They say death comes for us all.
I just didn't expect mine to involve spicy ramen, a shiny Umbreon named "Midnight Daddy," and a literal save file being the only thing that kept me from permanent deletion.
Let me explain.
It started as a regular Friday night: darkness, screens, anime on in the background, and my loyal partner in crime — a steaming bowl of nuclear-level instant ramen. I was in my zone, transferring my shiny Pokémon squad from Pokémon Platinum to Scarlet for the hundredth time, not because I needed to — no, no — because it felt good to flex.
All my hard work. Years of shiny hunting, breeding, EV training, and rage-quitting. Every pixel-perfect shiny, every competitively-viable beast, packed into neat digital boxes.
Most people collect stamps. I collect Pokémon that can obliterate timelines.
Especially one in particular.
Midnight Daddy.Level 100.Shiny Umbreon.Maxed out in smugness, sass, and survivability.Moveset: Toxic, Protect, Moonlight, Foul Play.Nature: Calm. Personality: Petty.
I had named him at age 13 during a sleep-deprived Wi-Fi battle tournament. The name stuck. No regrets.
Anyway, life was good — until the ramen betrayed me.
I slurped. I choked. My lungs rebelled. My brain panicked. My vision blurred.
The last thing I saw was my game screen flashing "Save Complete."
Then: darkness.
I Woke Up in a Game I Beat
The smell of wildflowers. The feel of warm sunlight. The distant pika pika of a wild Pikachu.
I opened my eyes to find myself lying in a grassy field, face-up, alive (somehow), and staring into the bluest sky I'd ever seen.
No roof. No walls. No ramen. Just sky, trees, and… Pokémon?
"…No way," I muttered, sitting up.
My hoodie and pajama pants were intact. My fingers reflexively reached for my Switch. It wasn't there. Instead, I felt something strange — a warm tingling in my chest, like a heartbeat synced to a save file.
Then I heard it: a familiar, buzzing sound.
Turning my head, I saw a Beedrill the size of a dirt bike hovering ten feet away, its stingers glistening like it had just finished a murder and was ready for round two.
My brain gave up. Muscle memory kicked in. I didn't even think — I just shouted:
"GO, MIDNIGHT DADDY!"
There was no Poké Ball. No button press. Just light — blazing white light — and a shimmer of gold.
And then... there he was.
Midnight Daddy.My Umbreon.Shiny, glorious, radiating menace like a tiny goth warlord.He landed like he owned the terrain.
The Beedrill paused.
Midnight Daddy didn't even look at it. He slowly turned his head, half-lidded eyes glimmering, and gave the most judgmental look I've ever seen outside of a reality TV panel.
Beedrill screamed in psychic defeat and zipped away so fast I swear I saw an afterimage.
I collapsed backward into the grass, hyperventilating.
"…Okay," I whispered. "I think I died. I think I died and respawned into the Pokémon world. And I brought my team with me."
Midnight Daddy turned to me. He didn't smile. He never smiles. He simply flicked his tail, then sat down like a cat who knew he was better than you.
And that's when I noticed it — in the corner of my vision — a translucent, floating menu.
Just like in the games.
[Team Box: Open][Bag][PC Storage: Connected][Trainer Card: Save File Synced]
I blinked. My jaw slowly dropped.
"…I have access to my entire save file."
My Pokémon. My Rules.
Within ten minutes, I had summoned and confirmed it: every shiny I'd ever caught, every competitively trained sweeper, every absurd trade I'd ever lucked into — they were all here.
I wasn't just a trainer.
I was a save file god.
I summoned my shiny Garchomp, "Tax Fraud" (don't ask), and he emerged from the ether like a sandstorm with a grudge. Then came "Chadlax," my shiny Snorlax with sunglasses and a permanent Nap Mode. Then "Karen," my shiny Sylveon who crits out of spite.
They all responded to me like I was their real Trainer — not like some wild NPC tossed into a new region.
Midnight Daddy, meanwhile, watched with mild disapproval as I re-formed my main party. He clearly didn't like the attention being shared.
But hey, being god-adjacent comes with perks.
It also comes with questions — the kind that smash into you like a wild Tauros:
Where the hell am I?
How did I get here?
Why do I still have "Max Potion x999"?
Route 1.5: The Overleveled Menace
I wandered down a dirt trail, tall grass swaying on either side. A signpost read:
"Welcome to Arboro Town – New Trainers Begin Here!"
So I was in a beginner zone. Perfect.
Which meant the average wild Pokémon level was, what, 3? Maybe 5?
I summoned Midnight Daddy again for backup, because honestly, he made me feel like I had insurance.
A wild Pidgey hopped out from the bushes and flared its feathers at me.
Midnight Daddy sighed.
Pidgey used Tackle!
Midnight Daddy blinked, then Foul Play'd the bird so hard it left a crater.
I stared in silent awe as the Pidgey's soul exited its body, looked back at me, and gave a thumbs-up before ascending.
Midnight Daddy sat back down and cleaned his paw.
I had no business being in a starter zone.
Epilogue: Overkill Is My Only Setting
By the time I reached the town, I'd learned three things:
My save file was real. All of it. Pokémon, items, stats, cash, even outfits.
Midnight Daddy was already acting like a superstar with a fan club and a superiority complex.
I was horrifyingly overpowered in a world where 10-year-olds were still figuring out what a Poké Ball did.
And that's when the townspeople saw me walking in with a shiny Umbreon, a shiny Garchomp, and a floating item menu nobody else could see — and immediately mistook me for either:
A) A Champion-in-disguiseB) A wandering mythical TrainerC) A deity with social anxiety
I wanted to correct them. I really did.
But then Midnight Daddy climbed onto a bench, stared at a group of kids, and posed like he was doing a legendary album cover.
So I just went with it.
"Yeah," I said, deadpan. "I'm... uh... from another region."
Midnight Daddy winked.
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