The forest had gone deathly quiet. Every wild Pokémon within sight had frozen in place, their colors visibly draining as if my mere presence leached the life from them. Their wide, glassy eyes reflected pure primal terror - the kind reserved for apex predators that prowled their darkest nightmares.
My breath caught in my throat.
What have I done to deserve this fear?
An involuntary sigh escaped me. I'd heard the stories, of course - how Giratina was portrayed as a violent force of nature in the games. But I'd never considered myself cruel. Yet here was the undeniable proof, written in the trembling leaves and cowering creatures around me.
The weight of their stares pressed down on me until Blissey's gentle nudge broke through my thoughts.
[Perhaps... we should visit the city?]
Her suggestion hung in the air as I processed the unspoken meaning. The forest Pokémon needed space from me, and Blissey knew it.
"City?" I echoed hollowly.
[The food there is absolutely delicious!] she pressed on with forced cheer, though her eyes kept darting to the petrified wild Pokémon. The mental image of steaming ramen and crispy fried chicken from my past life surfaced, but the nostalgia rang hollow.
I studied Blissey carefully. Her too-bright smile, the way she subtly positioned herself between me and the forest dwellers. The message was clear: You don't belong here right now.
My lips pressed into a thin line. The rejection stung more than I expected.
"Money," I said abruptly. "Do I even have any?"
Blissey blinked at the non sequitur. [You've... never needed much before.]
"Let me check," I muttered, reaching for my bag with slightly trembling hands. The mundane task provided temporary refuge from the uncomfortable truth taking root in my chest - that perhaps the legends about Giratina's nature held more truth than I wanted to admit.
I activated my Pokémon PC—the miraculous device that stored not just Pokémon, but items as well. Professor Oak would've called it revolutionary if he'd seen it.
The holographic display flickered to life, revealing a staggering sum labeled "Pocket Money." The number was so long it nearly made me laugh. If I bundled up this much cash and smacked someone with it, it'd probably knock them out cold.
Money came almost too easily in this world. Rare stones, shimmering evolutionary items, even the occasional Golden Berry—sell a few, and you'd be set for months.
But what really caught my eye was the sleek black card floating in the hologram. Only a handful existed worldwide, and I held one.
Now, where to go?
The Kanto region sprawled before me in my mind's eye:
Vermilion City, with its bustling port and salty sea breeze.
Celadon City, a rainbow of extravagance and indulgence.
And of course, Saffron City—the golden heart of Kanto, where wealth and sophistication gleamed brighter than any Poké Center's lights.
The choice was obvious.
"Saffron City it is."
After recalling Blissey with a word of thanks, I sent out Charizard. The fiery dragon emerged with a toothy grin, wings stretching wide as if eager to feel the wind.
"Let's fly."
The journey was a blur of speed and warmth, Charizard's powerful wings cutting through the sky. Then—
Saffron City.
No description could do it justice. The moment we descended, the city's brilliance nearly stole my breath. Golden rooftops caught the sunlight, turning the skyline into a shimmering tapestry. Downtown, neon lights danced across the streets, casting everything in a dreamlike glow. It felt less like a city and more like a scene plucked straight from a film.
This was the pinnacle of Kanto's luxury—and I couldn't wait to dive in.
The city struck me with the same awe as any sweeping natural vista—skyscrapers clawing at the clouds, neon signs painting the streets in liquid light. I hadn't expected urban sprawl to evoke the same wonder as untouched wilderness, yet here I stood, breath catching at the symphony of chaos and harmony.
Workers trudged home, their Pokémon padding loyally beside them—a tired office worker with a Meowth winding around their ankles, a construction worker sharing jokes with a Machoke. Trainers wore their Pokéballs like badges of honor, though many opted to keep partners out in the open: a Pikachu perched on one shoulder, a Clefairy clinging sleepily to another's backpack.
It was beautiful. A living postcard of trust between species.
But like all fairy tales, this one had its shadows.
Every gleaming metropolis hid its slums; every utopia bred its villains. In Kanto, that darkness had a name—Team Rocket.
Not my problem, I decided. Utopias didn't need guardians. The story would play out as it always did: evil thwarted, balance restored. Right now, a more pressing hunger gnawed at me.
My stomach growled loud enough to startle a nearby Rattata.
The scent of sizzling meat hooked into my senses, pulling me down the street until I stood before a towering restaurant—one I vaguely remembered from past visits. The oldest and grandest in Saffron, its doors never stopped swinging open.
Inside, the air swam with aromas: caramelized char on skewers, rich broths, something sweet and fried. Patrons crowded every table, their plates piled high.
A hostess materialized before me—sharp-eyed, black hair cropped in a no-nonsense bob, her smile polished to professional perfection.
"Table for one?" she asked, already reaching for a menu.
The hostess guided me to my table with practiced grace, her sharp cheekbones flushing faintly under my gaze. I couldn't tell if it was nerves or the warm lighting.
The menu was a tome of decadence—each description more tantalizing than the last:
Wagyu steak seared in aged butter
Free-range chicken smothered in arbol chili cream
Dessert medleys featuring caramelized tomatoes and candied herbs
My stomach growled, but practicality won out. I settled on a steak and salad, promising myself ice cream if I behaved.
The bathroom was as immaculate as expected, all marble and soft lighting. I'd just turned on the faucet when—
CRASH.
The sound ripped through the dining room like a Hyper Beam. Not the cheerful clamor of a busy restaurant, but something jagged and wrong. My reflection in the mirror stiffened, smile vanishing.
Trouble.
Every instinct screamed to release a Pokémon, but I hesitated. Bursting out with a Charizard in a crowded eatery would be… excessive. Maybe it was just a dropped tray. A drunk patron. A—
"DON'T MOVE!"
The voice shattered my optimism.
I eased the door open just enough to see.
Chaos.
Patrons crouched behind overturned tables. A squad of black-clad figures loomed near the entrance, their Pokémon snarling. The leader—a woman with a sneer sharp enough to cut glass—was waving a Pokéball like a weapon.
Team Rocket. Of course it was Team Rocket.
"Everyone stay calm!" she barked, though her Houndoom's smoldering fangs made the threat clear. "This won't take long if you cooperate."
My fingers found Charizard's ball. So much for a peaceful dinner.
The bathroom door clicked shut behind me as I leaned against it, my mind racing. That unmistakable red "R" emblem flashed in my memory - bold, arrogant, and utterly out of place in a fine dining establishment.
Wait just a damn minute.
Red R? Here? Now?
Of all the times for Team Rocket to make an appearance, they had to choose when I was halfway through deciding between crème brûlée and tiramisu. The so-called "shadow of Kanto" - a criminal syndicate that treated Pokémon like commodities to be stolen, sold, or worse.
And now I was trapped in a bathroom while they staged their little takeover.
The irony wasn't lost on me. As Giratina, I'd faced down gods of time and space without breaking a sweat. Yet here I was, hiding in a restroom because some two-bit criminals had terrible timing.
"Unbelievable," I muttered, rolling up my sleeves. "Even Palkia knows better than to interrupt dinner hour."