"A lot has changed since I last streamed," I said, eyes flicking between the road ahead and the scrolling screen.
The signal was stable. Better than I expected, honestly.
"So before I get into where I am," I continued, "and what we're going to see today—let's talk about you."
The chat exploded.
Not slowly.
Instantly.
[🔥 HE'S BACK 🔥]
[WAIT IS THAT REALLY YOU??]
[NO WAY I MISSED THE NOTIFICATION BY 2 MINUTES]
[BRO I WAS JUST WATCHING OLD CLIPS]
I smiled faintly.
"Relax," I said. "I'm not disappearing again anytime soon."
That only made it worse.
[HE SAID IT 😭]
[STREAM CONFIRMED REAL]
[MODS PIN THIS]
I scrolled slowly, deliberately.
"Alright," I said. "Let's see… what have you all been up to?"
The first wave was exactly what I expected.
[I got a Lillipup!!]
[My Poliwag finally trusted me 😭]
[Sir I'm in the second training batch at Aarey]
[I was in your camp you scared us so bad on day one]
[WHY DID YOU BRING PIDGEOT THAT DAY I STILL HAVE NIGHTMARES]
I chuckled softly.
"That's on you," I said calmly. "Discipline leaves an impression."
More messages rolled in.
[My grandma feeds our Bidoof better than me now]
[Sir my dad named our Wingull 'Pilot' 😭]
[Is it normal for Machop to refuse training sometimes?]
[My Eevee doesn't like evolution stones what do I do?]
That one made me pause.
"Alright," I said, slowing the scroll. "Let's answer a few."
I tapped the screen, enlarging the message.
[Is it normal for Machop to refuse training sometimes?]
"Yes," I said immediately. "Machop aren't machines. If it's refusing training, check three things—fatigue, nutrition, and why you're training."
I raised a finger.
"If you're pushing strength without rest, it'll shut down. If you're repeating drills without purpose, it'll lose interest. Machop responds best when it understands the goal."
I flicked to another message.
[My Eevee doesn't like evolution stones what do I do?]
I smiled slightly.
"That's not a problem," I said. "That's information."
The chat slowed—people listening now.
"Eevee is one of the most emotionally sensitive Pokémon. If it rejects a stone, it means either the timing is wrong, or the path doesn't suit it."
I paused.
"Don't force evolution. Forced growth creates unstable bonds."
A few seconds passed.
[…thank you]
[I needed to hear that]
[My Eevee just moved closer to me while you said that]
I exhaled softly.
"Good," I said. "Then you're doing something right."
More messages flooded in—some chaotic, some heartfelt.
[Sir I'm scared I'm doing it wrong]
[My Pokémon listens more to my mom than me 😭]
[I was transferred from another camp and Aarey almost killed me]
That last one made me raise an eyebrow.
"I see some of you from the camps are here," I said. "Good."
The chat reacted instantly.
[YES SIR]
[AAREY SURVIVOR HERE]
[WE DIDN'T QUIT]
I nodded.
"You shouldn't have," I said evenly. "If you're still training—keep going. The hard phase ends. The foundation doesn't."
I let the messages scroll for a bit longer, reading silently.
People weren't asking for power.
They were asking for reassurance.
That mattered.
"Alright," I said at last. "That's enough nostalgia."
The camera angle shifted slightly as the road curved, revealing flashes of blue between palm trees.
"I'm here today," I continued, "to show you something important."
The chat slowed again.
"This isn't a gym tour. Not a facility reveal. Not a battle showcase."
I glanced toward the coastline ahead.
"This is Konkan."
The sea came into view—wide, calm, deceptively endless.
"A lot of you think the future of Pokémon training is cities," I said. "Institutes. Stadiums. Rankings."
I shook my head.
"That's only half the story."
The vehicle slowed as we passed a small fishing village—boats pulled ashore, Wingull circling lazily, a Poliwag hopping near a freshwater outlet.
"What you're about to see," I said, "is what happens when people adapt before being told to."
The chat picked up again.
[WAIT IS THAT A FISHING VILLAGE]
[ARE THOSE WINGULL SORTING FISH??]
[BRO THAT POLIWAG IS JUST VIBING]
I smiled, just a little.
"Yes," I said. "And no one forced this."
I adjusted the camera so the viewers could see more clearly—Pokémon and humans moving around each other without tension.
"This stream isn't about telling you what to do," I said calmly. "It's about showing you what works."
I looked straight into the camera.
"So," I finished, "welcome to Konkan."
The sea breeze picked up.
And the world on the other side of the screen leaned in to listen.
The stream didn't end.
Neither did the journey.
For two full days, we moved along the Konkan coast—sometimes hugging the sea so closely the salt mist coated the camera lens, sometimes cutting inland through winding roads that barely deserved to be called highways anymore.
The viewers stayed.
Not all of them, of course—but enough.
Enough that the chat began to change.
At first, it was excitement. Questions. Bragging about Pokémon. Camp stories.
Then, slowly—
Curiosity.
We stopped at another fishing village late on the first day.
Smaller than Malvan. Fewer boats. Older houses.
And yet, the pattern repeated.
Poliwag again.
Clusters of them near freshwater inlets where rivers met the sea. Fishermen worked around them naturally—some with partners, some without—but all with awareness.
One old man laughed when Apoorv asked if the Poliwag caused trouble.
"Trouble?" he said. "They warn us before storms now."
He pointed to the water.
"They get restless before the currents turn. Better than any radio."
We moved inland the next morning.
This was where things became… strange.
Zone boundaries still existed on maps.
On paper.
On official documents.
But on the ground?
They were suggestions.
Pokémon wandered freely—sometimes alone, sometimes in groups. No panic followed their presence. No sirens. No emergency alerts.
Children ran barefoot beside Bounsweet and Skiddo. A Pancham was chasing a group of boys through a field, laughter echoing as it tripped and rolled dramatically.
No fear.
No shouting.
Near a small Ganesh temple tucked between banyan trees, we slowed to a stop.
The camera caught it instantly.
Phanpy.
A whole group of them.
Small, blue bodies clustered near the temple steps, trunks swinging lazily. A few older devotees paused after prayers and dropped offerings—not flowers, but fruit. Jaggery. Leftover prasad.
The Phanpy accepted it solemnly.
Children climbed over them like they were living playground equipment.
[WAIT THEY'RE JUST… THERE??]
[Is this allowed??]
I zoomed in slightly.
"Ganesh is remover of obstacles," I said quietly. "An elephant Pokémon settling here isn't an accident."
No one chased them away.
No one tried to capture them.
They belonged.
Farther inland, we visited another temple—older, quieter. A place where snake deities had been worshipped for centuries.
The Pokémon there weren't surprising.
Ekans.
Arbok.
A few Sandaconda coiled near warm stones.
They didn't threaten anyone.
They stayed near the shrines, basking in the heat, fed occasionally by priests who knew exactly how far to stand and when to step back.
The chat went wild.
[THIS IS REAL??]
[My city would evacuate the area instantly]
"And that," I said evenly, "is the difference between coexistence and containment."
Later that afternoon, as we crossed open grazing land, I felt it before I saw it.
Static.
Wool rustling.
A Mareep herd.
Too close to human settlements.
Too many.
This wasn't balance.
This was a problem waiting to happen.
I ended the stream briefly.
Made a call.
Within minutes, my team acknowledged it.
Relocation teams were dispatched—not suppression units.
Pasture zones were identified.
Temporary shelters planned.
The Mareep didn't panic.
They followed calmly.
That mattered.
When the stream resumed, the chat was quieter.
More thoughtful.
[So not everything is perfect?]
"No," I said honestly. "But here, people notice problems before they become disasters."
As dusk fell on the second day, we stood on a ridge overlooking fields, villages, temples, and forest edges all bleeding into one another.
Pokémon silhouettes moved in the distance.
Humans moved among them.
No clear lines.
No fear-driven separation.
Just… life.
I looked into the camera one last time that day.
"For two days," I said, "we've seen what happens when people don't wait for permission to do the right thing."
The chat scrolled slowly now.
Listening.
"This region didn't ask whether Pokémon belonged here," I continued. "They asked how to live with them."
I let the silence stretch.
"Remember this," I said. "Systems matter. Laws matter. But culture decides whether they succeed."
The sun dipped below the horizon.
And somewhere below us, a child laughed as a Pokémon laughed with them.
For the first time since the stream began—
I didn't feel like I was teaching.
I felt like I was showing proof.
I took a breath, steadying the camera, already forming the words for my closing remarks.
"That's Konkan," I said calmly. "Not perfect. Not lawless. Just—"
Mankey growled.
Low.
Sharp.
Wrong.
He hadn't done that once in the last two days.
Pikachu stiffened beside him, ears snapping upright, sparks flickering faintly but uncontrolled. Not battle-ready.
Alarmed.
My instincts screamed before my mind caught up.
I stopped mid-sentence.
"What—"
A sound cut through the air.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just a dry, flat crack that didn't belong to wind, waves, or forest.
My eyes moved.
And the world slowed.
Too slow.
Too quiet.
I saw it then.
A small, dark shape tearing through the air.
Spinning.
Perfect.
Unmistakable.
A bullet.
Coming straight at me.
I tried to move.
My body didn't respond fast enough.
No time to jump.
No time to shield.
No time to call Pidgeot.
No time to think.
Mankey roared.
Pikachu's electricity exploded outward.
The chat froze mid-scroll.
And the bullet closed the last few meters—