At seven in the morning, Hayato's eyes snapped open.
The instant he saw what was in front of him, his heart sank. He froze in place, stunned.
Before him sat a cluttered old computer desk, with an outdated desktop computer resting on top. The screen was black, dormant from long neglect.
Beside the computer lay a mess of odds and ends: a half-used pack of tissues, and a cup of boiled water gone cold.
And with that sight, memories of a certain night came flooding back.
Hayato stared blankly at the monitor. Reflected faintly in the dark screen was a face—haggard, lifeless, without energy.
This was his "home."
His home from his previous life.
No… impossible. How could he have returned here?
Surely everything he had experienced in the world of Pokémon—the people he met, the battles he fought—surely all of that hadn't just been… a dream?
Hayato refused to believe it. Yet the stiffness in his arm, left unmoving all night, and the clarity of his consciousness told him otherwise. Perhaps… it really had only been a dream.
A bead of cold sweat slid down his forehead. He sat motionless for a long time, panic surging within him like never before.
The clock read seven a.m. From outside came the sounds of elderly people chatting on their way to the park, and the muffled roar of cars passing on the street below.
Everything was exactly as he remembered.
Hayato rose, surveying the tiny room in silence.
His entire world fit within this cramped space: the desk, the small bed beside it with its messy quilt, and on the headboard, a few worn plush Pokémon dolls.
He stepped into the living room. Familiar yet foreign scenes unfolded before his eyes.
To make sure, he pinched his arm hard.
It hurt.
Which meant… this wasn't a dream.
The thought left him hollow, rooted to the spot as if swallowed by confusion.
The absurdity of it was no less cruel than if someone had declared: "There never was a Champion Ash Ketchum. Everything was just the dream of a boy on his deathbed."
After a long daze, Hayato spun around suddenly and turned on the computer.
The screen flickered to life. The familiar game window appeared.
There it was—the Pokémon he had once used for testing a new version of the mod tool.
A Cramorant.
A Shiny Cramorant, with every stat maxed out.
Its derpy, frozen expression stared outward from the monitor. By chance, the way its eyes were angled almost made it seem like it was looking straight at him.
Hayato gazed at it silently.
Warm sunlight spilled into the narrow, monotonous room, yet his chest felt unbearably empty.
He clicked on the image of the Cramorant with his mouse.
If it were the real Cramorant, he could already picture it tilting its head with that silly look the moment he poked it.
But this one didn't react.
It was nothing more than a motionless image on a screen.
There was no Cramorant here to guard him.
No Roserade who loved basking in the sun, performing with elegance and grace.
No loyal Gengar, always wishing to stay at his side.
No honest Fraxure, awkwardly trying to be closer to him but embarrassed by its own growth.
No Ralts dreaming of traveling the world together—nor the Charmeleon and Zapdos that had followed.
No friends waiting back in the Ecological Park.
His deepest fear… had finally come true.
Like a walking corpse, Hayato wandered downstairs onto the bustling streets. Familiar roads stretched all around him. Yet a single chilling thought filled his mind:
This world had no Pokémon.
Late at night in LaRousse City.
A sleeping Ralts suddenly stirred. An unsettling wave of fear had brushed against its heart.
Blinking drowsily, it turned toward the source.
What it saw left it stunned.
"Ral…?"
It hurried across the short distance in barely two seconds, reaching its Trainer's bedside. It clawed at the sheets, trying to climb up, but its tiny body wasn't tall enough.
"Ralts…"
With a small sigh, it used its psychic powers to teleport onto the bed instead.
Its gaze fixed on Hayato's face.
The face usually so gentle and calm was now twisted with tension.
His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed tight, as though he were facing down something terrifying.
"Ral…?"
Ralts nudged him anxiously, but he did not wake. Instead, its fuss roused Gengar from nearby.
The ghost drifted over, puzzled. "Gengar?"
Ralts answered in confusion. "Ralts…"
"Gen…gar." Gengar scratched its head with a claw, then peered down at its Trainer.
Meanwhile, three days had already passed in Hayato's dream world.
During those days, he had wandered in a daze.
His job here was to sell custom-made "perfect" Pokémon on an online marketplace.
Before the dream of "crossing into another world," he had been working on a large order. At the time, a new mod tool version had just released. To test it, he had created a "legal" Shiny Cramorant.
And thus… Cramorant was born.
Hayato hadn't cared much at first. But staring at the bird on his screen, he thought: what if it happened again? What if that dream became reality?
Clinging to that thought, he threw himself into work.
Soon the order was finished. After logging in with the client's account and uploading the Pokémon, he made sure to secretly transfer the Cramorant into his own save.
Watching the bird that could sweep the Elite Four and even crush Steven, he found faint solace.
With nothing else to do, he played through Omega Ruby.
After defeating Steven's final Pokémon, the Champion's words filled the screen:
"Just as I expected, BB (the player's name), you truly are an outstanding Pokémon Trainer. Congratulations—and thank you.
I want to know how you feel about this world, what kind of ideals you and your Pokémon are striving for…
But I believe I already found my answer during our battle.
The love you have for your Pokémon, and their strength born of their devotion to you—that combination is what created such immense power.
That is why you triumphed today.
From the moment we first met, I felt there was something special about you. And now I know I was right.
You are Hoenn's new Champion!"
Hayato stared at the words.
No, he thought. This was just the power of cheating.
And yet… yes, this really was something Steven would say.
He chuckled. But the laughter soon died away.
Because he could no longer tell—had it all been real, or nothing but a dream?
He tried to think, but it felt as if some unseen force smothered his clarity.
He was nearly convinced it had all been an illusion—until one morning, while brushing his teeth, he saw something emerge from the mirror.
A purple silhouette.
"…"
Clatter!
The toothbrush fell to the floor. Hayato froze, mouth foaming, eyes wide in disbelief.
And then—memories came rushing back, sharp and vivid, as though chains had broken. Every detail of that world surged into his mind.
This world, meanwhile, blurred into dreamlike haze.
Hayato pinched his arm again. This time—no pain.
Gengar watched him gawk in silence, baffled. "Why are you making that face?"
Hayato said nothing. Relief and joy burst inside him.
He seized Gengar in a hug and planted a kiss on its head.
Gengar: "…"
Quickly rinsing his mouth, Hayato led Gengar into the living room. "How did you get in here?"
Concern flickered across the ghost's face. "Because we felt your fear. Were you having a nightmare?"
It had used its powers to enter his dream.
Hayato nodded. "You could say that." Then he smiled. "Want something to eat?"
Gengar tilted its head. "Why do you look like… this?"
Indeed—Hayato now bore the face of his thirty-year-old self.
Decades separated it from the teenager Gengar knew.
Yet the ghost had recognized him instantly.
"This is me, all grown up," Hayato explained.
"Grown up…"
Gengar had heard him mention such things before—that he was still considered young among humans.
Now reassured, Gengar hovered nearby, curious, watching him closely.
Hayato let it stare.
Knowing it was all just a dream, he finally felt at ease.
Even if a dream—it was real enough.
He decided to take Gengar out. Since this world's humans were just dream NPCs, there was no need to hide its presence.
Together, they took the elevator down and strolled to a bustling breakfast stall.
For the first time, Gengar noticed—this world lacked Pokémon.
Puzzled, it asked why.
Hayato passed it a fried dough stick. "Taste it first."
This was food from his old home, food he might never get to eat again.
Gengar swallowed it whole. To its palate, it couldn't compare to Pokéblocks—barely edible at best.
Hayato watched quietly, then said, "Because this is the place I used to live."
Gengar's confusion deepened. "Your old home… had no Pokémon?"
He shook his head. "Only humans. Only ordinary animals."
Such a world was beyond Gengar's comprehension.
So Hayato explained.
"This world and ours are not the same. Before meeting you, I lived here. Then, for special reasons, I crossed into your world—and became the person you know today."
Gengar frowned. "Then… will you ever leave us? Come back here?"
"No." Hayato smiled gently. "I'll stay with you. Always."
The ghost finally relaxed.
They ate, then wandered through the town where Hayato had spent his childhood.
At a kindergarten, he pointed to the playground. "I went to school here once."
Children played on slides and seesaws. Gengar, seeing their joy, grew eager to try.
So Hayato—like a mischievous "final boss"—chased the NPC kids away and claimed the slide for himself, with Gengar.
When the teacher came rushing at the children's complaints, she was met with the bizarre sight of a thirty-year-old man playing gleefully on the slide like a child.
Teacher: "…"
At noon, Hayato brought Gengar to an expensive buffet restaurant.
It was a place he'd always dreamed of but never afforded in his past life.
Here in the dream, he indulged freely.
Carrying a plate of food, he suddenly sensed something. Turning, his eyes caught a shadowy figure amid the crowd.
Marshadow.
It hovered silently in midair, its gaze cutting through the throng to meet his.
Hayato mouthed the words, though no sound came: "Thank you."
Marshadow said nothing.
As abruptly as it appeared, it vanished—like it had never been there at all.
In the Shadow World.
Marshadow watched the dream unfold.
Its power magnified the darkest fears within a human heart.
In such fear, perhaps their Rainbow Hero would find his answer.
To Marshadow, anyone unwilling to fight, even kill if necessary, could never be a true Hero. Even Pokémon would hurl themselves at enemies to protect their companions.
So—do what you must. Protect what you must protect.
That was the lesson.
But as Marshadow lingered, it realized… it had erred.
As a guide of shadows, it should not assist the chosen one. Its duty was to heap obstacles upon them, to see whether they truly possessed the right to bear the title.
Yet this time…
Forget it. Consider it repayment for those offerings of food.
Marshadow sighed silently.
(End of Chapter)