1: The Game Creation System
Viridian City.
Night had fallen, draping the skyline in a cool, electric glow. In a cramped, dimly lit rental room tucked into a forgotten corner of the city, a young man with messy black hair sat hunched over a flickering monitor. His eyes, sharp and intense, were fixed on a folder titled [Colorful Eevee Match-3].
"This time, it has to work."
Cliff took a steadying breath. With a trembling hand, he dragged the folder into the website's upload zone and slammed the enter key.
A heartbeat of silence followed. Then, a massive red 'X' blinked onto the screen, accompanied by a cold dialogue box. The folder on his desktop vanished instantly, as if it had never existed.
[Unknown Error: 404. File Corrupted.]
"Dammit! Not again!"
Cliff cursed, his palm striking the desk with a hollow thud as he surged to his feet.
He had arrived in this world exactly one week ago. The good news: it was a world he knew and loved, the world of Pokémon. The bad news: he had inhabited the body of a penniless orphan. No money, no status, living in a shack on the outskirts of Viridian City, scraping by on odd jobs just to keep his stomach from growling.
When he first arrived, he hadn't harbored grand ambitions of becoming a Champion. He simply wanted a Pokémon partner or two to share a quiet life with. But reality had a way of teeth-grinding cruelty. He was so broke he could barely feed himself; bringing a Pokémon into his life right now would just mean two mouths starving on the street instead of one.
To change his fate, Cliff, a top-tier game producer in his previous life, had spent his first day scouring the local internet to gauge the entertainment industry.
The results had been staggering. While the world possessed high-speed internet and nearly everyone owned a smartphone, the creative landscape was a barren wasteland. Movies, novels, and games were stuck in a primitive, almost prehistoric stage.
For instance, the top-selling title on the Official League Games Chart, priced at a staggering 99 PokéDollars, was something called Angry Stone.
It was a racing game. You played as a Diglett rolling down a road. It was single-player only. If you were lucky enough to reach the "endgame," your Diglett evolved into a Golem, essentially becoming a hundred-ton, fully insured semi-truck that barreled down the highway, teaching NPCs the meaning of "hard knocks."
The sheer lack of competition had filled Cliff with joy. With his expertise, even a lazy port of a masterpiece from his old world would be enough to live like royalty.
Then, the "glitches" started.
He had spent two full days coding a polished version of Pac-Man. When he tried to upload it, the file corrupted and vanished. He thought it was his hardware. He rebuilt it, took it to an internet cafe on a thumb drive, and tried again. Same result. He stubbornly coded a Lucario Gold Miner mini-game. It disappeared into the digital void the moment he hit "Submit."
Counting this latest attempt, five games had been swallowed whole.
Cliff rubbed his temples, a headache throbbing behind his eyes. The rent was due next week. Between his obsessive coding sessions and his dwindling savings, he didn't even have enough cash to buy a bottle of Moomoo Milk from the convenience store downstairs.
Just as he was spiraling into a dark internal debate about his future, a shimmering, golden interface materialized in his field of vision.
A crisp, electronic chime echoed in his mind:
[Seven-day synchronization period complete! Global filtering active!]
[Ding! Congratulations, Host. The "Strongest Pokémon Game Creation System" has been initialized!]
[This system provides high-efficiency development technology to help you become the world's premier Pokémon Game Creator!]
[Beginner Reward Modules activated! Please check the control panel.]
Cliff scanned the data. His eyes locked onto the first line of the log. "So... you're the reason my games have been vanishing all week?"
The synthesized voice replied with a hint of mechanical smugness:
[Ding! Warning: As a transmigrator, your presence risks temporal instability. To prevent 'Erasure,' the System restricts you to creating Pokémon-centric content. All non-Pokémon data was automatically intercepted and purged. No need to thank the System.]
"…I thank your entire digital lineage," Cliff muttered, reciting every curse word he knew under his breath.
He forced himself to calm down and analyze the situation. Essentially, the System acted as a high-speed development engine, but it had a strict "Pokémon Only" policy.
He turned his attention to the two glowing blue cubes on the panel:
[Pixel Engine (Basic)]: Allows for rapid creation of high-quality pixel art and assets.[Core Logic Module (Basic)]: Allows for rapid scripting of small-scale, simple program architecture.[Note]: Unlocking or upgrading modules requires Emotion Points. These are earned when others experience strong emotions, anger, shock, joy, or admiration, caused by your games or your actions.
[Current Balance: 0]
"Rapid creation, huh?"
Cliff focused. He opened his development software and visualized a specific sprite in his mind. Instantly, a perfectly rendered, yellow-pixel Pikachu appeared on his screen.
"Okay, this isn't bad."
His eyes brightened. Even for a pro, solo-developing a game was an exhausting grind. That was why he'd stuck to mini-games all week; a full-scale RPG was impossible for one man. Moreover, he was a Producer, not a dedicated coder. He handled the vision; others handled the syntax.
With this System, the technical barrier was gone. And if he could farm enough "Emotion Points," he could unlock advanced modules to create even more realistic, high-fidelity Pokémon titles.
He began to brainstorm. A Pokémon-centric game... limited to pixel art and basic logic...
A specific image flashed in his mind.
[Pokémon: Ruby/Sapphire/Emerald Edition]
A heavyweight classic. The childhood gateway for millions. One of the most iconic entries in handheld history. With his current modules, it was the perfect project.
But then, a wicked thought took root.
To unlock the high-tier modules, he needed massive amounts of Emotion Points. A standard, faithful recreation of Emerald might be too "safe." It might evoke nostalgia or joy, but those were slow burns.
He sat back in his creaky chair, a slow, meaningful grin spreading across his face. If there was one emotion gamers felt most intensely, it was pure, unadulterated rage followed by a total mental breakdown.
And Emerald was the perfect canvas for that.
Cliff's fingers danced across the keyboard. A new folder appeared on his desktop, the name typed in bold, ominous letters:
[Pokémon: Ultra Emerald (Insane Difficulty Edition)]