Chapter 2: The Easiest Victory Ever
The Treecko did not "enjoy" the journey back to the estate. Its tail, a long, slender thing of elegance and pride, was perfectly still, its knuckles white, a silent testament to its fury. The smug smirk it had worn so effortlessly moments before was now a grim, tight-lipped frown. It chose not to return to its Poké Ball, instead remaining on my shoulder like a tiny, disgruntled gargoyle of green scales and judgment. Its eyes, narrowed to thin slits, were fixed on Vic, who was now engaged in a complex and apparently very serious game of "chase the invisible butterfly" around my head. The little psychic rabbit was emitting a constant, cheerful hum, a sound so full of carefree joy it made the Treecko's stoicism seem even more profound.
"He's not always like this," I said to the small lizard, my voice low and soothing. "He's just… excitable. And, you know, a walking anomaly. It's not your fault."
Treecko's gaze never left the hyperactive legendary. It simply sighed, a sound so full of weary resignation that it made me want to get it a tiny therapist. The ride back felt like a silent negotiation between myself and my two Pokémon: me trying to convince Treecko that this was, in fact, a normal trainer-and-Pokémon relationship, and Treecko silently questioning every decision it had ever made in its brief, Pokémon-world existence.
The system, ever the chipper commentator, chimed in. "Quest progress: Bonding with your official starter. Current status: Fair. Recommendation: Engage in a shared activity. A battle would be an excellent choice!"
A battle. That was exactly what I was trying to avoid. The whole point of my reincarnated life was to avoid stress, to enjoy a lazy, luxurious existence. But, as my parents had so graciously reminded me upon our return, a young master of the Tanaka family was expected to be a leader, and a leader must prove his strength. To them, this was a matter of family pride, not a personal journey.
And so, that afternoon, I found myself standing on the lush, emerald lawn of our private training field. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, and the air was thick with the scent of mown grass and privilege. My parents, looking as if they were observing a particularly engaging tennis match, watched from a covered veranda, sipping tea from porcelain cups.
"Alright, Treecko," I said, my voice full of encouragement. "You've got this. Let's show them what a proper Pokémon battle looks like!"
Treecko's tail straightened, its eyes gleaming with a newfound determination. It was a chance to prove its worth, to show that it was more than just a bystander in this absurd circus. I tossed its Poké Ball into the air, and it emerged with a defiant cry, landing in a low, ready stance.
My opponent was Kenji, one of the estate's groundskeepers and a man who looked like he could bench-press a car. He was kind-faced and had a veteran's calm about him. He grinned. "Young master is full of spirit! Machamp, my friend, let's give him a warm welcome!"
He tossed a Poké Ball, and a massive, four-armed Machamp appeared in a flash of light. Its muscles were sculpted like rock, its champion's belt glimmered, and its gaze was focused and professional. It flexed its four arms in unison, a silent promise of power. Treecko tensed, its knuckles white, a perfect picture of a brave, young hero facing a giant.
This was exactly the kind of battle I had envisioned. A test of skill, a true fight, a chance for Treecko to earn its victory. I was ready to give commands, to strategize, to let Treecko prove itself.
And that's when the chaos began.
From behind my back, a flash of light announced Victini's presence. It shot out, a white-and-orange blur, its cheerful cry echoing across the lawn. It zipped around Machamp's head, its aura, a palpable wave of victory, radiating in all directions. The great Pokémon, a stoic and battle-hardened veteran, didn't know what to make of this tiny, erratic creature. It looked up, utterly baffled, its four arms frozen mid-flex.
I frantically waved my hands. "Vic! No! This is Treecko's battle! Get back here!"
But Vic was not a Pokémon that listened to reason. It was an adorable, invincible force of pure will. As it zipped and spun, the shimmering glow of its power enveloped Machamp. The great Pokémon staggered, its confident posture collapsing into confusion. It held its head, a lost look in its eyes. Its body began to twitch, not from a move, but from some sort of existential dread.
Kenji looked at me, a question in his eyes. "What… what just happened?"
My system helpfully provided a clinical, utterly useless explanation. "The Pokémon Machamp's brain is unable to process the overwhelming aura of guaranteed victory. Its will to fight has been nullified. It has fainted."
Machamp, a Pokémon that could probably lift a building, simply sat down on the grass with a loud sigh, its arms limp at its sides. It looked more like a disappointed father than a defeated opponent. It was, in a word, done.
I stared. Treecko stared. Kenji stared. My parents, who had just been about to clap, froze, their teacups suspended in mid-air. The silence was deafening, broken only by Vic's happy chirping as it landed on my shoulder, nudging me playfully.
The system chimed. "Quest complete: Defeat the opponent! Reward: 500 experience points, one rare candy." A tiny, holographic candy materialized in my hand. It was a joke. I threw my hands up in exasperation.
"He's not even a Pokémon I'm battling! He's just… there! He didn't even do anything!" I shouted.
Kenji, still looking utterly bewildered, slowly recalled his Machamp. "Young master… I've never seen anything like that before. Machamp just… lost the will to fight. It's… unprecedented." He stared at me and then at Vic, a man whose worldview had just been thoroughly shaken.
My father, ever the pragmatist, put down his teacup. "Well, a victory is a victory, is it not? A quick, decisive one at that. Perhaps a new strategy for the ages." He smiled, seemingly proud of my "unconventional" tactics.
That evening, a tiny, scowling Treecko sat on my bed, staring at me as I explained the situation with the system. I told it about my old life, about the absurdity of a cheat code in the real world, and my sincere desire to have a "normal" life with it. Treecko, to its credit, seemed to listen, but its skeptical expression never wavered. It was a silent partner, a stoic anchor in my sea of chaos.
The next morning, determined to make things right, I snuck out of the estate with my two Pokémon. My goal was simple: find a quiet patch of wilderness, let Treecko have a real, hard-earned victory, and earn its respect. We left the manicured lawns and opulent security, venturing into the tall grass near the edge of our vast property.
We found a small, serene clearing near a gurgling stream. The air was cool and smelled of wild flowers. I spotted a couple of wild Pokémon nearby—a flock of Pidgey. They were pecking at the ground, unaware of the impending, ridiculous battle they were about to be thrust into.
"Alright, Treecko," I whispered, my voice full of hope. "This is our chance. No Victini. You and me. Just a good, honest battle."
Treecko's tail straightened, its eyes gleaming with determination. This was what it had trained for. This was its moment. I carefully placed Vic on a nearby, sun-drenched log, telling him to stay.
"Treecko! Use Pound!"
With a burst of speed, Treecko leaped forward, its tail a green blur. It was fast, agile, a natural warrior. It was a beautiful sight to behold. Just as it was about to land its first strike, a blinding flash of light erupted from the lead Pidgey. It was a blinding, impossible radiance, a physical manifestation of power. The Pokémon, a normally timid creature, suddenly grew three times in size, its feathers shimmering like molten gold. It let out a single, deafening cry that shook the very ground.
My system chimed. "Wild Pidgey has been affected by the aura of invincibility. It has evolved into Pidgeot. Its stats have been boosted exponentially. The aura is now affecting the surrounding area. Warning: a large shadow is approaching."
Before I could process what was happening, the small flock of Pidgey began to evolve. And not just evolve—they were glowing with a power that felt far beyond their normal capabilities. One Pidgey, with a final burst of light, transformed into a powerful Pidgeot and soared into the sky, a magnificent, unexpected avian titan.
Then, a new voice, a clear and exasperated one, called out. "Hey! My Pokémon were perfectly content being Pidgey! What in the world is going on here?"
A girl, with bright, fiery red hair tied back in a ponytail and a determined look in her eyes, stormed into the clearing. She was dressed in practical hiking clothes and carried a well-worn backpack. She had the kind of focused intensity that spoke of purpose and hard work, a stark contrast to my own life of effortless chaos. Her gaze, which was initially fixed on her now-overpowered Pokémon, landed on me.
"That's my Pokémon! Did you... did you use some sort of rare candy on them? I was training them to evolve naturally!" she demanded, her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed with a mix of frustration and suspicion.
I looked at the impossibly large Pidgeot soaring above us, then at the girl, then at the unapologetic Victini happily napping on the log, and finally at the utterly bewildered Treecko.
"I... it's a long story," I said. "And I promise, I had nothing to do with it."
The girl's frustration melted into confusion as she took in my flustered expression. She looked at me, at the log, then back to the now-giant Pidgeot. "Right. And I'm the Pokémon Champion. What is that little thing?" she asked, pointing at Vic.
I sighed, ready to explain my absurd new reality to a complete stranger. It seemed my "quiet" life was going to have a lot more shouting than I had initially planned.