Chapter 4: On Dusty Roads, Old Rigs, and Sparky Showdowns
[MC POV]
Travel isn't like the games. That was my first big takeaway.
Back in the old world, I'd tap a few keys, run across a patch of grass, and bam—wild encounter. Fight, win, move on. Maybe a Youngster Joey would pop out of nowhere, challenge me with his top-percentage Rattata, and I'd be done in five minutes.
Reality? A lot more legs. A lot more walking. And a lot more sore muscles I didn't know I had.
No random encounters every four steps. No twelve-year-olds leaping out from behind trees demanding bloodsport. Just a long stretch of dirt and gravel road, grass brushing my knees, the morning sun filtering through the canopy. It was almost peaceful—if not for the persistent ache in my calves.
On day one, I made it maybe five kilometers before realizing just how long this journey was actually going to be. Lil' Floc, my little home village, wasn't even on most maps. Not quite suburbs, not quite outposts. Just humble dots on the edge where people lived quiet lives until their kids turned ten and wandered off. Just one of many tiny settlements orbiting Floccesy Town like berry seeds around a Tropius.
We weren't far, technically. But "not far" in this world meant a couple days on foot—if you didn't have a ride.
I had legs. Not wheels. So I walked.
The good news? Wild Pokémon weren't constantly leaping at me from every bush. Turns out, the ecosystem has rules. Near roads, most Pokémon kept their distance unless provoked. If you minded your own business, they minded theirs. Unlike the games, there weren't Bug Catchers posted like gatekeepers every few steps.
Thank Arceus for that. If this world worked like Kanto's Route 1, I'd be Miltank food by now.
The bad news? Travel still sucked. No fast-forward button. Just dirt paths, tired boots, and the hum of the wind. Even with decent shoes, walking ten kilometers a day with a satchel full of supplies and a literal electric cat on your shoulders was a grind.
Yeah, it's not that bad compared to farm work. But back home, after a day on the fields, you had a warm meal, walls, and a bed to crash into. On the road? Good luck. So each to his own, I say.
People in this world were built different. A kid here could hike a mountain with a backpack full of berries and call it a school trip. Earth kids? Half of us couldn't survive a three-day camping trip without complaining about Wi-Fi. Here, no cars outside the big cities, no fancy hover tech. Just legs, strong backs, and patience. The idea of ten-year-olds walking for days through wilderness made a lot more sense now. They were basically tiny triathletes with Pokémon backup.
---
[General POV]
Andre made camp on a slope just off the main trail. It wasn't much—just a small clearing sheltered by a crooked tree, with a few rocks arranged for sitting. Shinx curled near the fire pit, sparks snapping from his fur as he sniffed at their makeshift dinner: reheated berry loaf, courtesy of Miriam.
Andre unrolled his bedroll and began digging through his satchel. He found maps, dry socks, water flasks, a carefully folded note from Miriam with a hand-drawn smiley face at the end, and—
"Huh. What's this?"
He pulled out a small harness rig with adjustable straps and copper buckles. Weight training gear, sized for a medium quadruped. The padding inside was scuffed and worn but still well-maintained. A tag stitched to the side read: "Flaaffy's Rig – Calibrated."
He stared at it for a long moment—then let out a laugh.
---
[Flashback – MC POV]
I remember the day I figured out Flaaffy wasn't just cute. I was maybe three.
It was one summer morning when Tepig—still half-asleep—accidentally wandered into the barn with a heavy tilling rig strapped on. It was one of the custom-built harnesses meant only for him; anything standard would've snapped under his weight.
Before anyone could react, Flaaffy trotted up on stubby legs, grabbed the frame with both paws, and lifted—and I mean lifted—it off like it was a sack of compost. Unhooked the harness. Set it aside.
Then, with a calm hum, the woolly pink powerhouse dragged over the equally massive produce trailer and hooked it in place—all before Tepig could finish yawning.
Before that, I'd only seen her carrying baskets of berries—three at a time, mind you. One on her back, one in each hand. But that moment with Tepig?
That's when I understood why Old Man Byron's Tauros gave Flaaffy a wide berth.
She was quiet, cuddly, and didn't speak much—but she could throw a punching bag into orbit if you crossed her.
---
[Back to Present]
Andre looked at Shinx, who was busy pawing at the hem of his blanket.
"What do you think, Blue? Wanna try some light training? Build those legs up so you can finally pounce higher than my shin?"
Shinx chirped.
"Cool. Let's start slow."
He adjusted the rig and gently strapped it around Shinx, tightening the clasps until it was snug. The moment the final buckle clicked into place, the rig activated. With a faint hum and a flash of calibration lights, the weight plates returned to their last used setting.
Shinx immediately flopped.
"Oh no."
The little lion's limbs twitched, tail giving a single, pitiful flick. Andre reached down and tried to adjust the settings, but the manual controls were underneath—designed for Flaaffy's body orientation.
"Crud. Okay, buddy, don't panic. We're taking this off."
Ten minutes later, the rig was off, and Shinx was draped dramatically over Andre's lap like a prince who had tasted mortal struggle.
"Yeah, alright. Let's adjust everything properly first—and maybe start with light training tomorrow. With a better plan."
---
The next day, Andre passed the occasional traveler—a hiker with a Sandile, a merchant leading a Gogoat cart, even a pair of twins training Scatterbug. He kept mostly to himself, offering nods in greeting.
Near a fork in the woods, he spotted a couple of kids in netted hats.
Bug Catchers.
They looked about twelve, swinging nets like flags and chasing a Combee that absolutely wanted nothing to do with them. One of them spotted Andre.
"Hey! You a trainer?"
Andre blinked. "Kind of?"
"Wanna battle?"
Shinx perked up.
Andre shrugged. "Sure. Just one round."
They fought in a clearing. The Bug Catcher sent out a Sewaddle; Andre, his Shinx.
It was a light, friendly battle. Spark clashed with String Shot. Shinx pulled off a clumsy but effective Charge into a Tackle. When it ended, both sides grinned and exchanged berries from their packs.
It wasn't much. But it got the heart pumping.
That evening, as fire crackled and Shinx dozed on a flat rock, Andre sat with his notebook open, sketching the rig and scrawling:
"Check weights before attaching. Seriously."
Later, just off the trail, another Bug Catcher emerged—this one younger, maybe ten, wielding a too-big bucket hat and net.
"Hey! You look like you're training! Wanna battle?"
Andre sighed and smiled. "Sure. One-on-one?"
Another Sewaddle. Another clean win for Shinx. The kid offered a berry in good spirit and scampered off.
Andre muttered, "Better call it a night before another one shows up."
---
The next morning, a wild Lillipup peeked over a rise. It had been watching them. Andre crouched slowly.
"Hey there. Want a quick spar? Just for practice."
To his surprise, the Lillipup huffed once, then trotted into the clearing, tail wagging.
It was short and friendly. Just enough to give Shinx experience and Andre a glimpse of how real battles flowed outside the village.
By the end of day three, Andre set up camp near a patch of glowing moss, cooked a modest meal of rice and preserved veggies, and watched the stars slowly prick the sky.
[MC POV]
I leaned back against my bag, Shinx curled at my side, and let out a long breath.
Tired? Yes.
Hungry? Always.
Regrets? Not yet.
Three days down. Floccesy Town was just beyond the hills.
If this was just the start of my journey, then maybe—just maybe—I could survive it after all.