The Pokemon world wasn't like the anime. There was no heartwarming scene where you turned ten, strolled into a lab, and Professor Whoever handed you a starter Pokemon with a smile and a "good luck, kiddo!"
This was real life. And real life had rules. Strict ones.
You couldn't legally own a Pokemon until you were fifteen. Period. There was a special exception that let you get one at fourteen, but even then, you were stuck in your home city—no traveling, no journeying, nothing. The League watched that rule like a hawk.
And honestly? Julian got it.
Even a relatively weak Pokemon—say, level fifteen or so—was seriously dangerous to regular humans. These weren't cuddly cartoon creatures. They had real claws, real fangs, real elemental powers. A Charmander's flame could cause third-degree burns. A Squirtle's water gun could break bones if it hit right. And that was just the starter Pokemon.
Put that kind of power in the hands of some impulsive ten-year-old with zero judgment? Recipe for disaster. People would get hurt. Property would get destroyed. The League had learned that lesson the hard way, apparently, which was why the rules existed.
Of course, rules only applied to common folks.
Rich kids? Kids from influential families? They got their Pokemon way earlier. Their families would arrange for a Pokemon to grow up alongside them—usually something relatively docile at first, carefully supervised. The kid and the Pokemon would bond over years, living together, playing together, growing together. Then, when the kid finally hit the legal age and filled out the paperwork, they'd essentially have a fully trained partner ready to go.
By the time these privileged kids started their "journey," they were already miles ahead of everyone else.
That was one of the big reasons family influence was so entrenched in the League. Ordinary people, regular kids from normal backgrounds—they didn't stand a chance against that kind of head start. The gap was massive, and it just kept growing.
Julian had been fourteen when he'd graduated middle school and left the orphanage.
He'd saved up some money from his part-time work, sure, but "some money" was being generous. It was enough to cover his own living expenses—barely—but adding a Pokemon into the mix? Not happening. The math just didn't work.
He'd been forced to put that dream on hold.
It wasn't like he hadn't considered alternatives. Julian had definitely thought about using his skills to make money faster. He could produce basic energy cubes and simple medicinal compounds—stuff that sold well and had decent profit margins. If he could sell those, he'd make a small fortune pretty quickly.
But there was a problem: he didn't have the certifications.
Without official credentials, there was no way the Alliance-approved stores would stock his products. Regulations were tight. Everything had to be traceable, certified, verified. A random teenager showing up with homemade Pokemon supplies? That was a hard pass from every legitimate retailer.
The black market, though...
Julian had considered it for about five seconds before dismissing the idea entirely. He didn't even own a Pokemon yet. Walking into the underground market to try and sell things would be like painting a target on his back. He'd get robbed, beaten, or worse within an hour. Maybe less.
No thanks.
So he'd gritted his teeth and kept working. Kept saving.
Six months crawled by.
During that time, Julian's work at the breeding center and the pharmacy had gotten steadily easier, thanks to the AI system. The more knowledge he accumulated, the better he got at his job. His efficiency improved. His understanding deepened. His bosses had even commented on how quickly he was learning.
By the end of those six months, Julian had managed to save up around fifty or sixty thousand dollars. Not a fortune, but not nothing either.
He'd sat down one evening, pulled up a calculator, and run the numbers.
Okay. Fifty-five thousand, roughly. That's enough to buy a Pokemon. Maybe not a great one, but something. If I'm smart about it, if I use the system to scan for potential, I might be able to find a real deal. Something undervalued.
The plan had merit. As the system's database had grown, its scanning function had become genuinely useful. For common Pokemon species—the ones you'd see around Viridian City regularly—the system could now provide detailed readouts. Strength level, potential rating, optimal training methods, breeding recommendations, the works.
It was like having an expert Breeder's knowledge downloaded directly into his brain.
But the system had its limits.
Big ones.
Due to the lack of advanced data in its collection, the system could only provide training and breeding methods up to the Gym-level stage. Anything beyond that—Elite-level training, Champion-level techniques—was a complete blank. The system had nothing.
Julian could theoretically figure it out through experimentation and observation, but that would take years. Decades, maybe. Way too slow.
And it wasn't like he could just go find that information easily. The school library had been great for basics, but anything advanced? That was locked away tight.
Elite training methods were only available in a handful of places: prestigious universities, established Gyms with decades of history, powerful families with generational knowledge, or through the League itself—if you could afford the astronomical resource exchange costs.
To most Trainers, their training methods were their most valuable possession. Their secret weapon. You didn't just share that stuff casually.
In the underground market, even ordinary Gym-level training insights sold for upwards of a million dollars. Elite-level knowledge? That started at tens of millions and went up from there. And even then, you'd rarely see it for sale.
Any Elite-level Trainer who was doing even halfway decent wouldn't be stupid enough to sell their techniques. That would be like giving away the keys to your own strength. Why create competition for yourself?
Julian stared at the modest stack of bills he'd saved—fifty-five thousand dollars, give or take—and felt his stomach twist with anxiety.
"I can't just buy some random Pokemon with average potential," he muttered to himself, pacing his tiny apartment. "What kind of future would that have? It'd hit a wall so fast..."
Average potential meant average results. A Pokemon that could maybe, maybe reach Superior-level with perfect training and a lot of luck. But Gym-level? Elite-level? Forget it. That Pokemon would plateau hard, and there'd be nothing Julian could do about it.
He needed something better. But better cost money he didn't have.
For weeks, Julian had been stuck in this frustrating limbo, unable to move forward.
And then, one day, fate decided to throw him a bone.
It was a regular weekday evening. Julian was walking home from his shift at the breeding center, tired and lost in thought, when he spotted something lying on the side of the road.
A Sandshrew. Unconscious. Collapsed in the dirt near the edge of the forest.
Julian's first instinct was to keep walking.
He'd seen this before—wild Pokemon that had gotten into fights, or sick Pokemon that had wandered too close to the city, or injured ones that had been abandoned by their Trainers. It happened. The world wasn't kind.
And getting involved was risky. What if the Pokemon woke up disoriented and attacked him? That happened too. There were news stories every year about good Samaritans getting hurt trying to help wild Pokemon.
Julian was about to pass by when something made him stop.
He didn't know what it was. Instinct? Curiosity? Dumb luck?
Whatever it was, he activated the system's scan function, almost without thinking.
The results popped up in his vision, and Julian's eyes went wide.
[Sandshrew]
Potential: Superior-level
Current Condition: Exhausted, malnourished, minor injuries
Julian's heart stopped. Then it started racing.
Superior-level potential.
A normal Sandshrew from a breeding center cost thirty to fifty thousand dollars. Just a regular one with average potential.
A Superior-level Sandshrew? That would run at least two hundred thousand. Minimum. And at that price, they usually got snapped up fast by Trainers who knew what they were looking at.
Julian stared at the unconscious Pokemon, his mind spinning.
This is it. This is the chance. If I walk away now, I'm an idiot.
He crouched down, carefully scooped up the Sandshrew—it was surprisingly light, way too light, probably hadn't eaten properly in days—and carried it home.
Over the next few days, Julian threw himself into nursing the Sandshrew back to health. He made custom energy cubes tailored to Ground-types. He treated its injuries with the medicinal compounds he'd learned to make. He kept it warm, kept it fed, kept it comfortable.
Slowly, the Sandshrew recovered.
When it finally woke up properly, aware and alert, it looked up at Julian with something like recognition. Gratitude, maybe. Julian had half-expected it to bolt the moment it could move, but instead, the Sandshrew stayed.
It seemed to understand that Julian had saved its life. And more than that, it seemed to want a home. Stability. Safety.
They'd bonded surprisingly quickly. Within a week, it was clear: this Sandshrew was his.
Julian's first Pokemon.
He'd kept working after that, trying to build up more savings, but the more time passed, the more restless he became.
If I keep working like this, when am I actually going to become a Trainer? This isn't sustainable. I'm just treading water.
The calculations were brutal. Julian ran them over and over, hoping the numbers would change, but they never did.
See, normal living expenses in this world were actually pretty reasonable. Food for humans, rent, utilities—that stuff was affordable. The average person could get by without too much trouble.
But anything Pokemon-related? The prices skyrocketed.
Poke Balls were the one exception—the League subsidized those heavily as a public service. A standard Poke Ball cost like a hundred, maybe two hundred dollars. Cheap enough that almost anyone could afford one.
But berries? Supplements? Medicinal herbs? Vitamins? TMs?
Each of those could run you hundreds or thousands of dollars. Per item. It was absolutely insane.
Sandshrew's daily food costs alone were brutal. Julian made the energy cubes himself and prepared specialized meals using his breeding knowledge, which saved money compared to buying pre-made products. But even then, the raw ingredients cost a fortune.
Between food and the nutritional supplements needed for proper training, Sandshrew's daily expenses ran about three hundred to five hundred dollars.
Julian made a little over ten thousand a month from his job.
Do the math. Just feeding and training one Pokemon would drain his entire income. He'd have nothing left for rent, for his own food, for anything else.
And that was if nothing went wrong. No injuries. No need for unexpected medical care. No equipment purchases.
Julian would be broke within months. He and Sandshrew would both starve.
Now, technically, he could've raised Sandshrew as a "pet" instead of a partner. That would cut the costs by like ninety percent. Thirty or forty dollars a day, tops—basically just feeding it the same food humans ate, with maybe a few basic supplements.
But if he did that, Sandshrew's strength would stagnate completely. It might gain a level or two over the course of years, but that would be it. All that Superior-level potential would go to waste. The Pokemon would be essentially useless as a battler.
Julian couldn't do that. He wouldn't.
Which left only one option.
He had to take risks.
The outskirts of Viridian Forest were dangerous, sure, but they were also full of opportunities. Wild Pokemon, valuable berries, medicinal herbs, evolution stones if you got really lucky. Trainers went out there all the time to gather resources, battle wild Pokemon for experience, maybe catch something new.
It was risky. People got hurt out there. Some didn't come back.
But Julian had a System that could scan Pokemon and identify threats. He had breeding knowledge that let him prepare properly. And he had Sandshrew, who was getting stronger every day.
I can do this, Julian had thought, steeling himself. I have to do this. There's no other way.
So he'd quit his job, cashed out his remaining savings, and committed fully to the Trainer path.
No more safety nets. No more backup plans.
It was time to move forward.
Power Scale Reference:
Pokemon potential and strength levels broke down like this:
Ordinary: Below level 30 Superior: Level 31-50 Gym-level: Level 51-60 Quasi-Elite: Level 61-70 Elite: Level 71-80 Champion: Level 81-90 Master Champion: Level 91-100
Ordinary Pokemon were common. You could find them anywhere. Superior Pokemon were less common but still available if you had money. Gym-level was where things got serious—most Gym Leaders' main teams operated in that range, and getting a Pokemon to that point required real skill and resources.
Anything above that? That was the realm of legends. Elite Four members, Champions, the absolute best Trainers in the world.
Julian's Sandshrew had Superior-level potential, which meant that with proper training, it could realistically reach level 50. Maybe push into Gym-level territory if everything went right.
That was huge for someone starting from nothing.
But only if Julian could keep them both alive long enough to get there.
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