Which wouldn't be a big deal except… I was a baby. A very small, very helpless, very confused baby. My limbs flailed in ways my teenage brain could barely comprehend. And, of course, my hair was… white. Stark, blinding white. Not the soft, cute kind of baby hair either—the kind of hair that made people stare and whisper "unique blessing" like it meant I was destined for greatness.
Great. Unique. Fantastic. That fixes everything.
I tried to scream, but all that came out was a squeak. My mind still worked perfectly fine, which was both a blessing and a curse. Mentally, I was sixteen. Physically… I was a pile of bones and tiny fingers that couldn't even hold a spoon. Perfect combo.
Then the scan started. Not a doctor. Not a nurse. A floating orb of softly glowing light circled me, humming with the kind of energy that made my baby skin tingle.
"Processing… genetic integrity confirmed," it said.
I blinked. Genetic integrity? Did I even know what that meant? Did I care? Probably not. But apparently, in this world, they checked for dangerous genes before a child could grow into a walking disaster. And yes, my parents—loving, overly dramatic parents—let the scan leave my hair alone because "unique."
Which meant I had white hair for the rest of my life. Fantastic.
By the time I was old enough to notice my surroundings, I was also old enough to notice the first weird thing about this world: Pokémon weren't just in games. They were everywhere. Small kids ran around with Eevee balancing on shoulders, a Torchic in a backpack, a Pidgey perched on a cap. And there I was… alone.
Until the shiny blue Ditto arrived.
Yes. Shiny. Blue. Not the ordinary pink that every trainer expected. The first thing I remember about it: the container opened, and it blinked up at me with those black, curious eyes, a small quiver in its gelatinous body. I swear it looked like it had read my entire existence and decided I was… mildly amusing, and then—because apparently every shiny Pokémon has a flair for drama—it shimmered under the morning sunlight, giving a slight dazzling effect.
It didn't speak, obviously. But it had presence.
And then it transformed.
Into a tiny, blue track jacket.
I stared. "Okay. This is… fine. Totally fine. My first Pokémon, and it's already showing off more than I ever did in middle school."
The jacket wiggled faintly, as if shrugging. Ditto had personality, apparently, and it was judging me
"Hi?" I squeaked startled by the quick response of it jumping on me and becoming my personal jacket. Ditto shrugged. As far as I could tell, that was Ditto-speak for you'll get used to me.
Over the next few years, the shiny Ditto became my constant companion. During the day, a jacket. At night, a pillow. Occasionally, a prank device. I'll admit—early childhood with a sentient, shape-shifting blob was… interesting. More than once it transformed into the chair I was sitting on just as I was about to fall asleep, or a lunchbox that dumped my food across the floor. But I loved it. It was clever, loyal, and extremely good at passive-aggressive judgment.
The city where I live is called Noctopolis City and it is… weird.
The city breathed ghost energy. Streets were dim, mist curling from alleys. Lampposts flickered faintly. Roofs cast long shadows, and the occasional haunting laughter echoed somewhere just beyond sight. Ghost Pokémon were everywhere, but not the cute, friendly sort. Gengar played harmless pranks on rooftops, Haunter drifted over abandoned school yards, Gastly zipped through the fog stealing lunches, and Misdreavus wailed softly from street corners, careful not to be noticed. Shuppet peeked from abandoned windows, Banette dangled from broken gutters. Drifloon floated on evening breezes, carried by currents that seemed to have minds of their own. Even Spiritomb was rumored to linger under certain city monuments, part of whispered urban legend.
The city loved them, hated them, tolerated them—but no one trained them seriously. Ghost Pokémon were nuisances. Problems. Street hazards. Kids called them "mischief clouds" or "haunted balloons." And yet, according to the Pokédex, they were rarely seen.
I stared at a small group of Gastly drifting near the schoolyard. They giggled as a baker waved a broom at them. "Rare, huh?" I muttered. "Sure. Makes total sense."
Clearly, the Pokedex was not gospel. The city was thriving despite ghost Pokémon everywhere. There had to be something anchoring them here… something magical. Legend whispered about the Arceus Ghost Tablet, buried deep beneath the city. A source of energy that explained the density of ghost Pokémon and the city's… character.
School life was… an adventure in itself.
Public schools didn't allow Pokémon to roam free. Private schools did, sometimes, if your parents bribed the principal or if you were "special." I was. My shiny Ditto got to move around freely, wiggling, flopping, transforming, and occasionally glaring at teachers who tried to stop it.
Recess was my favorite. I'd lean against Ditto transformed into a pillow, watching the city's ghost Pokémon. A Haunter drifted lazily above the roof, ignoring everyone. A Gastly zipped by a group of kids chasing a soccer ball. A Misdreavus perched on a lamppost, eyes glowing faintly, wailing just enough to make the hair on my neck stand up. Shuppet and Banette peeked from shadows in the alleyways.
Ditto wiggled in agreement, clearly judging the ghosts. I whispered, "Yeah, I see you. We're going to figure this out someday."
Even at twelve, I could feel subtle Aether energy pulling at my hair. Not strong, not dangerous—but familiar. A reminder from that lightning strike back on Earth, or maybe just my body remembering something it shouldn't.
I learned early: ghost Pokémon weren't evil. Mischievous? Sure. Annoying? Often. But capable of malice? Rarely. Most were curious, drawn to Aether energy and human belief, which explained why the city was crawling with them. Residents didn't train them because they were nuisances, not partners. Which, to me, seemed… wrong. If the Pokédex were correct, Noctopolis should have been dead.
Instead, it thrived. Streets were full of life, chaos, and ghosts. And I loved it.
Evenings were the best. Mist hugged the city, streetlamps flickered, shadows moved with purpose, and Ditto became a glowing pillow. Its blue shimmer faint but constant, reminding me that it was shiny, unique, and mine. I'd walk the streets with it, observing ghost Pokémon in the alleys: a Haunter hovering lazily, a group of Gastly giggling as they passed a shop, Misdreavus wailing softly in the distance.
It was peaceful, if you ignored the fact that the city might be haunted. Which I didn't. I found it fascinating.
The world had started to feel like mine—small pieces of it, at least. My shiny Ditto, my sarcastic commentary, my growing awareness of Aether and ghost Pokémon.
I wasn't ready for adventure yet. Not completely.
But something was waiting.
And when it appeared, it would change everything.