The world was too large. That was the first thought that pierced through the static in Aron's brain.
Standing there, knee-deep in ferns that felt like jagged prehistoric towers, Aron stared at his hands. They were small, unblemished, and possessed a terrifying lack of coordination. He felt like a pilot trying to fly a jet with a manual written in a language he only half-understood.
Transmigration. The word drifted through his mind like a ghost. He had read about it in a dozen webnovels during his long nights as a shut-in, usually involving a truck, a mysterious god, or a tragic accident. He hadn't expected his "ticket" to a new life to be a ginger cat named Barnaby and a frayed power cord.
"Barnaby..." he whispered, a pang of genuine grief hitting his chest. Was the cat okay? Had they both been toasted, or was Barnaby currently wandering their old apartment, wondering why the human who provided the premium tuna had suddenly turned into a pile of ash?
Aron's frantic inner monologue was cut short by a sound that was decidedly not feline. It was a hitching, wet sob.
He looked up, and the breath left his lungs. Opposite him stood a girl. In his previous life, she would have been a "little lady" or a "schoolgirl," but from his current vantage point, she looked like a giant. She was wearing a light pink sundress that was now stained with mud and grass, and a straw hat with a delicate ribbon sat lopsided on her head. Her face was a mess of tears and dirt, her knees scraped and red.
"You..." Aron started, his voice cracking. As a former shut-in who had spent more time talking to NPCs in RPGs than actual women, he felt a wave of pure, unadulterated social anxiety wash over him. Rule number one of being a hero: Don't let the girl cry. Rule number two: Figure out why she's crying before you make it worse.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" He took a step toward her, stumbling over a root.
The girl looked at him, her lower lip trembling. "Wuwu~ Do you... do you think I'm just a burden?" Her voice was a fragile thing, high-pitched and filled with the kind of pure, childhood sorrow that makes a man want to fight a dragon just to stop the tears.
"A burden? I don't even know who you are!" Aron blurted out, his social filters still fried from the electricity. "I mean—no! Of course not! I'm the one who just fell out of a bush and hugged you like a crazy person. If anyone's a burden, it's probably me. I don't even know where I am."
The girl's sobs intensified, her shoulders shaking. "You do! You think I'm a nuisance! I'm lost, I don't know which way the camp is, and you've probably forgotten my name already even though I told you three times!"
"Three times?" Aron scratched his head, feeling a phantom itch where his adult hair used to be. "Look, I've had a really weird morning. My brain feels like it's been through a blender. Just... give me a hint? One more time?"
"It's Serena!" she cried out, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
Serena.
The name hit him like a Thunderbolt. He looked at her again—the straw hat, the pink dress, the honey-blonde hair. His mind flashed back to the late nights spent watching a certain anime, the only thing that had kept the crushing loneliness of his apartment at bay.
"Serena?" he repeated, a slow, dorky grin spreading across his face. "Wow. That's a legendary name. You know, back where I... uh, in a story I heard, that's the name of the hero's future girlfriend."
It was a classic "Aron" move—a bit of sarcastic, meta-humor to deflect the tension. In his old world, it would have earned him a weird look or a groan. But here?
The effect was instantaneous. Serena's crying stopped as if someone had flipped a switch. A deep, crimson flush spread from her cheeks down to her neck, turning her the exact shade of a ripe Cheri Berry. She stared at him, her eyes wide, her mouth falling open in a tiny 'o' of shock.
Wait, Aron thought, his stomach dropping. I forgot. Kids in this world aren't cynical shut-ins. She's five. I just told a five-year-old she was my girlfriend. Nice going, Aron. You've been in this world for five minutes and you're already a creep.
"You... you're so annoying!" Serena squeaked, her voice trembling with a mix of embarrassment and something else. "It's not enough that you won't help me back to the summer camp, but you're also... you're taking advantage of me!"
"Taking advantage? Me?" Aron waved his hands dismissively. "I was just making a joke! A very poorly timed, culturally irrelevant joke!"
"You said I was your girlfriend!" she pouted, crossing her arms and looking at him with a 'you-scoundrel' expression that was far too adorable to be threatening.
Aron froze. A sudden, sharp pain flared in his temples, a dizzying pulse of energy that felt like a needle stitching two fabrics together. It wasn't just a headache; it was a flood.
Pallet Town. The scent of Professor Oak's lab—old paper and dried berries. His mother's voice, warm and laughing, telling him not to get his new sneakers dirty. The feeling of the sun on his back as he chased a rogue Poliwag near the creek.
The memories weren't his, yet they were. They settled into his mind with a click, locking into place. He wasn't just Aron Beaumont, the failed writer from a cramped apartment.
He was Ash.
"If you're Serena..." he whispered, the realization settling in his gut like lead. "Then who am I?"
Serena tilted her head, her annoyance giving way to concern. "Did you hit your head that hard? You told everyone at the start of the hike. You're Ash. The boy who said he was going to catch a fire-breathing dragon before he turned ten."
Ash.
The protagonist. The boy who never gave up. The one who would eventually stand on top of the world.
Aron—no, Ash—felt a surge of pure adrenaline. He was in the world of Pokémon. He wasn't just a spectator anymore. He was the center of the storm. And right now, the storm was five years old and had a scraped knee.
"Ash? Are you okay? You're doing that weird staring thing again." Serena took a tentative step toward him.
"I'm fine!" Ash snapped back to reality, giving her a grin that was three parts confidence and one part lingering confusion. He patted his chest, feeling the small, sturdy heart beating beneath his ribs. "I've never been better, Serena. Seriously. Everything is... finally making sense."
The bad news was that his cat was gone, his old life was over, and he was currently a kindergartner lost in a forest filled with giant bugs. The good news? He was the main character, and his future "heroine" was currently standing right in front of him.
"Hehe~" Serena giggled, seeing his goofy expression. The tension in the air evaporated, replaced by the soft hum of the forest. The pain in her leg seemed to fade as she watched the boy. There was something different about him—a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there when they first started the hike from Professor Oak's camp.
Ash reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean, blue handkerchief. He didn't even remember putting it there, but the "Ash" part of his brain knew exactly what it was for.
"Here," he said, stepping closer. "For the dirt. And the tears."
Serena took it, her fingers brushing his. She thought he was being incredibly thoughtful, a true gentleman in training. In reality, Ash was just trying to remember how to interact with humans without a keyboard.
"Let's get out of here," Ash said, turning his back to her and crouching down. "Hop on. The campsite isn't that far, but you shouldn't be walking on that leg. It'll just get worse."
"Ah? You... you don't have to do that," Serena said, her face heating up again. "I can walk. Probably."
"Don't be stubborn," Ash said, his voice dropping into a tone of "Main Character Authority." "We're a team, right? Or at least, we're camp-mates. And I'm not leaving a teammate behind in a forest full of Weedle."
Actually, Ash's internal monologue was a bit less noble: This is it. The legendary 'carrying' scene. If I do this right, I'm setting myself up for a much easier time in the Kalos region ten years from now. Plus, I really need to see if I have the physical strength of an anime protagonist or a normal five-year-old.
Serena hesitated, biting her lip. She looked at the darkening shadows of the tall oaks, then at the sturdy, if small, back of the boy in front of her. Finally, she leaned forward, her small arms wrapping around his neck.
As she settled onto his back, Ash felt a strange, resonant hum deep in his bones. It was a ripple, like a stone dropped into a still pond. He could feel her heartbeat, her warmth, and something else—a faint, blue glow that flickered at the edge of his vision before vanishing.
The Wave, he thought, the word appearing in his mind like a forgotten command. Aura.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready," she whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
With a grunt of effort, Ash stood up. He felt surprisingly light. The air in the forest seemed to vibrate with energy, and for a moment, he didn't feel like a lost child or a displaced soul. He felt like a Paladin.
He took his first step toward the camp, and with it, the story of the world began to rewrite itself. The shadows of the forest seemed to retreat, and in the distance, the faint, melodic cry of a Pidgey signaled the dawn of a new era.
"Hey, Serena?" Ash said as they trekked through the brush.
"Yeah?"
"Don't worry about being a burden. From now on, I've got your back. Literally."
Serena didn't reply, but she squeezed her arms a little tighter around him. And in the deep green of the Pallet Town woods, the first link of a legendary bond was forged in the quiet rhythm of two hearts beating as one.