《Pokemon: Ambertwo [Pokemon Fanfic/Isekai]》


 Chapter 1: Awakening

    ''It''s not supposed to be like this,'' I thought, hunched over my phone in the fading afternoon light. My fingers hovered over the screen as if I could somehow intimidate the numbers into change.


    My Gyarados¡ªlevel 40, carefully trained, survivor of multiple gym battles and approximately eight thousand random Pidgey and Mankey encounters¡ªwas down to a sliver of health. Across the battlefield, a level 37 Vulpix stared back with pixels that somehow managed to look smug. It had probably practiced that look in the mirror.


    I''d already lost two good Pokemon this past hour. My box was only down to shitty Pokemon. I couldn''t lose another. Not now.


    The Pokemon Mansion sprawled across my phone screen in all its 8-bit glory, a maze of broken tiles and forgotten experiments. Outside my dorm window, campus life continued its usual Sunday afternoon rhythm¡ªdistant voices, someone practicing guitar badly, and the occasional burst of laughter. None were aware I was one critical hit away from losing weeks of careful training.


    Gyarados had been with me since Route 6. Just a Magikarp then, making the same old investment that everyone knows pays off¡ªexcept this time, with perma-death rules, each level had felt like holding my breath underwater.


    I could switch in Charizard¡ªmy starter, my ace¡ªbut the damn thing was already at the level cap. One more fight and it''d be benched until after Blaine. Kadabra might one-shot it with Psychic¡ªif it didn''t get bodied first. My Dugtrio was a speed stat with hit points at this point, and Nidoking was still fucked up from that double-battle ambush earlier. Then there was the Growlithe I''d caught an hour ago, but sending it in would be straight-up murder.


    Five options. Five ways to lose a teammate. Five¡ª


    A Discord notification slid down from the top of my screen. My thumb twitched instinctively to swipe it away, but the message caught my eye before I could dismiss it.


    ```


    BigDKarp69: @everyone SHADOW MEWTWO RAID AT LIBRARY GYM


    BigDKarp69: @EVERYONE 10 MIN WINDOW GET HERE NOW


    ```


    Curious, I tapped the notification to see what the fuss was all about.


    ```


    [March 22, 2024]


    RaidenMain2: Hey, anyone hear about the shadow mewtwo event?


    ProfOaksFavStudent: starts next week right?


    RaidenMain2: Does anyone want to head downtown for it?


    MissingNo404: Down, what time does the event start?


    [March 30, 2024]


    BigDKarp69: @everyone SHADOW MEWTWO RAID AT LIBRARY GYM


    RaidenMain2: holy shit it''s on campus?


    BigDKarp69: @EVERYONE 10 MIN WINDOW GET HERE NOW


    BigDKarp69: @everyone SHADOW MEWTWO AT LIBRARY


    RaidenMain2: @everyone LETS GOOOOO


    BigDKarp69: TEN MINS LEFT


    ProfOaksFavStudent: @AlexTheGreat where u at? we need your Darkrai


    ```


    I briefly swiped back to the emulator, hesitating over my next move before quickly tapping the menu and saving my state.


    ''I¡¯ll deal with this later,'' I decided. Shadow Mewtwo just sounded too cool and the battle wasn¡¯t going anywhere. The early spring air bit at my face as I burst from the dorm building, nearly colliding with a cluster of freshmen who hadn''t learned that campus sidewalks have their own unwritten rules of navigation.


    The library stood sentinel across University Avenue. The crosswalk''s red hand blinked its warning¡ªa traffic signal I''d normally respect. But the street stretched empty in both directions.


    My phone buzzed again.


    ```


    RaidenMain2: @AlexTheGreat where u at??


    BigDKarp69: 2 min until the raid @everyone HURRY IF YOU WANT SHADOW MEWTWO


    ```


    My phone''s screen painted my face in blue light as I jogged, the little avatar shuffling across a simplified version of my world¡ªone minute forty-five seconds. The library''s Pokestop spun with casual indifference, promising digital treasures that suddenly seemed far less important as a deep mechanical groan vibrated through my bones.


    A shadow fell across my phone. I looked up¡ªtoo late, too slow¡ªas steel and chrome filled my vision. Physics asserted itself with elegant simplicity: mass plus velocity equals the end of all your carefully laid plans.


    My last thoughts weren''t deep or meaningful. Nothing about family, nothing about wasted potential, not even the cosmic irony of dying for a mobile game. Instead, I thought about my Gyarados, frozen in time with that sliver of health, waiting for a command that would never come.


    Then darkness. Not the dramatic fade-to-black of movies or the peaceful drift of sleep, but a sudden cessation of input, like someone yanked the cartridge out mid-game.


    -[v.v]-


    The darkness didn''t last.


    Awareness returned in fragments, each sensation filtered through amber fluid that pressed against me like thick honey. The world beyond my container was a blur of orange-tinted shadows. I floated, suspended in something that felt thicker than water, almost syrupy against my skin. My lungs should have been burning, demanding air, but they felt eerily still, as if my body had forgotten it needed to breathe.


    Sound reached me in waves, distorted and strange. Everything felt muffled except for the deep vibrations that traveled through the fluid itself, pressing against skin that felt too new, too small, like clothes that had shrunk in the wash. A tremor rippled through my container, and another, each one stronger than the last. Then came a sound that defied description¡ªsomething between a roar and a thought-given voice, so deep it seemed to resonate in bones I wasn''t sure were mine anymore.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    When the container finally gave way, it wasn''t gradual. Hairline fractures spiderwebbed across my visible world, transforming the emergency lights into kaleidoscopic fragments. The final crack came sharp and decisive, and suddenly the world was cold air and gravity and sensation that felt too sharp, too real.


    Strong arms caught me before I could fall¡ªarms that seemed impossibly large, attached to a middle-aged man whose tear-streaked face loomed above me. Everything was wrong, scaled up as if I''d somehow shrunk in my moment of unconsciousness. I went to return his embrace instinctively, the way you do when someone is crying and holding you, but the arms that responded to my commands weren''t mine. These were delicate things. Pale. Small. Unblemished. Hairless. Just¡­ wrong.


    "Amber," the giant middle-aged man choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "You''re alive. You''re really alive."


    He pulled back just enough to shrug off his lab coat with shaking hands, wrapping it around my shoulders with gentle urgency. The fabric draped over me like a tent, still warm from his body and carrying a mix of scents¡ªantiseptic, coffee, and something earthy that spoke of long hours in this underground lab. The simple act of covering me seemed to steady him somehow, as if the familiar motion of caring for a child helped anchor him in this impossible moment.


    My attempt at speech emerged as a quiet "Who...?" and even that single word felt like a betrayal. The voice wasn''t mine¡ªtoo high, too young, distinctly feminine in ways that sent fresh waves of confusion through my already overwhelmed mind.


    The tears falling on my face mixed with residual amber fluid, creating trails of warmth that felt impossibly intimate. The man held me like something precious, something miraculous, and through the blur of liquid and tears, I studied his face. There was something familiar there, something I should recognize, but understanding stayed just out of reach.


    In my peripheral vision, something caught my eye.


    A tail. Purple and massive, sweeping through broken equipment with casual, elegant destruction. Trails of violet energy hung in the air behind it, making the world look unstable, and unfinished. And there, suspended in the chaos of its own liberation, was Mewtwo. Not the 8-bit sprite or 3d render of the modern games, but something raw and primal and terrifyingly real. Its form rippled with power that hadn''t quite settled into being, each movement carrying the weight of something that existed outside the natural order.


    Our eyes met, and primal terror froze me in place. Every Pokemon instinct screamed that eye contact meant a battle was about to start¡ªbut reality had its own cruel humor. No menu would slide into view, no convenient mechanics would save me. Just raw existence: me in this too-small body that felt like borrowed clothing, facing down a creature that had transcended from pixels to godhood without bothering to include a user manual.


    Time stretched between us, neither moving, neither breathing. Something flickered in those violet eyes¡ªrecognition? Memory?¡ªbefore reality came crashing back in the form of a torrent of flames that caught Mewtwo in its side. The legendary Pokemon tumbled through the air, its psychic shield materializing like heat shimmer before steadying.


    The moment shattered, and pure survival instinct took over.


    "We have to go!" My borrowed voice cracked with urgency as I tugged at the giant man''s lab coat. The pieces suddenly clicked into place like a puzzle I hadn''t known I was solving¡ªthe liquid tank, the legendary Pok¨¦mon wreaking havoc above us, this man''s tears of joy. This wasn''t just any scientist, and I wasn''t in just any facility. The reality of my situation hit me with the force of a truck: I was standing in front of Dr. Fuji himself, wearing his dead daughter''s form, while the most powerful Pok¨¦mon ever created battled it out.


    Dr. Fuji nodded and wiped his tears, though he kept staring at me with a hint of disbelief.


    He scooped me up without hesitation, and suddenly the world viewed from his height made everything more alien. The laboratory was in chaos¡ªemergency lights cutting red swaths through steam clouds, while sparks rained from destroyed equipment like artificial stars. The air itself felt wrong, charged with an electric tension that made my skin prickle and my hair stand on end.


    Through the mayhem, I caught glimpses of other tanks like mine, now reduced to modern art installations of shattered glass and spilled amber fluid. A security guard''s Arcanine launched another stream of flames, catching Mewtwo mid-hover. For all its legendary status, basic physics still applied¡ªthe impact slammed it into reinforced concrete hard enough to crack both. Pain flashed across its features, quickly transforming into something darker, something that promised retribution.


    For a moment, I thought we were about to witness exactly why the games classified it as being the world¡¯s strongest pokemon. But instead, it glanced between the Arcanine, the damaged wall, and¡ªbriefly¡ªat me.


    Then, with a pulse of psychic energy that shattered every remaining bit of glass in the room, it blasted upward through the ceiling. Moonlight poured in through the new skylight, illuminating the destruction below. Dr. Fuji''s arms tightened around me with sudden urgency, pulling me against his chest and tucking my head under his chin. The world compressed to darkness, heartbeats, and the smell of the amber fluid still clinging to his lab coat.


    Sound painted the picture I couldn''t see¡ªthe thunderous cascade of falling concrete, the crystalline symphony of shattering glass, something that might have been a support beam groaning its way to failure. Through it all, Dr. Fuji''s arms remained steady, though I could feel tremors running through him each time something heavy struck nearby.


    When the crashes finally faded to scattered plinks and the occasional distant rumble, Dr. Fuji''s grip loosened. I pulled back, blinking in the strange new light. Moonlight streamed through a jagged hole that had once been a ceiling, painting silver highlights on broken equipment and scattered research.


    Across the room, reality had stopped trying to make sense. Alarms wailed in competing frequencies¡ªhigh-pitched containment breach warnings mixing with the deeper drone of structural failure alerts, creating a discordant symphony that made my teeth ache. Through the cacophony, I watched a partially-formed Kadabra variant suddenly glitch into the half-destroyed lab, its too-many-fingers leaving trails of psychic energy in the air, before disappearing again.


    A pained grunt drew my attention back to Dr. Fuji. He was hunched forward now, one hand pressed against the wall for support while the other still tried to keep me steady. His clothes had been shredded across the back, and through the tears, I could see angry red welts already darkening to bruises where chunks of ceiling had struck. A particularly nasty gash along his shoulder blade was slowly painting his clothes crimson.


    "A-Are you alright?" The question slipped out in my new voice, high and clear and caring in a way that surprised me.


    Dr. Fuji''s grunt of pain pulled me back from my daze. He was already reaching for me again, his arms trembling slightly but determined. Despite the chaos¡ªor perhaps because of it¡ªhis focus remained entirely on me as if the legendary Pok¨¦mon wreaking havoc above us was merely an inconvenience.


    We picked our way across what remained of the laboratory floor, my bare feet finding surprising purchase on debris-scattered tiles. The reinforced door hung askew on its hinges, blown outward by Mewtwo''s psychic blast. Beyond it, the scene transformed with jarring suddenness¡ªno more clinical white walls or exposed machinery, just the refined interior of what could have been any wealthy estate. Wood paneling replaced sterile steel and ornate light fixtures cast shadows where monitoring equipment should have been.


    The hallway held a handful of scientists in various states of panic, their lab coats looking strangely out of place against the mansion''s carefully curated aesthetic. Two security guards tried maintaining order while radioing for backup, their professional demeanor cracking under the weight of what they''d just witnessed. Through a doorway, someone hurriedly disconnected a hard drive, hands shaking as they worked. Fragments of conversation floated above the chaos...


    "...security breach in the east wing, we need..."


    "...containment field''s down in Enhancement Lab Three..."


    ¡°...Fuji¡¯s legendary clone¡­¡±


    "...the evolution acceleration chamber is overloading..."


    "...the prototype balls have been destroyed¡­"


    The facility''s emergency lighting painted everything in harsh red pulses as we made our way through the corridors, but now real flames were beginning to join the artificial warning lights. Smoke curled along the ceiling in lazy ribbons, and I could feel the temperature rising with each step. The lab coat around my shoulders felt less comforting now, its fabric growing warm from more than just body heat. I couldn''t stop staring at Dr. Fuji''s back, watching crimson slowly seep through his clothes while orange light from growing fires cast dancing shadows around us. Each step seemed to cost him, though he never loosened his grip on my hand.


    "Everything will be different now," Dr. Fuji said softly, his voice barely carrying over the crackle of flames behind us. Orange light painted the treeline in false sunset, while smoke curled through branches. "We can fix it all¡ªour family, our life. Everything."

 Chapter 2: Departure

    Sleep wasn''t just elusive¡ªit felt dangerous. Each time exhaustion started to drag me under, some part of my brain would jolt awake, terrified that closing these eyes meant losing whatever thread still connected me to myself


    The hotel room''s ceiling fan spun lazy circles, each rotation collecting shadows that looked too much like the fractals of psychic energy I''d seen during Mewtwo''s awakening. That had been real. All of it had been real. The clone tank''s fluid still burned in borrowed lungs whenever I breathed too deeply, a sharp chemical taste that belonged in sci-fi stories, not reality. Not supposed to be my reality.


    I caught another glimpse of mint-green hair on the dark TV screen and had to look away. Ten years old. I was ten years old again, or at least this body was. The wrongness of it sat like lead in my stomach¡ªadult thoughts trapped in a child''s form, muscle memory that belonged to someone else entirely. Even my fingerprints felt foreign when I ran them across the scratchy hotel blanket; too small, too smooth, too new.


    Through the darkness, I could hear Dr. Fuji''s steady breathing from the other bed. The sound made my chest ache.


    He''d moved heaven, earth, and even created the most powerful Pokemon to bring his daughter back.


    And for what? For someone stupid enough to run out in front of a truck?


    I was an accident of consciousness in a form that should have failed, never supposed to have lived.


    Each breath felt stolen. Each heartbeat was a reminder that somewhere in this world, there was a grave with Amber''s name on it, marking where this body''s original owner rested while I played at being alive in her place.


    Laughter drifted through the walls from other rooms¡ªprobably tourists enjoying their island getaway, planning tomorrow''s outings to the volcano or the beach.


    How many people visited this island, never knowing about the laboratory hidden beneath their feet? About the clone tanks and the failed experiments and the most powerful Pokemon in existence now tasting its first breath of freedom?


    The volcano''s silhouette loomed beyond the window, a darker shadow against the night sky. Somewhere out there, Mewtwo was grappling with its own existence, another consciousness that never should have been. But at least it had been made with a purpose¡ªto be the most powerful Pok¨¦mon in existence. I was just... an accident. A consciousness that slipped through some crack in reality into a form that should have failed.


    Memories of my old life flashed before my eyes like someone else''s home videos¡ªcrystal clear but impossibly distant. Mom''s patient smile as I explained why this new Pokemon game was different from the last six. That lazy orange tabby who''d earned his Snorlax nickname. The thrill of finally pulling that Charizard VMAX during lockdown, when Pokemon cards became an escape from endless Zoom lectures. That last, stupid battle¡ªTsunami the Gyarados getting crit twice in the mansion right before...


    I pressed my palms against my eyes until stars burst behind them. Even that sensation felt wrong¡ªthe pressure, the size of my hands, the way the joints bent. Everything was off by degrees so small they shouldn''t matter but somehow added up to a symphony of wrongness that made me want to crawl out of this skin.


    And beneath all of it, a deeper terror lurked: Team Rocket. They''d lost their prize weapon and their secret lab, but they hadn''t lost their reach.


    The future splintered in my head¡ªcompeting versions of what could come next. In the anime, they''d eventually capture and control Mewtwo, bending its will to Giovanni''s ambitions until it finally escaped. In the games, it would flee to Cerulean Cave, becoming a legend whispered about by trainers. The manga version seemed least likely¡ªBlaine hadn''t been involved in this creation. What did I mean for the plot?


    Each version of the future felt equally possible now, equally real. How could I plan for all the different timelines? And more terrifyingly¡ªwhat would Team Rocket do if they realized one of their failed experiments was walking around with a head full of meta knowledge? With an adult''s understanding of their plans wrapped in a child''s vulnerable form?


    Through the window, Cinnabar''s stars wheeled overhead, indifferent to the impossible thing breathing beneath them. Not a success, not a failure¡ªsomething entirely new. Something no one, not even God¡­ no, Arceus, himself, had planned for. And tomorrow... tomorrow I''d have to wake up and keep pretending. Keep breathing. Keep existing in a form that wasn''t mine while carrying memories that didn''t belong here.


    The fan spun on, its shadows still dancing like psychic fractals, each rotation seeming to ask: who are you really? The person who died chasing a mobile game, or the experiment who stole a second chance?


    \[v.v]/


    The beach slowly filled with passengers, fifteen others in total¡ªa couple of families clutching travel bags, a businessman in a suit that probably cost more than a starter Pokemon, and two trainers who looked like they''d stepped out of a contest poster. I stifled another yawn, wiggling my toes in shoes that still felt new. The volcanic sand was oddly warm even this early, with black crystals skating across the beach with each gust of wind.


    The businessman checked his watch for the third time in five minutes. One of the kids had fallen asleep against her mother''s leg. The contest trainers had given up on looking cool and were now sitting cross-legged in the sand, sharing what looked like a breakfast pastry.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Suddenly, the air... shifted. Like the moment before a storm breaks, when everything goes still and electric.


    Then I heard it.


    A whistle cut through the dawn¡ªthree sharp notes that made everyone freeze. The sound of wings came next, starting as a whisper and building to a rush that seemed to push the very mist aside.


    They emerged from the dawn like something out of a dream¡ªeight massive shapes descending in perfect formation. Four Pidgeots on each side, their wingspans casting moving shadows across the beach. A Fearow cut through the morning light on one flank, all sharp edges and deadly grace, while a Noctowl glided silently on the other.


    Holy shit.


    Holy actual shit.


    Those were Pidgeot. Eight real, breathing, absolutely massive Pidgeot, arranged in a perfect V with a Fearow and Noctowl flanking them like feathered fighter escorts. They descended with practiced precision, and I found myself counting pixels that weren''t there because some part of my mind was still trying to process this like a game sprite or cartoon. But there was nothing pixelated about them.


    I''d had this dream before¡ªevery kid with a Gameboy or TV had. But dreams didn''t come with the smell of sea salt and feathers, didn''t include the way morning light caught their crests and turned them into living flame. My hands were shaking. These weren''t just Pokemon¡ªthey were POKEMON. Actually real, actually here, close enough to touch if I wasn''t frozen in place trying to remember how breathing worked.


    The closest Pidgeot turned its head, preening a feather back into place with the casual grace of something that could probably break the sound barrier before breakfast. When the formerly-sleeping kid stumbled forward, it tilted its head with bird-like curiosity. Just a big, well-trained flying type going about its morning routine. Completely normal. Totally ordinary. Just a Pidgeot, doing Pidgeot things, while my internal monologue alternated between incoherent screaming and ''don''t cry don''t cry don''t cry.''


    The trainers landed behind their Pokemon, boots crunching on volcanic sand. The woman moved with the easy grace of someone who''d learned to walk on wind, her flight jacket a patchwork of badges I didn''t recognize. Her Ampharos prowled between the Pidgeot, tail held high like an airport marshal''s wand. The man was all business, his weathered face creased in permanent concentration as his Magneton hovered nearby.


    "Morning folks!" The woman''s voice carried easily over the sound of wings settling. "I''m Captain Lin, that''s Captain Reed. We''ll be your scenic tour to Celadon today." She grinned at the businessman''s barely concealed wince at the word ''scenic.'' "Don''t worry¡ªwe''ll have you there in time for your meetings. Now, let''s get you all sorted."


    The division happened with practiced efficiency: three sets of passengers and their bags for each group of four Pidgeot, carefully distributed for balance. Lin''s Noctowl watched from the side with ancient eyes that seemed to measure each soul that passed, while Reed''s Fearow stalked the perimeter like a feathered drill sergeant.


    I pressed my nails into my palms, using the small pain to ground myself. This was happening. This was real. In about ten minutes, I was going to fly on an actual Pidgeot.


    Lin appeared beside me, her Ampharos¡¯s static making my new hair float slightly. "First time?" she asked, grinning at whatever expression was on my face. "Don''t worry¡ªStorm here is gentle as they come." She patted the nearest Pidgeot, whose feathers rippled like silk in the morning light. "Though you might want to take a breath¡ªyou''re starting to look a bit blue."


    Right. Breathing. That was a thing I should probably keep doing.


    The safety briefing washed over me in a blur of buckles and emergency procedures. Lin moved between passengers with the casual grace of someone who''d done this a thousand times, her Ampharos trailing behind like an anxious flight attendant, occasionally pushing bags up that weren''t properly secured.


    "Remember," she called out, "you''re riding a Pokemon, not a train. They respond to tension. Relax, and they''ll relax." Her Noctowl punctuated this with a soft hoot that somehow managed to sound both wise and slightly judgy.


    The first step onto Storm''s back felt like breaking some unspoken rule of the universe. Feathers shifted beneath my fingers, warm and alive and impossibly strong. I''d spent countless hours flying on Pidgeot in games, but nothing had prepared me for the reality of settling between wings that could split clouds.


    "Knees soft," Lin advised, appearing beside me to check the straps. "And try not to grab feathers if you get nervous¡ªStorm''s understanding, but nobody likes having their hair pulled." Her Ampharos demonstrated proper handle-holding with exaggerated care, then scampered back to its special harness near Lin''s position.


    Dr. Fuji settled behind me, his presence both steadying and strange. The businessman ended up with a lovey dovy couple on the Pidgeot next to us. The couple flirted constantly while the businessman looked like he wanted to kill himself.


    "Clear skies ahead!" Lin''s voice carried over the morning breeze. Her Noctowl lifted off first, silent as a shadow, while Reed''s Fearow took point with a cry that scattered sleeping Wingull from the nearby rocks. "Celadon Express is ready for departure!"


    The takeoff stole my breath, my heart, and possibly several years off my new life. One moment we were earthbound, the next¡ªglory. Storm''s wings spread like sails of light, each downbeat a thunderclap of power. The beach fell away, black sand scattering in our wake, and my stomach did something that probably violated several laws of physics.


    We climbed through layers of dawn, each wingbeat carrying us higher until the ocean spread out like a mirror below. The sun painted everything in impossible colors¡ªrose gold and amber and colors I didn''t have names for. Lin''s group formed up on the right, Reed''s on the left, their Pidgeot moving with the kind of precision that made my gaming brain want to count frames that didn''t exist.


    Ampharos¡¯s head-bead sparked occasionally, tiny arcs of electricity dancing between it and Magneton¡¯s magnets. The morning air grew thin and cold, but somehow a bubble of warmth surrounded us.


    Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, exhaustion finally caught up. The steady rhythm of Storm''s wings, the salt-sweet wind, the gentle rise and fall of flight¡ªit was a lullaby written in motion. My head nodded forward, then back, then forward again.


    "Sleep if you need to," Lin called back, her voice carrying easily despite the wind. "Storm''s got you."


    I tried to protest. Tried to explain that sleep was for people who weren''t living through every childhood dream at once. But my body¡ªthis new, strange, body¡ªhad other ideas. The last thing I remember was Dr. Fuji adjusting my straps, making sure I couldn''t slip. Storm''s feathers were softer than any pillow, and the wind sang stories of freedom in a language I was finally learning to understand.


    I slept without dreams. Just the wind, the waves far below, and the steady heartbeat of a Pokemon carrying me toward whatever waited ahead.

 Chapter 3: First Steps

    "What do you mean you don¡¯t want to wear a dress? You love dresses," Dr. Fuji had said three mornings ago, his voice gentle but brooking no argument as he''d laid out the powder-blue monstrosity. The words hung between us like a wall, trapping the truth behind teeth that didn''t feel like mine. How could I explain that his daughter''s preferences hadn''t transferred along with her DNA?


    Now, I stood before a mirror, tugging uselessly at another one of Dr. Fuji''s stupid doll dresses. I glanced up at the mirror, seeing a deep frown etched on the girl¡¯s face. Her mint-green hair caught light at impossible angles and her dark green eyes held a wariness that didn''t belong on a child''s face. Five days in this new world, and I still couldn''t reconcile the image before me with my sense of self.


    I caught Ditto watching me from its perch on the dresser, its amorphous form somehow managing to convey both attention and amusement. "You try wearing this," I muttered, tugging at the dress''s hem for the hundredth time. The words had barely left my mouth when Ditto''s body rippled with interest. It oozed down from the dresser like spilled honey, its mass pooling briefly on the floor before surging upward.


    The transformation caught me off-guard¡ªpink substance flowing, reshaping, solidifying into... into...


    "Oh," I breathed, turning to face my duplicate. Ditto''s version of me stood with perfect posture, making my own awkward stance feel even more obvious. Every detail was uncomfortably accurate, from the mint-green hair color to the power-blue dress.


    "You know," I said, glancing between us, "If we''re going to be stuck here, you could at least transform into something more practical. Even the girls in these kid''s cartoons Dr. Fuji left for us are wearing pants!¡±


    The copied version of me tilted its head in confusion.


    "No, look," I said, turning to point at the ancient TV where a trainer in sensible hiking gear was scaling a mountain. "See? Pants. The bottom half." I gestured emphatically at the cartoon character''s legs, then at my own dress-confined ones. "You know, for walking? Adventure? Not feeling like a dress-up doll?"


    Ditto-me tilted its head, brow furrowing in concentration. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the transformation began¡ªbut something was wrong. The top half remained a perfect copy of me, but below the waist, the dress melted away into flat, two-dimensional cartoon legs, complete with bold outlines and cel-shaded pants.


    "That''s not quite what I..." I started, but the words died in my throat as Ditto tried to take a step. The cartoonish legs, utterly unsuited for three-dimensional movement, immediately gave out. My doppelganger collapsed in a heap, the realistic upper half merging with the animated lower half into a puddle of confused purple goo.


    A laugh escaped me as I watched the purple mass reform into its natural purple blob shape with a (~_~) face, feeling an unexpected wave of affection for my shapeshifting companion.


    I couldn''t help but marvel at the difference between its current actions and just three days ago.


    Three days ago, Dr. Fuji gave Ditto clear instructions: "Protect my daughter."


    Back then, it had been all business¡ªmaintaining a careful distance, transforming only when commanded, watching me from corners with an unreadable expression. But yesterday, I''d caught it mimicking my movements in the mirror when it thought I wasn''t looking, practicing expressions with an almost childlike curiosity before morphing back to neutrality the moment our eyes met. And now here it was, sprawled dramatically on my floor after its enthusiastically misguided attempt at cartoon fashion.


    I shook my head with a smile underneath as I focused on my only other source of entertainment.


    I flopped onto the worn couch, its familiar softness reminding me of lazy weekend afternoons from another life.


    "Let''s see¡­¡± I muttered, clicking through channels. The TV itself was ancient by my standards¡ªall curved screen and rabbit-ear antenna¡ªbut it worked well enough to pick up local broadcasts. A few clicks through static-filled channels finally landed on what looked like a local news broadcast. The production value wasn''t much better than the static¡ªthe anchor''s desk looked like it was made of painted plywood, and the graphics had that distinctly late-90s PowerPoint feel.


    "...and in downtown Celadon, business owners are raising concerns about increasing Grimer populations in the sewage system," the anchor was saying, her heavily hairsprayed style completing the retro aesthetic. "Our field reporter is live at the scene."


    Each channel brought another reminder that this wasn''t just a world with Pokemon¡ªit was a world built around them, shaped by their presence in ways both mundane and extraordinary. My thumb froze on the remote as familiar battle stadium architecture filled the screen. Two trainers faced each other across a regulation field, their Pokemon launching attacks that the cameras struggled to track.


    The battle itself was both familiar and jarringly different from what I remembered. No health bars floated above the Pokemon''s heads, no convenient status indicators blinked warnings. Instead, a Sandslash and Poliwrath clashed in a blur of motion that the dated camera technology struggled to capture, leaving ghostly afterimages on the curved screen.


    The commentators'' excited chatter filled our small apartment: "...and Wright¡¯s Sandslash shows remarkable agility, folks! But wait- oh! Poliwrath''s Water Gun catches it mid-roll!"


    I leaned forward, unconsciously mimicking the tensed posture I''d held during countless gaming sessions. But this wasn''t a matter of pressing the right buttons at the right time. The Sandslash''s trainer shouted something lost in the crowd''s roar, and her Pokemon responded with a desperate burrow into the arena floor¡ªa move that would have taken two turns in the games but happened here in one fluid motion.


    "Did you ever imagine battles would be like this?" I asked Ditto, who had inched closer to the screen, its amorphous form rippling with each impact shown. "No turn-based combat, no convenient pauses to think through strategy. Just¡­¡±


    I paused as Ditto tilted its head in confusion.


    A wry smile formed on my lips as I smacked my head. ¡°Of course, this would be the normal here.¡±


    I refocused my attention on the TV.


    The Poliwrath''s trainer, a weathered man who looked nothing like the pixel-perfect gym leaders I remembered, was already calling out his next command. His Pokemon''s Water Gun carved channels in the arena floor, forcing the Sandslash to surface or drown. The camera zoomed in on the ground type''s emergence, catching the moment its claws broke through the earth at an unexpected angle, spraying sand into its opponent''s eyes.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Ditto made a sound that might have been appreciation, transforming briefly into a miniature version of the Sandslash before melting back to its natural state, as if testing how that movement would feel.


    The broadcast cut to what passed for a post-match analysis¡ªtwo men wedged behind a desk overlooking the battlefield wearing huge headsets and speaking into a massive black speaker like an old sports commentary broadcast.


    I found myself nodding along to their commentary, memories of countless battle showdown simulators suddenly cast in a new light.


    I''d never been a sports person in my old life¡ªcouldn''t have cared less about football stats or basketball plays. But this was different. This was Pokemon battling¡ªreal Pokemon battling, not the simplified turn-based system I''d known from games.


    My legs started swinging, the toes of my feet barely scraping the ground, heels drumming a restless beat against the couch base. The worn fabric that had felt so comfortably familiar minutes ago now pressed awkwardly against the backs of my knees, a constant reminder that this body was sized all wrong for casual lounging.


    I tried tucking my legs under me instead, but that just made the couch feel deeper, like sitting in an oversized dollhouse. Even as my eyes stayed locked on the battle channel, this body hummed with a restless energy I''d never known in my previous life.


    With a sigh, I slid off the couch, leaving the 2 men¡¯s battle analysis playing in the background. The feeling was familiar by now¡ªthis wild, electric restlessness that seemed to buzz through Amber''s limbs.


    I got on my back and started to do sit-ups. Ditto, familiar with this particular ritual by now, flowed across the carpet to assume a beside me.


    "One... two..." I counted out loud. Ditto bobbed up and down, as if it were copying my movements.


    I briefly paused my set to laugh. Did Ditto even have muscle to train?


    I quickly continued, attempting to exhaust all my tireless energy "Seventeen... eighteen..."


    25 sit-ups. 10 push-ups. 25 squats. And a 0 km run. My body hummed with energy even after completing more exercise than I''d managed in any given week of my previous life.


    I caught my reflection on the black TV screen during a transition and had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, wearing a frilly dress that belonged in a Victorian dollhouse, performing calisthenics.


    After 1 round to failure, I went again. And again. Until I had tapped out at 100 sit-ups. 20 push-ups. 100 squats. And a 0 km run. Collapsed to the ground. Everywhere felt sore, especially my jelly-like arms. I still had a long way to go to achieve baldness.


    As I lay spread-eagled on the floor, I turned my head to look at Ditto, who had collapsed beside me with a slightly woozy (~.~), though its lack of actual exhaustion somehow made the gesture more endearing.


    Three days. Three days of watching battles I couldn''t participate in, learning about a world I couldn''t explore, sitting in an apartment that felt more like a gilded cage with each passing hour. If it were me in my past life, that would¡¯ve been the perfect life.


    I rolled onto my side and supported my head with my arm. I watched Ditto appear to doze off. I guess that really did tire it out.


    A plan that had been forming in my mind all morning suddenly crystallized.


    "Hey Ditto," I said, pushing myself up on one elbow despite my protesting muscles, "can you keep a secret?"


    Ditto straightened its form, instantly recovering from its ¡°fatigue,¡± and tilted its head.


    \[^.^]/


    A few days later, I watched from behind a curtain as Dr. Fuji hurried down the street, his white lab coat catching the morning light like a beacon. Fifteen minutes crept by as I counted his steps, then another five to be absolutely certain. Only then did I dare to move.


    The ancient backpack¡ªa relic of Amber''s past life¡ªsat awkwardly on my shoulders, its straps adjusted as tight as they would go. Inside was food for me and Ditto and a spare set of keys. Not exactly survival gear, but it would have to do. The shiny black patent leather shoes were already starting to pinch.


    "Wait," I murmured to Ditto, holding out its Pokeball. "I don''t even know the rules about Pokemon in the city. Better stay in the ball until we''re clear, okay?" It dissolved into red light without protest, though I could have sworn it rolled its eyes first. For all I knew, there could be restrictions about unleashed Pokemon, or licenses needed, or who knows what else.


    The apartment door seemed impossibly loud as I eased it open, each creak a thunderous betrayal of my escape attempt. Down four flights of stairs on tiptoes, my shoes barely touching each step. At the building''s entrance, I paused, heart thundering against my ribs like a trapped Pidgey.


    I reached up on my tiptoes and opened the door to my real first steps into Celadon City.


    The morning streets made my earlier caution feel absurd. Pokemon were everywhere, woven into the fabric of city life as naturally as pigeons in my old world¡ªa Meowth sprawled across a windowsill like a furry king surveying its domain, Pidgey squabbling over something shiny in the gutters, even a Growlithe padding importantly beside a police officer, its badge-shaped collar catching the sun.


    My fingers relaxed around Ditto''s minimized ball, feeling sheepish. Red light flashed as I released it, and Ditto materialized with what I swore was an expression of mild amusement. Without prompting, it flowed up my arm and settled across my shoulders like a living scarf, its weight oddly comforting against my neck.


    The city sprawled before me, shattering any illusion that my gaming memories could have prepared me for this. Where my mind expected neat gridlines of pixels and predictable paths, Real Celadon flowed with organic chaos. Streets twisted between buildings that defied the simple up-down geography of the games, their shadows painting patterns that no sprite artist could have conceived. Each intersection promised another decision that couldn''t be solved with a D-pad, another reminder that I wasn''t just viewing this world through a screen anymore.


    A real Pokemon city sprawled before me. Where my mind expected neat gridlines of pixels and predictable paths, Real Celadon flowed with organic chaos. Streets twisted between buildings that defied the simple up-down geography of the games, their shadows painting patterns that no sprite artist could have conceived.


    The morning traffic moved with its own peculiar rhythm. Bicycles dominated the streets, weaving between the occasional car that crawled along like a rare and cautious beast. A pair of Machoke guided a floating platform of construction materials through the air with the casual confidence of everyday laborers, while a Pidgey postal service worker soared overhead, mailbag strapped securely to its chest. The sidewalks bustled with commuters, many with partner Pokemon trotting beside them or perched on shoulders¡ªthough none quite as blobby as my own ''scarf.''


    I made my way to what looked like a transit stop¡ªa narrow concrete building standing alone on its small plot, supported by thick columns that lifted the train tracks overhead. Steep metal stairs zigzagged up one side, their railings worn smooth from countless hands.


    Inside, a row of ticket booths and turnstiles stretched along one wall. A machop, meowth, and human staffed the booths¡ªthe Machop¡¯s stubby fingers surprising deft at handling coins while the Meowth¡¯s whiskers twitched at every clink of currency.


    But what caught my attention was the city map mounted between the booths and turnstiles. The bottom half was just low enough for me to study properly.


    I traced routes with a finger, trying to ignore the small, but steady stream of commuters flowing around me. Unlike the neat grid of the games, real Celadon sprawled in every direction, districts bleeding into each other in normal, city-like ways.


    I found 2 of the major landmarks of Celadon fairly easily.


    The Gym was clearly marked and not that far from here. The Game Corner on the other hand looked to be at least 20 blocks away.


    I had to step back and squint my eyes to find the Department Store and Game Corner somewhere further north.


    I glanced back at the toll booths and sighed¡ªshould have thought about the money problem as well. I definitely needed money to get there.


    I closely examined the route I had to take before marching out of the building to start my first Pokemon adventure. Perhaps I¡¯d earn my first gym badge out of it.


    Onwards to the Celadon Gym!

 Chapter 4: First Battle

    I found myself at the edge of a sprawling park, staring at a wooden sign that pointed toward "Celadon Gym Outer Gardens." Ditto shifted against my neck, its weight familiar now after our morning''s city walk.


    The gardens spread out before us, though they looked more like a public park than an actual garden. A patchwork of dirt and grass stretched across the grounds, with morning light catching the dew that still clung to the few spots untrampled by feet and attacks.


    A battle between two young trainers caught my attention¡ªa Doduo facing off against a Bellsprout on worn dirt. The Doduo actually had a clear advantage whenever it attacked¡ªits attacks super effective when they connected¡ªbut its heads seemed more interested in arguing with each other than listening to commands.


    Its trainer shouted "Focus!" which, ironically, only made both heads turn to stare at him instead of dodging the incoming Vine Whip.


    The Doduo trainer seemed ready to tear his hair out.


    I settled against a tree trunk, oddly captivated. Ditto''s weight shifted, stretching slightly as if also trying to get a better view. The battle meandered on, punctuated by moments of accidental competence¡ªthe Doduo managed a super effective peck, ending the battle and knocking out the Bellsprout.


    The boy punched the air in victory while his opponent trudged over, counting out crumpled bills with the particular slowness of someone hoping the money might multiply if they took long enough.


    I stood and found myself drifting between battles after that, unable to just glance and move on.


    A Pidgey and Spearow whose battle climbed into the air. Two trainers coached their Pokemon through a practice match, stopping occasionally to discuss technique. An intense face-off between a Muk and a Poliwhirl that drew a small crowd.


    The sun climbed higher and then began to fall. My stomach growled¡ªand we briefly stopped for lunch. Ditto stayed quiet through it all, but I felt its subtle reactions¡ªa slight tightening when attacks came too close, a gentle relaxation during the lulls between matches.


    "Looking for a battle?"


    The voice pulled me out of my battle-watching trance. A boy who couldn''t have been more than ten years old stood before me, all elbows and knees and boundless confidence. His blue cap sat crooked on his head, and a Pokeball bounced between his hands with the kind of nervous energy that suggested he hadn''t quite mastered the casual spinning trick he was attempting.


    "Of course!" The words burst out the moment we locked eyes. It felt natural, automatic¡ªlike muscle memory from a thousand battles fought through pixels and button presses.


    Ditto, who had been contentedly draped around my neck like a living scarf, perked up at my enthusiasm. Before I could second-guess myself, it had already slid down to the ground, bouncing slightly with an eagerness that made me wonder if it had been hoping for this.


    The boy''s face lit up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. "Cool! Three hundred pokedollars?"


    I flinched at the number before remembering that pokedollars were closer to yen than dollars¡ªthis was more like three bucks than three hundred. Still, I frowned as I instinctively reached for pockets where I would have had some change, but remembered I was wearing a dress when I just felt smooth fabric.


    The boy''s smile turned sharp at my hesitation. "Unless you''re scaaaared?" He drew out the last word like stretching taffy, sweet with mockery.


    Fifteen years of Pokemon experience bristled at his tone. I''d bred perfect IVs, chained shinies, climbed to Master rank¡ªand now a tiny kid... well, technically I was about the same age as him now, but that wasn''t the point. I looked down at Ditto, who met my gaze with unwavering confidence.


    This wasn''t a game. I had no idea if Ditto''s transformations worked the same way¡ªif most stats and moves were copied. But, looking at its eager wobble, I felt something settle in my chest. Dr. Fuji had trusted this Ditto to guard his most precious creation, Ambertwo. If it was good enough for the scientist who created Mewtwo, it was good enough for a street battle.


    ''I''ve been playing Pokemon for longer than you¡¯ve been alive'' I thought, a familiar competitive spark igniting. ¡®There¡¯s no way I can lose to a brat like you.¡¯


    "Deal," I said, forcing steel into my voice. I only had to figure out the money situation if we lost.


    "Sweet!" The boy backed up, creating space for our impromptu arena. A few nearby trainers paused their own activities, scenting the possibility of entertainment.


    "Name''s Joey," he called out, flicking his Pokeball open with a flourish that would have been impressive if he hadn''t nearly dropped it. "Try not to cry when you lose!"


    The ball flew up, a flash of red light materializing into a Rattata. "Rat-TAT!" It hissed with quiet ferocity.


    I squared my shoulders, channeling confidence I didn''t quite feel in a Ditto. "I could say the same to you."


    Joey¡¯s grin widened. Without warning, he thrust his arm forward. "Go! Rattata! Tackle!"


    "What the¡ªHey! When did we start?" I shouted, watching Ditto barely slide to the side as Rattata barreled past. My heart hammered against my ribs¡ªnot from fear, but from indignation. No countdown, no proper start, just straight into attacks.


    Joey¡¯s grin turned smug. "You said you were ready, didn''t you? Rattata! Keep going! Keep up the pressure!"Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    ''Right,'' I thought, watching Rattata wheel around for another pass. ''One of those people.'' The kind who thought rules were for other people and basic courtesy was optional. The kind who''d cut in line at a coffee shop and then complain about the service. The kind who desperately needed someone to knock them down a peg or two, preferably in front of an audience.


    "Ditto, dodge and transform!"


    Ditto weaved away from another tackle, but instead of transforming, it turned its face toward me with an expression that could only be described as confusion. The sight was so unexpected that for a moment, I forgot we were in the middle of a battle.


    "Ditto, transform!" I tried again, my voice climbing an octave higher than I''d have preferred.


    Joey''s laughter cut through the air, sharp and mean in that particular way only pre-teens could manage. "Haha! A Pokemon that doesn''t even know how to fight? What kind of weird blob did you catch? Rattata! Finish this loser up!"


    "Ditto! Come on!" The words came out more desperate than I''d intended. "Transform into Rattata and fight back!"


    And then¡ªlike that moment when you finally explain something the right way to someone who''s been struggling¡ªunderstanding flickered across Ditto''s amorphous features. Its body shimmered, stretched, and suddenly there were two Rattata on the field. "Rat-TAT!" came Ditto''s perfect mimicry of its opponent''s cry.


    Joey''s mouth fell open, his previous bravado vanishing in an instant. "What the¡ªWhat did¡ª?" The words tumbled out in a shocked stutter. Even his Rattata took a step back, whiskers twitching in confusion.


    I caught fragments of whispers from our impromptu audience: "Did you see¡ª" "What kind of¡ª" ¡°I think I read about it in¡ª¡±


    I paused, the sudden attention prickling against my skin. A half-remembered theory floated through my mind¡ªsomething about Ditto being failed clones of Mew¡ªand I had to physically stop myself from slapping my forehead. Here I was, Clone-Amber, technically-daughter of the man who created Mewtwo, casually revealing what might be another of his classified experiments in a public park. If there was a guidebook for "How to Not Draw Attention to Your Secret Identity," I was probably breaking every chapter.


    ''Too late to worry about that now.'' I turned back to face my opponent, who was staring at Ditto with the wide-eyed fascination of someone who''d just watched their understanding of Pokemon get turned inside out.


    "Tail Whip!" I called out, immediately tense about my choice. It was pure muscle memory¡ªfifteen years of Pokemon battles where status moves were the foundation of any decent strategy. In the games, it had been simple math: lower defense, increase damage output throughout the battle, victory. But now, watching Ditto face down a very real Rattata with very real teeth, I found myself questioning years of virtual combat experience. Would a tail swish actually make physical attacks hurt more here? Or had I just commanded my shapeshifting Pokemon to perform the equivalent of an intimidating dance move?


    Ditto spun with a fluid grace that caught me off-guard. Joey¡¯s Rattata tracked the motion, whiskers twitching rapidly, and when it settled back into its fighting stance, its movements carried a new hesitation.


    ''Huh,'' I thought, watching the subtle shift in the Rattata''s body language. ''So that''s what a status move looks like in real life.''


    "Ha!" Joey''s voice cracked with false bravado. "Wasting time with fancy twirls? Rattata! Keep tackling! Full force! You can¡¯t lose to a copy!"


    "Perfect! Ditto, dodge and counter with Tackle!"


    Ditto sidestepped the charging Rattata with the same fluid grace it had shown in its tail movement. It made me wonder if Dr. Fuji had spent some time combat-training it.


    The original Rattata overextended, its eagerness working against it, and Ditto''s counter-attack landed with precise timing. The impact sent Joey''s Pokemon tumbling back, its previous confidence visibly shaken.


    I felt my confidence growing. This wasn''t just button inputs and damage calculations¡ªDitto wasn''t just copying Rattata''s form, it was moving with a precision that spoke of experience. Each dodge was efficient, each attack perfectly timed.


    "Stop running away!" Joey''s voice cracked. "Quick Attack! Don''t let it dodge!"


    His Rattata blurred forward¡ªfaster than eyes could track. Pure instinct made me shout, "Copy it! Meet it head-on!"


    The collision came with a sharp crack. "RATTA!" Both Pokemon cried out in unison. Joey''s Rattata went sprawling, while Ditto''s form briefly rippled at the impact before stabilizing.


    Joey''s composure cracked entirely. "Keep attacking! Don''t stop until you hit it!"


    His Rattata launched into a frenzy of attacks, each wilder than the last. But Ditto moved like water, each dodge flowing into the next, letting Joey''s Pokemon exhaust itself against empty air. It was the difference between button-mashing and actual technique¡ªand Ditto had years of the latter programmed into whatever Dr. Fuji had done to it.


    "Stop! Moving!" Joey''s commands devolved into frustrated shouts, each one making his Rattata''s attacks wilder. The poor Pokemon''s movements were becoming ragged, each lunge leaving it more exposed than the last.


    I watched the rhythm of their desperation, waiting. One particularly aggressive tackle left Joey''s Rattata off-balance, its tail swinging wide to compensate. "Now, Ditto! Quick Attack!"


    The counter was devastating in its simplicity¡ªa clean strike that sent Joey''s Rattata tumbling across the grass. When it struggled up, its legs trembled with exhaustion.


    "Come on!" Joey''s voice cracked. "You can''t lose to some¡ªsome weird copy!"


    I almost felt bad for them. Almost. "One more time, Ditto!"


    The final Quick Attack landed with surgical precision. "Rat...ta..." Joey''s Rattata slid to a stop at his feet, managed one defiant attempt to stand, and then collapsed with the classic swirls in its eyes that I''d only ever seen in the anime.


    The scattered applause from our audience felt wrong somehow¡ªtoo much attention for what was supposed to be a simple amateur battle. Probably because of Ditto.


    Joey stared at his fallen Rattata for a long moment, his earlier swagger evaporating like morning dew. For a second, he looked exactly like what he was¡ªa kid. Then his face scrunched up, bottom lip quivering dangerously.


    ''Oh no,'' I thought, panic rising. I''d prepared for Pokemon battles and type matchups, but dealing with a crying child hadn''t been part of any game guide I''d ever read.


    But Joey surprised me. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped forward. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the coins, holding them out with the stiff formality of someone trying very hard to pretend this didn''t hurt.


    "Fair''s fair," he mumbled, gaze fixed somewhere around my left shoulder. "You won."


    I stared at the coins, my earlier triumph mixing with an unexpected twinge of guilt. This wasn''t some NPC handing over programmed currency¡ªthis was probably the kid''s entire allowance. But... I was broke too.


    "Thanks," I said quietly, accepting the money. "It was a good battle." The words felt a bit inadequate, but they were true enough.


    I tucked the coins deep into my backpack, trying not to think too hard about winning my first real Pokemon currency through what basically amounted to hustling a kid. Joey had already trudged back to his rattata, nursing it with a potion.


    ¡®A good kid at heart,¡¯ I thought as I watched him care for his fainted pokemon.


    Ditto slithered back up to my neck, humming with what felt like both satisfaction and concern. "Nice work," I whispered, giving it a quick pat while scanning the dispersing crowd. Most had already turned away, but a few were still muttering among themselves, shooting curious glances in our direction.

 Chapter 5: Celadon Gym Gardens

    The afternoon sun had begun its descent, casting shadows in the opposite direction through the ginkgo trees that lined the path ahead. Their fan-shaped leaves caught the light like tiny golden coins, creating a dappled pathway that seemed to lead straight to... my steps slowed as the actual gym building came into view.


    The building ahead grew more imposing with each step, glass and steel rising up behind the ancient trees in a way that should have felt jarring but somehow worked. Like the games evolving from pixel art to modern graphics, there was something satisfying about the progression from natural to modern, from the Ginkgo arcade to the sleek facility beyond.


    The park grounds unfolded in carefully planned waves of green and color. Grass and dirt gave way to raised beds where Oddish-shaped topiaries stood guard over a stunning array of irises and wisteria, their petals trembling in the afternoon breeze. A small pond reflected the late sunlight, its surface occasionally broken by what could have been either decorative Magikarp or particularly playful Goldeen.


    A lone figure caught my eye, breaking the perfect symmetry of the scene. An elderly man sat on a bench between two trees, his eyes nearly closed but somehow still managing to track my movement. As our gazes met, his face split into a grin that belonged in a different kind of game entirely, the kind that little girls should avoid at all costs.


    Ditto tightened slightly around my neck, a silent agreement that perhaps we should speed up our stately progression down Ginkgo Tree Ave. The trees¡¯ shadows suddenly felt less majestic and more like convenient hiding spots for things that smiled too widely.


    ¡®Oookay then,'' I thought, picking up my pace while trying to look like I absolutely belonged here and was not at all creeped out by the local bench cryptid. ''Time to see what''s behind door number one.''


    The automatic doors whispered open with blessed modernity, trading filtered sunlight for fluorescent clarity and the weight of ancient trees for climate-controlled certainty. My relief lasted exactly as long as it took to read the price board mounted on the sleek reception desk.


    ```


    Ace Challenge Fee: ?100,000


    League Challenge Fee: ?10,000


    League Spectator Day Pass: ?10,000


    Training Facilities Day Pass: ?5,000


    ```


    The coins in my bag might as well have been pocket lint. I did some quick mental math. The total was somewhere between ''adorably insufficient'' and ''why even bother counting.''


    The doors whispered open again as I retreated, and the ginkgo path garden stretched before me once more, though now it felt less like a cathedral and more like a very scenic route to nowhere. Clusters of late-blooming irises lined the path, their purple heads nodding in silent sympathy.


    I drifted away from the gym''s entrance, deliberately choosing a direction that would avoid the creepy bench-dweller.  I let my feet carry me wherever they wanted along the winding garden paths, past bursts of wisteria that draped overhead like purple rain. A breeze stirred the ginkgo leaves, sending a fresh shower of golden fans spiraling down around me. One landed in my hair, and Ditto helpfully brushed it aside for me.


    "I don''t suppose you know any get-rich-quick schemes for the Pokemon world?" I murmured to my companion. The slight ripple against my neck felt like the Pokemon equivalent of a shrug. "Yeah, didn''t think so."


    My path meandered away from the gym and its pristine gardens back to the regular grass and dirt training fields where battles had wound down for the day, then back to other sections of garden, though not as maintained as the ones near the gym.


    Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a neat little greenhouse, its glass panels catching the sunset in ways that made it look almost molten. Azaleas clustered around its base, their fading blooms still adding splashes of color to the approaching evening. I didn''t know where I was, but something about its warm glow drew me closer.


    The greenhouse door handle was too high for comfortable reach, requiring an awkward stretch that reminded me yet again of this body''s limitations.


    It scraped open with a sound that felt too loud in the quiet evening air, releasing a wave of warm, humid air that carried the rich scent of earth and growing things. I hesitated for a moment, one foot over the threshold, caught between the fading daylight behind and the green-tinted shadows ahead, but ultimately stepped inside.


    A path wound between beds of ferns and clusters of what looked suspiciously like the berries I''d spent countless hours farming in various games. The reality was messier, less orderly than their pixel versions. Leaves overlapped and intertwined, creating patches of shadow that seemed to shift and move in ways that...


    I froze. One of the shadows was moving.


    A Gloom waddled out from behind a large pot, regarding us with an expression that managed to be both melancholy and curious at the same time. It was smaller than I''d expected, barely coming up to my body''s waist, but somehow its presence filled the narrow path between the plants. Neither of us moved for a long moment, caught in a standoff that felt like those tense seconds before a wild Pokemon battle would start in the games.


    Except no battle music began. No options appeared. The Gloom just... blinked at us, then yawned, displaying an impressive set of teeth that the games had definitely never rendered in such detail.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    "Um, hi?" I offered, my voice coming out in Amber''s higher pitch. The word hung in the humid air between us like another drop of condensation.


    The Gloom considered this for a moment, then made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a gurgle. It was probably the most accurate representation of its name I''d ever heard. Before I could decide if this was a good sign or not, I felt Ditto begin to slide down my arm.


    "Wait, what are you¡ª" I started, but Ditto had already pooled on the ground and was beginning to reshape itself. I watched, fascinated despite my nerves, as it quickly twisted and grew until a second Gloom stood before me, matching the first down to the slightly droopy flower on its head.


    The original Gloom perked up immediately, its perpetually sad expression lifting into something approaching delight. It tottered forward, circling Ditto-Gloom with obvious interest. Ditto, for its part, seemed equally fascinated, mimicking the other Pokemon''s movements in a sort of impromptu dance.


    I quickly glanced around the greenhouse, searching for any witnesses to Ditto''s transformation. Nothing but plants and condensation-streaked glass. A relieved sigh escaped me¡ªthe last thing I needed was more attention drawn to me.


    A beam of late sunlight cut through the glass above, catching the moisture in the air and creating a rainbow that seemed to dance between the leaves. Gloom and Ditto Gloom happily danced together in the sun, the warm rays of light invigorating them both.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    A sudden shout broke the peacefulness and scared Gloom into hiding behind a shadow.


    I whipped my head around, Amber''s shoulder-length hair swinging with the motion. A girl stood in the doorway, her silhouette sharp against the amber light of sunset. Her purple hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, accentuating the clean lines of her Celadon Gym uniform¡ªa forest green kimono-style top with darker trim that caught the dying light. The asymmetrical closure and embroidered rainbow badge on her chest marked her as part of the Celadon gym. A Bellsprout swayed beside her, its vine-like neck moving with an alien grace.


    "What are you doing in here?" She couldn''t have been more than fifteen, but her voice carried the weight of practiced authority. The kind that came from memorizing rules and desperately wanting to prove you could enforce them. The Bellsprout''s head bobbed in a rhythmic counterpoint to her words.


    "I..." The explanation died somewhere between my brain and my mouth. The humid air felt heavier suddenly, pressing down with the weight of being caught for... caught for what exactly? Watching two Pokemon play? The absurdity of it almost made me laugh, but something in her stance suggested that might not be the wisest response.


    The girl stepped forward, her gym uniform crisp despite the greenhouse humidity. "This is a restricted area," she continued, eyes narrowing as she looked between me and the remaining Gloom. Then she paused, something clicking behind her eyes. "Wait. That''s not one of our Gloom, is it?"


    As if betrayed by the very words, Ditto''s perfect Gloom form wavered, a ripple of pink breaking through the illusion like a blush spreading across someone''s cheeks. The real Gloom, still half-hidden in shadow, made a sound somewhere between disappointment and embarrassment.


    The gym trainer''s eyes widened, all pretense of authority momentarily forgotten. "What... what kind of Pok¨¦mon is that?" She took half a step forward, then caught herself. She shook her head, visibly forcing herself back into her official role, though her eyes kept darting to Ditto''s now pink form with poorly concealed fascination.


    "There are signs everywhere saying ''Do Not Enter'' and ''Staff Only,''" she said, gesturing vaguely behind her, though her stern tone had lost its edge. Then her eyes tracked down to my height, really seeing me for the first time, and something in her expression softened.


    "I''m sorry," I managed, the words coming out smaller than intended. "We were just..." Just what? Playing? Exploring? Breaking and entering? None of those explanations seemed likely to help our case.


    The girl''s expression shifted, authority melting into something closer to concern. "Where are your parents?" she asked, her voice gentler now. The Bellsprout beside her swayed less aggressively, its head tilting in curiosity.


    ''Parents.'' The word hit like a punch to the gut. In my head, I was old enough that the question felt absurd, but the reflection in the greenhouse glass told a different story. A small girl with shoulder-length hair, looking very much like she should, in fact, have a parent nearby.


    "My father''s..." I started, then stopped. What could I say? ''My father''s a genetics researcher who thinks I''m his resurrected daughter because technically I am, just with a bonus hitchhiking consciousness from another dimension, and left me in an apartment alone with instructions not to leave but I left anyway because I wanted to explore this brand new world''? Even in a world with Pokemon, that felt like a stretch.


    The girl sighed, absently adjusting her purple ponytail. "Listen," she said, "I didn''t mean to scare you. Just... if you see a sign that says ''Do Not Enter,'' please don''t enter, okay? This is a restricted area. These Pokemon aren''t used to visitors."


    I nodded slowly while backing away, motioning for Ditto to follow. Internally, I was screaming at myself. How could I have just walked into a restricted area?


    The greenhouse door felt miles away, my short legs taking what seemed like an eternity to cross the distance. The handle itself posed a regular challenge¡ªtoo high for comfortable reach. I managed to push it open with a grunt, cool evening air rushing in to break the greenhouse''s humid spell.


    It wasn''t until we were several steps away that I finally looked up and saw it ¨C the ''RESTRICTED - DO NOT ENTER'' sign, mounted well above child-height on the greenhouse wall. I groaned internally. Of course, it was there. Of course, I''d managed to miss it.


    The trees cast longer shadows now, their leaves turning from gold to deep amber in the setting sun. I shuffled away from the greenhouse, trying to maintain some dignity while essentially fleeing the scene of my latest misadventure. Ditto kept pace beside me, its amorphous form somehow managing to convey both sympathy and mild judgment.


    "Ah-CHOO!"


    The sound barely registered before something slammed into me from behind. The world tilted, and suddenly I was studying the leaves from ground level, my back pressed against the cold stone path. Through watering eyes, I caught a glimpse of someone scrambling to collect a fallen Pokemon¡ªa Paras, its mushrooms pale, legs curled tightly inward, and its eyes swirling from the fall.


    "S-sorry!" came a strangled voice, followed by another explosive sneeze. The girl¡ªmaybe fourteen or fifteen¡ªonly glanced at me for a moment before she hurriedly gathered up her unconscious Pokemon. Her face was flushed, eyes red and running, and she vanished around a corner before I could even push myself to a sitting position.


    Ditto oozed closer, helping me up with a concerned ripple through its body. I brushed dirt from my dress, wincing at the brown stains that would definitely require an explanation later.


    "Time to go home," I sighed to Ditto, though ''home'' still felt like the wrong word for Dr. Fuji''s apartment. ¡°Today¡¯s been a fruitfully long day of adventure.¡±

 Chapter 6: Scientist Fuji

    The photo album barely fit on the fold-out card table, its leather-bound elegance a stark contrast to the hastily assembled furniture around it. Dawn painted thin strips of light through the apartment''s single window, the shadows of Celadon''s towering apartments creating a striped pattern across the worn carpet.


    Fuji turned another page with practiced care, the album''s weight making the card table wobble. Each photograph was a window into a past that felt increasingly like someone else''s life¡ªbirthday parties, beach trips, family dinners in a house that no longer belonged to him. His thumb traced the edge of a particular image: Amber at seven, twirling in a light blue sundress that made her look like a piece of sky brought down to earth. Her mother had sewn it herself, spending weeks getting the pleats just right.


    "Perfect," he whispered, carefully removing the photo. The apartment''s thin walls carried the sound of his chair scraping back, a neighbor''s Meowth yowling in protest at the noise. Three steps took him across the narrow hallway to Amber''s room¡ªno longer a museum of memories, but a blank canvas of rental beige, hastily decorated with the few family portraits he''d managed to save.


    He paused at her door, today''s chosen dress draped over his arm. An exact replica of the one in the photograph, down to the last stitch of white trim. He hung the dress carefully on the doorknob, adjusting it three times before he was satisfied.


    The kitchenette felt like a dollhouse version of their old one, everything scaled down and simplified. His wedding ring clinked against the cheap aluminum pan as he reached for it, the sound sharp in the morning silence. She had always insisted on making breakfast herself¡ªsaid it wasn''t proper to start the day without a homemade meal. Now he performed a cramped imitation of their old life, careful not to bump his elbows against the narrow counters as he cracked eggs into the pan.


    Three plates, three sets of chopsticks, three glasses of juice, all arranged on a table meant for one. The third setting sat like a promise at the empty end of the tiny table, waiting.


    He was nearly done when he heard movement from Amber''s room. His hands stilled on the last plate, listening for... something. A sign. A word. Anything that might tell him if today would be different. But there was only the soft padding of feet and the quiet click of a door.


    Breakfast passed in silence. Questions died unasked in the space between them, their knees almost touching under the small table. He watched her pick at her food, noted how she held her chopsticks¡ªall wrong, nothing like before¡ªand added it to his mental list of differences to fix later.


    "Go get dressed," he said quietly after they finished.


    While she changed, he placed the dishes in the sink and set up the VCR player, an old tape of "Adventures of Pikachu & Friends" whirring to life.


    When she emerged wearing the blue dress, he pretended not to notice how she kept tugging at the collar, how her fingers worked against the trim like it was trying to strangle her. After all, Amber loved this dress. Just like all the others he had regifted her.


    He gathered his materials quickly¡ªfolders thick with data, security cards, and a single photograph tucked into his breast pocket. Not the one from this morning¡ªthat would go back in the album¡ªbut a different one. One he didn''t need to look at to see.


    "I''ll probably be late tonight... again," he said, the words falling into their practiced routine. ¡°Ditto will¡ª¡±


    "Ditto will watch me. I know," she said as she rolled her eyes.


    ¡°Watch your tone, young lady,¡± Fuji scolded softly. Another difference. Another detail to catalogue and fix later.


    He sighed, then turned away to put on his shoes. He paused at the door, key ring heavy in his hand, waiting for... something. A goodbye? A smile? The ghost of what used to be? But Amber had already turned away, lost in whatever thoughts filled her these days.


    The stairwell lights still hadn''t been fixed, leaving his descent in that peculiar twilight that made every shadow look like a memory trying to take shape. In his pocket, the photograph pressed against his heart like a wound that refused to heal¡ªthe three of them at the beach, Amber holding her mother''s hat against the wind, her other hand clutching his lab coat. He pushed through the door at ground level, stepping into the morning light of a city that had long since moved on without him.


    -[v.v]-


    The Game Corner''s neon signs cast sickly patterns across the morning crowd, their faces bathed in artificial twilight despite the sun outside. Fuji moved through the sea of early gamblers with practiced indifference, his coat pocket heavy with the photo he refused to look at again. The sound of slot machines created a hypnotic rhythm¡ªclicks and whirs and electronic chimes that almost masked the sound of footsteps behind him.


    He reached the back wall, fingers finding the hidden panel by memory. The poster above advertised "Big Wins!" in garish colors, a Meowth''s golden coin reflecting nothing. Three precise taps, pause, two more. A slim card reader emerged with barely a whisper. He drew the white keycard from his inner pocket, its magnetic strip worn from repeated use. The wall slid away with hydraulic efficiency when he swiped it.


    The stairwell beyond was everything the Game Corner wasn''t¡ªsterile, silent, serious. Another swipe at the bottom of the stairs, this time with the higher-clearance black card. The temperature dropped with each step, the air taking on that distinctive underground chill. Even the sounds changed¡ªthe muffled thump of his footsteps against metal stairs replacing the chaos of slot machines above.


    "Dr. Fuji!" The voice echoed off polished surfaces. A young man in a lab coat hurried toward him, folder clutched like a shield. "I have those documents you requested forged, doctor."


    Fuji accepted the folder without breaking stride, Gideon falling into step beside him. The younger scientist''s nervousness manifested in a constant stream of words.


    "I backdated everything through the hospital records¡ªbirth certificate, vaccination records, doctor¡¯s notes, check-ups, everything. Anyone who looks will find a perfectly ordinary ten-year-old girl who¡¯s lived here all her life." Gideon paused, glancing sideways, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "Oh, and Agent Domino was asking about you last night. Said she has something you''ll find interesting. She''s at the Rose Heights Apartments, Unit 742."


    The conference room door loomed ahead, voices already leaking through. Fuji''s hand tightened on the folder, creasing its edge. "Thank you, Dr. Gideon. That will be all."


    "Doctor?" Gideon hesitated. "About the meeting... some of the admins are saying¡ª"


    The conference room hummed with barely contained chaos. Screens covered every wall¡ªdamage reports on the left, casualty lists straight ahead, power readings to the right. Junior scientists clustered in the back corners like anxious Rattata, while admins claimed the chairs closest to the vacant seat at the head of the table.


    Fuji took his seat at the table''s midpoint¡ªlikely no longer the head of his own research division¡ªand opened Gideon¡¯s folder of forged records. He no longer needed the position anyway.


    "Twenty-three dead," Admin Archer began without preamble. "Forty-five support staff. Billions in equipment." He stood at the room''s front, hands clasped behind his back, reflection fractured across the wall of screens. "And a weapon of unprecedented power loose in the world." His eyes fixed on Fuji. "Would you care to explain how this happened, Doctor?"


    "I''ve already explained in the previous meetings." Fuji''s voice carried the same detached interest he used when discussing failed specimens. He opened his folder, beginning his methodical review of Gideon''s forged documents.


    "Dr. Fuji!" Archer''s hands slammed onto the conference table. Coffee cups rattled. A junior researcher in the back dropped her clipboard.


    "Dr. Samba," Dr. Sebastian quickly interrupted, turning the attention away from Dr. Fuji. "Perhaps you could explain the sequence of events from your monitoring station?"


    "Ah, yes." Dr. Samba stood, her hands steady as she manipulated the central display. Multiple graphs materialized, showing increasingly erratic patterns. "The readings were unprecedented from the start. Even in stasis, its psychic signature exceeded our strongest Alakazam baseline by several orders of magnitude. But look here¡ª" She highlighted a specific timestamp. "At 0247 hours, a huge spike in brain activity followed."Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    "The containment system¡ª" Archer started.


    "Was operating at maximum capacity," Samba continued, advancing through her data. "But the power levels kept climbing. Each spike was stronger than the last, until..." The graph shot upward, disappearing off the scale. "Until¡ª"


    "Until it escaped." Archer interrupted. "We created something we couldn''t control."


    "The evolutionary acceleration was unprecedented," Dr. Zager added, leaning forward. His excitement briefly overcame his caution. "If we could replicate even a fraction of that growth rate in other specimens¡ª"


    "Replicate?" Dr. Namba''s laugh held no humor. "Half our research was destroyed. The Master Ball prototype data, the fusion experiments..." He finally glanced at the photo graphs of the ruins behind her. "The Evolution Acceleration lab is a crater. Twenty years of strength augmentation research, gone."


    ¡°Your strength augmentation barely worked anyway," Dr. Sebastian said with a dismissive wave.


    The room erupted into overlapping arguments. A junior researcher waved printouts of energy readings. Two admins argued about cover stories while Dr. Sebastian and Dr. Namba''s debate about the efficacies of the strength augmentation system devolved into a shouting match about research priorities.


    Through it all, Fuji continued reading his documents, each forged page helping to build the foundation of his daughter''s new existence. Only occasionally did his eyes flick to the photographs of the ruined facility, lingering on the massive hole torn through three sublevels¡ªthe path of Mewtwo''s destruction.


    The door opened.


    The change in the room was instant. Scientists who had been shouting moments ago snapped upright in their chairs. Archer''s face went pale. Even Dr. Namba''s sharp retort died in her throat. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees.


    Giovanni entered like he was taking a casual stroll through one of his gardens. His Persian padded silently beside him, its eyes scanning the room with predatory intensity. The gem on its forehead caught the fluorescent light, casting tiny red reflections across the walls. He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than most of the scientists made in a year, every line of it perfect despite the early hour.


    "Please," he said, his voice smooth as silk, "don''t let me interrupt." He took the empty seat at the head of the table, Persian curling at his feet. No one moved. "I simply thought I should... personally assess the situation."


    His eyes found Fuji, who had finally looked up from his papers. The two men regarded each other for a long moment¡ªthe crime lord and the scientist, each seeing something in the other that the rest of the room couldn''t quite grasp.


    ¡°My investment?¡± Giovanni asked, staring at Fuji.


    "Your investment," Fuji echoed, meeting Giovanni''s gaze with the same detached interest he''d shown his papers, "exceeded all parameters. The enhanced clone demonstrated power levels beyond anything in recorded history.¡±


    "What about its personality? You mixed some human DNA, correct?" Giovanni''s question carried a weight that seemed to thicken the air.


    Dr. Fuji paused, contemplating the question. His eyes drifted to the wall of monitors behind Giovanni''s desk. "As demonstrated by the almost complete destruction of the facility, I believe it thinks like a human, not a Pokemon. It carries human ambition and human desires. And..." he turned back to Giovanni, his voice dropping slightly, "it may hold grudges."


    "Then it will understand reason," Giovanni replied, his lips curving into a slight smile. He gestured for the meeting to continue, settling back in his chair like a theatergoer at a particularly amusing play.


    Dr. Sebastian cleared his throat, clicking through his presentation. "The forced evolution serum research was largely preserved. We managed to save both the formula and the latest trial."


    "What about the fusion experiments?" Archer interrupted.


    "The successful specimens were killed in the collapse," A scientist said, her voice tight. "Though frankly, given their condition, perhaps that was a mercy."


    ¡°And the legendary capture project?¡±


    Dr. Zager pulled up a new set of files. "Most of our legendary capture research data was recovered. The theoretical frameworks for containing Mew, the legendary birds, even Celebi¡ª"


    "Theoretical being the operative word," someone muttered.


    "The equipment was lost," Zager continued, ignoring the comment. "But considering we haven''t actually located any of these Pokemon besides Mew, rebuilding the containment units isn''t our highest priority."


    ¡°Before we discuss future legendary projects," Archer cut in, "what about the immediate threat? Can we capture Mewtwo?" He turned to Fuji. "Doctor, exactly how strong is this thing?"


    Fuji looked up from his papers, something flickering behind his eyes¡ªa flash of annoyance at yet another interruption of his reading. But after a moment''s consideration, he set the documents aside with exaggerated care.


    "As we''ve discussed already," he began, emphasizing each word like he was speaking to particularly slow students, "the psychic readings were beyond our highest measuring capabilities. Far stronger than any trained Pokemon we''ve documented. Likely on par with legendary Pokemon, at minimum." He picked up his papers again, adding almost as an afterthought: "It was designed for battle, after all."


    "Could the legendary containment systems for Mew work on it?" Ariana asked.


    Dr. Zager shook his head. "Those were designed around Mew''s specific abilities¡ªtransformation, teleportation. Mewtwo..." He paused, studying the destruction footage. "Mewtwo is far more aggressive."


    Through the ensuing debate, Giovanni remained silent, his dark eyes studying each speaker in turn. His Persian stretched lazily at his feet, tail flicking with each raised voice. Only when the arguments began cycling back on themselves did he finally speak, his quiet words cutting through the chaos.


    "Dr. Fuji." The room fell silent. "Could another be created? With the few Mew DNA samples we have left?"


    Fuji looked up from his papers again, a flash of annoyance at the interruption. But this wasn''t Archer or one of the other administrators. This was Giovanni.


    "The successful synthesis was, honestly, more luck than science," Fuji replied, his tone carefully modulated. "We''re still not entirely sure what triggered its awakening." He held Giovanni''s gaze for a moment longer than strictly necessary before returning to his documents.


    "But could you? One more... amenable to our goals?" Giovanni''s voice remained gentle, almost conversational. The room held its breath.


    Fuji''s hand stilled on his papers. For the first time in the meeting, his detachment wavered. A new thought flickered through his mind¡ªnot just another Mewtwo, but another chance at perfection. Another Amber, one who wouldn''t tug at her dress or roll her eyes or hold her chopsticks wrong...


    "...It''s possible," he responded, not looking up, his fingers unconsciously tightening on the forged hospital records of his current "success."


    The afternoon dragged on all the way into night. Status updates from field operatives revealed no more psychic disturbances, suggesting Mewtwo had already learned to mask its signature. Division heads argued over resource allocation, blame shifted like shadows, and through it all, Giovanni watched, occasionally asking a pointed question that would send discussions spiraling in new directions.


    "The Evolution Research Division needs priority funding¡ª"


    "Funding? Half our containment specialists are dead¡ª"


    "If we could replicate even a fraction of Mewtwo''s power level¡ª"


    "Did you see what it did to the psychic dampeners? They melted¡ª"


    The sun had set by the time Giovanni stood, silencing the room once more. "I expect daily updates," he said simply, and left, his Persian following like a shadow.


    The meeting fractured into smaller arguments, then into resigned silence. Scientists and Admins gathered their materials, some still debating in hushed tones about containment protocols and power readings that had exceeded their equipment''s maximum scale.


    Fuji stood with them, hurriedly gathering his other papers. His fingers brushed against the photograph in his pocket¡ªa reflexive check, like ensuring a key was still there.


    He had another meeting to attend.


    -[v.v]-


    Rose Heights Apartments loomed over the northern edge of Celadon City, its modern glass facade reflecting the soft glow of the moon. Fuji took the elevator to the seventh floor, his reflection in the mirrored walls looking more worn than he remembered. The fluorescent lights made the shadows under his eyes deeper and turned his lab coat a sickly shade of yellow.


    Domino opened the door in exercise clothes, a gym towel around her neck. Sweat gleamed on her skin, but her smile was perfectly composed. "Dr. Fuji. You¡¯re very late."


    He followed her into an apartment that was notably sparse¡ªa few pieces of furniture, no personal items visible. Exercise equipment dominated one corner, news with captions playing silently on the TV.


    "Trying to track down your wife after, what, twenty years?" Domino grabbed a water bottle, her tone playful.


    "The timing is right," Fuji said quietly. "Everything is finally in place."


    "You mean... Mewtwo?" She studied him for a moment, then shrugged and picked up a folder from the coffee table. "Well, I did find something interesting."


    She held it just out of reach, smile sharpening. "New address, a few photos, some documents. Just... don''t be too shocked, okay? Twenty years is a long time."


    Fuji nodded, snatching the folder out of her hand.


    Inside the folder, time had continued without him. A more recent photo stared up from the top of the stack, showing her at what looked like a local festival. Her auburn hair was pulled back in that familiar ponytail, barely touched by gray. She was laughing at something off-camera, her face as youthful and bright as he remembered, wearing a pink blouse that matched the cherry blossoms floating in the background. His fingers traced the edge of the frame, carefully covering the man standing beside her.


    "It''s natural, you know," Domino said, "For her to want companionship after all this time."


    He nodded slowly, still staring at the half-covered photo. The anger he''d expected didn''t come¡ªjust a strange, hollow certainty that this too was temporary. Just another obstacle to overcome.


    As he walked back through the darkening city streets, he whispered her name like a hypothesis waiting to be proven: "Delia..."

 Chapter 7: Pokemon Center

    I pressed my face against the window, counting Dr. Fuji''s steps as he made his way down the street. His white lab coat caught the morning sun until he disappeared around the corner. I waited another ten minutes, watching the numbers tick by on the ancient digital clock above the stove.


    The shiny black patent leather shoes still pinched with every step, but today I had something the previous adventure lacked: money. Three hundred pokedollars¡¯ worth of coins sat tucked deeply in my faded purple backpack along with the usual snacks, food, and spare keys.


    "Ready?" I whispered, rolling a minified Pokeball between my fingers. The sphere gave a slight wobble that somehow managed to convey reluctance. After yesterday''s battle, we''d agreed Ditto should stay hidden¡ªwell, I''d insisted and Ditto had blob-shrugged in what I chose to interpret as agreement.


    Nobody had really seemed to care about Ditto hanging around my shoulders yesterday¡ªin a city where Machop worked ticket booths and Meowth handled currency, another Pokemon companion barely raised an eyebrow.


    But the reaction to that battle changed a few things. It didn''t take a Team Rocket scientist to connect the dots that the Ditto failed Mew clone theory was true. One glimpse from a Team Rocket Scientist of a Ditto with a girl who looked exactly like Amber Fuji, and we¡¯d probably never be able to go on another adventure.


    The same elevated train station from yesterday loomed ahead. I slipped through the morning crowd toward the row of booths, ignoring how Mr. Mime''s exaggerated gestures made invisible walls to guide everyone else into orderly lines. Watching him work was fascinating, but I had a mission.


    I checked the price board mounted above the booths. A day pass was listed at ?300 for children. Perfect¡ªsuspiciously exactly what I''d won from yesterday''s battle.


    The ticket line was mercifully short¡ªjust a couple arguing over a regional rail map, and an elderly man who seemed to be paying entirely in ?10 pieces that he kept producing from increasingly improbable pocket locations. The Machop manning the booth maintained an admirably stoic expression as it created neat stacks of copper-colored coins, each new pile adding to what looked like a miniature city of currency. "Chop, ma-chop," it muttered with each new stack.


    When my turn came, I emptied my own collection onto the metal tray¡ªthree hundred pokedollars in various denominations, all earned from yesterday''s battle. The Machop looked down at me, then around, looked down at me again, and accepting my coin with a gruff "Ma."


    The Machop''s movements were musical¡ªeach coin got a quick tap against the counter that rang out with different pitches, like it was testing for counterfeits through sound alone.


    "Machop... machop... ma," it counted under its breath, each syllable matching the metallic ring of the coins.


    Only after the final coin sang its metallic note did the Machop nod and reach for the ticket printer. The card that emerged looked like a standard transit card¡ªthin plastic with a magnetic stripe down one side. Before I could look closer, the Machop thrust its hand out, pointing firmly at the turnstiles while holding the card under its fingers, barking out a final "Chop!"


    "Thank you!" I chirped, taking the card and trying not to crush it in my nervous fingers.


    The text along the top read "CELADON METRO" in bright blue letters, with "24-HOUR PASS" printed below in smaller type. The card itself had that peculiar well-worn flexibility of polyester, already slightly curved from being stored in stacks. Something about its mundane imperfection was oddly comforting¡ªlike finding a familiar book in a foreign library.


    The morning crowd flowed around me like water around a rock, their shoes creating a constant susurration against the worn tile floor. Commuters were swiping their cards with the kind of mindless efficiency that comes from doing something a thousand times, their movements as practiced as a choreographed dance. Many had their passes on retractable badge holders, the cards zipping back to their hips with satisfying little clicks after each swipe.


    I wasn''t from a big city, but I had been to the Big Apple a few times, where they had exactly this kind of card. The memory felt strange now¡ªlike remembering a movie I''d watched rather than a life I''d lived.


    When it reached my turn, I stretched on my tiptoes and gave it a swipe, the plastic warm from being clutched in my sweaty palm. The reader''s display flickered to life with three angry red dots.


    Beep-beep-beep.


    I pushed against the turnstile, only for it to respond with the mechanical equivalent of a shrug. The metal bar pressed cold and unyielding against my hip, somehow both exactly like and completely different from the New York City subway I remembered.


    I glanced back at the person behind me, a middle-aged businessman in a suit a bit too tight for him. His collar was already dark with sweat despite the early hour, and his expression suggested I was single-handedly responsible for every train delay he''d ever experienced.


    Heat crept up my neck as I embarrassingly trudged back to swipe again. The card felt flimsier now, like it might dissolve under the weight of everyone''s stares.


    Beep-beep-click.


    This time, the turnstile yielded with a smooth motion that nearly sent me stumbling forward. I caught myself just in time to avoid face-planting into the stairs, though I could have sworn I heard the businessman''s Meowth snicker.


    I made my way up the stairs, legs already protesting at the climb. The shoes¡ªpatent leather torture devices that they were¡ªclicked against each metal step with embarrassing loudness.


    I found an empty seat by the window. The seat''s patterned fabric had that particular synthetic smoothness that comes from thousands of passengers, worn down to something almost soft.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The train lurched forward with a gentle whine, and I watched Celadon scroll past like a living postcard. From up here, the city looked almost like my old world¡ªuntil a flock of Pidgey swooped past the window, catching the morning light on their wings. One of them carried what looked like a small package, probably some local delivery service.


    Several stops later, the automated announcement system crackled to life: "Now approaching: Pokemon Center Station. Please mind the gap." The voice had that particular quality of all transit recordings¡ªsomehow both cheerful and dead inside at the same time. Some things really were universal.


    The train glided to a stop at an underground station far larger and more polished than the downtown platforms. The tunnels here branched out into a network of corridors, all leading toward a central atrium that rose through the heart of the Pokemon Center itself. Chansey-pink support columns stretched upward, their bases decorated with mosaics depicting various healing berries.


    I followed the small crowd up a series of escalators, each one carrying us closer to what sounded like a bustling lobby above. The underground passage was surprisingly pleasant¡ªclean white tiles and soft lighting, with occasional potted plants that I strongly suspected were tended by Grass-type Pokemon.


    The escalator deposited me into the Pokemon Center''s main lobby. I had to stop myself from gasping audibly. The familiar game sprite had done nothing to prepare me for the sheer scale of it all. The ceiling soared overhead, its curving panels dotted with what looked like miniature Heal Balls that cast a warm, diffused light throughout the space.


    From where I stood, the lobby branched into three distinct areas separated by sleek glass partitions. To my right, through a set of glass doors, I could see a paved road leading to what appeared to be training fields in the distance. The morning sun caught the glass at just the right angle to reveal a faint, iridescent sheen¡ªprobably some kind of protective coating against stray Pokemon moves.


    To my left stood what could only be the medical wing, dominated by a curved reception counter that looked like the world''s most advanced help desk. A Nurse Joy¡ªand wasn''t that a trip, seeing one in person¡ªefficiently managed the flow of trainers and Pokemon. Behind the frosted glass partitions that separated the public area from the treatment rooms, I caught glimpses of Chansey moving between stations with practiced grace. The familiar Pok¨¦ Ball logo pulsed softly on wall-mounted screens above, displaying wait times and status updates in gently glowing text.


    However, straight ahead, a separate lobby stretched out. A cluster of trainers, mostly older ones¡ªwell, older than me right now¡ªgathered around an extensive bulletin board. I watched as they occasionally selected papers and brought them to a separate set of receptionists. I was unsure what this was.


    I debated between the two sides before ultimately turning toward the unfamiliar section straight ahead. In the games, Pokemon Centers were just hospitals and sometimes item shops. There was nothing like this in any of the games.


    The bulletin board loomed before me, a maze of paper and possibility that made my knowledge of the pokemon games suddenly feel inadequate. "A... job board?" I muttered, caught between fascination and confusion. The papers pinned to cork seemed almost archaic compared to the Center''s otherwise modern aesthetic. It almost seemed like the job boards for the mystery dungeon games¡­ but that wasn¡¯t a game with any humans in it, besides the protagonist.


    I reached for one of the sheets before catching myself, suddenly aware of how out of place I must look. Around me, trainers moved with the easy confidence of people who''d done this a thousand times, scanning notices and occasionally plucking papers free with practiced motions. Meanwhile, I stood frozen like a tourist at a museum.


    A nearby trainer brushed past, his Growlithe padding dutifully at his heels as he yanked a piece green-tinted paper from the board. Neither spared me a glance, too focused on whatever job had caught their attention. I found myself envying their certainty, their obvious belonging in this space that still felt more like a game map than reality.


    ''Well,'' I thought, forcing myself to actually focus on the papers instead of just staring like an idiot, ¡®no one''s going to arrest me for reading.''


    The cork board stretched out before me, a patchwork of colored papers that seemed to tell stories of an entire region. My eyes were immediately drawn to the right side, where crimson papers demanded attention with bold lettering and stark warnings. A proper WANTED poster¡ªand wasn''t that a shock to see in a Pokemon Center¡ªdisplayed a grainy photo of a Hypno. The text warned of a "mass sleep incident" in Saffron City, with a staggering ?2,000,000 reward for capture.


    "They really printed them like old Western posters," I muttered, noting the dramatic ''WANTED'' header.


    Moving left, I found a much more varied assortment of colors. Yellow [Rescue] notices confused me. Why were there so many about retrieving "fainted" Pokemon left in forests? Who abandons their Pokemon like that but still wanted them back? The descriptions were vague, but the urgency in the writing was clear.


    Then, there were orange papers marked [Defeat]. Most seemed to involve removing problem Pokemon from settled areas¡ªa group of Grimer in the sewers, aggressive Spearow near farms. One notice caught my eye: "[Defeat] Rogue Eevee and Eeveelutions Route 7 - Exercise Caution." Level 25-30. Something about it tickled my memory¡ªbut I couldn¡¯t quite place it.


    Finally, on the far left, white papers marked [Item] offered gentler tasks. "[Item] Berry Collection - Celadon Hills (Level 5-10)" promising oddly decent pay for some wild berry picking.


    Movement near the board caught my eye¡ªsomeone in forest green pinning up a new notice. I almost looked away before recognizing the purple ponytail: the same gym trainer from yesterday.


    I curiously inched toward the new notice, reading the bolded letters at the top: "[WANTED] Thief that stole a Paras from Celadon Gym Greenhouse."


    ¡®Paras? Hadn¡¯t I seen a paras bef¡ª¡¯


    "Ah!" The trainer''s shout cracked through the center''s buzz. Her small stack of notices scattered across the floor as she jumped back, pokeball appearing in her hand with practiced speed. The morning chatter died instantly. "It''s you!"


    My heart jumped at the shout. That wasn''t the polite surprise of someone remembering a brief encounter¡ªit was the sharp accusation of someone who''d caught a thief. Which was ridiculous, because I hadn''t done anything wrong.


    Had I?


    My mind raced through yesterday''s events: sneaking into the greenhouse (okay, that wasn''t great), playing with the Gloom (which, now that I thought about it, probably wasn''t allowed), getting caught (definitely not great)...


    "I didn''t do it," I said quickly, holding up my hands. The words came out too fast, too defensive. Great. Now I sounded exactly like someone who''d stolen something.


    The trainer lowered her pokeball slightly, but her stance remained ready. "You were in the greenhouse yesterday, right before the Paras went missing." Her voice carried the tired weight of someone who''d been dealing with this situation for hours.


    "I mean, yes, I was there, but¡ª"


    "You have to come with me." It wasn''t a request. The gym trainer¡¯s grip on her pokeball tightened, though she at least wasn''t pointing it at me anymore. "I will need your statement."


    I glanced around the Center. The morning crowd had mostly gone silent, their attention locked on our little drama. Even the healing station''s chime felt judgmental now.


    I nodded, keeping my hands visible and well away from my bag. Ditto''s pokeball felt impossibly heavy in the leather bag. The last thing I needed was to draw attention to my very unusual Pokemon in the middle of a theft investigation.


    The gym trainer gestured toward the door, not bothering to pick up the fallen notices, "After you."


    \[0.0]/