The world was a blur of grinding chitin and desperate heat.
The Pinsir, humiliated by a mere housecat and a human hatchling, wasn't ready to retreat just yet. Its red eyes burned with a feverish, primal light as it realized the "blue pressure" emanating from the boy was fading. Ash's knees hit the dirt, his breathing coming in ragged, shallow gasps. The "Sovereign's Grace" had been a miracle, but it had drained him to the marrow.
Sensing the weakness, the Pinsir lunged. Its massive pincers began to glow with a terrifying, blinding white light. The air around the blades began to hum, vibrating with enough force to liquefy the air itself.
"Ash, get back!" Serena screamed, her voice cracking with terror. "That's Guillotine! It'll snap him in half!"
In the Pokémon world, a "One-Hit KO" move wasn't a game mechanic; it was an execution. If those glowing blades met Barnaby's flesh, there would be nothing left to save.
Ash forced his heavy eyelids open. His vision was swimming with static, but he could see the Pinsir leaping, the white light of the Guillotine descending like the blade of a god.
"This is it..." Ash whispered, a sharp, tactical clarity piercing through his exhaustion. "Barnaby! Splash!"
In any other context, "Splash" was a joke—a useless flail of a fish out of water. But Ash wasn't a normal trainer. He was a writer, a tactician, and now, a Paladin. To him, every movement was a tool.
Barnaby didn't question the command. At the exact micro-second before the white blades slammed shut, the cat didn't run; he leaped backward, a chaotic, flailing hop that used the air resistance and his own momentum to narrow his profile.
WHAM!
The Pinsir's pincers didn't hit fur. They slammed into the soft, loamy earth with the force of a falling meteor. The ground groaned as the glowing blades buried themselves deep into the dirt and roots, the sheer momentum of the "Guillotine" pinning the monster to the spot. It was stuck.
"Now!" Ash roared, his voice tearing at his throat. "Finish it! Fury Swipes!"
Barnaby closed the distance in a heartbeat. His claws, still humming with the faint remnants of the blue Aura, extended like ten silver needles.
Slash! Rip! Tear!
A flurry of strikes—left, right, diagonal—rained down on the Pinsir's soft joints and unarmored underbelly. Ash watched with a grim satisfaction. He knew Barnaby had the Technician ability—a rare trait that amplified the power of "weak" moves. In Barnaby's paws, a simple scratch became a flurry of lethal lacerations.
The Pinsir shrieked, a high-pitched sound of agony and defeat. It wrenched its pincers from the mud and scrambled backward, turning tail and vanishing into the deep brush with a frantic, chittering sound of fear.
"We... we won..." Ash whispered.
The adrenaline evaporated, leaving behind a void so cold it felt like ice in his veins. The forest began to tilt. The last thing Ash felt was the softness of Serena's dress as he collapsed, and the gentle, rhythmic purring of a ginger cat settling onto his chest. Then, the darkness claimed him.
When Ash finally opened his eyes, the first thing he smelled wasn't pine needles or ozone. It was the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic and the faint, sweet aroma of Pecha Berry tea.
He was in a bed—a real bed with white sheets that felt like clouds compared to the dirt floor of the woods. The sunlight streaming through the window was soft and golden, suggesting it was late afternoon.
"You're awake? Oh, thank goodness, you're finally awake!"
Ash turned his head slowly. Serena was sitting in a chair by his bedside. Her pink dress was clean now, her hair brushed, but her eyes were red-rimmed as if she hadn't slept in a week. Before Ash could speak, she pounced, her small arms wrapping around him in a desperate hug.
"I thought you weren't going to wake up!" she sobbed into his shoulder.
Ash's face heated up, but he didn't pull away. He felt a strange, protective warmth. "Hey... take it easy. I'm okay. Mostly. Just... really, really tired."
Serena pulled back, her face turning a vivid shade of pink as she realized she had initiated the hug. She straightened her ribbon hat, coughing awkwardly. "I... I'll go call the others. Everyone's been so worried."
"Serena, wait," Ash said, his voice raspy. "How long? And... Barnaby? My cat?"
"Professor Oak found us yesterday afternoon," she replied, offering a small, mischievous smile. "You've been out for over twenty-four hours. And your 'Persian' is fine. He's been eating the Professor's premium kibble like he owns the place. I haven't told anyone about... you know. The blue light."
"Thank you," Ash said, his gaze serious. "I mean it. You're a lifesaver, Serena."
She beamed at him before rushing out the door. Ash sank back into the pillows, his mind racing. Barnaby survived. I survived. And apparently, I'm living in a world where Professor Oak is real.
A few minutes later, the door was nearly kicked off its hinges. A whirlwind of people flooded into the small clinic room.
At the front was a woman with long, chestnut hair tied in a loose braid and eyes that held a universe of worry. Delia, Ash's mind supplied instantly.
"Ash, my boy!" she cried, rushing to the bed and pulling him into a hug that threatened to crack his ribs. "You terrified me! Going into the deep woods? Fighting a Pinsir? What were you thinking, you reckless boy!"
"Mom... I'm sorry," Ash whispered.
To his own surprise, his eyes began to sting. In his previous life, he had been a ghost—a man who had cut ties with his family to live in a four-meter room with a cat. He had forgotten the weight of a mother's worry. He had forgotten what it felt like to be someone's entire world. Seeing Delia's tear-streaked face, the "shut-in" part of his soul finally crumbled, replaced by a fierce, newfound love for this woman who saw him as her everything.
"Don't you 'sorry' me! You're grounded! Or... you would be, if the Professor didn't say you were a hero," Delia sobbed, kissing his forehead. "Just rest. I'll make you some stew. Real stew, with Moomoo Milk and Oran Berries. Just... stay put."
"Ash, I brought the 'Pokémon' you were so keen on protecting." Serena reappeared, carrying a very smug-looking Barnaby.
The ginger cat leaped onto the bed, immediately curling up in the crook of Ash's arm. He looked cleaner, fatter, and entirely unimpressed by the drama of the room.
"Ash, it's good to see you're back among the living."
The crowd parted to reveal a middle-aged man in a white lab coat. He had graying hair, a sturdy build, and eyes that twinkled with a restless, scholarly curiosity. This was Professor Oak—the man who was basically the Einstein of this world.
Ash looked at him with a mix of awe and amusement. In the anime, Oak was a bit of a goofball who liked instant noodles and bad poetry. But standing here, Ash could see the weight the man carried. He was the guardian of the town, the mentor to a generation of trainers, and a man who spent his nights alone in a lab because his own family was gone.
"Professor," Ash said respectfully.
"I've been examining your companion here," Oak said, leaning over to peer at Barnaby through his spectacles. "It's a fascinating specimen. Physiologically, it's almost identical to a Persian, yet the fur coloration is entirely unique to the Kanto region. And the size... it's as if it's a miniaturized version, yet its muscle density is through the roof. Where on earth did you find such a creature, Ash?"
Before Ash could answer, a sharp, arrogant voice cut through the room.
"Please, Gramps. It's obviously just a runt. Look at it—it's barely half the size of a real Pokémon. It's probably just a stray cat that got into some bad berries."
Ash's eyes narrowed. Standing at the foot of the bed was a boy with spiky hair and a designer jacket that probably cost more than Ash's house. Gary Oak. The boy who was born with a silver spoon and a "God Complex" to match.
"Gary," Ash said, his voice flat.