Ash's eyes fluttered open to a ceiling he didn't recognize. The light streaming through the curtains was soft, golden—different from the dull glow of his old apartment window. A faint smell of wood polish hung in the air, mingling with something warm and homely.
He groaned, rubbing his forehead. A dull ache pulsed behind his eyes, as if he'd been sleeping for far too long.
Then he froze.
His hands… were small. His arms looked shorter, his skin smoother. He sat up abruptly, his blanket sliding down to reveal a body far smaller than the one he remembered.
"What the…"
That's when he noticed it—a Poké Ball–shaped alarm clock lying in pieces on the floor. The red and white casing was cracked open, gears and springs spilling out like it had been punched.
He grimaced. Did I roll over in my sleep and smash it? For a second, he imagined it as a real Poké Ball, and almost chuckled. But the thought that followed made him pause.
Wait… this clock… I've seen it before.
A strange warmth tugged at his chest.I… got this on my fourteenth birthday.
Before he could think on it longer, a voice called from downstairs.
"Ash! Wake up! Today's the day you get your first Pokémon from Professor Oak!"
He froze. That voice—warm, caring, but with a lively energy—hit him like a jolt of electricity. It was familiar. And yet… it wasn't from his life.
Delia. Ash Ketchum's mother.
His half-open eyes shot wide. He jolted upright, his heart pounding. His gaze darted around the room—wooden shelves lined with small Pokémon figures, a desk cluttered with scribbled notes and books, posters of legendary battles on the wall. Everything felt both familiar and alien, like stepping into a memory he didn't own.
This… this is the room of Ash Ketchum. The future Pokémon Master.
He glanced down at his small hands again, flexing his fingers. Then his gaze flicked to the door. His legs moved before his brain could catch up, carrying him out of the room and into the hallway.
He knew where to go. Somehow, his mind mapped the house perfectly.
The bathroom.
He burst inside, nearly tripping over the rug, and stumbled to the sink. The mirror above it gleamed in the morning light.
And staring back at him was a face he had only ever seen on a TV screen.
Wide, dark brown eyes full of restless energy. Jet-black hair sticking up in stubborn spikes, pointing in odd directions as if defying gravity. Smooth, youthful skin with not a hint of stubble. A round face that carried a spark of determination even in stillness.
It was unmistakable.
He leaned closer, pressing his palms to the cool edge of the sink.
I'm… I'm Ash Ketchum.
The words burst out of him before he could stop them. "I'm Ash Ketchum!"
His voice echoed in the small bathroom. His pulse thundered in his ears.
In the mirror, the boy—no,he—looked back with the same fire that had carried the character through countless battles.
Somewhere deep inside, excitement bubbled up. The impossible had happened.
And today… was the start of his journey.