Viridian City.
Night had fallen.
In a dimly lit rental room in one corner of the city, a handsome black-haired young man was staring holes into a desktop folder on his monitor labeled [Rainbow Eevee Match-3].
"This has to work this time…"
He took a deep breath, dragged the folder into an upload box on a website, and hit Confirm.
The next second, a big red X popped up with a prompt, and the folder vanished from his desktop.
[Unknown Error: 404. File corrupted.]
"Damn it! Again?"
He cursed and slapped the desk as he shot to his feet.
His name was Sean Green, and a week ago he'd crossed over into this world.
Good news: it was the world of Pokémon—one he loved and knew by heart.
Bad news: the identity he crossed into was that of a broke, undocumented orphan. He rented a temporary room on the outskirts of Viridian City and scraped by on day labor.
After arriving, Sean had no grand plans to become a Trainer. If he could befriend one or two Pokémon and spend a lifetime together, he'd be perfectly content.
Reality, however, was even harsher than he'd imagined. He was dead broke—barely able to feed himself. If he went out to catch a Pokémon now, they'd both be panhandling on the street.
—Put a bowl on the ground: Sean would do the crying, and the Pokémon would do the pleading.
To change his situation, the former top-tier game creator spent his first day here researching this world's entertainment scene online.
What he found shocked him. Despite everyone having phones and computers and a well-developed internet, the entertainment industry was a blank slate.
Movies, TV, novels, games—everything was primitive and low-end.
For example, number one on the League Games official hot chart—priced at a whopping 99 Pokémon Dollar—was a title called "Angry Stones."
It was basically a racing game where you roll down roads as a Geodude… and it was single-player only. No online mode at all.
If you were lucky enough to reach later levels, the Geodude would evolve into a Golem… turning into a fully insured hundred-ton semi barreling down the highway, giving pedestrians a taste of what it means to "live life on hard mode."
That discovery immediately lifted Sean's spirits.
With his skill set, in a world starved for game culture, even lazily porting a few classics from his previous life would guarantee full pockets and a full belly.
But then the problems began.
—After spending two days making a simple game called [Pac-Dot Starters], his upload failed—and the folder disappeared.
At first he thought his PC was acting up. He rebuilt the game, put it on a USB drive, went to the internet café downstairs, and tried again—same result.
Unwilling to accept defeat, he made a new mini-game, [Lucario: Gold Miner]. Same story.
Counting what just happened, that made five games he'd built that failed to upload—and then vanished.
Sean was getting a serious headache.
What now??
Rent was due next week.
But he'd spent the whole week making games, and he didn't have enough cash on him to buy a single bottle of Moomoo Milk at the corner store…
Right as he was torn between panic and problem-solving, a golden panel suddenly floated up before his eyes!
An electronic voice followed:
[The seven-day buffer period has ended! Blocker function is now active!]
[Ding! Congratulations, Host—the "Ultimate Pokémon Game-Making System" has been activated!]
[This system provides efficient game-development tech to help the Host become the Strongest Pokémon Game Creator!]
[Newbie reward tech modules activated! Please check the panel!]
He scanned the text, and his gaze locked onto the first line.
So all the issues with my games this past week were because of this system?
The electronic voice sounded again, tinged with pride:
[Ding! Please note: because the Host is a transmigrant, to prevent temporal chaos and your subsequent erasure, you may—for now—only create games whose core content is related to Pokémon. Non-Pokémon games are automatically blocked. No need to thank this system.]
"…Yeah, thanks a lot—to your whole family," Sean muttered inwardly, mentally running through every curse he'd ever learned before taking a long breath and sorting out the situation.
Put simply, this system could help him make games quickly?
And they had to be Pokémon-centric?
He looked at the panel. Two blue-glowing cubes pulsed there.
[Pixel Game Module (Basic) — Quickly produce pixel-style content.]
[Basic Programming Module (Basic) — Quickly produce small-scope, simple programs.]
[Unlocking more modules or upgrading existing ones requires Emotion Points. When others feel anger, shock, moved, admiration, etc., toward your games—or toward you—you gain points.]
[Current Balance: 0]
Quick content production?
Sean thought for a moment, opened his game-making software, and visualized a pixel sprite in his mind.
In the next instant, a yellow, pixelated "Pikachu" sprang onto the screen!
"Not bad at all…"
His eyes lit up.
Even as a top-tier game creator, making a game solo takes a ton of time and energy. That's why this week he'd focused on small-scale projects.
Big games were simply impossible for one person.
Besides, his specialty was game production, not programming—the two aren't the same.
Normally Sean set direction, ideas, and design; other people at the company handled the code.
With this system, that problem was solved.
Better yet, if his games stirred people's emotions, he could unlock more modules and build even more advanced Pokémon titles!
With that in mind, his thoughts raced.
Pokémon core only, basic programming, pixel constraints…
One game floated up in his mind:
[Pokémon: Red/Blue/Emerald]
A pure heavyweight—countless fans' first taste of Pokémon and a handheld classic.
Given his current modules, making it seemed just right!
But then, a brand-new idea flashed through his head.
To unlock more modules and make bigger games, he needed more Emotion Points.
In that case… a vanilla Emerald might not cut it.
Sitting at his desk, he slowly broke into a meaningful smile.
If there's one thing games reliably make players feel, it's rage and tilt.
And even Emerald can do that—if you push it.
Sean clicked the mouse and clacked away at the keyboard. A brand-new folder appeared on his desktop—
[Pokémon: Hyper Emerald (Madman Mode — Limited Edition)!]