What people call "Hyper Emerald" is actually a fan-made hack based on the original Emerald.
It adds a ton of Pokémon and maps from later generations, tweaks parts of the story, and is widely considered a masterpiece among fan-made games.
Its difficulty, though, is several times that of vanilla Emerald. Every NPC runs on a high-IQ AI that evaluates your party and status before acting—pulling advanced moves like switching for defensive synergy, going for the kill, chugging potions, and more—sometimes outsmarting real players!
Because of level caps, you also can't brute-force your way through by overleveling, which means most first-time players hit roadblocks and need guides just to scrape by.
As for Madman Mode, that's a hidden difficulty. It's called "Madman," but it's really "hell"—so hard it'll make you tilt.
Building on that Madman Mode, Sean has a few ideas of his own: cranking up stage difficulty even further and using the system to push NPC AI to be more adaptive and flexible in battle.
After all, this is a world of Trainers where Pokémon are everywhere. If he doesn't raise the difficulty, some people will find it… way too easy.
And for now, his main goal with this game is to annoy—uh, to increase the challenge for players.
So, Easy Mode… we'll talk about that later.
With that, Sean opened the project folder and tried pitching a few ideas in his head.
"System, can we make these?"
[Yes. Start production now?]
He nodded. "Do it."
…
By Sean's estimate, the system should boost his development speed by dozens of times.
And it did—his efficiency shot up.
Even so, to pull off his ideas and polish the game's quality, he still spent the entire night tweaking and tuning.
Before he knew it, dawn had come.
Sunlight slipped in through the window as the city woke to the morning glow.
Sean made one last edit to the title and description, dragged the folder onto the site, took a deep breath, and clicked Upload.
This time there was no red warning—just four big green characters: "Upload Successful"!
He exhaled hard, drew the curtains, left the PC on, and face-planted onto the bed. Out cold.
After a whole night of crunch, he was wiped. All-nighters were routine in his previous life, but in this one his body seemed even worse—he just couldn't take it anymore.
If he didn't sleep now, he'd end up isekai'ing a second time.
I-must-sleep-right-now.jpg.
Seconds later, his eyes closed, and steady breathing filled the room.
Right then, a shadow by the curtains rippled—and a figure slipped out.
It looked like a white candle with big dark-green eyes and a deep-blue flame flickering on its head—strange and mesmerizing.
Look closer, though, and you'd see the flame was weak, like it might go out at any moment.
A Ghost-type Pokémon—Litwick.
Don't be fooled by the cute look: it feeds by consuming other beings' souls.
It lights the candle on its head and pretends to guide travelers, all while quietly siphoning away their spirits…
Now, Litwick swept its gaze around the room, wobbling a bit.
So hungry…
If only there were something to eat…
Its eyes locked onto the sleeping Sean, and they lit up.
This human's "scent"…
So, so good!
If it's just a little nibble of soul, that should be fine… right?
Then… just a little?
…
It was Saturday. By League law, most people—aside from service workers—had the day off.
In a world where entertainment was underdeveloped, livestreams were the go-to way to kill time.
At that moment, on the largest platform—Psyduck—an old, long-silent channel quietly flicked back on.
In the next instant, viewers poured in like a tidal wave. Concurrent users shot past 100,000!
"She's here! She's here! My wife is here!"
"Ahhhhh she finally went live!!"
"lol! the early Pidgey gets the Wurmple!"
…
Amid the flood of chat, the stream came up: a computer desktop, wallpapered with a Garchomp looking cool mid-battle.
A thousand miles away, a woman sat at that machine.
Tall, willowy. Gray eyes like a deep, tranquil pool—calm and mysterious. Knee-length blonde hair flowed like creamy silk, glinting in the sun. She radiated a natural warmth, but if you looked closely you'd feel a well-hidden aura of absolute confidence.
She was—Sinnoh's strongest Champion, a legendary Trainer standing at the very top: Cynthia.
She turned on her camera and smiled at chat.
"Good morning, everyone. The League finally didn't give me a mission today, so I've got time to see you."
"Did you miss me? Because I missed you."
With her appearance, the chat exploded again and viewer count spiked.
"I missed you too, babe!!!!"
"She asked if I missed her—she totally has me in her heart!"
"Finally! I was gonna work overtime today, but when I heard you were going live I quit on the spot."
"I biked three hours from my village to the town net café just to watch you."
…
Cynthia couldn't help a soft laugh. "You're all as funny as ever."
"All right, rare full-day stream—what do you want to see me play?"
Chat answered in waves.
"Nana, I'll watch whatever you play!!"
"Battle Road! I always learn so much from that."
"Maybe something else? Kinda tired of the same old."
"What else—roll-a-Geodude on a road in that trash game?"
…
Most wanted "Battle Road."
Cynthia nodded and clicked a red-and-white ball icon on the desktop. "Battle Road it is."
Battle Road was a PvP simulator released six months ago by "Dream Factory." Lots of missing features, plenty of bugs, and updates had been phoned in for half a year. But it let you build teams and play fairly realistic mock battles against others—a game-changer with zero competition on the market.
So even if players constantly complained and cursed Dream Factory, they had no alternative. The game stayed blazing hot. Everyone from non-Trainers to Elites and Champions played it—a near-universal title.
For Cynthia, it wasn't just giving chat what they wanted; even as Champion she could use it to quickly sample new Pokémon and team ideas, improving her battle understanding.
But when she launched it and tried to log in, she froze.
A message popped up:
[Fatal server error: unable to connect!]
Chat turned sour.
"Of course—Dream Factory's slacking again."
"Classic server crash. They rake in cash every year—if they spent even a tenth on servers, this wouldn't happen."
"Welp, no PvP today…"
…
Dream Factory's potato servers were common knowledge. No one was surprised.
Cynthia only frowned slightly and closed the window. "Looks like we can't play that today. Any other ideas?"
She wasn't thrilled—Battle Road had been her plan—but with so many viewers, she kept her warm smile.
"Angry Stones!"
"Pikachu Legend!"
"Movie watch party?"
…
Suggestions flooded in. Just then, a paid red Super Chat caught her eye—from an old regular known for gifting in the millions.
["Cat Who Loves Fish": Nana, looks like there's a new-game showcase on the League's official site. Want to check it out?]
As the world's internet caretaker, the League handled cultural things like games, too.
Cynthia glanced at the sidebar and, sure enough, there was a promo banner. She clicked it to browse—she'd been curious about new titles anyway.
The results were disappointing: stale, low-quality shovelware. Three blatant Angry Stones reskins, even—just swapping Geodude for Voltorb, Magnemite, and Miltank.
Just as she was about to give up, one cover art snagged her attention and made her eyes widen.
In hazy mist, a dragon's silhouette emerged alongside glowing golden sigils. Even through the screen, you could feel the majesty and power in that shadow.
No way…
Cynthia froze.
She recognized that outline: a Legendary.
—The sky's sovereign, the Dragon God—Rayquaza!
She knew of Rayquaza because, as Champion, she had access to certain channels—and she was a mythic archaeologist. Ordinary people had no clue Legendaries of that tier even existed; tales of that Pokémon had faded from history for centuries. The last ancient text describing it had burned in a fire.
And now its likeness was on a game cover?
Coincidence?
The thought flashed and she dismissed it at once.
No. Impossible.
Before that book was lost, she'd had the chance to read it—and the Rayquaza described there matched this silhouette almost perfectly.
She looked at the developer credit. Just one simple word:
[Green]
As Champion, she'd never heard of them—probably a pseudonym.
She searched on her phone for the publisher's info, but found no contact details, not even a company—looked like a solo dev.
That made things tricky…
She'd planned to contact the creator directly about Rayquaza. But if it was a solo release with no contact info, even pulling League strings might not find them. And the friend she relied on to track people down was… unavailable for the time being.
Thinking it over, she studied the game page more closely.
The title filled her view:
[Pokémon: Emerald (Test Version)]
What kind of name was that? It didn't sound like anything else on the market. And it was labeled "pixel," a category associated with low-budget, low-tech quick cash-grabs.
She read the blurb—no flashy marketing, just a single line:
"Encounter and raise different Pokémon, build your team, and embark on a wondrous journey together."
Below that were two lines in red.
First:
"Warning! Non-professional Trainers are prohibited from playing this game! If you suffer adverse effects such as hypertension, heart attack, or brain damage, we take no responsibility!"
Cynthia's brows arched in surprise.
Hypertension? Heart attack?
From a video game? Isn't that a bit much?
She looked at the second red line:
"The first player to clear this test version can use the friend code they earn to add the developer's contact and will also receive a 100,000 Pokémon Dollars prize."
Her eyes narrowed.
Contact info.
She didn't expect the game itself to be anything special—it certainly didn't look groundbreaking, and it couldn't compare to Battle Road. As for the 100,000 Poké Dollars, a Champion like her hardly needed the money.
But clearing the game to get the creator's contact? That she couldn't ignore.
If this developer could render Rayquaza so precisely, they were no ordinary person. They might know much more about it.
As a lover of myth, Cynthia could not risk missing that lead.
Decision made, she added the game to her cart and hit Purchase.
The payment popup made her pause again:
"Purchase Pokémon: Emerald (Test Version) for 288 Poké Dollars. Proceed?"
288 Poké Dollars??
Even the so-called big titles never dared cross triple digits…
And a pixel game had the guts to ask nearly 300?!
Even cool-headed Cynthia struggled to keep a straight face.
She didn't lack the cash.
But that price… wasn't it a bit much?