone shouted, laughing so hard they nearly fell out of their chair.
"My poor Bulbasaur!" a girl gasped dramatically. "He's not a bastard! He's a sweet, leafy boy!"
A guy up front smacked his desk. "Bro, I can't unsee it now. It really does look like a pissed-off clove of garlic!"
One of the students buried his face in his arms. "Dude, I was gonna pick Bulbasaur as my starter, but now… now all I see is a bitter little salad."
The laughter snowballed. The entire room buzzed with chaos. Even a few of the quiet kids who normally stayed glued to their notebooks were giggling under their breath.
David, meanwhile, just leaned back in his chair, smug.
Mission accomplished.
Sure, he hadn't meant to start a riot, but if the teacher was going to put him on the spot and ask a loaded question, she was going to get a loaded answer. And hey, if he got a few negative emotion points from it, even better.
***
At first, no one really understood.
"Garlic… bastard?"
They repeated it like a strange phrase from another language. A few students tilted their heads like confused Psyducks, trying to connect the dots. But once David's words clicked—once they mentally linked that phrase with the happy, leafy face of Bulbasaur on the blackboard—everything changed.
It was like a mental trap had been set, and they'd walked right into it.
David's description wormed into their brains like a Parasite using Leech Life. The nickname "garlic bastard" sunk in deep. And the worst part? It kinda made sense. A little too much sense.
The way Bulbasaur's bulb sat on its back like a weird clove of garlic? The wide-eyed grin? The chunky legs? They could never unsee it.
David, of course, was soaking in the chaos.
Ding!
[negative emotion value +10…]
[negative emotion value +10…]
[negative emotion value +20…]
And it didn't stop there. The system kept pinging like a casino jackpot going off in David's mind. He almost laughed right then and there—almost. If it weren't for Ms. Zhu's death-glare burning two holes into his skull, he might've fallen off his chair from how proud he was.
Ms. Melissa's face was a masterclass in self-control. Her jaw clenched. Her eye twitched. Her grip on the pointer stick tightened like she was about to go full Machamp on someone.
The other students weren't much better.
Some glared at David like he'd just insulted their entire bloodline. Others just looked lost—like their entire worldview had been turned upside down by a single sentence.
Many of them had picked Bulbasaur. Not because it was trendy, but because it was affordable—thanks to the Alliance's long-term policy.
For years, the Alliance had a deal: if a family contributed 10,000 Alliance coins every month from the time their child was small until they turned eighteen, they'd get a carefully bred starter Pokémon—one of the original three. Total cost? 1.8 million coins. But the result? A professionally-raised Charmander, Squirtle, or Bulbasaur ready to join their kid's Pokémon journey.
And these weren't low-quality handouts either. These were high-value Pokémon, worth two to three million coins on the open market. Families had to save for years just to give their kids a fighting chance.
So yeah—calling that a "garlic bastard"? Not exactly polite.
All across the room, students who had proudly picked Bulbasaur for their future journey were now frozen in horror. Their starter—so cute, so round, so full of promise—was now mentally rebranded as a smug vegetable with legs.
One girl stared at the blackboard in betrayal. "Why does it suddenly… look weird now?"
A boy next to her whispered, "I swear that smile wasn't that creepy before…"
Even the blackboard drawing of Bulbasaur seemed to be in on the joke now. Its innocent grin now felt slightly mischievous. Like it knew it was being roasted and was secretly enjoying it.
From the back row, someone murmured, "Honestly, now that I'm looking at it… he does kinda look like a walking salad…"
Another student reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, like, a really smug salad."
David sat there, expression cool, hands folded like a villain whose plan had just succeeded.
Meanwhile, the mental damage was done.
The students who once dreamed of walking into the sunset with their loyal Bulbasaur now hesitated. They'd spent years waiting for that day. Saved up. Built expectations.
And now?
Now they had to look at their starter and think: garlic bastard.
Just when the class was drowning in a mix of laughter, disbelief, and emotional damage, a sharp voice cut through the noise like a Flying-type move slicing through paper.
"David! What the hell are you talking about?!"
The whole room tensed. David froze like a Sneasel caught in the headlights.
The grin on his face? Gone. Vanished. Erased.
His body jolted as if someone had jabbed him with a stun baton. Slowly, cautiously, he looked up toward the front of the room.
Melissa—his homeroom teacher and part-time tyrant—was standing at the podium, arms crossed, jaw tight, and eyes locked on him like a hunter lining up a shot. Her long ponytail twitched behind her like an angry Rapidash tail.
And oh yeah—her chest was rising and falling with each sharp breath. The oversized, school-issued teacher's uniform wasn't doing much to hide it, which meant half the class had stopped looking at David entirely and were now awkwardly trying not to get caught staring.
David, of course, didn't dare look up for long.
He wasn't about to get fried alive by laser eye contact.
He lowered his gaze just enough to avoid getting roasted, but he could still feel the pressure of her glare crushing him into his seat. His mind quickly processed the situation.
Yep, emotional value through the roof.
She was pissed. Fully, undeniably, furiously pissed.
Melissa was clenching her jaw so hard you could practically hear her teeth grinding. "Explain yourself. Now."
Of course she knew what he'd said. Of course she'd heard him shout "garlic bastard" loud enough to echo off the windows. She'd asked a basic, legitimate question about Pokémon choices for low-income trainers—and technically, David had answered correctly.
Bulbasaur was the right choice.
It was practical. Grass-type starters had solid early-game value. Easier to raise, strong against early Gym types, and generally tougher than they looked.
But instead of just saying "Bulbasaur" like a normal person… David had given it a whole new identity.
A cursed, vegetable-based nickname that had now corrupted the mental image of Bulbasaur for an entire class.
Melissa didn't even want to think about it. She tried not to think about it.
But it was too late.
Every time she pictured Bulbasaur now, the first thing that came to mind wasn't the little seedling's cute face or dependable vines. No—it was garlic. Big, chunky, smug-looking garlic with legs.
The nickname stuck in her brain like a bad pop song. The worst part? It was kinda accurate.
Ding!
[Melissa's negative emotion value +20…]
David didn't even need the system prompt to know it was working. He could feel the emotional value pouring in like coins into a vending machine.
He kept his mouth shut, barely resisting the urge to smirk. But even without looking directly at Melissa, he could sense the storm brewing behind those narrowed eyes.
The classroom was dead silent now. Not a single student dared make a sound. A few were trying to hold in laughter behind their textbooks. Others were just staring ahead like they were attending a funeral.
David's gaze flicked briefly toward Melissa's chest—purely for scientific, data-gathering reasons, of course—and he almost whistled in his mind.
Yeah, he thought, that kind of rage has to be worth at least +50 on a good day.
But he didn't dare say anything else. Not with her still staring him down like she was one bad sentence away from launching a textbook at his face.
No one else spoke. No one dared.
All eyes were on David. All rage was on Melissa.
And the only thing anyone could hear was the hum of fluorescent lights, the ticking of the wall clock, and the faint, cursed echo of "garlic bastard" still lingering in their brains.
David sat stiffly in his seat, guilt creeping up his spine like a cold Weedle. Maybe he'd gone too far. Maybe calling a beloved starter Pokémon a "garlic bastard" in front of twenty witnesses and one terrifying homeroom teacher wasn't his smartest move.
He glanced at the front of the classroom.
Melissa was still standing there, jaw clenched, arms crossed, looking like she was one awkward comment away from setting the school on fire.
David swallowed.
He could stop here. He really could.
But that's when they appeared.
Two tiny versions of himself popped up on his shoulders—one in black, one in white. The classic mental devils. Except... both were very clearly on the same team.
The little guy in black leaned close to his ear. "Go on. Say something even dumber. Maybe today's the day you get ten emotional draws in a row."
The one in white chimed in without missing a beat. "Yeah, he's got a point. Go big or go home. Do it!"
David blinked.
Both voices were saying the same thing?
That felt like a sign.
And so, just like that, his hesitation vanished into thin air. Survival instincts gave way to greed—emotional value was his currency now.
"Sorry in advance," he muttered in his heart, silently apologizing to Melissa and whatever dignity he had left.
Then he stood up again and faced the class.
Face dead serious, he pointed to the blackboard. "Come on. Are we really gonna ignore it? That thing—" he gestured at Bulbasaur "—that is definitely a little bastard carrying garlic. Look at it."
Before anyone could stop him, David reached into his pocket.
Yes. His actual school uniform pocket.
And pulled out a full, raw clove of garlic.
The room stopped breathing.
In his palm sat a bulb of garlic that was so fresh, the outer skin was still slightly green. The top came to a neat little point. The bottom was round and bulbous. The shape… was uncannily similar to the seed on Bulbasaur's back.
David held it up like he was revealing a lost artifact.
"Tell me this doesn't look exactly like Bulbasaur's back," he said, turning it slowly for everyone to see.
For a split second, no one made a sound.
Then came the choked whimpers. The snorts of laughter people were trying to hide. The gasps of those who just realized their beloved Bulbasaur was now forever linked with… produce.
Ding!
[Negative emotion value +10…]
[Negative emotion value +20…]
[+10…]
David could practically feel the points racking up. It was like hitting a jackpot at the emotional casino.
He didn't even have to say anything else. The garlic did all the talking.
Back at the podium, Melissa's mouth twitched violently.
It wasn't just disbelief. It was the kind of twitch people have when their brain short-circuits from trying to process too many idiotic inputs at once.
Her eyes narrowed, scanning the room, then locked onto David like guided missiles.
Her voice came out low and dangerous. "David."
He straightened automatically. "Yes, ma'am?"
She jabbed a finger at the garlic like it personally offended her family. "Who told you to bring garlic to class?!"
David looked at it, then back at her.
"…Meal prep?"
Wrong answer.
Her face darkened even more.
"And where did you even get that garlic?! You can't just carry garlic around like it's a pencil!"
Her voice cracked at the end, like her brain finally gave up halfway through the sentence.
David shrugged. "My grandma gave it to me. Said it'd keep bad energy away."
Melissa's eye twitched again.
A boy in the back audibly whispered, "It didn't work…"
Laughter rippled around the room like a water-type move splashing over a battlefield.
Melissa looked like she was deciding between quitting her job or throwing the garlic straight through the window.
But she didn't say another word.
She just stared at David, eyes full of unspoken fury, silently questioning everything about her life—including why, out of all the classrooms in the school, this was hers.
And most of all—why, in the name of all things decent—did this idiot actually have garlic in his pocket?