Devon Corporation, Hoenn
At Devon Corporation headquarters in Rustboro City, Hoenn, polished marble floors reflected sunlight streaming through tall glass walls. In the highest executive suite, President Joseph Stone sat at his pristine, ultramodern desk, calmly enjoying a simple bento box. The chopsticks in his hand moved with slow, deliberate precision—until they didn't.
A low ping buzzed from his desk intercom.
"Sir, I have the weekly expenditure reports," his assistant's voice crackled through.
"Send them through," Joseph replied, gently placing his chopsticks aside.
The pneumatic delivery system hissed softly as a data slate slid into his hands. Stone tapped it once, eyes scanning. He paused.
Then frowned.
"What the fuck?!"
Joseph Stone was no longer a calm and collected man.
[XxX]
This world was not the one from the games or the anime.
It had been about twenty years since Red became Champion of Kanto. The rest of the regions eventually followed, closing their story arcs over the next decade. Now, the new Kanto Champion was Ash "Red" Satoshi—grandson of the original—and the infamous BS Pikachu? Yeah, it was still around.
But that wasn't the only thing that changed.
Battles weren't tame anymore.
They were explosive, tactical, and absurdly intense, like a crossover between Beyblade, Bakugan, Monsuno, Monster Pet Evolution, and Hunter x Hunter's Nen system. Elite-level combat was basically Dragon Ball choreography mixed with battlefield demolition.
Even something as simple as the F.E.A.R. strategy—Focus Sash, Endeavor, Quick Attack, most commonly seen on Rattata—was no longer just a gimmick. It was lethal.
In the modern meta, that little rodent, running on 1 HP, could punch through a pseudo-Legendary's face with all the force of a collapsing stadium. Either it dropped the titan in one shot... or it died trying.
Other strategies saw similar evolutions. Toxic Stall built around Protect, Substitute, and infinite sustain. Baton Pass chains with sacrificial stat-boosting into a finisher. Trick/Choice Item abuse to lock opponents into useless moves. Sticky Web and Hazard Stacking for total field lockdown. Belly Drum plus Priority for max power into instant kills.
No longer just clever tactics—these were now front-line tools in both official League matches and off-grid combat zones.
Then came Red again.
He mastered the new way and the old way. He wielded brutal stats and ruthless tactics. The moment he returned, the top ranks got shuffled—hard.
The League evolved.
And with that, so did the Elite Four.
Lorelei rebuilt her entire team around Hail strategies. Her battlefield control with Ice-types was no longer a simple gimmick. It was a winter deathtrap. She even ran a Rain team on occasion to fake out counters. Her Alolan Ninetales led with Aurora Veil, backed by Walrein's stall core, Cloyster's Shell Smash, and Frosmoth's Quiver Dance sweep. When things got serious, Weavile or Glaceon swept in for the finish.
Bruno's team wasn't just punch-happy anymore. He used stealth setups like Infernape with entry hazards, Gallade and Lucario for hard sweeps, and tank monsters like Conkeldurr to wear enemies down. Kommo-o and Hawlucha gave him ridiculous momentum, using status or item disruption to tilt matchups.
Agatha remained a witch in every sense of the word. She loved confusing opponents—both literally and tactically. Her team spread poison, burned with Will-O-Wisp, and danced through ghost immunities with Crobat, Spiritomb, and Mismagius. Her Mega Gengar remained a terror, often pulling off game-ending trades with Destiny Bond. Prankster Sableye was the glue—removing items, crippling threats, and laughing the entire time.
Lance brought dragons, yes—but also battlefield control. His Flygon or Salamence could lead with hazards or tempo, while Dragapult and Hydreigon handled the pressure game. Mega Salamence wasn't just a sweeper—it was a warhead. Dragonite, with Multiscale and Roost, refused to die. Haxorus stood as the nuke behind the curtain, ready to Swords Dance and Outrage through entire squads.
Devon Port, Kanto — Present Day
The glittering promenade of Devon Port's luxury district sparkled beneath the afternoon sun, reflecting off storefronts that practically screamed "exclusive." Security drones hummed overhead, discreet but ever-present, and digital assistants lined the sidewalks offering personalized shopping deals. A concierge-led shopping experience wasn't just an option—it was the expectation.
Jaxon stood at the entrance of the main shopping court, eyes wide, grin wider.
"I will take this, and this, and this, and definitely that!"
His arm swept dramatically toward a display of battle-ready travel gear, limited-edition power items, and a designer Poké Ball case that sparkled with inlaid sapphire.
Marceline facepalmed behind him. "You're supposed to browse strategically. Not blow your allowance like a game show contestant."
Bonnie was already giggling. "It's like watching a baby Tauros in a boutique."
"I won this spree. Let me live," Jaxon declared as he scanned and claimed another high-end trainer kit, complete with reinforced camping gear and a healing spray set that cost more than a week's salary in Fenshaw."
As he was whisked into the next section by a doting concierge drone, Marceline sighed and muttered, "He's going to trigger a stock alert."
Bonnie linked arms with her. "At least he's having fun. And it's free."
"He thinks it's free," Marceline corrected. "The corporate tax implications are going to murder his bonus forecast."
Across the plaza, Jaxon's voice rang out again.
"Yo! Do these boots come in dragon-scale?"
[XxX]
Devon Port Rooftop Café, Later That Day
"Are you sure about this?" Marceline asked, holding the Pokémon egg like it was both a treasure and a curse. Her tone was firm, but her eyes lingered.
Jaxon leaned back, pulling out his shiny new Rotom Phone, fully loaded with the upgraded Pokédex from all nine regions—a twenty-two-million PokéDollar piece of gear. He tapped the screen and let the Pokédex scan the egg.
"Venipede, Centipede Pokémon. Its fangs are highly venomous. If this Pokémon finds prey it thinks it can eat, it leaps for them without any thought of how things might turn out."
He flipped the analysis to her view.
"Pokémon: Venipede (♀), Nature: Jolly (+Spd, -SpAtt), Ability: Speed Boost,Type: Bug/Poison, Level: 0. Moves: Defense Curl, Rollout, Pin Missile, Spikes, Toxic Spikes, Twineedle, Fury Cutter."
Marceline's fingers twitched.
This was the third time she'd seen the egg's specs, and each time her resistance eroded more. Obviously, this was a ploy to seduce her—bribe her, really—but she wasn't the type to jump into bed because of a gift.
Even if the gift was an A-rank Poison-type with Speed Boost and full utility egg moves.
And even if it would only be her second Pokémon.
Her first was the Gastly he bought her.
The S-rank Gastly.
The S-rank Gastly that cost three billion PokéDollars.
She nearly spat blood when he casually bought it and handed it over like it was a snack.
Was he mentally sound? The bastard must be aiming to take her into this bed, but if Jaxon thinks that she would be so shallow to sleep with him, he had better wait for disappointment. But still,
Because that wasn't even counting the S-rank berries, the Poison-type affinity gems, the S-class vitamins, and the Devon Chow Plan.
Devon Chow wasn't food. It was a legend.
A tailored, genetic-level meal prep system reserved only for the top 0.01% of trainers. Each Pokémon's genetics were fully sequenced, and their daily diet infused with A to SSS-ranked ingredients, crushed max-grade vitamins, and precision-calibrated proteins and minerals. It fueled growth, intelligence, emotional maturity, and aura potential. One bite could fortify bones, enhance reflexes, slow aging, and even strengthen brain activity.
The only downside?
You couldn't buy it. Not even with billions.
To even qualify, you had to win a Pokémon League championship, hold four different region badge sets, and be ranked Silver or higher. Only then could you apply to receive Devon Chow.
And somehow, Jaxon got her on that list along with Bonnie and himself, of course, the bastard.
The human version of Devon Chow did the same thing. It aligned a person's aura signature with their optimal type path—essentially amplifying their compatibility with Pokémon of that same type. It strengthened the natural resonance trainers shared with their teams.
This was based on Type Energy.
Type Energy—TE—was the natural energy Pokémon used to fuel their moves. Flamethrowers, Thunderbolts, Aqua Jets—every element was formed through TE. What trainers rarely considered was how much their own aura could affect TE.
If your Aura aligned with your Pokémon's type, the synergy could produce astonishing results. But that same synergy, when misaligned or overexposed, could warp the trainer. TE wasn't inert. It influenced thought, emotion, and even physiology over time.
Fire-type energy stoked aggression, passion, and impulsivity. It made people braver and more action-oriented, ideal for fighters, chefs, blacksmiths, or anyone with a fiery will. But it also led to frequent outbursts, rash decisions, and a quick temper when overstimulated.
Water-type TE calmed the mind, boosted emotional control, and enhanced adaptability. It was favored among therapists, diplomats, artists, and swimmers. But extended exposure often dulled intensity, making trainers emotionally distant or too passive in high-stakes moments.
Grass-type energy promoted empathy, nurturing, and inner peace. Many herbalists, farmers, spiritualists, and conservationists had strong Grass-type alignment. Yet too much serenity came with a lack of ambition, slower reactions, and difficulty handling conflict or urgency.
Electric-type TE increased cognitive speed, quick reactions, and intuitive bursts of insight. Engineers, hackers, musicians, and inventors often benefited. However, it created restlessness, anxiety, and even insomnia when mismanaged.
Ground-type TE offered resilience and unwavering resolve. Ideal for builders, farmers, soldiers, and caretakers, it instilled a sense of stability and patience. Unfortunately, those with deep Ground affinity became rigid, stubborn, and often resistant to change or innovation.
Flying-type TE invoked wanderlust, optimism, and independent thinking. Couriers, travelers, messengers, and visionaries thrived with it. But that same soaring spirit made it hard for them to focus, commit, or finish what they started.
Psychic-type energy enhanced intellectual power and emotional awareness, creating researchers, philosophers, and aura readers. But its overuse led to detachment, hyperfixation, anxiety spirals, or even psychogenic symptoms like hallucinations or insomnia.
Dark-type TE brought cunning, ambition, and a mastery of subterfuge. Spies, lawyers, tacticians, and illusionists had high affinity. But it carried the cost of mistrust, emotional coldness, and manipulative tendencies that alienated others over time.
Fairy-type energy encouraged creativity, imagination, and emotional resonance. Actors, artists, composers, and diplomats had strong connections to it. Still, overexposure led to escapism, delusion, or becoming disconnected from reality's harsher aspects.
Poison-type TE made a trainer ruthlessly efficient and adaptive. Doctors, assassins, scientists, and survivalists often bore this mark. It bred resilience and immunity to fear—but frequently at the expense of warmth, empathy, and social trust.
Fighting-type TE reinforced resolve, physical durability, and pure grit. Athletes, soldiers, martial artists, and emergency responders carried this fire. Yet too much of it resulted in obsession, relentless competition, or the inability to accept failure or vulnerability.
Fighting-type TE reinforced determination and endurance, but often caused obsession and tunnel vision.
Jaxon didn't fully understand it, but Marceline did. And as she looked between the egg, the scanner, and the man casually sipping a drink while trying on tactical gloves labeled "Champion Use Only," she muttered aloud:
"You are the most dangerous idiot I've ever met."
The beautiful woman couldn't help but look at the Egg Incubator again. The egg pulsed faintly with internal light—alive, developing, dangerous.
Hatching Pokémon was what most serious trainers did. The only exceptions were oddballs like Jaxon who caught their Pokémon young but early enough to still influence their development.
The incubator's humidity and temperature, Marceline knew, directly impacted a Pokémon's potential. Proper regulation alone could strengthen bone density, muscle tone, and latent aura channels. But add nutrient solutions? Then you were forging champions.
Once again, she glared sideways at the man sipping his fruit smoothie with a stupid grin.
The bastard was aiming for her bed.
Standard nutrient solutions—C-rank—cost around 750,000 PokéDollars per bottle. That was for a single bottle. Enough to hatch one regular Pokémon and barely reach baseline health.
Type-specific nutrient solutions? Those started at 1.5 million and soared to 400 million depending on purity, preparation, and rarity. The really good ones didn't even go on public markets. They were bartered, inherited, or fought over in underground leagues.
These bottles weren't just hatching tools. They were lifeblood. Trainers continued giving their Pokémon small doses even after birth—like supercharged vitamins. Demand was high. Supply was criminally low.
Jaxon, of course, proceeded to buy a year's supply of S-rank bottles. Including Stellar-class.
When Devon Corporation received the receipt, they'd probably swear off unlimited prize contests forever.
Marceline pitied the president. This was a first for her. But not enough to say no.
Not when Jaxon casually uncorked bottles of S-rank Poison and Bug nutrient solutions and poured them straight into the custom egg cradle. And then—because apparently insanity had no cap—he added 13 more A-rank bottles (Fire, Water, Ground, etc). With stability fortifiers.
The incubator hummed with power.
Marceline leaned back in her chair, staring up at the sky.
This man is going to ruin the economy—and get me arrested for accepting it all.
Jaxon clapped his hands together with finality. "Now all the gear is settled. Let's buy us some land."
Bonnie and Marceline both turned to him in tandem.
"Excuse me?" Marceline blinked.
Even Bonnie, who had just received a high-tier Pokémon egg of her own and had been floating on air since morning, stared at him like he'd grown an extra head. "Did he just say... land?"
Jaxon, blissfully unaware of their expressions, was already striding toward a high-end real estate vendor at the end of the shopping strip. The storefront gleamed with polished steel trim and a stylized logo that looked suspiciously French. Or maybe Kalosan? He didn't care. They sold land. That's what mattered.
The two women lingered for a moment, speechless.
Bonnie turned to Marceline and whispered, "...Is this just how he operates?" It's bad when she questions a person mentally.
Marceline rubbed her temple. "I think he just improvises everything and hopes his not money fills in the gaps."
[XxX]
The shop's name was some overly elegant Kalosan syllable salad: Maison de Propriété du Royaume. Jaxon didn't even attempt to pronounce it. He just kicked the door open and walked inside like he was about to buy a couch, not entire tracts of wilderness.
Bonnie and Marceline followed in disbelief, already bracing for the embarrassment.
Inside was a tastefully minimalist showroom, gold-trimmed data kiosks lining a sleek obsidian wall, while soft ambient music played in the background.
A real estate clerk in a pristine vest and bow tie stepped forward with the slightly smug expression of someone expecting to deal with another over-leveraged badge kid.
"Welcome to Maison de Propriété du Royaume. May I help—"
"I wanna buy land. Preferably remote. A home for my future team and a house."
The clerk blinked. "Sir... our properties begin at eight hundred million PokéDollars."
Jaxon pulled out his Rotom Wallet. "I'll take two."
Bonnie made a wheezing noise. Marceline outright stumbled.
"Sir," the clerk said, voice faltering, "would you... like to browse the catalog?"
Minutes later, Jaxon was lounging on a recliner with a lemon tea as the clerk nervously scrolled through a high-end portfolio.
"Remote Kanto property. Fully isolated. Comes with two lakes, mountainous forest terrain, one defunct Ranger station, and an ancient tree registered as a Grade-S Natural Monument."
"Wait, what kind of tree?"
"It's called a Royal Soul Root. The roots apparently generate natural aura pressure—so potent that any sentient being standing nearby can feel it resonate in their chest. These trees are believed to be primordial in nature, possibly created by the God Pokémon herself, according to some of the oldest legends. Their roots don't just run deep into the earth—they allegedly extend across spiritual dimensions, allowing them to interact with aura, memories, and even destiny.
Some ancient texts refer to them as 'living sentinels' of balance, guardians of the ley lines beneath the world. They're known to choose who may reside near them. Records from the earliest League archives describe trainers and Pokémon alike falling unconscious from sheer aura overload if they approach without the tree's acceptance.
Due to their near-divine properties, Royal Soul Roots are fiercely protected by law and surrounded by layers of bureaucratic red tape. Many Royal Soul Root zones are restricted entirely, while others have been quietly fenced off by private corporations and powerful clans. There are less than ten confirmed in the world.
This particular Royal Soul Root hasn't been observed blooming in decades, but it's still marked active by the Aura Research Council.
What made this one unique—what truly shocked Marceline once she saw the dossier—was that the Royal Soul Root wasn't just growing in a forest or on a cliffside.
It stood at the very center of a crystal-clear lake.
Its base submerged in perfectly still water, the tree's massive roots fanned outward like serpentine limbs, forming islets of mossy rock and violet reeds. The water it grew in was said to be blessed by the God Pokémon's first tears, sacred and chemically unique—so pure and nutrient-rich that local flora and fauna grew in strange, supernatural ways. The water never froze. It never evaporated. It glowed faintly under moonlight.
Trainers who dared enter the inner island—those who were not accepted by the tree—reported hearing voices, dreams bleeding into reality, or feeling 'pushed out' by invisible pressure. Others found time distorted subtly—stepping into the central island for mere minutes only to realize hours had passed on the outside.
The area itself was recognized as a spontaneous subspace zone. Aura readings spiked and bent in impossible ways. Physics became suggestions. Pokémon who trained near the tree sometimes awakened strange new move variants or triggered evolutions ahead of schedule. Some called it a miracle. Others a natural hazard.
Jaxon's eye twitched. Somewhere in the back of his brain, memories of a very old anime about space princesses and wood-based mechas stirred. He barely remembered the plot. Something about trees and godlike powers.
He didn't know why, but every instinct in his body screamed: buy this. Buy it now. It was like the tree itself was pressing a finger on his wallet.
"I'll take it."
The clerk blinked rapidly. "That property is... 400.7 billion PokéDollars, sir. That is not including the chance the Soul Root Tree will reject you. And we don't offer refunds."
"Add a teleportation pad, a portable gym unit, human gym, farming infrastructure equipment, Pokémon habitat zones—I will take all of them. Automated feeders, solar arrays, a reinforced training dojo with aura circuitry, this villa that's so damn pretty. Man, does that design have a lot of zeros. Holy shit, you're selling people as well? Then get that chef family with a ten-year contract. State-of-the-art lab. I'll take some cattle..."
Jaxon went on and on, adding more and more features to his land like he was ordering toppings on a burger.
The worst part? He didn't even ask where the property was located.
"For the girls, let's add some villas as well..."
Bonnie fainted.
Marceline caught her, just barely. "HE'S NOT EVEN BARGAINING!"
By the time the ink dried—digitally, of course—Jaxon had become the proud owner of a personal base larger than most city districts.
He spun out of the showroom with his receipt like he'd just bought candy.
"Who wants to go see my new tree?!"
"Jaxon," Marceline choked out, "that tree has more security clearance than my family's financial vaults."
"And now it's mine," Jaxon beamed.
She buried her face in her hands.
Bonnie, still recovering from shock, gave a weak thumbs-up. "Can I name the tree?"
Jaxon pointed. "Only if it's something regal. Like, 'Big Barkus the Third.'"
Marceline groaned louder than the tree's future foundation.
"Now for the vehicles!" Jaxon announced, already turning on his heel and sprinting toward the nearest showroom that had wheels on display.
He did not notice that behind him, Marceline—who had finally snapped—grabbed a rolled-up property contract tube and lunged for him with murderous intent.
Bonnie, eyes still wide from her shock-induced recovery, dove to intercept her friend. "Nooo, Marcy, not in public! They'll arrest you!"
"LET ME JUST TAP HIM! I WON'T HIT VITALS!" Marceline screeched, heels clacking as she dragged Bonnie halfway across the floor.
"He bought land without asking where it was! He's got an actual combat chef staff and cattle ranchers under contract! I'M NOT LETTING THIS STUPIDLY SEXY IDIOT GET AWAY WITH IT!"
"Marcy please! I haven't even named my egg yet!"
Meanwhile, Jaxon whistled happily, peeking into a glowing showroom labeled Vitesse Velocity Motors & AeroTech. The sleek building shimmered with custom vehicles—hovercrafts, battle jeeps, drones, copters, and full-blown aerial command platforms. "Ooh, does this one come with a motorbike rack and amphibious mode?"
The showroom clerk, a sharply dressed man with greased-back silver hair and a V.V.M Corp badge, arched a brow. "Sir, that's our Rhyperion XT-900—a multi-terrain hover-hauler designed for Elite-level rangers and regional governors. It's equipped with self-repairing armor, terrain adaptive treads, and a built-in small Pokémon habitat bay."
"Perfect," Jaxon grinned. "I'm both irresponsible and important."
Bonnie, still trying to restrain Marceline, sobbed softly. "He's going to buy the whole package, isn't he?"
"Yes," Marceline growled. "Yes, he is."
"Do you want the default solar panels, or the crystalline thermoreactive overclock array?" the clerk asked, already typing in the sale.
"Both," Jaxon said. "And that bike—the red one with the dragon handlebars—plus that shock-resistant sidecar for Elise. And gimme a field-compatible aerial drone. One that can scan for rare herbs and take selfies."
"Would you prefer a surveillance package or luxury scout model?"
"Both. Stack 'em."
Bonnie gasped. "Is that a personal helicopter?"
Marceline followed her gaze. "No. That's a full aerial command chopper with stealth coating and a compressed emergency lab capsule."
"I'll take one," Jaxon said, not even glancing.
The clerk coughed. "Those are... uh... technically reserved for regional defense—"
"I'll. Take. One."
"Right away, sir."
"And a hover-plane. Something I can use for long-distance travel but also lets me do aerial flips. Add in weather shielding and battle-enhanced stabilizers. I wanna duel during storms."
"Excellent, sir. That model includes a reinforced cockpit, triple fuel cores, and an onboard cryo-fridge."
"Sweet. Also get me one of those mobile training buses with the terrain sim modules."
Bonnie screamed into her hands.
Marceline just stared, dead-eyed. "You don't even know what you're buying!"
"I don't need to," Jaxon said, spinning on his heel. "The catalog speaks to my soul."
The clerk tapped a stylus to finalize the transaction, smiling like he just met the golden goose. "Would you like a complimentary Ludicolo-shaped horn for your all-terrain battle limo?"
Jaxon grinned. "Only if it dances."
"Next."
That was the last straw.
Before Jaxon could skip off toward the next platinum-tier showroom, Marceline finally snapped. She stepped forward and clocked him across the back of the head with the contract tube. The blow wasn't hard enough to seriously hurt—but it was definitely enough to drop him like a fainted Magikarp.
Bonnie yelped. "Marcy! You killed him!"
"He'll be fine," Marceline said, dragging Jaxon by the collar of his jacket out of the showroom like a trash bag of problems. "This is for his own good. And my sanity."
Shoppers stepped aside in silence, giving the trio a wide berth as Bonnie awkwardly followed, throwing apologetic glances at every confused onlooker.
"I-Is he breathing?" Bonnie asked.
Marceline sighed. "Unfortunately."
They rounded a corner and ducked into a quiet side street. Bonnie helped prop Jaxon against a bench while Marceline opened her Rotom Wallet interface.
"Out of curiosity," Bonnie said in a sing-song voice, "how much did he actually spend today?"
Marceline's eyes narrowed as she scrolled through numbers that grew more surreal by the second. Her left eyelid twitched. "Itemizing everything including property, vehicles, eggs, nutrient solutions, contracts, equipment, and—oh—staff wages..."
She paused.
"Well?" Bonnie asked.
"...Roughly 3.7 trillion PokéDollars."
Bonnie gasped. "That's... that's like national debt money!"
Marceline closed the screen with a trembling hand. "He might've singlehandedly triggered a regional inflation event."
Bonnie looked at the unconscious Jaxon, then at Marceline. "Should we, um... do something?"
Marceline considered. "We'll drag him somewhere quiet, let him sleep it off, and pray Devon doesn't declare bankruptcy before morning."
Of course, she knew that wouldn't actually happen. Devon Corporation's global net worth was measured in quadrillions on the low end. A trillion or two was a drop in the bucket—a splash in the stock pool. But it was the principle of the thing.
He spent that much in one day. On a whim. Like a man possessed by capitalism and chaos.