"Guess I can't deny it anymore. I really am in the Pokémon world now."
DJ lay flat on his back atop the manor's stone terrace, hands folded behind his head, eyes tracing the slow drift of clouds across a pale blue sky. A flock of Pidgey wheeled overhead, their wings cutting clean arcs through the air. Spearow followed—sharper, more aggressive in their flight—before a lone Rookidee shot past them all, metallic feathers catching sunlight like polished steel.
"It's been a year," he continued quietly, more to himself than anything else. "A whole year since I got forcefully transported by a certain truck that seems contractually obligated to kill people."
His lips twitched.
"And of course, the Pokémon world isn't sunshine and rainbows like the anime made it out to be. Who could've guessed."
The wind carried the cries of wild Pokémon across the estate's outer fields. They sounded… real. Not theatrical. Not friendly. Living creatures going about their lives with no concern for human nostalgia.
DJ exhaled slowly.
His new life wasn't bad—objectively speaking, it was absurdly privileged.
He'd been reborn into the Thompson household, one of the wealthiest and most influential Pokémon families in the region. His father, Hakeem Thompson, was widely acknowledged as the strongest active Elite Four member, a Steel-type specialist whose name alone carried political weight. His mother, Aisha Thompson, was an equally feared Fairy-type Elite Four member, known for precision and ruthless efficiency.
Then there was his older brother, Pope—a rising Fire-type trainer already brushing against Gym-Leader tier, his battles broadcast and dissected across regional channels.
DJ, by contrast, had inherited none of their reputation.
What he had inherited was something else.
A system.
Not a loud one. Not an intrusive one. It didn't blare notifications or flood his vision with stats. It simply observed. Identified. Classified.
Potential.
His gaze drifted toward the open fields beyond the estate walls.
Wild Pidgey
Potential Classification: Ordinary
Wild Spearow
Potential Classification: Ordinary
Wild Caterpie
Potential Classification: Ordinary
Occasionally—
Wild Rookidee
Potential Classification: Rare
Nothing special.
As expected.
Most wild Pokémon were weak—not because they were inferior creatures, but because survival didn't require greatness. The world wasn't built on champions. It was built on numbers.
"Figures," DJ muttered. "No Champion-level bird just waiting to be discovered in the backyard."
He sat up, brushing dust from his clothes.
"Well. Guess I should get going."
Today was the day.
His first Pokémon.
It had taken months of convincing—actual convincing, not entitlement—to get his parents to agree. Not because they didn't care, but because the previous host of this body had been, bluntly speaking, useless.
The memories surfaced unbidden.
The old DJ had been weak-willed. Easily pressured. Easily intimidated. Bullied relentlessly by classmates who knew his family name but also knew he didn't live up to it.
The forest.
The dare.
The Beedrill.
Poison Sting.
He remembered the panic. The confusion. The burning numbness crawling through veins. The staggering walk home.
Then nothing.
The system never commented on it.
DJ didn't dwell on it either.
He rose and headed toward the estate's landing platform, where a massive Corviknight waited, wings folded neatly at its sides. Its red eyes tracked him with sharp intelligence as he approached.
The flight to the lab was smooth—silent but for the rush of air. The city blurred beneath them, replaced by clean steel architecture and reinforced glass as they landed atop the research complex.
Professor Cage was waiting.
"Welcome, Mr. Thompson," the man said smoothly. "I was delighted to hear about your recovery after that unfortunate Beedrill incident. Would've been such a waste of talent for you to die."
DJ met his gaze.
Talent, huh.
"Right this way," the professor continued, already turning. "This room contains our more… elite starters. Reserved for high-class families."
There was something in his tone. A subtle sharpness.
DJ followed without comment.
The doors slid open.
His vision immediately flickered with system readouts.
Torchic (♂)
Potential Classification: Gym-Leader
Squirtle (♀)
Potential Classification: Exceptional
Chespin (♂)
Potential Classification: Gym-Leader
Better than the forest. Better than the common selection.
But then—
DJ's breath hitched.
Mudkip (♂)
Potential Classification: Ace
Chimchar (♂)
Potential Classification: Champion
"No way," DJ murmured. "Champion-level… for a starter."
He didn't hesitate.
Mudkip fit him better. Stable. Analytical. Scalable.
Chimchar was raw momentum.
"My choices are these two," DJ said calmly. "Mudkip and Chimchar."
Professor Cage smiled.
Too quickly.
"Excellent. Coming right up."
DJ's fingers were already moving. Phone out. Message sent.
Pick me up. Now.
He retrieved the Poké Balls and turned to leave—then stopped.
Voices echoed down the corridor.
"I can't believe we got these weak Pokémon."
"And that rich kid got regionals."
"Hah. Don't lump me in with you," a boy said smugly. "My dad already told me which Pokémon he picked. Still—being the weak boy he is, I'll just take his later. If I'm feeling generous."
DJ recognized the voice.
Brendan.
The professor's son.
The air shifted.
A roar split the space.
Heat washed over them as Charizard descended like judgment itself. Pope landed beside it, boots hitting the floor with a dull thud.
"What about now?" Pope asked mildly.
Silence.
Brendan's jaw clenched.
"Shut up," he snapped at his friends. "He won't have his brother forever."
DJ didn't look back.
Hours later.
It took longer than expected, but Pope accepted the Chimchar. The logic was sound—Champion-level potential could push him into true Elite Four contention.
Back home, DJ finally stood alone.
"Come on out," he said softly. "Mudkip."
The Pokémon emerged, blinking curiously at the world.
DJ knelt.
"These'll help," he said, offering Pokéblocks. "Better nutrition. Faster growth."
Mudkip devoured them.
Power stirred.
"Alright," DJ said. "Mudkip—Water Gun."
Nothing.
Mudkip tilted its head.
DJ paused—then nodded.
"…Right. Bond first."
His fingers brushed the bracelet on his wrist.
Flashback
"What's in the box?" DJ asked.
"You've gotta open it," Aisha said, camera already out.
Inside—
A Mega Bracelet.
A Poké Ball.
A Swampertite.
A Pokédex.
A Rotom Phone.
Trainer gear.
End flashback.
"Dinner!" Pope yelled. "Get inside, shithead!"
DJ laughed softly.
"Coming."
Mudkip followed.
And for the first time since waking in this world—
DJ smiled without calculation.
As the journey continues…