A crisp, digital chime cut through the silence of the small apartment.
"You have 15 new orders that have not yet shipped. Please confirm shipment in time..."
"Fifteen more..." Silas Gray murmured, cracking his knuckles as he leaned closer to the monitor's glow. "Alright. Finish this batch, and I can finally call it a night."
Silas, twenty-four years old, was a recent college graduate. That was a polite way of saying he was unemployed and living out of a cramped studio, his current career being the proprietor of a small, unofficial shop on an online marketplace.
His business? Selling custom-built, battle-ready Pokémon.
He was, in essence, a digital blacksmith for the competitive Pokémon scene—the kind of "friend" a player might know who could procure perfectly crafted, albeit technically 'illegal,' partners for their team. The work itself wasn't difficult, but it was tedious. Each customer had unique demands, a long checklist of variables to modify: individual values (IVs), effort values (EVs), natures, movesets, abilities, held items, and even whether the Pokémon was Shiny.
Every Poké Dollar he earned was... well, it was hard-earned money.
"'A Garchomp that has learned 'Dragon Dance'?'" he read from an order, a wry smile on his face. "'Tera Type changed to 'Flying' for this Groudon.' Of course. A Groudon that can fly. A classic."
These were common requests. He was so familiar with them he had templates saved. With a few practiced clicks, Silas finalized the modifications to the Garchomp and Groudon in his software, confirmed the details, and hit the 'ship' button.
Some of his creations were simple tweaks, minor adjustments to help players get a battle-ready Pokémon without the endless grind of breeding. Others, however, went far beyond what the game's developers, Game Freak, ever intended. These were for the fans who wanted to show off—to prove their devotion to Champions like Cynthia or to create the ultimate, meme-worthy Groudon.
Customizing these "hacked" Pokémon was his daily grind. It wasn't his place to worry if a client took one into an official tournament and got caught. After-sales support wasn't part of the deal.
Is it legal? Is it not? he thought with a shrug. A friend gave it to me. What's it to you? Would my friend ever do me harm?
Silas smirked. Yes. I am that 'friend'.
"Next order is... an Empoleon with the 'Competitive' ability. A gift from a big fan of Dawn and Piplup." He chuckled. "They must not be that big of a fan. Game Freak already gave Empoleon 'Competitive' as its Hidden Ability. Do they not pay attention to their favorite's own stats? Or are they secretly a hater?"
He cleared the order. "Next!"
"A Gengar. A true fan of the big purple guy, I see."
As soon as he finished, another notification blared, its tone somehow more urgent.
"Ding-dong! You have 1557 new orders in your back end that have not been shipped. Please confirm shipment in time..."
Silas's vision swam. The numbers on the screen blurred into an indistinct wave. A thousand, five hundred, and fifty-seven new orders. The workload wasn't just difficult; it was impossible.
A dull throb pulsed behind his eyes, and the world went dark.
"...Hnnngh... My head is splitting."
When Silas woke, the bright light of midday was streaming through a window. He felt a deep, groggy ache, his mind buzzing as if surfacing from a long, strange dream. He pushed himself up, finding himself not at his desk in the studio, but on a simple, single bed. He'd slept in front of a computer desk built into the bedframe, the kind standard in any college dorm.
The room felt unnervingly familiar.
Where... where am I?
Suddenly, the door swung open. A young man with a crew cut and black-framed glasses stood in the doorway, a look of honest concern on his face. At his feet trotted a stout, corgi-like puppy.
"Leo?!!"
Silas shot upright, his heart pounding. "What the hell? Did I... was I reborn?" he stammered, his mind reeling.
"Reborn? What are you talking about?" Leo scoffed, stepping into the room. "You've been reading too many of those web novels, man. Or did you just hit your head last night? You were out cold when I found you."
Leo's words were blunt, but Silas couldn't find a way to argue. He felt a surge of frustration, but no rebuttal came to mind. He just slumped back, defeated.
"Still," Silas said, trying to grasp onto something solid, "since when are we allowed to keep dogs in the dorms? I didn't think the university was that lenient."
"Dogs?" Leo's brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "What 'since when'? Any adult citizen can raise a Pokémon. That's just common sense."
Leo then bent down and scooped up the little corgi, who began licking his chin happily. "You can insult me, but you will not insult my Yamper!" he declared, puffing out his chest.
The puppy looked at Silas and let out a happy yip, its pink tongue lolling out.
"Look at him! He's adorable!"
As the creature turned, Silas saw it—a distinct, lightning-bolt-shaped tail. This wasn't just a corgi. This was an eighth-generation Electric-type. A Yamper.
"Oh my god..."
The shocking reality washed over him, and a sudden, chilling calm replaced his frantic confusion. He wasn't just reborn. He had traveled into the world of Pokémon. A two-for-one deal of cosmic absurdity. This was beyond outrageous.
"So your starter is... a Yamper, right, Leo?" Silas asked, his voice steady now.
"Starter? He's not my 'starter,' he's the family dog! I've had him since I was a kid. He's my partner for life," Leo said, scratching the Yamper behind its ears.
"Awoof!" Yamper agreed happily.
"Yamper are definitely cute," Silas commented, his old analytical instincts kicking in. "But they lose a lot of that charm when they evolve into Boltund. It's a significant drop in cuteness."
In his past life, he knew Pokémon like the back of his hand. Yamper, with its corgi-like stubby legs and round face, was peak adorable. Boltund was a tall, lanky hunting dog—cool and impressive, sure, but it lacked the charm of its pre-evolution.
"Hey, I know that!" Leo laughed. "That's why I'm never going to evolve him. I'm not in the Pokémon Battling or Pokémon Training major. I'm just a normal Business Administration student. My Yamper is family. After graduation, I'll be a regular office worker, not some globe-trotting trainer."
He gave Silas a knowing look. "Aren't you the same? Aiming for a quiet life, just trying to get through college?"
"Hmm... I see," Silas nodded slowly.
Even in the Pokémon world, not everyone's dream was to become the Champion. Most people were just ordinary cogs in the great machine of society. The only difference was that here, Pokémon were a part of daily life. And as pets, they were infinitely cuter and less trouble than the cats and dogs of his old world.
"So," Leo asked, "what about you? What's your starter Pokémon?"
Silas's hand subconsciously went to his pocket.
"Didn't you tell me yesterday you didn't have one yet?" Leo continued, oblivious. "You said you couldn't afford any of the good ones, and you weren't interested in a Caterpie, Rattata, or Weedle."
That was the previous Silas Gray, he thought.
Now, he was certain. His fingers brushed against the cool, smooth surface of a Poké Ball. There was something inside. Perhaps it was a starter pack from whatever cosmic entity had sent him here.
"Come on out... partner."
With a soft click, the ball opened. A beam of red light shot out, and a chubby, top-heavy little creature that looked like a baby land shark rolled clumsily onto the floor. Its mouth was a massive cavern that took up half its body.
"Gible—!" it cried, waving its stubby arms, silently pleading for its new trainer to pick it up.
This time, it was Leo's turn to be stunned. His jaw dropped, and his eyes went wide with shock.
"Are you KIDDING ME?!" he yelled. "You said you couldn't afford a good starter! What the hell is a Gible doing here?!"
Leo pointed a trembling finger at Silas.
"You've been playing dumb this whole time! Acting like some kind of rookie... Is this some kind of 'Secret Heir of Sinnoh' story? Are you about to tell me the Dragon King has returned?!"
"So... a 'Land Shark' that walks on land," Leo mused, scratching his head as he stared at the little creature. "The world of Pokémon is wild, isn't it?"
Silas had to agree. In a world with sky-faring whales like Kyogre, a shark that preferred solid ground was hardly the strangest thing, but seeing one in person was different. The Gible waddled around their feet, its dark blue body a stark contrast to the bright red patch stretching from its jaw to its belly. Two white, spindle-like protrusions grew from the sides of its head, giving it a vaguely aerodynamic look that was hilariously at odds with its clumsy movements.
But the defining feature was its mouth—a cavernous maw filled with sharp little teeth.
"Okay, the problem isn't what it looks like," Leo finally said, his voice hushed with awe. "The problem is that a Gible is what they call a 'pseudo-legendary'. Or, I guess the official term is a 'Late Bloomer Pokémon'."
Silas knew exactly what he meant. After three stages of evolution, Gible would become the mighty Garchomp—a Pokémon famed for its nearly perfect distribution of base stats.
[HP: 108; Attack: 130; Defense: 95; Special Attack: 80; Special Defense: 85; Speed: 102.]
Total Base Stats: 600.
For any serious Pokémon player from his old world, that string of numbers was practically sacred text, burned into their mind more permanently than their own phone number. It was like a secret handshake; you could meet a stranger, recite Garchomp's stats, and be met with a sudden, knowing smile. So... you play Pokémon too?
"I don't really get what makes it so amazing," Leo admitted, "but I know that title—'Late Bloomer'—is a huge deal. Which means... wait, are you secretly a rich kid?!"
Silas rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about? If I were some trust fund baby, don't you think I would've had a starter Pokémon ages ago? This Gible is..."
"Is what?" Leo leaned in, curious.
Silas paused, putting on his most serious face. "I'm trying to figure out what excuse I should make up to fool you."
Leo burst out laughing. "You got it as a prize for topping up your phone plan? Found it at the city dump?"
"Exactly," Silas said with a nod. "And it's not just Gible, either. There was a beautiful android girl lying next to the dumpster, too. All she could say was 'Chii~'. She was too heavy to carry back, though, so I had to leave her there."
"I don't believe you for a second, you weirdo," Leo snorted, shaking his head. "Now you're just quoting old anime. But whatever, it's not my business. I'm not planning on being a trainer anyway. A Yamper is all the pet I need. Pokémon battling... that's for the students in the Battle Department to worry about."
That was the reality of their university. While it offered normal degrees like Business Administration, Computer Science, and Finance, it also had specialized programs: a Pokémon Battle Department, a Breeding Department, a Pokémon Medical Department, and a Research Department. Even in a world that revolved around Pokémon, society still needed accountants and engineers.
"It seems like a waste, though," Leo added, looking at the Gible again. "You have a pseudo-legendary. You have to become a trainer."
"We'll see," Silas muttered. "It's called a 'Late Bloomer' for a reason. Gible isn't very strong right now."
That was the catch with pseudo-legendaries. As a starter, they were often less useful than the traditional "big three" from the labs, or even common Pokémon you could catch on Route 1. Their growth cycle was incredibly long, requiring far more experience to evolve than most other species. By the time Silas's Gible evolved into a Gabite and then finally a Garchomp, other trainers would have already raised their main partners to their final forms and started working on their second or third. The efficiency gap was massive.
Still, Silas knew this was the definition of a first-world problem. Complaining about getting a Gible was insane. He hadn't forgotten that the most famous trainer to ever start with one was now the reigning Champion of the Sinnoh League—the unbeatable "Battle Goddess," Cynthia.
After finally ushering a reluctant Leo and his cheerful Yamper out, Silas closed his dorm room door. At last, he had a moment alone to properly examine the partner that had followed him across dimensions.
"Gib~?" the Gible tilted its head, its eyes looking almost vacant as it stared up at him.
Silas stared back.
The two of them, man and Pokémon, were locked in a silent, mutual inspection. A moment later, a transparent blue screen flickered into existence in his vision, a large amount of information neatly displayed before him.
[Species: Gible (♀)]
[Type: Dragon / Ground]
[Ability: Rough Skin]
[Known Moves: Dragon Claw , Stomp , Sand Tomb , Dragon Rage , Dragon Dance , Bite ]
"Hmmmm," Silas murmured, his eyes scanning the data panel with a thoughtful expression. He processed the species, the gender, the ability... all standard. Then he got to the move list.
His thoughtful expression froze. His quiet hum turned into a low, sputtering noise, like an engine struggling to turn over.
"Hmmmm?!"
The first few moves were fine, but his eyes locked on the fifth one, the name blaring like a siren in his mind.
What in the world was a Gible doing with Dragon Dance?
A cold, familiar realization washed over him.
My friend, he thought with a sense of cosmic irony, this Pokémon of mine seems a little illegal.
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