I woke up to sunlight filtering through the cracked window, painting dusty, golden streaks across the rough, uneven floorboards. The air in the tiny room felt cool against my skin, carrying the faint, familiar scent of damp earth and something vaguely herbal from outside.
For a moment, I didn't move, my body still heavy with the lingering haze of sleep, trying to cling to the quiet comfort of unconsciousness. Was it a dream, just another vivid, fantastical escape from the grim reality of my new, impoverished life in Pina City?
That panel, the glowing, pixelated screen that had appeared from nowhere, and Treecko, the actual, breathing Treecko, and the smooth, cool Pokéball—surely, that was just my mind playing tricks on me. It had to be a dying man's last delusion, or perhaps a hunger-induced hallucination from the thin gruel at the orphanage.
I sat up slowly, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a drumbeat of anticipation and dread. My eyes darted instinctively to the corner of the room, to the spot where I remembered the impossible object landing.
There it was, undeniable and solid, a splash of vibrant red and white against the dull, faded blanket. The Pokéball sat on my floor, right where I'd left it, a stark, almost defiant, piece of evidence. Its presence felt like a challenge, daring me to question its reality.
I stared at it, my breath catching in my throat, my mind struggling to reconcile its mundane presence with the fantastical implications it held. Still there, still real, still utterly baffling, yet undeniably true.
"...Okay," I whispered, my throat dry and raspy, the word barely a sound in the quiet room. "This... this is happening, isn't it?" The reality of it settled over me, a heavy, exhilarating weight that made my chest ache with a strange mix of fear and elation.
I clenched my fists, feeling the rough texture of the threadbare blanket beneath my fingers, grounding myself in the tangible world around me. Then I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady the frantic beat of my heart and clear the fog from my mind. The air tasted of dust and old wood, a stark contrast to the unbelievable truth.
"System," I called out, the word feeling strange and uncertain on my tongue, an instinctive whisper born from years of gaming habits. Nothing happened immediately, just the oppressive silence of the small room, making me wonder if I'd imagined it all, if the magic had simply vanished with the dawn.
I frowned, a crease forming between my brows, and tried again, a little louder this time, more of a command than a question. "Gaming System?" I waited, my gaze fixed on the empty space in front of me, a desperate hope flickering within.
Ding. The soft, ethereal chime cut through the silence, familiar and utterly impossible all at once, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline through me. The translucent pixelated panel appeared again in front of me, shimmering like a floating hologram, just as it had the night before, its green glow illuminating the dusty air.
Welcome to the Gaming System.
The words glowed with an internal light, crisp and clear against the dimness of the room, a promise whispered in pixels. Below it, more text appeared, confirming what I desperately hoped:
Current Host: Zevion.
Available Games:
Pokémon Emerald
Pokémon FireRed
Pokémon Platinum
Pokémon Crystal
Pokémon LeafGreen
The same five game icons, perfectly aligned, pulsed with a soft, inviting glow, a digital invitation to adventure. I let out a shaky breath, a mix of profound relief and overwhelming disbelief washing over me, leaving me lightheaded.
It wasn't a hallucination, not a trick of the light or a figment of my imagination, no fleeting dream from a starved mind. It wasn't a dying man's delusion, a final, desperate fantasy before the end, a last flicker of hope before oblivion.
It was real; still here, still functioning, still defying every logical explanation I could conjure, a solid, undeniable truth. This… this was my chance, the impossible opportunity I had whispered for in the dark, now laid out before me, tangible and true.
I practically jumped out of bed, the thin mattress protesting with a creak, my body suddenly buzzing with an electric energy I hadn't felt in years, a surge of pure, unadulterated purpose. There was no time for hesitation, no room for doubt, only a burning desire to explore this new reality.
I didn't even eat breakfast, the gnawing hunger in my stomach completely forgotten in the face of this monumental discovery, replaced by a different kind of craving. I didn't bother with my usual morning labor routine—no crate lifting at the Poké Mart, no stable mucking at the Miltank farm, no cheap under-the-table jobs where old men paid in scraps. Those mundane tasks seemed utterly irrelevant now.
Today wasn't about survival, not in the same desperate, hand-to-mouth way it had been for years, scrambling for every meal. Today was different; today was about possibility, about a future I had only dared to dream of.
I splashed cold water on my face from the rusty sink in the corner, the shock of it momentarily clearing my head, chasing away the last vestiges of sleep. I wiped off with the least-dirty rag I could find, feeling the coarse fabric against my skin, a small act of normalcy before diving into the extraordinary. Then, I sat back down on the mattress, my gaze fixed on the glowing panel, a new resolve hardening in my eyes.
This time, I wasn't shaking with fear or uncertainty; instead, a tremor of pure, unadulterated excitement ran through me, vibrating in my very bones. I stared at the icons, a sense of purpose settling deep in my bones, and with a newfound resolve, I tapped Pokémon Emerald, the familiar green icon beckoning me.
The screen blinked, a soft, almost imperceptible flicker, and then the familiar intro sequence began to load, pulling me into its pixelated world. Just like yesterday, there were no questions, no menus, just a direct plunge straight into the game, into a world that was now undeniably real.
My save file was exactly where I left it—right after picking Treecko, standing proudly in Professor Birch's lab, a silent testament to my first impossible act. It was a comforting familiarity amidst the overwhelming strangeness of my situation, a digital anchor in a sea of wonder.
I pressed "Continue," and my pixel sprite began to move, stepping out of the lab and heading toward Route 101, the first stretch of wild grass in the game. The nostalgia was almost overwhelming, a powerful current pulling me back to simpler times, to a childhood spent lost in these very adventures.
The first encounter came quick, as it always did in the games, a rustle in the tall grass just off the path. A wild Zigzagoon jumped out on the game screen, its pixelated form distinct against the green background, its familiar cry echoing faintly.
Suddenly, the real-world system panel flashed in front of me, overlaying my vision with a bright, urgent message: Wild Pokémon appeared! The words seemed to hang in the air, tangible and immediate, demanding my attention.
And just like before, the translucent battle screen hovered in front of me, like a VR overlay, showing Treecko's sprite facing the Zigzagoon, ready for combat. But something was different this time, something felt profoundly off, a missing piece.
I looked around my cramped room, my eyes darting from the glowing screen to the empty space where Treecko should have been, a cold knot of panic beginning to tighten in my stomach. He wasn't there.
His Pokéball was gone from the floor, not a trace of it anywhere, as if it had simply vanished into thin air. Panic flared, sharp and immediate, as I realized he wasn't physically present in the room with me, yet he was clearly in the battle.
Then I looked at the system screen again, and it clicked: Treecko's sprite was already out in the battle, facing the Zigzagoon, his digital form a perfect mirror of his real self. The game had pulled him into the fight, seamlessly integrating him.
So this was how it worked, I realized, a strange mixture of awe and trepidation washing over me, a chilling understanding of the system's power. The system blurred the lines, seamlessly integrating my real-world Pokémon into in-game fights, a two-way sync that was both incredible and slightly terrifying. It was a bridge between two realities.
Heart still thudding, I took another deep breath, forcing myself to calm down and focus on the battle, reminding myself that this was a real fight, even if it looked like a game. I pressed the pound option from attack moves while also saying: "Treecko, Pound."
I mean why not? Why not I say it?
Treecko's sprite lunged forward, connecting with the Zigzagoon, which staggered back, a small damage number appearing above its head, confirming the hit. The Zigzagoon then retaliated, using Tackle, and Treecko tanked it, barely flinching, his resilience surprising me.
A few more rounds of pixelated combat, each attack feeling strangely impactful, and it was over; the Zigzagoon's HP hit zero, and its sprite vanished. Treecko gained 14 EXP! The message flashed on the screen, but then I noticed something that dampened my excitement.
The EXP bar barely moved, a tiny sliver of progress, almost imperceptible. I narrowed my eyes, a familiar sense of frustration bubbling up, remembering the easy leveling from the games, where progress felt so much faster. "...So EXP's been nerfed?" I muttered, the question hanging in the quiet room.
I decided to test my theory, pushing Treecko into a few more wild Pokémon battles, each one feeling like a slow, arduous grind. After ten fights, the EXP bar had only crept forward a minuscule amount, like molasses in winter, confirming my suspicion that this world demanded more effort.
"Yeah. This is gonna take a while," I sighed, the words heavy with the realization that true strength in this world wouldn't come from quick grinding or easy wins. It would require real effort, real battles, and a lot of patience, far more than I had ever needed on Earth.
Eventually, I reached Oldale Town, the pixelated buildings slowly giving way to a more detailed, vibrant landscape as I approached. Just like in the original Emerald, the town was laid out exactly as I remembered it, every building in its place.
Only this time—it wasn't just a screen, a flat image on a monitor, a two-dimensional representation. The town looked lived in, bustling, lively, and animated in a way no game ever could be, filled with a tangible energy.
People walked along the dirt paths, their conversations a low hum, a symphony of everyday life, and shops were open, their doors inviting, spilling out warm light and tempting aromas. There were smells—the fresh, earthy scent of berries, the clean smell of grass, and something sweet and inviting wafting from the PokéMart, a sensory overload.
Then I saw it, standing proudly in the center of town, a beacon of hope and healing, a stark white and red against the earthy tones of the town. The Pokémon Center, pristine white and red, its sliding glass doors opening with a soft, welcoming hum, an almost ethereal sound.
I hesitated outside, my hand hovering over the door, a strange mix of reverence and trepidation washing over me, as if I were about to step into a sacred space. The building was from the game, an iconic structure I had seen countless times on a screen, a familiar landmark.
But now I was here, standing before it, about to walk inside, to truly experience it. And that made it something else entirely, something profoundly real, a place of genuine comfort and aid.
I walked in, my footsteps soft on the cool, tiled floor, the air inside smelling faintly of antiseptic and something comforting, like warm tea, a blend of sterile efficiency and gentle care. Then I saw her, standing behind the counter, a vision of calm efficiency and unwavering kindness.
Nurse Joy. She looked exactly like she always had in the games and anime—pink hair neatly tied back, a calm, reassuring smile on her face, and a pristine white uniform, a picture of perfect professionalism.
But this wasn't pixel art or a flat anime drawing; she blinked, not mechanically, but naturally, her eyes moving with a soft intelligence, observing her surroundings. She was like a person, a real, living person, with a depth I hadn't expected.
I walked up to the counter, Treecko's Pokéball held tight in my hand, my heart thumping a nervous rhythm against my palm. I paused, unsure of the protocol, of how to interact with someone who was both a game character and a real person, a bizarre social dilemma.
"Um…" I started, then clicked the Desk in front of her, a nervous habit I couldn't seem to shake. But I was still thinking, wondering if this would even work, after all, it could affect my real-world Pokémon, and I didn't want to mess anything up.
"Could you… heal my Treecko?" I asked awkwardly, the words feeling clumsy and uncertain as I spoke to no one in particular, just the air in front of her. My voice was a little too quiet, a little too hesitant.
She answered, not with a voice, but with lines of text that appeared in a dialogue box floating in front of me, just like in the game, her smile remaining serene and unperturbed. "Of course. Just place the Pokéball on the tray." Her composure was remarkable.
I did as instructed, placing the Pokéball on the small, circular tray on the counter, feeling the smooth plastic beneath my fingers. She picked it up with delicate, practiced movements and placed it into a small, sleek healing machine behind her, a blur of pink and white.
It blinked green, made a soft hum, a gentle whirring sound, and then, almost instantly, the light turned steady, signaling completion. "Your Pokémon is fully healed," she said, the dialogue box appearing again, just a few seconds later, confirming the impossible speed.
"...That fast?" I blurted out before I could stop myself, my surprise overriding my caution, my voice betraying my astonishment. It was just like the game, but the reality of it was still shocking, almost unbelievable.
She answered in her dialogue box, her calm expression unchanging, as if my outburst was perfectly normal. "It's standard procedure. Minor wounds are treated in seconds. More serious cases take longer." Her words were simple, yet carried a weight of understanding and professional reassurance.
I blinked, once, then twice, the full implication of her response hitting me with the force of a physical blow, a sudden, profound realization. She wasn't reciting a canned line, a pre-programmed response from a limited dialogue tree, like a robot.
She heard me. She processed my words. She replied with context, directly addressing my question with a logical explanation, demonstrating genuine understanding.
"...You're… not just an NPC," I whispered, the realization sending a shiver down my spine, a mix of awe and a strange, almost terrifying, excitement. It was a profound, almost terrifying, thought, that these characters were truly sentient.
Her dialogue box appeared again, her smile unwavering, a hint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I don't know what that means, but I am here to assist Trainers." Her response, while seemingly simple, confirmed it: she was more than a program, she was a person.
I stepped back, stunned, my mind reeling with the implications of this discovery, the boundaries of my understanding shattered. This was next level, beyond anything I could have imagined, a true living world. The characters adapted, they weren't just locked into rigid dialogue trees; they were thinking, responding individuals.
I turned back and walked outside slowly, my mind buzzing with a thousand new questions and possibilities, a whirlwind of thoughts. This world—the game—was alive, truly alive, in a way I had never conceived, a vibrant, breathing entity.
I decided to test it further, to push the boundaries of this incredible system, to see just how far this reality stretched. I returned to the nearby grass and pushed Treecko into one more battle, this time with a purpose beyond just gaining experience, a deliberate experiment.
This time, I let him faint, watching with a tightening chest as his HP hit zero on the system screen, his pixel sprite collapsing dramatically. It felt wrong, almost cruel, to intentionally let him fall, but I needed to know the full extent of this connection.
Immediately, Treecko's Pokéball materialized back in the real world, dropping onto my mattress with a soft thud, a familiar sound now. I popped it open, my hands trembling slightly, half-expecting to find him gone or severely injured, fearing the worst.
But Treecko was still breathing, his small chest rising and falling rhythmically, just tired, his emerald eyes still bright. He let out a soft chirp, looking up at me with weary but clear eyes, a testament to his resilience.
I scooped him up gently, a wave of relief washing over me, and carried him back to the Center, holding him close. I put him in pokeball and in front of gaming screen as I enter it like how people enter coins in slot machine and the pokeball actually get inside the transparent screen.
Nurse Joy blinked as I approached the counter again, her expression still calm. "Ah, you again," her dialogue box read, a faint, knowing smile on her face, as if she understood my experiment.
"This time… he fainted," I said carefully, watching her reaction closely, trying to gauge her response. She didn't flinch, didn't show any surprise or judgment, only professional understanding.
Her dialogue box appeared. "That's what the Centers are for. Fainting is common during field training." She treated Treecko again, the healing machine humming its soft, familiar tune, its green light a comforting beacon.
No money required, no League ID, no insurance. It was free, for now, just like in the game, an incredible boon in my impoverished life. In mere seconds, my Pokémon was all ready, back in its prime, full HP, ready for battle, a truly miraculous recovery.
I made a mental note: in this world where I had transmigrated, if you weren't registered and had rare Pokémon, medical fees could get brutal. Especially outside League-sanctioned areas, where the rules were different and less forgiving. The system was my lifeline.
Treecko was fine, though, still common, still early-game, but undeniably real and resilient. For now, the system was my free pass, my golden ticket in a world that had previously offered me nothing.
Next, I went to deliver the Parcel from the PokéMart, a simple in-game quest that felt strangely important now, a tangible step forward in this new reality. On the way back to the lab, the familiar rival battle triggered, and May challenged me with her Torchic, her sprite appearing with a confident stance.
It was a heated fight, a clash of fire and grass, a true test of strategy, but Treecko's type disadvantage was overcome with a well-timed potion, and he emerged victorious, albeit a little singed. She gave me an approving nod after the battle, her dialogue box appearing. "Not bad. You've got talent."
Her tone—it wasn't canned, it was personal, a genuine compliment that made my chest swell with a rare sense of pride. I stared at her, another game character who thought for herself, who reacted with real emotion and context. This was truly mind-blowing, the sheer depth of this world.
Back at Birch's lab, I handed him the parcel, completing the quest, and he beamed at me. He gave me the Pokédex and five Pokéballs, just as he always did in the game, the iconic items materializing before me. Game saved. System screen closed.
Plop. The Pokédex dropped onto my mattress with a soft thud, a solid, tangible object, feeling heavy and important in my hand. Five red-and-white spheres rolled next to it, gleaming in the dim light, each one a promise of future companions.
Real. Tangible. My hands trembled as I picked up the Pokédex, its smooth casing cool against my palm, its weight a comforting presence.
I turned it on, and the screen flickered to life, displaying familiar text: Treecko. The Wood Gecko Pokémon. It makes its nest in a giant tree in the forest. It ferociously guards against anything nearing its territory. It is said to be the protector of the forest's trees... The detailed description was all there, just as I remembered, now a living entry.
My hands trembled, not from fear, but from a profound, overwhelming sense of wonder and disbelief, a joy so intense it brought tears to my eyes. I looked at Treecko, who chirped happily, nuzzling into my hand, his warmth a comforting presence.
"This is insane," I whispered, my voice cracking with emotion, a mix of laughter and tears, unable to contain the sheer absurdity and magnificence of it all. "But it's real. All of it."
No League ID? No professor's lab initiation? No money? It didn't matter anymore, not with this power.
I had a system, a Gaming System. One that turned nostalgia into reality, that blurred the lines between the digital and the physical, giving me a power I could never have dreamed of, a true second chance.
I held Treecko's ball tight in my hand, feeling its solid weight, a symbol of my new beginning, of the path laid out before me. Because this time, I wasn't just going to play the game.
I was going to win it. I was going to conquer this world, not with money or connections, but with the sheer, impossible power of my system, and the bond with my loyal Pokémon. And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that this was only the beginning of my true adventure, a journey unlike any other.