"Did you catch any of the Roggenrola? You know that Ayan will get his first Pokemon in less than a month right?" Ayan's mother spoke out as she came and sat with her husband on the couch, while eyeing the television.
"Roggenrola evolves into Boldore, and God knows how it can evolve into Gigalith as there hasn't been a concrete research on this yet. So it is better we buy him a guaranteed Pokémon after he gets the Alliance issued Pokémon egg. That way he would have two Pokémon. One a guaranteed one. We all know how cheap the Alliance is."
Unlike the anime world, where Pokémon was sometimes given to 10 year old trainers, in the real world, it was much much different. Each person would be given a random Pokémon egg by the alliance and 6 months to hatch and train the Pokémon.
Depending upon the training, results would come out after an examination at the end of 6 months. This was a very good way to assessing someone's training ability of a Pokémon. Though there were cases where a young kid would get the favor of any other Pokémon long before he/she turned 15/16, but while assessing the ability of the young trainer, the Pokémon given by the Alliance will only be taken into consideration.
Thus it was a fair way of assessing anyone. His parents might not be very wealthy but buying a Pokémon egg was still within their budget. Any middle class families, and even low class families, after some saving would be able to save enough to buy a guaranteed Pokémon egg.
At the moment Ayan was thinking of the Roggenrola. His father was right, though he knew how to evolve Roggenrola to Gigalith, it didn't mean he would be able to do it. This world didn't have a trade technology, and thus many evolutions might not be possible. He was not even sure how Gigalith was around since there was none of this technology.
He would have to do research on this in the future for sure.
Ayan listened quietly as his parents continued their conversation, letting their words wash over him like background music to his swirling thoughts.
"Do you remember how long yours took to hatch?" his mother asked, glancing toward her husband.
"Three weeks. That thing wouldn't stop shaking for days before it finally cracked," he said with a nostalgic grin. "Turned out to be a Machop." He then looked at the dozing Machamp on the side with a smile of nostalgia and care.
He turned his head slightly to watch Leavanny glide across the floor, quietly setting the dining table with graceful movements. Forks and plates clicked lightly into place, perfectly aligned.
"I still think we should look into a Growlithe egg," his mother said. "They're reliable, affectionate, and smart."
"And they burn the furniture when excited," his father shot back. "And also way too costly. The Logistics and Scouts department would always scoop them up, making them way too costly."
"I'll train it not to!" Ayan replied. Who wouldn't want a Growlithe!
They went on like this, teasing and discussing. Ayan remained mostly quiet, interjecting now and then, his eyes always drifting—to Machamp resting against the wall with folded arms. Still he found it unbelievable.
Eventually, dinner was served—a steaming spread of spicy rice, roasted bamboo roots, and chicken. Having Pokémon in this world didn't mean they could also dine on them. Humans had tried before and they died of poisoning, thus eating a Pokémon was banned long ago. But having Pokémon didn't mean that the natural animals had also vanished.
They were still around in perfect cycle and eaten by both Pokémon and humans. No, unlike animals, Pokémon didn't eat animals raw, and all the Pokémon would rather eat berries and food cooked by humans. After the advent of the Pokémon in this world, the ecology also changed. Different kinds of berries emerged in the world which the Pokémon fed on and survived.
Ayan ate quietly, soaking in the mood: his mother giving instructions to Leavanny, the occasional chuckle, the steady rhythm of a real life being lived. No one questioned why Ayan was quieter than usual. Maybe they thought he was nervous about the upcoming Pokémon distribution. Or maybe they just gave him space.
"Goodnight," his mother said with a soft smile as she wiped her hands on a towel. His father just raised a hand in lazy farewell as he lounged back in front of the TV.
Ayan nodded and walked toward his room. Inside his room, he walked straight to the window, pulling open the transparent shade. The skyline was dazzling—softly lit high-rises, skybridges aglow with trail lights, and in the distance, a pair of Zubat soared silently past the moon. Ayan pressed his forehead to the glass, letting the coolness seep into his skin.
This world is beautiful.
He exhaled, then instinctively rubbed his wrist. There was a brief itch there, almost like a phantom sensation. He turned his hand over. On the underside of his left wrist, faint but clear, was a small tattoo. Not stylized. Not intricate. Just a pixel-perfect outline of an old Nintendo Game Boy—complete with the tiny D-pad and two buttons.
I never had a tattoo.
Ayan stared at it, his breath slow and shallow. The tiny Game Boy outline shimmered faintly under the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the window. It wasn't ink—at least not the kind he recognized. It pulsed, just once, and a tingle shot up his arm like static electricity.
He narrowed his eyes, heart beating faster. He focused on the symbol, not sure why—but something inside him told him to concentrate. Almost like muscle memory guiding him through a process he didn't fully understand.
The world around him twisted. No sound. No flash of light. Just a shift. A gut-turning, air-sucking, mind-numbing shift. And then—he was no longer in his room.
The air was different.
He was standing in an alleyway, the walls made of old brick and wooden beams. The scent of earth and fresh leaves drifted on the wind. A distant Pidgey call echoed somewhere above.