You learn a lot just by lying in one spot. That's basically my life right now—barely able to hold my own head up, but soaking in everything like a sponge.
There's not a lot I can do, but I can definitely observe. And I've been doing that. A lot.
At first, it was just Albus—the big, shaggy Stoutland who treats me like I'm a Growlithe pup he's sworn to protect. He barely leaves my side unless food is involved. But then I started noticing something new. Well… two somethings, actually.
The first was this pink, round creature that looked like a giant marshmallow with legs. She popped into view one morning, bouncing slightly as she waddled up to the couch where I was resting. And then—without warning—she started singing.
And let me tell you, that voice? Soft. Hypnotic. Deadly.
Within seconds, Albus was out cold on the floor beside me, snoring with his tongue hanging out. My mom had to nudge the pink puffball gently.
"Lala, sweetie, not now. Please don't put us all to sleep before breakfast."
Lala, as it turns out, is what they call her. But I recognized her immediately.
'That's a Jigglypuff. Pink. Round. Singing menace. Yup. No question.'
I didn't fall asleep, though—not fully. Just got a little drowsy. Maybe being a baby gives me some kind of resistance?
Anyway, as if that wasn't wild enough, a few days later, I saw something even more amazing.
It was dusk. The house was quiet except for the soft clinking of utensils from the kitchen. That's when I noticed something glowing faintly on the table near Dad's keys—a small, green Poké Ball. Not red and white, like I remembered.
'Weird… I thought Poké Balls were always red on top. Is this a new kind? Or maybe a regional variant?'
As I was staring, the ball made a faint mechanical click and—without anyone touching it—it opened with a soft pop of light.
That's when I saw it. Wide, intelligent eyes. Feathers that gleamed in the dim kitchen light. A Noctowl.
It flapped once, silently, then perched neatly on the top of the cabinet like it belonged there.
'Noctowl? My dad has a Noctowl?'
It didn't hoot. Didn't move much. Just watched. Me, mostly.
'Creepy… but kind of cool.'
I tried making eye contact with it, just to see if anything would happen. And I swear, for a second, it tilted its head exactly like I did in my mind.
'They come out on their own. These Pokémon… they're not just tools here. They're companions.'
The green Poké Balls seemed almost customized—sleek, smooth, with a thin silver rim and a button that glowed faintly when touched. I watched carefully for days and noticed all three—Albus, Lala, and the Noctowl—seemed able to enter or leave their Poké Balls at will. My dad didn't give any commands or tap buttons like the trainers I remembered from the shows.
It's like there's this quiet understanding between them.
'This world… it's not quite like the Pokémon world I remember from games or anime. It's familiar, yeah, but also… different. More real.'
So far, I've got a Stoutland named Albus, a Jigglypuff who could single-handedly run a sleep clinic, and a Noctowl who might be judging my very soul from across the room.
And they all belong to my dad.
'So what does that make him?'
Still a lot of questions, and I'm not exactly old enough to ask them yet. But I'm learning—day by day, minute by minute. Watching. Noticing.
Something's building up inside me too. A pull. A sense. Like I'm waiting for something to unlock.
But for now, I'll keep lying here, arms flailing occasionally, pretending to be just a baby… and taking mental notes like a future Champion.
Time is weird when you're a toddler.
Some days stretch out forever—especially when you're stuck indoors watching shadows on the ceiling. Others zip by so fast you're back in bed before you've even processed breakfast. But one thing's for sure: I've had time to observe.
And here's what I've noticed.
For starters: no wild Pokémon.
None.
Whenever Mom takes me outside—whether it's to the yard, the market, or even just a walk through the neighborhood—all I see are regular animals. Squirrels, birds, the occasional cat staring at me from a windowsill. I keep scanning the trees for a Pidgey. Listening for the buzz of a Cutiefly. Watching puddles in hopes a Magikarp might flop out.
But nothing.
'Where are the Pokémon? Shouldn't there be something out there?'
It's not like I doubt where I am anymore. I've seen Albus, Lala, and the Noctowl with my own two—okay, still very small—eyes. But outside our home? It's suspiciously... normal.
'Maybe we live in a no-Pokémon zone?' 'Or… worse. Maybe only certain people have them?' 'That would change everything…'
Anyway. Existential crisis aside, let me tell you what this morning looked like.
I was fast asleep. Deep asleep. Dreaming about flying on a Pidgeot, actually—when suddenly:
"Good morning, sleepyhead," came a familiar voice, soft but firm.
Mom. Annie.
The blanket disappeared, and the chilly morning air hit my face like a wild Ice-type attack. Before I could retaliate with even a single wail, I was lifted into her arms and balanced against her shoulder.
She always smells like warm cotton and pancake batter.
Her voice hummed against my ear. "You drooled on your shirt again."
'A tactical decision,' I thought. 'My toddler armor.'
She carried me into the kitchen and gently settled me into my high chair, strapping me in with practiced ease before stepping away to the stove.
Annie—my mom—is a kind woman. But make no mistake: she runs this household.
She's got a look that can stop Albus in his tracks mid-bark. Her hair is dark and pulled into a neat bun most mornings, with a few rebellious strands that fall across her face. Her eyes—brown like warm tea—miss nothing.
She kind of looks like Delia Ketchum from the anime. Enough to make me blink twice the first time I saw her. But her features are sharper. A little taller. And she's got a no-nonsense edge that says, "Try me, I dare you," even when she's slicing strawberries.
"Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes," she called over her shoulder, flipping something in the pan with a graceful flick of her wrist.
'Her pancakes are a work of art,' I noted internally. 'I will eat exactly three, then pretend I'm full to negotiate for syrup access.'
Moments later, footsteps thudded softly down the stairs.
"Morning, gorgeous," came a deeper voice—smooth, relaxed, with the faint rasp of someone who either sings a lot or never sleeps enough.
Dad. David.
He strolled into the kitchen with sleep still clinging to his face, hair a tousled mess that somehow worked for him. His beard was trimmed, not too neat, just enough to give him that rugged look. He wore a soft gray tee and pajama pants with—yes—Psyduck prints on them.
"Someone looks bright-eyed this morning," he said with a grin, ruffling my already rebellious hair.
'Sir, I woke up against my will. You have no moral high ground here.'
He kissed Annie's cheek on his way to pour himself coffee. "Smells incredible, as always."
She turned with a smirk. "Flattery will get you everywhere, but you're still on dish duty."
"Worth a shot," he chuckled.
David looked like someone who'd definitely trained Pokémon. His arms had faint tan lines where gloves might've been. His posture had that casual strength to it, like he was used to carrying gear—or a heavy Noctowl. His eyes, a steely green, always looked like they were measuring distance. Or planning something clever.
Together, Annie and David made the kind of couple you couldn't help but admire. Calm. Balanced. Mysterious in a way that made you want to know their story.
And there I was, in my chair with syrup dreams and the weight of possibly being the anime protagonist, just… watching it all unfold.
'This world's still got layers I haven't figured out. But I will.'
For now, I focused on the important things: like making sure Albus didn't sneak any of my pancakes again.
He was already curled up beside my chair, one eye half-open, pretending to be asleep.
'Nice try, buddy.'
I sat in my high chair, arms sticking out like little noodles as Mom wiped syrup off my fingers for what had to be the third time. The kitchen smelled like butter and cinnamon, and the sun was spilling through the window just right, lighting up the old green cabinets and the little dust motes dancing in the air.
We lived in New Hope, a quiet town where the streets curved gently, and the neighbors always had time to stop and wave. It was peaceful—like one of those places people settle in after deciding they're done with the chaos of big cities.
Dad sat across the table, hunched over his coffee like it was the one thing holding him together. Mom was at the stove, humming and stirring something with a wooden spoon.
"I had the weirdest dream last night," Dad said suddenly, rubbing his eyes. "I was treating a raccoon wearing a necktie who wouldn't stop questioning my credentials."
Mom raised an eyebrow without turning around. "That's still better than the one where the singing pigeon took over your clinic."
"I miss having normal dreams," he sighed.
I tilted my head, chewing the last of my pancake slowly. 'They always talk about animals and the clinic. But never Pokémon...'
Dad looked at me and smiled. "You know what Daddy does for work, right, buddy? I'm a veterinarian. I help animals when they get sick or hurt. Dogs, cats, the occasional parrot with an attitude problem."
'A vet. Yeah, I know that word. I watched shows about them. Makes sense... but where are the Growlithes and Meowths?'
Mom turned from the stove and set down a warm plate in front of Dad. "He's excellent at it too. Remember that German Shepherd mix that wandered in with the sprained paw? He had it bandaged and calm before it even whimpered."
"Aw, he was such a sweetheart," Dad said with a grin. "Would've brought him home if he hadn't already been microchipped."
I stayed quiet, the thought gnawing at the back of my mind. 'Still no mention of wild Pokémon… Just normal animals.'
And then, out of nowhere, Jigglypuff barreled across the room like a tiny pink comet and landed right on top of Dad's head.
"Whoa—! Lala, what are you—"
He nearly dropped his fork as she perched there, puffing up and bouncing slightly with obvious satisfaction.
"Why is this your new favorite thing?" he muttered, trying not to spill his coffee.
Mom didn't even turn around. "Because you laugh every time she does it. She thinks it's a game now."
"She knows it's a game," Dad said, sounding completely defeated.
Jigglypuff blinked once, then stuck her tongue out at me from her high perch like she was showing off.
I giggled, watching her tiny feet tap against Dad's hair like she was settling into a comfortable nest.
'They act like this is completely normal. Like a pink singing balloon perched on your head is just Tuesday morning routine.'
'And maybe... for them, it is.'
So far, I've got a Stoutland named Albus, a Jigglypuff who could single-handedly run a sleep clinic, and a Noctowl who might be judging my very soul from across the room. They all belong to my dad, a veterinarian who treats regular animals but owns three Pokémon.
'So what does that make him?'
Still plenty of questions, and I'm not exactly old enough to ask them yet. But I'm learning—day by day, minute by minute. Watching. Noticing.
Something's building up inside me too. A pull. A sense. Like I'm waiting for something to unlock.
But for now, I'll keep lying here, arms flailing occasionally, pretending to be just a baby... and taking mental notes like a future Champion.