Time had this nasty habit of slipping through Jack's fingers. Before he knew it, two whole months had vanished like a drunk man's coin purse, leaving behind nothing but the taste of sweat, dirt, and way too many sparring bruises. Training. Day after day. Aura drills, conditioning runs, sparring exercises with Pokémon that left his arms trembling and his lungs screaming for mercy. Sunrise to sunset, rinse and repeat.
Sometimes Jack wished he'd landed in one of those dumb overpowered fanfics he used to read back on Earth. The kind where the protagonist either wins through the power of friendship like some glittery Disney prince, or else he's the emo jackass with a god-tier starter that deletes everything in its path. Easy mode. Snap your fingers and—boom—legendary Pokémon, endless victories, harem included.
But Jack wasn't that guy. He wasn't stupid, either. He knew how the game worked. Life had a rhythm. The second things got too good—too much peace, too much fun, too many fine women leaning in with that look—something was guaranteed to come along and smash it all to pieces. Usually in the form of an exam, an assignment, or—if the universe was feeling cruel—his mother.
She must have gotten over him sleeping with her friend, her friend's daughter, and her sister. Must have. Otherwise she wouldn't have threatened him with a thousand cuts if he ever got a D again.
And then there was Rina. Sweet, stubborn, perfect little Rina. Brilliant, beautiful, sharper than a Garchomp's claws. But holy hell, the girl could be a sore loser. You'd think a teacher would have learned by now to never challenge a horny teenager.
Pretty sure Rina had never lost before him, but still—telling his mother about that one C grade? Dick move. Salty didn't even cover it. She was the human embodiment of an ocean's worth of sodium.
Still… it wasn't all bad. The training, for one, was paying off. His Aura control was sharper, his stamina was exceedingly strong after every night. There wasn't an exact reference point for progress, and using Rina as one was pointless—sex wasn't exactly her forte. But Jack could feel it every week: his body was shifting, faster, stronger, harder. Like the world was slowly molding him into a real problem. A dangerous motherfucker with a smile.
Which meant, naturally, his classmates hated him even more.
Not that he cared. Or noticed.
Between club activities, school drills, and dodging his mother's "no sex" edict (which was really more like a challenge at this point), Jack was thriving. Sneaking out to flirt, pulling a few late-night drinking escapades with older students, trading tips with the shady types who hung around the alleys near the academy walls. Real education. The good shit.
And seriously—how the hell was he not supposed to have sexual relations with his classmates? He would, if he wasn't being watched like a hawk by his mother's spies.
Like Kuina Sazanami. Kuina was the one problem he didn't have an answer for. Girl walked into a room and Jack swore gravity tilted around her hips. Like some cruel god built her just to test him. Every time she bent over in sparring practice? Forget it. Jack.exe error. Mind blank.
She might've been an Oni—though not like the Japanese version from back home. Jack wasn't a hundred percent sure, mostly because Kuina looked human enough: fair skin, short light-brown hair, matching brown eyes. Average height, but with an hourglass figure, long legs, and a bust that made uniforms feel like they'd been designed specifically to torment him.
And Kuina was just one of ninety girls who loved to test his will.
Every Pokémon school, university, and whatever-the-hell else institutions existed had one thing in common: the League Club.
Every institution was battle-focused, filled to the brim with students, and the League Club was the funnel. A student organization that emulated the functions of a real Pokémon League within the high school and college system. Their headquarters was the League Club Room, and their ranking system was called the Heavenly League.
The Heavenly League's top five students in every course became the Heavenly Four Kings & Queens plus the Champion of that course. The Champion also doubled as class president and a seat on the student council. And since this was anime world rules, the student council was absurdly powerful for no good reason.
The whole thing was backed by the Pokémon League and the region's elite. With millions of applicants trying to make it as Trainers, Breeders, or Coordinators, the Heavenly League was designed to separate the truly worthwhile from the rest. Harsh, but effective.
There were eighteen courses in total, each one matching a trainer path. Jack's favorite example? The Fighting-Type course.
First up: Momoyo Kawakami. The Brawl Queen. A monster in human skin. Every boy's dream and nightmare rolled into one. She could crack your ribs with a smile, and she usually did. With her Chimchar at her side, Momoyo rarely lost. She was one of the Heavenly Queens. Bonus detail? She was also the younger sister of a Heavenly Queen at the university level.
Then there was Kuina Sazanami, the second Heavenly Queen of the Fighting-Type course. Same relaxed, rebellious vibe, the kind of girl who didn't give a damn what anyone thought and did whatever the hell she wanted. Her starter was a Teddiursa.
Next up: Sakura Kasugano. Tomboy to the bone, pixie-cut hair, toned figure. For reasons Jack never complained about, she only ever wore miniskirts. Her starter was a Tyrogue, and she loved fighting a little too much, if you asked him.
The fourth Heavenly Queen? Mila Rose. MMA fighter, pale skin freckled just enough to notice, amber eyes, spiky red-and-black hair cropped at the shoulders. Strong, determined, friendly—sometimes overly excited about fighting. Her starter was a Shroomish.
And finally, the Champion of the Fighting-Type course: Maki Zenin. Born into the Zenin Clan—one of the Big Three Sorcerer Families—and treated like dirt for being a non-sorcerer. The family was infamous for their Psychic, Ghost, and Dark Pokémon, but Maki's dream was to spite them all by becoming the ultimate Fighting-Type Master. Her starter was a Pancham.
Like poisoned water, Maki was beautiful but deadly: tall, athletic build, large bust, striking presence. A dangerous rival who'd risen to the very top.
Together, those girls were the elite of the Fighting-Type course. And the only reason Jack knew so much about them?
Simple.
His father was an idiot.
Jack hadn't just been tossed into a single specialty like Water or Fighting. Nope. His father—legendary dumbass that he was—had signed him up for the General Course.
The General Course was exactly what it sounded like: all of them. Every. Single. One.
Water, Fire, Electric, Fighting, Psychic, Breeder, Coordinator—you name it, Jack had a timetable slot for it. It was the academic equivalent of dumping a freshman into a graduate-level med school, law school, and flight academy all at once, then telling him, "Good luck, don't fail or you're mother will be on your ass."
So while normal students spent their days grinding one path and maybe brushing elbows with a couple of Heavenly League members, Jack was forced to run headlong into all of them. The elites. The prodigies. The girls every sane guy in the academy either dreamed about or avoided like they were rabid Houndoom.
And thanks to his father's bright idea, Jack had to share classes, sparring sessions, and even lunch schedules with them.
Which was why, right now, Jack was sprinting down the academy corridor, breath ragged, Aura burning in his calves as he dodged terrified underclassmen and skidded around corners.
Behind him thundered Momoyo Kawakami. The Brawl Queen herself, grinning like a shark that smelled blood. She'd challenged him in the League Club arena earlier, and Jack—being Jack—had mouthed off, made a bet, and promptly lost.
Now the woman was out for blood. Or bones. Or both.
"GET BACK HERE, SPARROW!" her voice boomed, echoing off the walls.
Jack vaulted a railing, nearly collided with a vending machine, and laughed even as panic twisted in his gut. "No thanks, love! I quite like my ribs unshattered!"
Totodile scampered after him, cackling like this was the funniest shit he'd ever seen.
Welcome to life in the General Course.