Nobunaga stepped into the Pokémon Center, the gentle hum of machinery and the soft murmur of trainers filling the air. His sandals clacked lightly against the tiled floor as he approached the front counter. The intern behind it looked like he was on his last legs. Dark circles framed his eyes, and his slumped posture practically screamed I need a nap. He gave Nobunaga a weary glance but straightened up as best as he could when the young samurai approached.

  "Excuse me," Nobunaga began. "Could you direct me to the communication room?"

  The intern blinked, as though it took a moment for the words to register, then lifted an arm and pointed limply toward a door at the far end of the center. "Over there."

  "Thank you." Nobunaga gave him a curt nod, but before turning away, he placed the Pokéballs containing his team on the counter. "Could you check on my Pokémon while I'm there? They've had a rough few days."

  "Yeah, I'll take care of it. Give me a few minutes."

  Nobunaga paused for a moment, watching as the intern started loading the Pokéballs into the healing machine. His movements were sluggish, but his hands were steady, a testament to his experience. Nobunaga couldn't help but wonder what kind of journey had brought someone like this to a job like this. Shaking the thought from his mind, he turned and made his way toward the communication room.

  The screen flickered to life, and Nobunaga quickly dialed the number Gary had given him. After a few rings, the call connected, but it wasn't Gary who answered. Instead, the face of a teenage girl popped onto the screen, her blonde hair perfectly styled and her lips glossed to a shine. She wore an expression that was equal parts boredom and curiosity.

  "Yo, what's up?"

  Nobunaga blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… is Gary there?"

  The girl leaned back, adjusting her camera to show more of her surroundings. Behind her, another girl with dark hair sat cross-legged on a plush seat, fiddling with a nail file. The soft sounds of a Pokémon battle echoed in the background, but neither girl seemed particularly interested.

  "Gary's, like, in the middle of a Gym Battle with Brock right now," the blonde replied. "What's the 411?"

  Nobunaga hesitated. He wasn't used to this kind of informal chatter. "Just… tell him I need to talk to him when he's done."

  Before the girl could respond, the dark-haired one suddenly leaned into view, her smile mischievous. "Ooooh, Amanda, who's this? Your boyfriend?"

  Nobunaga's face flushed immediately, his usual composure cracking. "Wh-what?! No!" he stammered, his hands instinctively going to adjust his armor as though it might somehow make him look more respectable.

  Amanda shoved her friend playfully, rolling her eyes. "Jessica, seriously, cut it out." She turned back to Nobunaga, smirking. "Don't mind her. She's always like this."

  "C'mon, Amanda, I'm just saying, he's cute for a cosplayer." She gave Nobunaga another once-over. "What's with the samurai getup anyway? You going to a convention or something?"

  "It's not a…!" Nobunaga started, but then caught himself. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, can you just tell Gary I need to talk to him?"

  "Alright, alright. Chill, dude, I'll pass it on. But seriously, what's the deal? You battle him or something?"

  "Yes," Nobunaga said shortly, still trying to regain his composure. "I completed the challenge he gave me. I battled the trainers from Pallet Town."

  "Oh snap, for real? Even that kid with the Pikachu?"

  Nobunaga frowned. "Yes, his name is Austin."

  Jessica tilted her head, confused. "Austin? I thought the Pikachu kid was Ash."

  "Whatever. Gary calls him 'Ashy-boy,' so who even knows."

  Nobunaga frowned but didn't press further. "Just let him know I kept my end of the deal."

  Amanda held up her hands. "Alright, alright, I'll let him know. But hey, you gotta work on that vibe, dude. You're never gonna snag a honey sounding so uptight."

  Nobunaga gave her a deadpan look. "…Thanks for the advice."

  Amanda giggled, clearly enjoying herself. "No prob, samurai dude. Hold tight—Gary's wrapping up. I'll get him for ya."

  "Gary! That samurai kid's on the line! The one from the forest!"

  A moment later, Gary's face appeared on the screen, his cocky smirk in full force. He looked slightly disheveled, likely from his battle, but his confidence was as unshaken as ever. "Nobunaga, right? What's up, man?"

  "I finished the challenge you gave me. I battled all the trainers from Pallet Town, including the one with the Pikachu."

  "The Pikachu kid? You mean Ash?"

  "No," Nobunaga replied firmly. "His name is Austin."

  Gary frowned slightly. "Whatever. So, you want your payout, huh?"

  "Yes," Nobunaga replied. "25,000 Pokédollars."

  "Wait, what?!"

  Nobunaga crossed his arms. "You promised 5,000 for battling the Pallet Town trainers, 10,000 if I beat them, and an extra 20,000 for defeating the one with the Pikachu."

  Gary groaned, rubbing his temples. "I was joking when I said that last part, man! You seriously expect me to—"

  "Are you saying you won't honor your word?"

  Gary froze, his eyes darting to the side. Nobunaga could faintly hear the sound of Brock's voice and the giggling of Amanda and her friends in the background. Gary clenched his jaw, clearly weighing his options. His reputation was on the line.

  "Fine," Gary said through gritted teeth, forcing a tight smile. "I'll pay up. Give me your account number."

  Nobunaga nodded, reciting the details. As soon as the transaction was complete, Gary let out a loud sigh and waved dismissively at the screen. "There. Happy now?"

  "Yes. Thank you," Nobunaga replied simply. He didn't wait for Gary to say more before cutting the call.

  As the screen went dark, Nobunaga leaned back in the chair, exhaling deeply. His hands were shaking slightly, the adrenaline of the interaction still coursing through him. He couldn't believe Gary had actually paid up. But as the relief began to settle, a new thought struck him like a lightning bolt: I don't have Austin's contact information.

  Nobunaga groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Of course. Why would I think of that beforehand?"

  He considered calling Gary back but immediately dismissed the idea. There was no way he could risk exposing his scam, not with Gary already fuming over the payout.

  That left only one option.

  "I'll just have to track him down myself," Nobunaga muttered, a small smile creeping onto his face. "Guess I'm a traveling trainer now."

  Honestly, there were easier ways for Nobunaga to get the money to Austin, but deep down, he didn't care about easy. He wanted to do this. He wanted to travel, to grow stronger, to step out of the shadow of the life he'd lived before. He wanted to stand on equal footing with Austin—not as someone repaying a debt, but as someone worthy of respect. More than anything, he wanted to fight Austin again—not out of anger, but to test himself, to see how far he'd come.

  Whether Austin realized it yet or not, he had a new rival.

  Hidden within the dense forest south of Viridian City, the Southern Warehouses stood as decaying sentinels of another era. Vines choked the rusted walls, windows sat shattered in jagged frames, and the heavy scent of moss and rot blanketed the area. To any wandering trainer or Pokémon, it was just another derelict structure in a forgotten corner of the world.

  But beneath this fa?ade lay something far more sinister.

  Jessie, James, and Meowth trudged through the overgrowth, the weight of their failure pressing on their shoulders like boulders. The forest buzzed with life—the chirping of Pidgey, the rustling of Rattata in the bushes—but none of it calmed their nerves. They exchanged glances, their anxiety unspoken but shared. Reaching the warehouse, Jessie brushed aside overgrown vines to reveal a faded metal warning sign bolted to the wall. It read: DANGER: STRUCTURE UNSTABLE.

  "You sure this is the right place? I thought it was the one with the 'No Trespassing' sign."

  "Shut it, James," Jessie snapped. "You think Team Rocket just advertises our hideouts with a giant neon R?"

  Before James could retort, Jessie pressed her ID card against the rusted sign. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the ground beneath them groaned as a section of the forest floor slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing a hidden staircase spiraling into the earth. A rush of cold, damp air greeted them.

  Meowth groaned, his claws digging into James's pant leg. "Every time we come here, it feels like I'm descendin' into my own grave."

  "Well, at least we'll all be buried together," James quipped with a nervous laugh as the three descended into the shadowy stairwell. The entrance sealed shut behind them, plunging the area back into silence, erasing any trace of their presence.

  The underground chamber was massive, its walls lined with steel and concrete that hummed faintly with the sound of hidden machinery. The room was illuminated by the cold, blue light of enormous monitors that loomed over rows of desks where Team Rocket grunts stood at attention. At the front of the room stood a cadre of captains, their uniforms sharp and polished, though their postures betrayed unease.

  Jessie, James, and Meowth slinked to the back of the room, trying to stay inconspicuous, but the tension in the air was palpable. Everyone was waiting.

  The glow of the massive screen revealed a shadowed figure seated in a high-backed chair, his face obscured in shadows. By his side lounged a Persian, its sleek coat catching the light from the screen's glow. The Pokémon's blood-red gem glimmered like a warning, and its piercing gaze swept the room with an air of detached superiority.

  The smaller monitors lining the walls flickered next, displaying the faces of Team Rocket's most prominent executives: Archer, Arianna, Proton, and Sird. Each carried themselves with a distinct air of authority—Archer with his icy calm, Arianna with her fiery intensity, Proton with his sharp, almost mocking smirk, and Petrel with his eerie detachment.

  Giovanni's deep voice rumbled through the room like distant thunder. "Report. What is the status of the Eevee operation?"

  The captains exchanged uneasy glances before one of them stepped forward. Sird's voice wavered as she spoke. "Sir… we haven't secured the Eevee yet."

  The room fell into an icy silence, broken only by the sound of Giovanni's Persian letting out a low, unimpressed growl.

  Archer's sharp teal eyes narrowed. "Then why are you wasting our time? If you can't do the job, you're not fit to wear that uniform."

  Arianna scoffed, her scarlet hair gleaming under the light. "Pathetic. Do you think we'll tolerate failure? If you're not up to the task, we'll find someone else who is."

  The captains wilted under their gazes, retreating without another word. Sird clicked her tongue.

  Before the tension in the room could escalate further, Proton's voice broke through, lighthearted but cutting. "Why don't we open it up to the floor? Surely someone here has something worth our time."

  The green haired executive gestured toward the rows of assembled grunts. "Anyone?"

  The room was silent. No one dared to move.

  Until Jessie stepped forward.

  "We have a lead on the Eevee!" she blurted out, her voice cracking slightly as all eyes turned to her. James and Meowth flinched, visibly sweating, but Jessie stood her ground.

  "Oh? Then step forward."

  The grunts parted like water, forming a path for the trio to approach the center of the room. Jessie, James, and Meowth exchanged nervous glances before walking forward. The weight of hundreds of eyes on them made every step feel heavier. Once they reached the front, Giovanni's voice rumbled again. "What have you found?"

  Jessie swallowed hard. "We—uh—encountered a boy in Viridian Forest. He claimed to have battled an Eevee that could evolve and devolve between forms."

  The room erupted into murmurs. Even the executives seemed momentarily taken aback, their expressions shifting from disinterest to intrigue. Giovanni's fingers drummed against the arm of his chair, the sound amplified in the silent room. "And this boy? Where is he now?"

  James stepped in, his voice shaky. "He… uh… had a scarf and cap covering most of his face. We didn't get a good look."

  "He had a Rattata," Jessie added quickly, hoping it was enough to redeem their report. "A rookie trainer's Pokémon."

  Archer's eyes narrowed further. "And you didn't interrogate him?"

  "We hoid an Eevee's cry while we was talkin' to him," Meowth said, rubbin' the back of his neck nervously. "Figured it was da Eevee, so we went chasin' afta it instead."

  The silence that followed was suffocating.

  Finally, Giovanni spoke. "A Rattata is common among rookie trainers. If he is participating in the Pokémon League, his next destination would likely be Pewter City."

  The executives nodded in agreement.

  "Here are your orders. A squad will remain in Viridian Forest to continue the search. Additional operatives will be dispatched to Pewter City to monitor any trainers with an Eevee. And we will secure the route through Mount Moon. The boy will have to pass through there, and when he does, I expect results."

  "Yes, Boss," the room replied in unison, the grunts and captains saluting crisply.

  "As for you three… you've proven yourselves resourceful, if not entirely competent. You deserve a reward."

  The trio perked up, their eyes widening with hope. For a brief, shining moment, they imagined praise, promotions, or even a rare Pokémon to call their own.

  Giovanni's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Which of my executives will take them under their wing?"

  The screens flickered, but none of the executives spoke. Archer looked bored. Arianna's lip curled in disdain. Proton smirked, but it was clear he had no intention of volunteering. Petrel didn't even glance at the camera, his attention seemingly elsewhere.

  Finally, Giovanni broke the silence. "Sabrina."

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  The screen switched to Sabrina, the youngest of the executives. She was seated calmly, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders. Her small, purple eyes barely flicked to the trio before she sighed dramatically. The nail file floating in front of her, held aloft by psychic energy, didn't stop moving.

  "Great," Sabrina said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Now I have to babysit three losers."

  Jessie, James, and Meowth paled in unison as the screen went dark, leaving them to contemplate the dubious nature of their "reward."

  The first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, bathing the rugged mountain city of Pewter in a golden glow. Flint Harrison stirred awake on his usual park bench, the cold metal biting into his back and shoulders. With a groan, he sat up, brushing his hand over his weathered face. The fine lines etched into his skin told stories of regret, loneliness, and the weight of years he wished he could erase.

  The mountain air was crisp and clean, a stark contrast to the heaviness that seemed to cling to Flint's chest. As he glanced around the quiet park, still shrouded in the soft haze of morning, he thought to himself: Even after all this time, I still can't get used to sleeping on this bench.

  Why the bench? The answer was painfully simple: it was a choice. A self-imposed punishment. Flint refused to waste what little money he earned on comforts he didn't believe he deserved. Comfort was for people who hadn't abandoned their families. This was his penance: a life stripped of ease, a constant reminder of his failings.

  With a sigh heavy enough to rival the mountains that loomed over Pewter City, Flint began his morning routine. He folded the battered piece of cardboard that had served as his mattress, shaking off the faint dew that clung to it. Inside the public restroom, the faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he splashed cold water onto his face. The icy sting jolted him awake, the water running in rivulets down his scruffy beard. Flint caught his reflection in the cracked mirror, his eyes locking with the ghost of the man he once was. His brown eyes, once bright and full of fire, now stared back at him dull and heavy, like embers buried under ash.

  He applied his disguise with methodical precision: a dirty fake beard and a worn red beanie. It wasn't much, but it did the job. Flint didn't want to be recognized. Blending into the background of life had become his specialty, and this simple disguise allowed him to remain a ghost in the city he once called home.

  Flint trudged through the twisting streets of Pewter City toward his first job of the day: cleaning dumpsters. The city had grown around the mountain like a stubborn weed, but it hadn't lost its ancient charm. Unlike the flat, cookie-cutter towns of the modern era, Pewter City was carved into the mountainside itself.

  Stone streets wound through towering rock walls, each bend revealing homes and shops carved directly into the mountain. The facades were adorned with intricate carvings—Geodudes, Onix, and Sandshrew frozen in mid-motion, etched into the rock with painstaking detail. The buildings were tiered like a natural amphitheater, rising higher into the mountain as though reaching for the heavens. Long banners of crimson and white fluttered from iron poles, adding a touch of life to the stone-dominated cityscape. Lanterns hung outside doorways, casting soft glows on the stone paths even in daylight.

  To Flint, the beauty of the city had become background noise. He barely glanced at the finely-carved rock homes or the towering gates engraved with kanji symbols that told stories of Pewter's founding. He had lived among these wonders for years, but they only served as a painful reminder of the life he'd left behind.

  Flint's wheelbarrow groaned under the weight of collected refuse as he pushed it through the narrow back alleys of Pewter. It was an old, rickety thing, its single wheel wobbling precariously. The smell of rotting trash clung to his clothes, but Flint didn't mind. This was honest work—lowly, yes, but it allowed him to scrape together enough Pokédollars to survive another day.

  The wheelbarrow jolted suddenly, the rusted wheel giving way with a loud snap. Flint stumbled as the barrow tipped forward, spilling its contents—a sour-smelling mountain of garbage—onto the cobblestone path.

  Nearby shop owners paused their work to watch, their eyes full of pity and mild annoyance. Flint could feel their stares boring into him as he scrambled to gather the spilled refuse.

  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice hoarse. He grabbed his ragged blanket and used it to bundle the trash together. His hands trembled as he worked, the strain of years of hard labor evident in the way his back hunched and his movements slowed. No one stepped forward to help. They rarely did.

  With great effort, Flint hauled the makeshift bundle onto his back and continued toward the Pewter Waste Facility, his steps heavy and uneven.

  The facility, located at the edge of town, was a stark contrast to the ornate stone architecture of Pewter City. It was a functional, industrial space, its metal walls dull and weathered by years of exposure to the elements. Workers like Flint brought their collections here to be weighed and sorted. Payment was issued based on the amount of waste delivered.

  Flint's load earned him a measly twelve Pokédollars. He accepted the coins without complaint, slipping them into his pocket with a quiet nod to the cashier. The small sum wouldn't even cover a proper meal, but Flint had long since stopped dreaming of anything beyond the basics.

  His second "job" of the day awaited him on the outskirts of Pewter City. Flint walked to a rocky outcrop by the road, his feet dragging slightly with each step. He didn't bother unpacking his cardboard sign—most of the locals already knew him. Instead, he sat on a large rock and waited for passing trainers or travelers who might need a guide.

  It wasn't much, but the work gave Flint a faint sense of dignity. He could pretend, for a little while, that he was still a man of worth.

  Flint was lost in his thoughts when the crunch of gravel under wheels snapped him to attention. He looked up to see a young boy on a bike, a thermos swinging from a strap around his neck. The boy's clothes were slightly dusty, his cap pulled low over his face. Flint squinted at him—there was something odd about the way the boy looked at him, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle only he could see.

  "Excuse me," the boy said, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity. "Do you know where the nearest antique shop is?"

  Flint raised an eyebrow at the unusual question. Most trainers asked for directions to the Pokémon Center or the Pewter Gym, not antique shops. "You lookin' to hire a tour guide?" Flint asked, deciding to stick to his script.

  The boy smirked faintly, his sharp eyes flicking to the rocks scattered around Flint's feet. "Don't you sell rocks for a living?"

  Flint blinked, momentarily thrown. The question was both unexpected and oddly specific. A chuckle rumbled in his chest, surprising even him. "You're funny, kid," he said, shaking his head. "For that, I'll give you a discount. How about a hundred Pokédollars?"

  "Deal," the boy said without hesitation, dismounting his bike and extending a hand.

  "Flint," he replied gruffly, shaking the boy's hand. He gestured toward the mountain city behind him. "Alright, kid. Let's get started."

  Austin glanced around, his lips pressing into a thin line as he took it all in.

  Flint paused, gesturing grandly toward the cityscape. "Welcome to Pewter City, kid. The city of stone and steel." There was a flicker of pride warming his tone. He savored moments like this—when outsiders gazed at Pewter City with awe.

  "Stone and steel?!"

  Flint nodded, a faraway look in his eyes as he continued. "This place is named after pewter—the alloy. You know, a mix of tin and lead? It's strong but malleable, useful in the hands of the right craftsman. That's what this city's always been about. The miners, the stonemasons, the Rock type Pokémon—it's a place built on strength and endurance, but also adaptability. Like pewter itself."

  Austin glanced at the carved Pokémon etched into the walls. Strength and endurance. It seemed fitting for a city built into a mountain. He wondered how much of this history had been skipped over in the anime, reduced to just another town on Ash's journey. Here, though, it felt… alive. Heavy with meaning.

  Flint smirked, noticing Austin's thoughtful expression. "Bet they don't tell you that in tourist guides, huh?"

  Austin gave a faint smile.

  "Come on," Flint said, waving him forward as they walked deeper into the city. "Let me show you more of the place. Pewter's got a history most people miss if they're too busy looking for the Gym."

  Austin adjusted his bag's strap and followed, but his mind was already spinning. It was official now: this wasn't the Pokémon anime.

  So what was this place, then? Was he in some alternate universe that loosely followed the anime but made its own rules? Or was this what the Pokémon world would be like if it were grounded in reality—where cities had history, grit, and culture, not just bright colors and repetitive plotlines?

  The questions buzzed in his mind like a swarm of Beedrill, relentless and unyielding. The uncertainty weighed on him, but he quickly shook it off. No use getting bogged down in theories he couldn't answer yet. For now, he just had to keep moving forward and piece it together one step at a time.

  The antique shop was dimly lit, the warm glow of oil lamps casting dancing shadows on the cluttered walls. Every inch of the space seemed to be crammed with history—faded books, tarnished trinkets, peculiar-looking fossils, and the occasional gleam of polished gemstones.

  As Austin stepped through the creaking door, a small brass bell above it jingled faintly, announcing his arrival. Behind the counter, an elderly man sat hunched over an ancient ledger, his silver hair neatly combed back, his hands deftly jotting notes with a quill pen.

  "Afternoon," the man said, his voice steady but weathered, like the creak of an old oak tree. He closed the ledger with deliberate care and placed it to the side. "What brings a young traveler to a dusty old place like mine?"

  "I found some antiques in Viridian Forest. Thought maybe you'd be interested in them." He began unpacking the items carefully, setting each one on the counter: a rusted dagger, a weathered crate, a few cracked bottles of expired potions, tattered pieces of cloth, and finally, the map Nobunaga had passed on to him.

  The shopkeeper straightened in his chair, his sharp gaze flicking from one item to the next. He reached for the dagger first, lifting it gingerly and tilting it under the lamplight. His fingers traced the grooves in its rusted surface as though reading a story only he could see. He then inspected the crate, running his hand along its weakened edges, before pausing at the map and cloth.

  "You've brought me an interesting assortment," the shopkeeper said, his voice soft yet tinged with intrigue. "Not all of it is valuable, mind you, but there are stories here. Stories worth telling."

  "What do you think they're worth?"

  The man set the dagger down and folded his hands over the counter, his expression thoughtful. "Let's start with the cloth." He lifted the tattered fabric and held it up to the light. "Unfortunately, this is beyond salvage. Age has taken its toll, and there's little left here for a collector to cherish."

  Austin nodded, unsurprised. "What about the map?"

  "This… could have been something remarkable," he murmured. "A historical artifact, perhaps, from an era long past. But these markings"—he tapped a few faded, amateurish annotations scrawled in ink—"they've compromised its authenticity. A collector seeks a piece untouched, unaltered. This has been tampered with."

  Austin sighed, leaning against the counter. "I see. And the rest?"

  The old man's expression brightened as he picked up the dagger once more. "This, however, is splendid. A relic of wartime, no doubt—a soldier's sidearm. The rust is unfortunate, but it adds to its character. A piece like this would intrigue certain buyers."

  He then gestured to the crate and bottles. "The crate is fragile, yes, but it holds a story of its own—something a historian might find worth preserving. And the potions, though expired, could serve as display pieces in a collector's cabinet."

  "How much are we talking?"

  The shopkeeper's fingers drumming lightly on the counter. "I'd say… 4,000 Pokédollars for the lot."

  "5,000!"

  The shopkeeper chuckled. "Ah, a young man with spirit. I admire that. How about we meet in the middle—4,500?"

  "4,600."

  The shopkeeper grinned. "You drive a hard bargain, boy. Very well—4,550. My final offer. And a fair one at that."

  Austin extended his hand, and the old man clasped it firmly. His grip was stronger than Austin expected, steady and sure. "Deal."

  As the shopkeeper prepared the payment, he glanced up at the boy. "You've got the look of someone with questions," he said. "Go ahead. Ask. A relic isn't worth its rust if you don't know the story behind it."

  "What's the history behind this… air supply drop?"

  The shopkeeper exhaled deeply. "World War II."

  Austin froze, blinking in disbelief. For a moment, he wondered if he'd misheard. "I'm sorry—what?"

  The old man turned back to him, his expression somber but certain. "World War II. This crate belonged to the Axis powers."

  Austin's stomach dropped. He rubbed his ears as though the act might help the words settle in. "I-I must've misheard you. Did you just say 'World War II'? As in... a global war? Here?"

  The man nodded solemnly, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Yes. The war began in 1939."

  Austin's hands shot up as if to steady himself. Wait, what? That doesn't—the pokemon world had a World War II? His thoughts churned like a storm, struggling to reconcile the Pokémon-filled world around him with the weight of human conflict from his own world. "I wasn't expecting to hear anything like that…"

  "I imagine the idea of such a war is a shock to someone your age. It's not something people talk about often."

  Austin nodded faintly, still reeling. "Okay… uh… can you tell me who was involved? Which sides were fighting?"

  "There were two sides: the Allies and the Axis powers. The Allies were made up of Unova, Galar, the Soviet Republic of Sinnoh, and Northern Kanto. The Axis powers included the Greater Orrean Reich, the Kingdom of Kalos, and Southern Kanto."

  Some of the regions the man mentioned were straight out of the anime, others felt like echoes of real-world history, and some sounded like a bizarre fusion of the two.

  Wait… does that mean Cynthia is Russian?!

  The thought hit him like a stray Pokéball, completely derailing his focus for a second. A mental image of Cynthia in a fur-lined coat with a thick Russian accent popped into his head, completely unbidden. "Da, comrade. My Garchomp crushes your hopes like the winter crushes weak trainers."

  Austin chuckled to himself at the absurdity, quickly shaking it off. Focus, man. Focus.

  He cleared his throat, his curiosity dragging him back to the question at hand. "So, uh… Northern and Southern Kanto?"

  The old man nodded. "Let me show you." He walked behind the counter, pulling out a faded, centuries-old map. It depicted Johto, Hoenn, and Kanto, but not as separate regions—rather, they were united under one vast territory labeled The Kingdom of Ransei.

  "This was our region about 200 years ago," the shopkeeper explained, tracing the borders with a finger. "Ransei was once a unified kingdom. But over time, infighting caused it to dissolve into separate regions. Hoenn became its own nation, while the Eastern Ransei Empire emerged, claiming to be the true successor to the Ransei throne. That empire, however, was less a nation and more a collection of warlords fighting for dominance. Eventually, the people of the north grew tired of the chaos and overthrew the warlords, creating Northern Kanto. Meanwhile, the southern warlords banded together to form Southern Kanto."

  "So, Southern Kanto is… Johto?"

  The shopkeeper nodded again. "Yes. Over time, the lines we know today were drawn. But back then, these divisions were sources of tension—and during World War II, they became battle lines."

  "How did the war start?"

  "It began when the Greater Orrean Reich invaded the Orange Islands. That act of aggression drew the rest of the world into the conflict. The Reich sought to expand its territory, and the battlefront spread across the globe. Here, in what's now Kanto, the Northern and Southern regions became one of the most heavily contested areas of the war."

  "What about the Northern Front? What was that?"

  The old man sighed heavily, as though the memories themselves weighed him down. "The Northern Front was the heart of the conflict in this region. It stretched from what we now call Viridian Forest to beyond Pewter City. It was where the most brutal battles were fought… and where the most lives were lost."

  Austin nodded, though the words felt distant, like something out of a textbook rather than reality. He didn't feel the weight of the loss the shopkeeper clearly did. But he could see the sorrow in the man's eyes. "How did it end?" Austin asked softly.

  The shopkeeper's expression darkened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, his voice dropped to a reverent whisper. "Mew."

  Austin blinked. "I'm sorry—Mew? As in the Pokémon Mew?"

  The old man nodded solemnly, his eyes distant, as if reliving a moment long buried in memory. "Yes," he said quietly. "It was near the end of the war. The Axis powers had launched a massive invasion from the south, landing on Pallet Beach. Their forces tore through the region, leaving nothing but ash and rubble in their wake. The battle seemed all but lost—until they made a fatal mistake."

  "What mistake?"

  The old man's gaze sharpened, his voice growing heavier. "They blew up a truck. A truck under which Mew was sleeping."

  The moment the words left the shopkeeper's mouth, Austin's jaw dropped. He blinked at the man, the weight of the revelation hitting him—before his brain caught up with what he had just heard.

  "Mew… under a truck?"

  The sheer absurdity of the mental image was too much for him to process. A beat of silence passed before the corners of his lips started twitching. And then, it happened. He laughed. He tried to hold it in—he really did—but the ridiculousness of it broke through like a tidal wave.

  The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow as Austin doubled over, struggling to catch his breath between fits of laughter. "I'm sorry—" Austin wheezed, clutching his side. "Mew—under a truck—I—" Another laugh escaped him.

  The shopkeeper, to his credit, remained remarkably calm, his mouth twitching as if he was suppressing a small smile. "Are you quite finished, young man?"

  Austin waved a hand weakly, still laughing. "No—no, sorry—I just—I can't believe this. The truck under Mew—I mean—" He wiped at his eyes, gasping for air. "This is straight out of one of those rumors you'd hear on the playground back home."

  "Back home?" The old man raised an eyebrow.

  "Uh, I mean…" Austin faltered for a moment, then quickly covered, "You know, uh, trainers tell stories all the time."

  "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd probably laugh too."

  That sobered Austin up real quick. He froze mid-chuckle, his head snapping up to look at the shopkeeper. "Wait—you saw it?!

  "I did. I was just a boy, holding my injured Arcanine in the middle of the battlefield. We were surrounded by the enemy, with no hope of escape. And then… I heard it."

  "Heard what?"

  "Giggling," the old man said, his voice trembling. "A soft, playful giggle. I turned, and there it was—Mew. It healed my Arcanine with a simple touch. And then… it turned to the battlefield." He paused, swallowing hard. "You can't imagine the power, boy. It wasn't just strength—it was reality bending. No weapon, no Pokémon, nothing could stand against it. The enemy was wiped out in minutes. Five minutes, to be exact. And just like that, the invasion was over."

  "What happened next?"

  "Mew didn't stay. It vanished as quickly as it appeared. But its actions turned the tide of the war. The Northern forces regrouped and launched a counteroffensive, pushing into Southern Kanto. The Axis powers were crippled."

  The old man's voice wavered. "To this day, Kanto honors Mew by putting its image on our money."

  "What about the other Axis powers? How were they defeated?"

  The shopkeeper shrugged. "I don't know the full details. Information about the war is… limited. A lot of it isn't talked about openly. Too much pain, too much shame."

  Austin frowned. "Why? What happened?"

  The shopkeeper hesitated before answering. "The government doesn't want people dwelling on the past. Kanto—our people—did things during the war that… well, they don't like to talk about. Things that shouldn't have been done." His voice grew heavy. "It's a taboo subject. Even now."

  Austin nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of those words. But one last question burned in his mind. "Was a bomb dropped?"

  The shopkeeper sighed. "No one knows for sure. There are stories, rumors. My brother served in the navy back then, and he told me something strange…"

  Austin was hanging on every word.

  "He said he saw a blue comet streak across the sky over the ocean. Moments later, a shockwave so strong it cleared the clouds for hundreds of kilometers rippled through the air. When the dust settled, the Greater Orrean Reich was gone—burned to ash."

  Austin felt a chill run down his spine. "What kind of comet could do that?" he whispered.

  The shopkeeper's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Not a comet. A Pokémon."

  Austin's breath hitched. "What… Pokémon?"

  The old man leaned closer, his eyes locking with Austin's. "Victini."

  Outside, Flint sat against the wall, idly snacking on a berry Austin had handed him earlier. Pikachu stood guard beside the thermos. Flint glanced at the little Electric-type, chuckling softly. "Your trainer's… different. I like him."

  The shop door creaked open, and Austin stepped out, his face pale and blank. "What happened?"

  Austin didn't answer at first. He just closed his eyes and took a long, shaky breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was distant. "I… I need to sleep."

  Flint didn't press him. He simply nodded and gestured for Austin to follow. "Come on. Let's get you to the Pokémon Center."

  The two walked in silence, Austin pushing his bike beside him. After several minutes, Austin broke the quiet.

  "Flint," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "what year is it?"

  Flint glanced at him, confused by the odd question. "It's 1997. Why?"

  Austin exhaled sharply, his chest tightening. 1997. The year the anime had first aired.

  Author's Note:

  1. Nobunaga's Character Arc:

  I didn't anticipate how well-received Nobunaga would be as a character, but your response inspired me to expand on his role. I wanted to give him more depth by adding a morally grey side to his decisions and giving him a strong reason to begin his own Pokémon journey. His goal of repaying Austin for his "kindness" is the driving force behind his development, and I think it makes him a more compelling figure.

  What do you think of this direction? Is Nobunaga's journey resonating with you so far?

  2. Gary's Red Car & Cheerleaders:

  Let's talk about one of the weirdest elements from the anime—Gary's red car and cheerleaders. Where did they come from? Why do they just… disappear? I tried to give these aspects some context by tying them into Gary's personality and his need to flaunt his superiority. The girls' dialogue was fun to write—I went all-in on 90s slang for authenticity (shoutout to Google for helping me channel that vibe).

  Did their dynamic and Gary's over-the-top energy land for you? Let me know what you think of how I've worked them into the story.

  3. Giovanni's Name:

  Yes, you read that right—Giovanni's full name in this story is Giovanni John Gotti. It's a nod to the infamous real-life mobster John Gotti, who led the Gambino crime family in New York. Known as "The Teflon Don" for repeatedly dodging convictions before his eventual downfall, Gotti's larger-than-life presence felt like the perfect inspiration for Giovanni. After all, Team Rocket's leader should exude that same aura of power, control, and danger, don't you think?

  4. Team Rocket in the Pokémon Adventures Manga:

  For those unfamiliar with the Pokémon Adventures manga, you might be surprised to learn that Sabrina, Koga, and Lt. Surge are all canonically part of Team Rocket. It's such a fascinating twist, and I plan to incorporate that dynamic here.

  Will Koga and Lt. Surge appear as Rocket members in this fanfic? Well, you'll have to keep reading to find out. ??

  I also dropped a hint about the upcoming confrontation between Team Rocket and Austin at Mt. Moon—what do you think of that brewing conflict?

  5. Pewter City's Design:

  If you're curious about what Pewter City looks like in this story, imagine Petra in Jordan, with its beautiful sandstone architecture. Now, take that Middle Eastern style and blend it with Japanese aesthetics to reflect Kanto's culture. That's the vibe I'm going for—ancient yet enduring, carved into the cliffs and rich with history. Hopefully, that paints a clearer picture!

  6. Ransei & The Great Islands:

  Ransei, the ancient kingdom that once unified Kanto, Johto, and Hoenn, isn't something I made up. It's actually a reference to Pokémon Conquest, a game that brings a feudal Japan-inspired world to life. I'm excited to expand on its legacy and show how the dissolution of Ransei shaped the modern regions.

  Great Islands, on the other hand, are the historical name for what we know today as the Orange Islands Archipelago. In this story, they served as the Pokémon world's equivalent of Poland, and their invasion by the Greater Orrean Reich was the spark that ignited World War II. It's an alternate-history take that I hope adds depth to the worldbuilding.

  7. In this timeline, Victini is the reason Orre became the wasteland it is today. The Greater Orrean Reich—a Pokémon equivalent of the Nazi regime—was obliterated during World War II.

  why did Victini go that far?

  Was it because of the horrors the Reich committed, its corruption, and the suffering it caused? Was it a divine reckoning, a moment of justice dealt by a legendary Pokémon? Or… was it fear? Anger? Or even a response to being provoked or manipulated?

  erasing them, reducing everything they stood for into ashes. That kind of destruction goes beyond war; it's a statement. Victini didn't just defeat the Reich—it annihilated them so thoroughly that their land and legacy were reduced to nothing but a cautionary tale.

  ~Adam