The Viridian Forest was a little quieter now—whether it was the aftermath of Misty's aquatic artillery barrage or the forest creatures learning to steer clear of those three, it wasn't clear. The golden rays of the sun filtered down through the trees, shimmering off the leaves as the group continued their slow march down the winding dirt path.
Ash, with all the grace of a toddler who'd just discovered a new toy, was letting Caterpie crawl along the ground, his face lit up with the kind of grin that only someone who'd just discovered the joy of getting covered in bug goo could have.
"Look at him go, Pikachu! He's so slimy, squishy, and weird! Isn't he cool?" Ash chirped, his voice practically vibrating with excitement.
Pikachu, perched on a rock like a tired sensei contemplating his life choices, gave Caterpie a half-hearted glance before looking away. Weak mob, Pikachu thought. I have no standards, but even I know a disaster when I see one.
Misty trailed behind them, arms crossed, looking like she'd just stepped out of a survival magazine. Her light blue jacket shimmered faintly, equipped with embedded cooling tech—a very smart investment, considering that if a Weedle so much as looked at her sideways, she'd be out of there faster than a Pidgey caught in a windstorm.
Her eyes narrowed at Caterpie, which had now decided that Ash's face was a perfect landing pad. It squirmed happily, rubbing its little antenna against his nose, leaving a trail of goo in its wake.
"It's so gross," she said flatly, her voice dripping with what could only be described as trauma. "Ash, put that slimy thing back in the Poké Ball! Bugs are one of the three most disgusting things in the world!"
Ash, completely unphased, gave her a grin that could only be described as a death wish on a plate. "Aside from you, what are the other disgusting things?"
Pikachu's eyes widened like he'd just seen the end of the world. He doesn't know. He's going to die.
Misty's eyebrow twitched, dangerously close to exploding into full-on rage mode. She clasped her hands behind her back, forcing them to remain as fists of justice and not weapons of mass destruction.
"Very funny," she said, her teeth gritted like she was chewing on a particularly tough carrot. "Carrots, peppers, and bugs. Everybody has something they don't like. I don't like bugs."
Ash, in full-on brat mode, stuck out his tongue, pulled his eyelids down, and did his best imitation of a gremlin having a meltdown. "Yeah? Well I like carrots, and peppers, and bugs."
Misty rubbed her temple, her eyes fluttering closed in sheer frustration. Was this some sort of divine punishment? Was this what happened when you stepped on a Celebi in a past life? She was honestly starting to wonder.
But then, something shifted. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was the weird spark she saw buried under all the chaos and Caterpie juice. Or maybe, she thought, she was just too tired to launch another Vaporeon-powered airstrike before dinner.
She studied Ash more seriously now, tuning out his antics as Caterpie slid halfway down his back and attempted to climb back up again. Despite the utter mess of a trainer standing before her, Ash clearly had a genuine affection for Pokémon. That, at least, she could respect. But affection alone didn't make a great trainer.
Guts? Sure. Bravery? Definitely. Common sense? Well, that was still pending review.
"You really don't get it yet, do you, Ash Ketchum?" she muttered under her breath, eyeing him as he wiggled his arms around to keep Caterpie from making a run for it. "You're walking around like an overexcited Pidgey with no clue that you're carrying a legacy heavier than a Snorlax on a hot day."
Because the world knew Ash's father. Silas Ketchum. The name had a certain weight to it. The kind of name spoken with awe in the battle circles of Kanto. The man had conquered gyms like they were playgrounds, swept aside rivals like leaves in the wind, and come this close to taking the Elite Four down with nothing but raw, blazing talent. He had been on the cusp of becoming Kanto's Champion.
And yet... Ash? Ash, who was now singing a song about Caterpie and letting it crawl on his head like it was the latest fashion trend?
Misty squinted at him. "Are you really his son?"
Ash blinked. "Huh? What?"
"Nothing," Misty sighed, rolling her eyes. "Just thinking."
"About how cool Caterpie is?" Ash said with a grin that was so innocent, it might've been criminal if it weren't so darn endearing.
Misty turned away, muttering something about divine patience and bug-repellent dreams.
---------------------
The air smelled like moss, wet dirt, and whatever ancient forest magic made bugs feel way too welcome. Sunlight flickered through the canopy like it was trying to apologize for the general creepiness, but it wasn't fooling anyone—especially Misty, who walked like every leaf might contain a jumpscare in worm form.
Ash, however, was in his element. He cradled Caterpie's Pokéball like it was the Crown Jewels. His eyes sparkled, and not just in the "Yay, I caught a Pokémon!" way. It was deeper than that. Which, let's be honest, was surprising for a kid who had once tried to feed a rice ball to a Magikarp.
"Caterpie's gonna be amazing," Ash muttered, mostly to Pikachu, who peeked at him from his perch with the calm detachment of a retired war general. "Everyone just sees a worm, but I see a future Butterfree. A big, beautiful, majestic—"
Pikachu blinked slowly. Whoa. Existential Ash had entered the chat.
But Misty didn't get it. She never did. She was too busy watching the trees like they owed her money. Her arms were crossed like a protective barrier, her eyes sharp, her jacket pristine and full of the kind of tech you'd expect in a sci-fi lab—not a hike through Nature's Bug Buffet.
"I thought girls liked butterflies," Ash said casually, doing that thing where he pretended he didn't know he was poking the Beedrill nest. He was this close to saying something profoundly stupid, when—
He stopped. Thank Arceus.
Because even Ash, chaos gremlin that he was, could sense Misty's aura turning into pure volcanic plasma. One more word, and the forest would be holding a funeral for his shoes.
Misty's sigh came slow and dangerous. "I like butterflies. Doesn't mean I have to like the squishy worm stage they start from. I also like cake. I don't like watching someone stir the batter for five hours."
Ash snorted. "You're so shallow."
That hit harder than he meant it to.
Misty stiffened. Just for a second. Her arms dropped a little, her gaze shifted to the ground—and suddenly she wasn't Misty the gym prodigy or Misty the walking thundercloud. She was just a girl again. A girl who heard her sisters laugh every time she got excited about Pokémon instead of fashion. A girl who'd been called weird, tomboyish, immature.
She looked away. "You don't know anything," she said quietly.
--------------------
Ash, blissfully unaware that Misty was currently planning his funeral in her head, pointed at a nearby bush like it had just revealed the meaning of life.
"Look! A Pidgeotto!"
He whisper-yelled it, which completely defeated the point of whispering. The Pidgeotto, a tan blur of feathers and majestic bird vibes, was having a peaceful brunch of berries and minding its own business—until a twelve-year-old with way too much energy decided to ruin its day.
Ash grinned like a kid who thought he was about to win the lottery.
"Caterpie, let's go! Time to show Misty what you can do!"
Pikachu glanced over like are you okay, or did you hit your head on a Poké Ball this morning?
Misty crossed her arms. "Ash, it's a flying-type. Your bug will get eaten like a protein snack. Maybe let Pikachu—"
"Caterpie, use String Shot!"
And boom—out popped Caterpie, tiny and determined like he'd just trained under Rocky Balboa. His eyes locked on the Pidgeotto, who blinked, completely unimpressed. It gave the vibe of someone being challenged to a duel by a sock puppet.
Then it turned back to its berries.
"String Shot!"
Phwip!
A silky thread zipped through the air and boop—hit the Pidgeotto right on the wing.
It paused. Flapped once. Twice.
Snap.
The string broke. The bird looked down at the thread, then back at Caterpie, then up at the sky as if praying for patience.
Ash pumped his fist. "Yes! Direct hit!"
Misty groaned. "Direct hit? Ash, it probably thinks it flew through a spiderweb."
But Caterpie, bless his brave little buggy soul, wasn't giving up. He crawled forward with the determination of a hero in a war movie soundtrack. This was his moment. This was his destiny.
Pidgeotto blinked. Then—peck—smacked Caterpie on the head like it was swatting a fly.
Caterpie flew back, tiny stars spinning around its head like a Looney Tune. Ash gasped and sprinted over.
"You did amazing, buddy. I'm so proud of you."
Caterpie gave a soft "reee," which loosely translated to "Thanks, I think my brain is in my tail now."
Misty facepalmed so hard Pikachu flinched. The electric mouse sighed, long and heavy, like he was reevaluating all his life choices.
"You're ridiculous," Misty said.
Ash grinned. "Yeah. But I see potential."
And that was it. The line. The one that broke the dam.
Misty's eyes went nuclear. Her hands went full Italian drama mode.
"You're the WORST!" she shrieked. "You have no idea what you're doing! It'll be a million years before you're a Pokémon Master—no, wait, a billion! At least by then Caterpie might evolve out of embarrassment!"
Ash winced. "I'm trying to—"
"Try learning something first!" she snapped, jabbing a finger at his forehead like she could download strategy into his skull through sheer rage. "Bird. Eats. Worm. This isn't advanced science—it's nature! You can't out-hustle the food chain!"
Ash blinked, glanced at Caterpie (still seeing stars), and back at her. "But if you just try hard enough… things work out, right?"
Misty's eye twitched. That was it. She was officially five seconds from turning into a Gyarados.
"No, Ash," she said, voice flat and deadly, like a lullaby sung by a hitman. "Things don't magically work out because you believe. This isn't a fairy tale. Strategy matters. Judgment matters. And unfortunately for you…"
She leaned in, eyes narrowing.
"…the trainer has to have a brain."
Ash reeled like he'd been hit with a Thunderbolt straight to his pride. Even Pikachu winced in sympathy.
--------------------
Meanwhile, off to the side—emotionally done, mentally packed, and spiritually resigned—Pikachu waddled forward, tail sparking with the quiet judgment of a fed-up babysitter.
While Ash and Misty reenacted the "Trainer Meltdown Hour", the Pidgeotto was still casually snacking like it hadn't just smacked a worm into next week. Big mistake. Huge.
Because then it made eye contact with Pikachu.
Rookie move.
ZZZZZZZAAAAAAP!
A bolt of lightning rocketed from the sky like Zeus himself had decided, "Nah, that's enough nonsense for today." Pidgeotto managed a startled chirp that roughly translated to "wait, what—" before it was launched off its branch in an explosion of feathers and regret.
It hit the dirt with the grace of a dropped pillow, eyes spiraling, feet twitching like it was still buffering.
Ash blinked. "...Oh."
Misty blinked back. "Well, that was... effective."
Ash turned to Pikachu. "You weren't even in the fight!"
Pikachu just crossed his arms and gave him a look. The kind of look that said: Congratulations. You almost served Caterpie as bird food on a leaf plate.
Ash scratched the back of his head. "I mean, I was gonna have Caterpie try Tackle next…"
Misty facepalmed so hard it echoed. "Yes. Because clearly, that would've turned the tide."
Across the field, Vaporeon—lounging under a tree like a retired battle veteran—sighed. Long and dramatic. The sigh of a creature who had seen too much and still couldn't believe she'd signed up for this circus.
Ash poked the unconscious Pidgeotto. It didn't move, aside from its twitching foot doing the Macarena.
"Well," Ash said, lifting it up, "technically, it fainted. So... that's a win, right?"
Misty raised a single eyebrow. "Pikachu did the work."
Ash grinned like he'd just passed a test he didn't study for. "Yeah, but I'm the trainer."
Pikachu nodded solemnly, like yeah, sure buddy, and let it go.
Misty muttered under her breath, "If you ever become Champion, I'm going to assume the Elite Four were napping. Or legally blind."
Ash turned to her, completely unfazed. "You know, for someone who calls herself beautiful, you sure nag like my mom."
Misty's eyes flared like a volcanic eruption wearing eyeliner. "You better be glad I'm wearing a cooling jacket, or I would've boiled you alive."
Ash took a very careful step backward.
"Fair," he said.
----------------
Ash and Misty were finally sitting still—mostly because they'd both reached that magical level of tired where even standing up felt like a high-level gym battle. Camp was set. Sort of.
A pot of rice bubbled dangerously over the fire, emitting more smoke than a Koffing with seasonal allergies. Misty gave it the kind of look reserved for suspicious cafeteria meatloaf, then shot Ash a glare as smoke wafted right into her face.
"This is why we don't let you cook."
Ash grinned like a guy who definitely forgot the water-to-rice ratio. "It's got... flavor?"
"Charcoal is not a flavor."
Meanwhile, Pikachu had wisely removed himself from all human incompetence. He curled up near a bush, his yellow fur rustling in the breeze like a furry, judgmental dandelion. His tail swayed, calm but alert, little sparks flickering from his cheeks—not in anger, not for drama. Just… memory. Like his body still remembered the thrill of that last battle and wasn't ready to let it go.
By his side sat a glowing rock-like device with a screen on it—something Naruto had sent through the Network. At first, Pikachu had sniffed it like it might explode (reasonable reaction), but eventually figured out how to tap it with a paw. Or his nose. Nose worked better. Fewer typos.
Heroes Chat Group – Open
The screen blinked.
Naruto (Emperor of Mankind):
You did great, little buddy. But you need to start thinking bigger.
The world isn't something you can face alone—not even for a strong fighter like you.
Ichigo (Hybrid):
You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts alone won't get you far. You need allies. Friends.
Pikachu blinked.
Friends?
That word stirred something weird in his chest. Warm. Not the usual lightning. Not fear either. Just… weird.
He tapped back—carefully.
Pikachu:
I don't know how to do that...
In the wild, I fought to live. To protect my tree. My berries.
I don't know how to help others train.
I only know how to grow stronger so I don't get eaten.
The screen paused, like even the chatroom was thinking.
Then came the reply.
Naruto:
That strength of yours—it's not bad. It means you've survived.
But now it's time to live, Pikachu.
Help others grow. You'll grow, too.
When someone gets stronger because of you... you'll feel it.
Like lightning in your heart.
Pikachu stared at the words.
Lightning… in the heart?
He pressed his paws to his chest. Nothing sparked. Not yet.
Pikachu:
But… I'm just a Pikachu. I'm not a Raikou.
My kind… we're not built to rule or save the world.
Then a different voice joined in.
Wang Lin (Grand Scholar):
You're not just your kind. You are you. And that means something.
Help one person.
Earn one token.
That's how it starts.
Then the Exchange Network opens. And you'll see wonders beyond your world.
Naruto:
Start with the Caterpie.
Teach it what you know.
You don't need words. Just… show it how to be brave.
Pikachu looked up. Across the campfire—where Ash was now arguing with Misty over whether burnt rice qualified as "crispy-style"—Caterpie was slowly inching its way toward a berry that had rolled away.
It flinched at a falling leaf.
Jumped at its own reflection in a pan.
Was generally having a full existential crisis over a snack.
Pikachu's ears twitched. He stood up.
Padded over slowly.
The bug Pokémon squeaked and nearly fainted from fear—but Pikachu didn't spark. Didn't glare. Didn't judge.
He just sat beside it.
Tail curled behind him like a question mark.
He pointed to the berry. Then nudged it closer with his nose.
"Chu," he said gently.
Caterpie looked at him… then at the berry.
Then took a nibble.
Just a little one.
But it was something.
And somewhere in Pikachu's chest—right next to the part that always wanted to shock Ash for being an idiot—something warm flickered. Not thunder. Not lightning.
Not yet.
But close.