"I am Ash Ketchum!"
The words still echoed in the bathroom when another voice, clear and teasing, floated upstairs.
"Tell me something I don't know!"
Ash froze, his breath caught in his throat. That voice again—the same one that had shaken his very bones only minutes ago. His… mother's voice.
Delia Ketchum.
He blinked several times, as if the mirror might change and show him his old self again. But no, the boy staring back was still Ash Ketchum—wide-eyed, messy-haired, and utterly real.
The comical tone in Delia's voice, though, struck him as strange. Wasn't she supposed to be worried, urging him to hurry? He remembered the anime clearly—Ash had overslept, rushed out in his pajamas, and barely made it in time.
But here she is… joking with me? Calm?
The inconsistency gnawed at his mind as he turned and padded down the hallway, his small feet thumping softly against the wooden floor. He descended the stairs, his heart caught between confusion and excitement.
The moment he stepped into the dining area, two things immediately struck him.
First, his mother was humming. Humming cheerfully, like a woman who had all the time in the world. Her voice carried lightness, every note gliding gently through the air.
Wait… humming? That doesn't make sense. She should be panicked, telling me to run to Professor Oak's in my pajamas.
Then his eyes shifted, and the second thing hit him harder than a Thunderbolt.
On the far wall hung a clock. The hands pointed neatly at 9:00 AM
Ash's mind went blank for a second. His memories of the show had etched the morning chaos firmly in his head. Ash Ketchum overslept until the starter ceremony was already happening, not leisurely lounging around two hours earlier.
So… it's nine o'clock. The ceremony isn't until eleven…
Realization dawned. He wasn't late at all. In fact, he had more time than he thought. That explained the hum in his mother's throat, the relaxed smile on her face.
As he stepped fully into the kitchen, the next thing to hit him was the smell.
It was intoxicating. Warm, buttery, and rich with the fragrance of spices. The table was half set—plates stacked neatly, silverware gleaming faintly, and a pot of something still steaming on the stove. His stomach, which hadn't fully registered itself until now, growled with primal hunger.
Delia turned at the sound of his footsteps, her apron fluttering slightly. Her brown hair was tied back, her face glowing with the familiar warmth that fans of the anime had seen countless times.
"There you are," she said brightly. Then her tone snapped into mock sternness, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Ashton Ketchum, you are not going near the breakfast until you take a bath and brush your teeth!"
Ash stopped mid-step, blinking at her.
"Ashton…?"
It felt surreal. No one had ever called him that before. Back in his old life, he was just Ash—the anime fan. Now, here was Delia, scolding him as her Ash.
He almost burst out laughing at the absurdity, but the seriousness in her voice made him straighten instinctively.
Wow… she even feels like a real mom.
He looked toward the stove, where he could see fluffy golden pancakes stacked in a neat pile, syrup glistening on the counter beside them. The smell of freshly toasted bread made his stomach cry louder, and the sizzling sound of eggs in a pan nearly broke his resolve.
But Delia's eyes were sharp, and there was no mistaking her rule.
"Uh… yeah, sure, Mom," he said, the word slipping out naturally. His throat tightened for a moment—it was the first time he had ever called anyone "Mom" in this world.
She smiled warmly, clearly pleased. "Good boy. Go on now. Your big day won't wait for you to be lazy."
Ash hesitated. A part of him wanted to defy her, grab a pancake, and eat like the old anime Ash would have done. But another part of him—the part that remembered this wasn't just a cartoon anymore—felt a surge of respect. This was real. Delia wasn't just an NPC in a story; she was his mother now.
He turned and shuffled back toward the bathroom, muttering under his breath. "Guess even future Pokémon Masters need clean teeth."
By the time he returned, his hair damp and sticking up in even stranger directions than before, the table was set. Delia was sliding the last plate into place.
"That's better," she said approvingly when she saw him. "Now sit down and eat before it gets cold."
Ash slid into his seat. The food looked even better up close—fluffy pancakes, scrambled eggs, toast with a golden-brown sheen, and a bowl of fruit cut into neat little slices. He picked up his fork slowly, almost reverently.
One bite was all it took.
The sweet, warm pancake melted in his mouth, richer than anything he'd eaten before. His eyes widened, and he couldn't help but let out a small, satisfied sigh.
So this is Delia's cooking… no wonder anime Ash always looked so happy at breakfast.
Delia chuckled at his reaction. "Eat up, Ashton. You'll need your strength. Today's a big day."
He nodded quickly, shoving another bite into his mouth. But behind the taste and comfort of the food, his thoughts raced.
This isn't following the script. In the anime, I overslept and got Pikachu because the other starters were gone. But now… I've got time. Real time.
He paused, his fork hovering in the air. Does this mean I can actually choose? Can I still get Froakie, like I clicked in that survey?
Excitement coursed through him, mixing with a flicker of anxiety. If this world wasn't going to play out exactly like the anime, then his choices mattered. His actions would change everything.
He glanced at Delia, who was humming again as she poured juice into a glass. For a moment, he let himself sink into the warmth of the moment—the mother he had never known in this world, yet one who fussed over him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
A strange ache stirred in his chest. Her gentle humming, the way she smiled when she set the food down, even the firmness in her scolding—it reminded him of someone else. Someone far away, in the life he had left behind.
Mom…
The word slipped into his mind with an almost painful fondness. Different faces, different worlds, but the feeling was the same. The care, the warmth, the sense that someone was watching over him. It was uncanny—and comforting.
As he chewed another bite of pancake, he lowered his gaze slightly, hiding the emotion in his eyes. For the first time since waking in this new life, he didn't feel completely adrift.
In this home, with this mother, he could almost believe that the two lives were not so different