At the center, I was welcomed by Nurse Joy. These women were practically legendary in the Pokémon world. They operated on almost every continent, and wild conspiracies swirled around them—some claimed they were all the same cloned individual, constantly replicating herself. They were, after all, completely indistinguishable from one another. The Joys themselves never commented on their origins or the rumors. According to their own words, they were simply a clan that had dedicated their lives to Pokémon healthcare, providing lodging for trainers, and breeding healing species.

  As a first-year trainer, I was entitled to free accommodation in a private room. It included a small bathroom with a shower and a toilet. The room was furnished purely for utility, though the bed was surprisingly wide—a sort of "one-and-a-half" sleeper. In the Pokémon world, sex was apparently quietly encouraged even through such subtle means. I also had three free meals a day. I only had to pay for Pokémon food; treatment at the center was always free, thanks to Kanto government subsidies. The strategy was clear: the more powerful the trainers, the stronger the region. If beginners had to pay for every healing session, they would think twice before accepting a battle. In the long run, the generation of trainers would gradually grow weaker.

  I had a quick dinner at the 24/7 cafeteria and headed straight for the shower. After two days in the wild, the hot water felt divine. Immediately afterward, I climbed into bed. A busy day awaited me tomorrow, and sleep overcame me almost the second my head hit the pillow.

  In the morning, I woke up at dawn again. I lay there for a while to wake up properly, then headed to the bathroom. My morning hygiene took fifteen minutes, and I was ready for breakfast.

  The dining hall was located halfway between the residential wing and the reception. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one rising with the sun; the room was half-full of trainers in small groups, accompanied by their Pokémon. I saw a diverse mix of species: from Mankey, Squirtle, and Pidgey to a rare Deino and fully evolved Pokémon like Machamp and Umbreon. I even spotted a Larvitar. Its trainer looked like a typical rich brat, constantly surrounded by a crowd of admirers, while people preferred to steer clear of the trainer with the Deino.

  For a moment, a minor scuffle broke out. I have no idea what it was about, but one of the trainers recalled his Mankey just in time before it could pick a fight with a massive Machamp. Perhaps those fighting types just wanted to test their strength—Mankey usually overestimate themselves. Luckily, its owner had enough sense to stop the conflict.

  The food selection was wide, but I played it safe: a Pidgey-egg omelet, freshly baked bread, and Miltank milk. According to my memories, this combination is a nutritional powerhouse. I wolfed it down and headed to the P.E.X. (Pokémon Exchange)—a place where Pokémon could be legally sold, bought, and traded.

  P.E.X. branches were in every city. It was an official company that duly paid taxes on every transaction. Everything was legal and tied to a Trainer ID, without which it was impossible even to enter the building. There were strict rules against mass poaching and disrupting ecosystems, but those didn't really concern average trainers, so I didn't look into them in detail.

  The P.E.X. building looked aesthetically bland—a plain structure with a large sign and a Poké Ball logo. They had a monopoly, so they didn't really have to try. At the heavy steel doors, I scanned my ID from the Pokédex. As soon as the scanner beeped green, the doors opened smoothly. I walked inside without hesitation.

  Out of five booths, three were occupied. I chose the one on the far right. It was a habit from the memories that were strangely altering my behavior. As soon as I stepped up to the window, a dealer with a thick beard eyed me boredly.

  "Good morning," I greeted.

  "Morning," he replied dryly. After a moment of silence, he asked rudely, "What do you want? Waiting for a written application or what?!"

  "You bearded idiot," I thought to myself, but I chose to remain polite.

  "I’d like to sell a wild Ekans," I said calmly instead of giving him a piece of my mind.

  The guy pressed a button, and a tray with a Poké Ball holder slid out. I placed it there immediately. In a second, the drawer retracted, and information popped up on the display. As I expected—it was only nine months old, and its auric energy was at level 12/100. A young and weak specimen. It didn't surprise me when a price offer appeared after the analysis: $700. I accepted it immediately. A net profit of $600 was definitely better than roasting it over a fire.

  As soon as I confirmed the transaction, the clerk asked me irritably, "The money has been sent to your account. Anything else?"

  In this world, everyone automatically had an account tied to their personal ID from the age of fifteen. It served for all official purposes. For smaller amounts, cash was still used, but larger sums were tied to digital transfers. Thanks to this, the government had perfect oversight of earnings and expenses, though small items and withdrawals weren't scrutinized.

  "I’d like to see the selection of Pokémon and their prices," I replied.

  The scumbag literally groaned. I probably looked too poor to him, and he didn't expect to get a decent commission from me. I bet, though, that if I had walked in with a Larvitar, he would have kissed my ass!

  "Which species are you interested in?" he asked sourly after a moment.

  I needed a Water-type Pokémon. Carrying liters of water was a problem if I planned to spend a long time in the wilderness. Water created by the auric energy of a Water Pokémon is the purest source in existence. Having something like a Blastoise would be great—a powerful Pokémon and an endless reservoir.

  "I’m interested in Squirtle," I said clearly.

  He tapped on the keyboard for a while, and then the prices appeared on the display. The cheapest Squirtle cost $30,000. I definitely didn't have that right now, but I told myself: Why not, if I manage to make some serious money?

  "And what about Oshawott?" I tried again.

  He sighed in annoyance but tapped the machine again. The cheapest one was $18,000, plus extra shipping costs since it was a Pokémon from another region.

  "Hm, and Poliwag?"

  This time he started typing almost determinedly, just to get rid of me. A sum flashed on the screen: $1,000 for the cheapest individual. I could afford that, but based on the price, it was a completely average Pokémon without any significant potential. I didn't have money to spare and honestly? I was still most attracted to Squirtle because of its final evolution into Blastoise. I would have settled for Oshawott too; its evolution looked truly brutal in battle. Even Froakie would be a fine choice—I could build its ninja training on the foundations from the Naruto series.

  I decided I’d rather earn something first before dealing with a purchase. I didn't want to take the cheapest one; I needed to check them more closely. Because of the inflated prices, I didn't even look at the additional information about height, weight, or auric energy. When I’m firmly decided, I’ll make sure to choose carefully. Besides, on the way to Pewter City, I might catch something rare that would net me more money.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Without a goodbye, I left that prick behind and headed into the center for some shopping.

  First, I had to restock things I missed while camping, so I made my way to the Camp & Catch shop. Without hesitation, I grabbed a tripod for the fire and a small shovel for digging a fire pit. It cost me $175, but they were essential items. Next, I went to the Poké Mart to buy more Poké Balls.

  I took six at once—just in case, they’d definitely come in handy later. The clerk watched me like a hawk the whole time, as if I intended to steal something, but when I approached the counter with my Pokédex out, he calmed down immediately. After registering the balls to my ID, I was $600 lighter but ready for the hunt.

  I also stopped at a supermarket, where I picked up a few ready-made sandwiches. The ones filled with smoked Magikarp bits and Oddish leaves were significantly cheaper than the version with deluxe pulled Miltank meat.

  On the way back to the Pokémon Center, I stumbled upon a small, inconspicuous jewelry shop. I thought I’d take a look; I wasn't in a hurry, and Haunter was resting peacefully in my shadow anyway. In the other Patrik’s memories, there was a gold chain and a massive signet ring, but I didn't plan on wearing anything like that, nor did I have the means for it.

  An ancient bell tinkled as I entered, and an old lady with glasses as thick as ashtrays appeared before me.

  "Good day, young man. How can I help you?" she asked with a kind smile.

  "Good day, I just came to have a look. Truthfully, I don’t intend to buy or wear anything, but your shop caught my interest for some reason."

  "Oh, caught your interest?" The old lady looked mysterious. "Arceus’s will is inscrutable." She paused for a moment and then added with a serious look: "And looking at you, I know you simply had to come here."

  A slight chill ran down my spine. It wasn't from Haunter, so I had to ask: "What do you mean by that?"

  Her serious expression was replaced by a mischievous, amused smile.

  "I see how your shadows are shifting. I’m sure your Pokémon doesn’t live in a Poké Ball, and for exactly such cases, we have something here!" she chuckled and immediately pulled me deeper into the shop by my sleeve.

  She rummaged in a display case for a while until finally turning around briskly with a triumphant smile: "Tada!"

  She was showing me a silver necklace. I didn't understand how it was supposed to help with Haunter’s Poké Ball. It didn't have any eyelet to thread a chain through, and at the same time, I didn't want to buy a pouch that would slow down my access to it.

  She noticed my confused look and, with a quiet, mocking "tut-tut-tut," began to explain: "Young man! A silver necklace with a Steelix-finish. It is extremely durable and has a magnetic center. You simply unfasten the necklace, and the magnetic clasp attaches directly to the Poké Ball! That way, you’ll proudly wear your precious Pokémon right around your neck."

  It looked relatively good. It was indeed strange to have a permanently empty Poké Ball on my belt. The old lady was right—my starter was precious to me, and this was a way to pay him respect.

  "What’s the price?" I asked.

  The old lady looked as smug as a Meowth biting into a Magikarp. "Twelve hundred Poké Dollars," she began with a smile. She paused for a moment—clearly seeing my frozen expression—but immediately added: "But since it’s you, and Arceus himself willed it, then three hundred! Final offer."

  "I’ll take it," I replied without hesitation and pulled out the money. With the same satisfied smile she had when handing me the necklace, she accepted the cash. Thanks to the simple mechanism, I fastened it around my neck immediately and placed Haunter’s Poké Ball between the magnetic ends. Even though it was just a regular one for now, it looked great.

  "Maybe I’ll swap it for a different one later. For the effect," I thought. "If I ever get rich, a Luxury Ball would look perfect on this silver."

  It wasn't until I was having lunch at the Pokémon Center that I realized that old bat had played me masterfully. Steelix-finish? A tiny piece of a Steelix would be enough to make a thousand such necklaces. She really took me for a ride, that crafty old lady, but I took it as a learning experience. At least it looked stylish and fulfilled its function with Haunter’s Poké Ball, even though three hundred dollars was probably double the real price.

  I quickly scarfed down Magikarp fingers with roasted potatoes and a vegetable salad made of Oddish leaves and Bulbasaur stalks. I watched trainers nearby arranging battles, but truthfully, I wasn't feeling it. I expected much stronger competition in Viridian City than in Pewter City, so I didn't want to risk a defeat unnecessarily.

  It was time for some proper training with Haunter.

  Every Pokémon Center had training and battle rooms. The battle rooms were tiered by difficulty, and high-level Pokémon battles were strictly forbidden without special psychic barriers in the building to prevent structural damage.

  The training spaces had a fee, but it wasn't expensive—ten dollars an hour. They were spacious and equipped with targets that measured the auric power of incoming attacks. That was a great indicator of progress, and I decided I’d write down the results at the end of the session. I rented the room for a full six hours. The plan was clear: work hard, have dinner, and go to bed early so we could hit the road tomorrow.

  "Haunter, are you ready for some hard training?" I called out into the empty room.

  He immediately drifted out of my shadow with a determined cry: "Haunter!"

  "Now you can literally exhaust yourself. Keep practicing Shadow Ball. Focus on the power of each attack, but make sure the preparation doesn't exceed two seconds. Understand?"

  "Haunter!" he nodded resolutely.

  "Good, there's the target, go for it," I commanded and walked over to the treadmills. I decided to warm up with some cardio first. The treadmills were meant more for Pokémon, so they didn't have side rails, but that didn't bother me at all. The main thing was that I could run.

  I didn't wait and smoothly transitioned from a starting speed of six through eight, twelve, fourteen, up to sixteen. Compared to a powerful Pokémon, it was still slow, but sixteen kilometers per hour was a decent pace, even if I could only maintain it for five minutes.

  Next, I continued with strength training. Besides the treadmills, there were machines and dumbbells for humans, which I appreciated. I did a one-hour session of volume sets for the "Big Three"—bench press, squats, and deadlifts. Patrik’s memories guided me the whole time. I decided not to overdo it, so I loaded a hundred kilos for the bench press and a hundred and fifty for the squats and deadlifts. For a start, it was fine. I owed it to my Pokémon constitution; in this world, such strength was above average but still relatively common. According to memories from the other world, however, it took much longer for a person to reach such weights.

  During the workout, I kept glancing at Haunter. He was determinedly firing one Shadow Ball after another, and the values on the target's display kept changing, but I decided not to interrupt him. I considered switching to other moves, but Shadow Ball felt like the alpha and omega for Ghost Pokémon. It’s their most powerful ranged attack and ideal for his build. In the future, however, we’ll have to add some Dark or Poison-type move and test the effectiveness of Hypnosis on something stronger than that Caterpie.

  I ended my training with some shadow fencing. As the minutes passed, I felt more and more confident with the blade in hand. It was a great feeling. When I noticed our pre-paid time was almost up, I stopped Haunter.

  "Haunter, that’s enough for today," I told him. "Use one last Shadow Ball. Give it everything you’ve got, but still focus on speed and consistency. We’ll record the power of this attack."

  "Haunter!" he nodded. He rested for a moment, then immediately began preparing the attack with determination. Darkness gathered in his claws in a swirling vortex. I carefully counted down two seconds for him; he did the same, because even before the limit expired, he lunged the orb violently at the target.

  Upon impact, a value lit up on the display—51!

  Honestly, it was a very respectable number, almost exceptional for a freshly evolved Haunter. I immediately wrote down the result.

  "Great job, Haunter," I praised him. "Now try a tongue infusion and lick the target."

  As soon as he started licking the target, it showed a value of 18, which quickly changed to 21, then 22, and then reset. It could potentially be measured, but since it was a continuous technique and not an impact force, it was somewhat pointless. Besides, I couldn't imagine a situation where Haunter would prioritize Lick over Shadow Ball. Maybe if he were at the bottom of his energy reserves? But in close proximity to an enemy, he would be exposing himself to too much risk.

  "Okay, we really pushed ourselves, Haunter. What do you say?"

  "Haunter, Haunter!" he nodded in agreement with a wide, chilling smile. Strange, but that expression of his was starting to seem cute to me over time.

  I decided on a shower first and then dinner. Haunter kept me company in the bathroom too, but somehow it didn't bother me anymore. He was my starter. I quickly shaved the light stubble on my neck, but I left the rest—I still hadn't reached the three-to-four millimeters I planned. I noticed the wounds from the Ekans’s teeth were already healed; only tiny scars remained. People in the Pokémon world have great regeneration and physical condition, but in this case, it was more likely the effect of the antidote. Not only did it eliminate the toxins in my body, but it also kickstarted the healing process.

  After the shower, I headed to the dining hall for a quick dinner. Tomorrow we’ll continue north. I couldn't wait for the Pokémon I’d encounter, and honestly, for my first real trainer battle. My Haunter was strong, and I was ready.

  Author’s note:

  Can we talk about the inflation in the Kanto region for a second? $30,000 for a Squirtle?! At this rate, Patrik is going to need to sell a lot more than just one cranky Ekans to build a dream team. Also, I’m pretty sure that old lady at the jewelry shop is the final boss of the Pokémon world—she’s definitely out here scamming trainers better than Team Rocket ever could.

  Step into the Restricted Section

  The shadows are shifting... If you can't wait to see where the darkness leads, there is a place where the story is already much further ahead.

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  Upcoming Chapters – Already Written:

  8. Steel and Stingers

  9. A War of Wings and Blades

  10. Red "R" and Crimson Steel

  11. Gastly: From the Void

  12. The Weight of Necessity