Orion's Point of View
The forest felt alive.
Trees stretched overhead, their branches weaving together like fingers laced in prayer. Sunlight slipped through the gaps in broken beams, painting gold spots on the dirt path. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a bird called out—high and lonely—and another answered from somewhere else.
I loved it here.
Mom walked beside me, her hand occasionally brushing my shoulder. Phantom floated ahead, occasionally phasing through a tree trunk just to make Petal squeak. The little Butterfree fluttered higher each time, her wings scattering sparkles like someone had shaken a jar of stars.
"Bu—Butterfree!" (Hey, you jerk!!!)
Phantom's grin stretched wider.
"Gen~ gar." (You're welcome.)
I shook my head and kept walking.
Then I saw it.
About fifteen feet ahead, a Caterpie was crossing the path.
Small. Green. Moving at the speed of "I'll get there when I get there." Its little legs rippled as it inched across the dirt, antennae twitching left and right like fuzzy radar dishes.
"Cater... pie..." (Left... right... left... right...)
It was completely focused on its journey. It didn't even look up as we got closer to it.
I watched it for a few seconds, my head tilted the side. It wasn't my favorite Pokémon—that was Gyarados, obviously—but I respected the hustle. Caterpie worked hard. Evolved into Metapod. Then Butterfree. It is a solid evolution line. Nothing too flashy, but solid.
I was about to look away when—
Ding.
A screen materialized in front of my eyes, glowing faintly.
[System Notification]
[Host, congratulations on unlocking your first official skill.]
[Skill: Observe]
[Description: A perception-based skill that allows the Host to obtain basic information about Pokémon, items, and objects within sight. At its current level, only surface-level details can be perceived. Deeper attributes remain concealed.]
[Effects:
• Reveals target Name
• Reveals Type (Pokémon only)
• Displays a basic description]
[Restrictions:
• Detailed stats of Pokémon remain locked.
• Observe must reach Level 5 to unlock stat visibility.
• Level this skill to Level 2 to be able to see the potential of the Pokémon target.]
I stared at the screen.
Then I grinned.
Observe.
It's a classic in every story I'd ever read—this was always the first skill they unlocked. The one that seemed to be as simple as a Caterpie.
But it was the reason you can know anything about anything.
This skill was going to be the most important one I'd ever have. I could feel it. Information was power. And this? This was a key to every locked door in this world.
I dismissed the screen and turned my attention back to the Caterpie.
"Observe," I whispered under my breath.
[Caterpie – Bug Type]
[Description: A small caterpillar Pokémon. It releases a distinct, sharp stench from its antennae to deter predators. Moves slowly, but has a surprising grip when it clings to surfaces.]
Excitement bubbled up in my chest.
It worked. It actually worked. Nothing crazy—no stats, no hidden secrets—but it worked. And eventually, with enough levels, I'd be able to see everything. Potential. Stats. Probably weaknesses too.
"Mom," I said, tugging on her sleeve.
She looked down at me. "What is it, my cub?"
I pointed at the Caterpie, which had made approximately four inches of progress since I'd spotted it.
"Can I touch it?"
Mom laughed—that warm, musical sound—and squeezed my hand. "Yes, baby. Go ahead." She glanced up at Petal. "Petal, make sure it plays nice."
"Free!" (On it!)
Petal fluttered down and hovered near the Caterpie, her wings scattering soft scales across its back. The little bug stopped moving and looked up at her with big, shiny eyes.
"Cater...?" (Wha...?)
"Free free butter!" (Don't worry, little one! Just be sweet!)
I walked over slowly, crouched down, and reached out.
My fingers brushed its back.
Soft. Not slimy at all—kind of velvety, actually. Like an old stuffed toy that had been loved for years.
"Caterpie..." (Oh... that's feels nice...)
I smiled and gave it one more gentle pat.
"You are one friendly little guy," I said.
Petal trilled happily and did a little loop in the air.
I stood up, brushed off my knees, and walked back to Mom. She was watching me with that soft smile she always got when I did something she thought was cute.
"All done baby?" she asked.
"Yeah, Mama!!" I bounced on my heels, grinning up at her. "He was so squishy and cute!"
Mom chuckled, the sound warm and bright, and ruffled my hair. "I'm glad you think so, my little Litleo."
We kept walking and the Caterpie went back to crossing the path behind us, its little legs rippling in that same slow rhythm.
"Cater... pie..." (Left... right... left... right...)
I glanced back at it and felt a laugh bubble out of me.
It Really is a simple-minded pokemon.
The forest stretched on around us. Sunlight dripped through the leaves. Phantom zipped ahead, his red eyes scanning the shadows, while Petal fluttered somewhere above, her wings catching the light like scattered diamonds.
After a while—maybe ten or twenty minutes, I wasn't really keeping track at this point. I tugged on Mom's sleeve.
"Mama?"
"Yes, my cub?"
"Are we there yet?"
She chuckled, the sound soft and patient. "Not yet, baby."
Then she stopped walking.
I looked up at her, confused. She was rummaging in her bag—the small one she always carried, the one that seemed to hold about fifty more things than it should. After a moment, she pulled out something I didn't recognize.
An eye mask.
Soft-looking. Dark blue, almost black, with little embroidered stars along the edges.
"Here," she said, holding it out to me. "Put this on, sweetheart."
I blinked at her. "Why?"
"Because I have a surprise for you." Her smile turned mysterious, the kind that meant she wasn't going to explain anything no matter how many times I asked. "Just trust me, okay?"
I wanted to ask more questions. I really did. But the look on her face—that quiet excitement, that barely contained joy—made me swallow them down.
"Okay, Mama."
I took the eye mask and pulled it over my head, settling it against my face.
Mom's hand found mine. "Ready?"
"I'm Ready ma."
I couldn't see anything, but I could feel everything. The dirt path beneath my shoes. The cool breeze against my cheeks. The way the air slowly shifted—from the damp, earthy smell of the forest to something brighter. Fresher. Like the world was opening up around us.
Then I felt it.
Warmth.
Direct sunlight, full and golden, pressing against my skin. No more dappled shadows. No more leaves filtering the light. We were out of the forest.
Mom stepped behind me. Her hands rested on my shoulders, gentle and steady.
"Okay, my little Litleo," she whispered near my ear. "Open your eyes."
She lifted the eye mask.
And my brain stopped working as soon as my eyes adjusted to the light.
A huge clearing stretched out before me—massive, easily bigger than anything I'd seen in this world. The grass was green and perfectly kept, like someone mowed it every single day just in case. Trees lined the edges in neat, orderly rows, as if they'd been told exactly where to stand and had obeyed without question.
But that wasn't the most shocking part.
The most surprising part was the fucking jet standing in front of me!!!
(Image here)
I stared.
My mouth fell open. My brain made a sound like a computer crashing. Sparks and error messages and little cartoon question marks bounced around inside my skull because why—why—was there a jet in the middle of a forest clearing?!
"Mama," I said, my voice coming out high and tight as I tried to act as excited as possible, "Mama, is that a big shiny Pokémon?!"
Mom stared at me for half a second.
Then she absolutely lost it.
She doubled over, clutching her stomach, laughter exploding out of her in great heaving waves. "Oh—oh Arceus—my stomach—" She wheezed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Orion—baby—you can't—"
Phantom was rolling on the ground behind her, both hands pressed to his stomach, his mouth stretched open in silent, wheezing laughter. His red eyes were watering. He looked like he was genuinely about to pass out from lack of oxygen.
"Gengar... gen... GENGAR!" (A Pokémon! The kid called a JET a POKÉMON! I can't—I can't BREATHE—)
Even Petal had lost her tiny mind.
"BUTTERFREE! FREE BUTTER!" (THAT WAS THE MOST ADORABLE THING I HAVE EVER SEEN! I'M GOING TO DREAM ABOUT THIS! I'M GOING TO TELL MY GRANDKIDS ABOUT THIS!)
She was flying in loops, her wings flapping so erratically that scales were falling off her like glittering snow. She crashed into a tree branch, bounced off, and kept flying like nothing had happened.
I felt my cheeks heat up.
Okay, fine. Maybe I was laying it on a little thick. But in my defense, I was pretending to be a two-year-old who had never seen a jet before. Which was technically true! I'd never seen one in this life. So really, my reaction was perfectly reasonable.
It wasn't my fault they found it this funny.
I tilted my head, keeping my expression perfectly innocent even as my face burned like a Cheri Berry.
"So..." I said slowly, drawing out the word. "It is not a Pokémon?"
Mom finally straightened up, wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. She took a few deep breaths, her shoulders still shaking with leftover laughter.
"No, baby," she said, her voice wobbling. "It's not a Pokémon."
I frowned, "Then what is it?"
Mom composed herself. She smoothed down her shirt, tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear, and looked at me with the most normal, casual expression she could manage—as if she hadn't just been crying with laughter thirty seconds ago.
"Oh, darling," she said, her tone bright and matter-of-fact. "That's our family's private jet."
Our family's private jet.
Our family's.
Private.
Jet!!!!!
My mind froze.
The words bounced around inside my skull like a confused Voltorb, crashing into each other and sparking uselessly.
Our. Family's. Private. Jet.
Not a rental. Not something she'd borrowed from a rich friend. Our family's.
What the fuck is going on.
This couldn't be right. I specifically—specifically—asked to be born into a normal family. Not rich. Not poor. Just... normal. Middle-class. The kind of family that clipped coupons and argued about bills and definitely did NOT own private jets.
Ding.
A system window materialized in front of my eyes, glowing softly against the chaos around me.
[Message from: Goddess Eirene]
"Hey there, little sprout~"
"So... about that 'not rich' thing."
"..."
"Yeah, so, funny story." 😅
"You know how sometimes you ask for something and then later you're like 'wait, no, that's not what I meant'?"
"This is one of those times."
"Oops?"
"Should have been more specific, my guy."
"You said 'I'd prefer if they weren't rich.' You didn't say 'I refuse to be born into a rich family under any circumstances.'"
"Those are TWO different things."
"Anyway! I did everything ELSE you wanted. Family that cares about you? Check. No rich stockup personality traits programmed in? Check. You're good on that front."
"The rich family thing?"
"That's a you problem." 🤷
"P.S. I added some nifty features to your system. They'll show themselves as time passes."
"P.P.S. Enjoy yourself, little sprout. You're in for a WILD ride~"
"P.P.P.S. Maybe next time read the fine print. Just saying." 😘
[End of Message]
I stared at the message floating in front of my face.
This chick got some cojones on her!!!
The words echoed through my skull as I reread the goddess's message—her casual "oops," her smug little kissy emoji, her complete and utter refusal to take responsibility for dropping me into a family with a private jet after I'd specifically asked for normal.
I took a deep breath.
And let it out slowly as I could with out bringing attention to myself.
If I ever see that goddess again, I thought, my jaw tightening as I dismissed the message screen.
The mental image helped. A little.
Mom's hand found mine again, warm and reassuring, and we started walking toward the jet. The grass was soft beneath my shoes, and the morning sun glinted off the white-and-silver fuselage so brightly I had to squint my eyes.
As we got closer, a door on the side of the jet opened with a soft hydraulic hiss.
Then eight people stepped out.
The first two were clearly the pilots—a man in his mid-forties with silver-streaked hair and a neat uniform, and a woman who looked about Mom's age with her hair pulled back in a sharp bun. Both of them had the kind of faces that said I've seen turbulence that would make you cry and I didn't even spill my coffee.
Behind them came a line of maids.
All of them were wearing simple navy dresses with white aprons. Their postures were perfect, their hands clasped in front of them, and not a single hair seemed out of place on any of their heads. They looked like they'd stepped out of a magazine about How to Run a Household 101.
I counted six of them.
Six maids. Two pilots. Eight people total, all standing in a neat row at the bottom of the jet's steps, waiting for us.
Mom squeezed my hand once, then let go.
She raised her free hand and—one by one—recalled Petal and Phantom. The little Butterfree swirled around my head one last time, her wings dusting my hair with shimmering scales, before disappearing into red light.
"Free free!" (See you soon, little hatchling!)
Phantom gave me a lazy two-fingered salute, his grin wide and warm.
"Gengar." (Don't let the rich people stuff scare you, kid.)
Then they were gone.
I waved at the empty air where they'd been, just in case they could still see me somehow.
Mom laughed—soft and bright—and ruffled my hair. "You're adorable, you know that?"
"I know," I said, because apparently I had no filter today.
She snorted and turned to face the eight people waiting for us.
The laughter faded from her face. Her shoulders straightened. Her chin lifted. The woman who had been teasing me and ruffling my hair just a moment ago disappeared, replaced by someone else.
She locked eyes with the group in front of us.
"It has been some time since I have seen you all," she said, her voice even and calm.
Then her expression cracked.
A slow smile spread across her face.
"Girls," she said, her voice suddenly thick with something I couldn't name. "Where's my hug?"
The line of maids broke as soon as she said that.
The woman in the center stepped forward first. Her composure crumbled the moment Mom opened her arms, and suddenly she was crossing the grass in quick, uneven steps, her apron fluttering in the mourning wind.
"Mistress Yua," she whispered, and then she was hugging Mom, her arms wrapped tight around her like she was afraid she'd disappear.
"Rin," Mom breathed, and I heard her voice crack.
Then the other maids followed.
They surrounded Mom in a flurry of navy dresses and white aprons, their voices overlapping in a cascade of welcomes and we missed yous and it's been so longs. Hands reached out to touch her arms, her shoulders, her face—like they were checking she was real or not.
I took a step back to give them room, my shoes sinking into the grass.
The two pilots stayed where they were, but the man's eyes had gone suspiciously shiny, and the woman copilot was blinking rapidly at the sky like she was very interested in the clouds all of a sudden.
Mom was laughing now—wet and bright—pulling back from one maid only to be pulled into another hug by someone else.
"I'm sorry," she kept saying. "I'm sorry I stayed away so long."
"Don't you dare apologize," Rin if I am not mistaken said fiercely, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "You're here now. That's all that matters now."
She then stepped away from the group where I could see her more clearly.
Her hair fell in sleek, dark waves past her shoulders, framing a face that was all soft curves and quiet confidence. High cheekbones, full lips pressed into a gentle smile, and eyes the color of warm amber that seemed to hold decades of patience and care. She looked like someone who had stepped out of a painting—timeless, elegant, and utterly composed despite the tears still clinging to her lashes.
(Image here)
Pretty, I thought. Really pretty.
Then my brain caught up with my eyes and I almost choked on my own spit.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
I shook my head sharply, banishing the thought like swatting a Pidgey away from a sandwich. Thank goodness I wasn't in puberty right now. Thank Arceus. I did not need that kind of complication in my life at two years old.
Rin's gaze drifted down from Mom.
And landed on me.
She froze as if she just got hit with an ice beam.
Her amber eyes went wide, her mouth parted slightly, and her hands—which had been reaching for Mom again—stopped mid-air.
I tilted my head.
Okay, I know I'm cute, I thought, resisting the urge to cross my arms at the thought. I would never admit that out loud in my entire life, but I know it. Still... she shouldn't be this shocked. It's just a kid. A weirdly dressed kid with galaxy hair, but still.
The other maids noticed Rin and One by one, their heads turned. First the maid with short chestnut hair. Then the one with glasses perched on her nose. Then the taller one in the back, and the two on either side of her. Their conversations trailed off, their smiles faded into confusion, and soon all six of them were staring at me with identical expressions of bewilderment.
Even the two pilots looked up. The man's silver-streaked eyebrows rose toward his hairline. The woman copilot—who had been flipping through a clipboard—stopped mid-page.
Silence hung over the clearing like a held breath.
Mom chuckled.
The sound was warm and bright, cutting through the tension like sunlight through fog. She stepped behind me, her hands settling on my shoulders, her fingers curling gently against my shirt.
"Girls," she said, her voice rich with pride, "this is Orion Silver and he is my cub."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Every single one of them stared at me like I'd just used a move they'd never seen before. Wide eyes. Open mouths. The maid with glasses actually pushed them up her nose just to make sure she was seeing correctly.
I decided to introduce myself properly.
I straightened up to my full height — which was not very impressive, but I committed to it anyway — and gave them my most dignified nod.
"It is nice to meet you all," I said pleasantly. "My name is Orion. I also really like Pokémon and having my hair brushed, so if either of those things ever comes up, I am very easy to bribe."
Mom made a strangled sound beside me.
The maids blinked.
Then, as one, they dipped into a perfectly synchronized bow. Their postures were flawless — backs straight, hands folded, heads angled exactly the right amount. It looked like something out of a very well-rehearsed stage performance.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Young Master," they said in unison.
I stared at them.
Young Master.
The words bounced around in my skull like a confused Voltorb.
Young. Master.
I turned slowly to look up at Mom, my eyebrows climbing toward my hairline.
"Mama," I said carefully. "Why did they call me Young Master?"
Mom crouched down beside me, her expression warm and patient. "Because they work for our family, my cub. And since you are my son..." She tapped the end of my nose gently. "That means they serve you as well, sweetheart."
I turned back to look at the row of maids. Then back at Mom.
"...Okay, Mama," I said.
The confusion was still written all over my face — I made sure of that. Internally, I had already filed the information away and moved on. Externally, I looked like a Psyduck trying to solve a math problem.
Mom smiled at me, her eyes crinkling warmly at the corners.
I smiled back at her—just a small, happy smile, because despite the private jet and the six maids I was still with my mom.
Then Rin made a sound.
It wasn't a word. It was more like a kettle reaching its boiling point crossed with a squeaky toy being stepped on by a Snorlax. High-pitched. Wobbly. Completely unhinged.
"Oh," she breathed, her amber eyes going glossy. "Oh, he smiled. Look at his little FACE—"
And then she was moving as fast as a rapidash.
Before I could process what was happening, Rin crossed the distance between us in three quick strides, scooped me up like I weighed nothing, and pressed me directly against her chest.
"YOU ARE SO ADORABLE!" she squealed, her voice hitting octaves I didn't know humans could reach. "YOUR CHEEKS! YOUR HAIR! YOUR TINY PERFECT LITTLE FACE!"
My face was smushed. Deeply, thoroughly smushed. Into something very soft and warm. Definitely something that was not appropriate for a two-year-old to be thinking about, except I was thinking about it anyway because HOW COULD I NOT.
I am currently face-deep in boobs!!
(Image here)
I tried to pull back. I really did. But Rin had the grip of a woman who had clearly spent years carrying things that did not want to be carried, and I was not going anywhere.
"You are so CUTE!" she continued, bouncing me slightly. "And PRECIOUS! I'm going to DIE from cuteness!!"
"Help," I tried to say, but it came out muffled against her chest. "Mmmph."
Then the others arrived.
"RIN! YOU CAN'T JUST—GIVE ME A TURN!"
The short one with chestnut hair appeared on my left. She didn't ask. She didn't even wait. She simply inserted herself into the hug like she was claiming her territory, and suddenly there was another pair of breasts pressing against my side.
"Oh, he's even softer up close!" she cooed. "Look at those purple streaks! They're like little shooting stars!"
"Mmph!" I protested. "MAMA!"
"Coming through! Coming through!" The one with glasses pushed her way forward, adjusted her frames, and then—because the universe hated me—cupped my face in her hands and planted a kiss on my forehead before pulling me into HER chest.
AGAIN!!!
Why are they all so BUSTY?!
I had counted exactly three so far, and every single one of them had proportions that would make a woman jealous. This wasn't fair. This wasn't NORMAL. I was supposed to be a two-year-old having a nice day with his mom, not a stress ball caught in a group hug with a coven of well-endowed maids who apparently had no concept of personal space!
"His hair feels like silk!" Glasses maid said, running her fingers through my black-and-purple locks. "Young Master, what conditioner do you use?!"
"Help!!" I finally managed to shout, though it came out more like "MMMFFOOO!" because someone—I didn't even know who at this point—had pulled me into yet another embrace.
"Mama!" I cried out, flailing one arm toward where I'd last seen her. "SOMEONE HELP!"
Mom was laughing.
I could hear her. That warm, musical sound that usually made me feel safe and loved was now the soundtrack to my suffocation. She was LAUGHING.
"You're all going to spoil him before we even get on the plane!" she called out, not moving an inch to rescue me.
Traitor!!! This is traitorous activity!!!
The taller maid at the back—the one who had been standing with her hands folded like she had some dignity—finally cracked. She strode forward with purpose, her navy dress swishing around her ankles, and I thought, Yes. Finally. An adult with sense.
She reached down, plucked me from the pile, and—
Pulled me into her own chest.
She smiled a genuine, tearful, radiant smile—and carefully pulled me back just enough to look at my face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and watery behind her wire-rimmed glasses, and her lower lip trembled like she was holding back a flood of emotions.
"You are so precious," she whispered, her voice cracking on the word. "Do you know that, Young Master? You are the most precious thing I have ever seen."
I blinked at her, my face still smushed from the hug, my hair probably sticking up in seventeen different directions. "I... thank you?"
She pressed a kiss to my forehead—soft, warm, surprisingly gentle for someone who had just crushed me like an empty soda can—and then, finally, she released me and sat me down in the ground.
I gasped in a breath like a Magikarp flopping back into water.
"Sasha," Mom said, somewhere above me, her voice warm with amusement. "Did you just emotionally devastate my son?"
Sasha stepped back, folding her hands in front of her again, her composure sliding back into place like armor. But her eyes were still shining, and her smile was still there—small, soft, utterly besotted.
"Someone had to," she said primly. "The rest of them were just squealing. I felt a proper introduction was in order."
The other maids made sounds of protest—"Hey!" "I was going to get there!" "Sasha always hogs the emotional moments!"—but Sasha simply raised an eyebrow, and they fell silent.
Mom looked down at me, her purple eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter. My hair was pointing in at least four directions, my shirt had somehow gotten twisted sideways, and I was pretty sure one of them had left a lipstick mark on my forehead.
I looked up at her.
She looked down at me.
"You okay, my cub?"
"I have been through a war," I said flatly.
She lost it again.
When she finally pulled herself back together, she wiped her eyes, cleared her throat, and straightened up with the air of someone reasserting authority over a situation that had gotten completely away from her.
"Alright, girls," she said, her voice warm but final.
"As much as I would love to let you all squeeze my son until he pops—" she reached down and scooped me up, settling me against her hip with practiced ease "—it is time for us to get going."
She turned toward the jet, and I went with her, one arm looped around her neck, my head resting against her shoulder.
The two pilots were waiting at the base of the steps.
As we approached, both of them bowed—a short, respectful dip of the head, crisp and professional.
"Welcome aboard, Mistress Yua," the man said, his silver-streaked hair catching the morning light.
"And welcome, Young Master."
I gave him a small, dignified nod.
He smiled. Just barely. But it was there.
Mom carried me up the steps, and I looked back over her shoulder at the clearing—at the neat rows of trees, the green grass, the patch of sky where Petal had been flying loops not so long ago.
Then we stepped inside.
And my brain crashed for the second time this morning.