It was just another day for an 11-year-old boy, quietly reading about the history of the ancient Varkhane tribe, when a man walked up behind him and said,"384, here is today's assessment of your knowledge. If you don't answer everything correctly..."The man paused and smiled."You know what will happen."
The boy filled out the sheet in around twenty minutes and returned it. The man compared the answers with the ones written on the tablet beside him and said,"Your answers are correct. So you'll only get the bare minimum pain tolerance training today."
The boy showed no particular facial expression, but on closer inspection, his eyes carried a faint trace of sadness and pain. He silently followed the man to another room, where a second man stood waiting accompanied by a Hypno. Without resistance, the boy sat on the chair as the Hypno began its work.
Illusions. Painful ones.
He felt his limbs tear, bones shatter, heat crawl across his skin. His breath hitched. His body shook. He barely kept himself upright by the time the illusion ended.
He was then allowed to return to his room and sleep for five hours. His depressed state did not improve as he remembered the many others like him who hadn't survived the horrors of this place, an organization that existed only to manufacture appealing political figures and keep them obedient with bodyguards and subtle control.
Most power, he knew, lay not with those smiling politicians.It belonged to the Gym Leaders, the Elite Fours, the Champion, the breeders, the strong families and the invisible systems backing them.
"If only I can change this hell," thought the boy they called 384, drifting into thought instead of sleep. He recalled everything he had learned about Pokémon, science, geography, history, and above all, ethics and psychology. It was those last two that had completely reshaped how he saw the world. They had given him purpose.
He finally drifted to sleep.
Less than three hours later, he woke not by noise, but by instinct. He sensed something: panic, fear, scattered thoughts. Negative emotions. His aura.
The door to the building was open.
He sensed people running. Pokémon chasing. The guards weren't prepared. Some were already down.
He had once only wanted to stop suffering.But now, understanding psychology and ethics, he realized something more dangerous he wanted to be happy. And he knew he'd never find that here.
He grabbed some money left nearby, along with his Pokémon Field Medic Kit, and ran then slowed to a cautious walk, mindful of his frail, underdeveloped body. His surroundings flickered like echoes in his aura vision, a skill he had begun to refine over the past year.
No one could know what he was thinking: Pokémon training theory, moral questions, escape strategies. He masked his presence with aura, and the Hypno wasn't skilled enough to find him. His former "mentors" had begun their search but unless something unforeseen happened, he'd escape.
His aura sensing was limited to about 100 meters. He caught a glimpse of the Pokémon causing the chaos: Beedrills. Dangerous, yes but not unnatural. Attacks like this were rare, though not unheard of. Even within the charted territories of The League the ruling human power much of the land was still claimed by wild Pokémon.
The boy mentally scolded himself for not having the power to stop the attack of the Beedrills or even help people escape in this situation since they were either far away from him or too dangerous to approach.
The League made treaties with dangerous wild factions to avoid conflict. But accidents still happened.
He sensed injured wild Pokémon nearby. Without hesitation, he moved towards them cautious but calm and used his field medical and breeder skills to save who he could. He also promptly hid the Pokémons because they would take precious time to wake up and he would also be unable to carry them around.
He was heading toward a nearby city. Duskmarch. Maybe he could earn some money there by selling the Pokéblocks he made. It was risky though. With how weak he was, anyone could rob him.
The trip would take about nine days. A long walk with lots of rest. The road passed rivers and lakes, and more towns than he liked. He planned to avoid every one of them. If his mentors were still looking for him, towns were the first place they'd check.
He avoided wild Pokémon. If even one got aggressive, he wouldn't be able to fight back. He just didn't have the strength.
Nature had been kind so far. He found food, stayed hidden, and kept going. He walked for 25 - 30 minutes at a time. Then he would rest for about 10 or 15. While resting, he either ate or slept, depending on where he was.
Even while walking, his thoughts didn't stop. He kept thinking about ethics, history, strategy. What could have been done better in the past? How should Pokémon really be trained? His body was on the road, but his mind never had a break.
It was the fourth day when he saw it. A wild Elekid, injured and alone. Still conscious. That was rare. Usually, if a Pokémon got that weak in the wild, it was already gone.
The boy, who had started calling himself Haruki Amagiri, moved toward it slowly. He kept his posture relaxed. Tried to look harmless.
The Elekid looked up at him, scared at first. But then it seemed to realize how weak the boy was. It didn't run. It didn't growl.
Haruki crouched nearby. He didn't get too close. He knew the Pokémon wouldn't understand everything he said, but maybe it would understand enough.
"Hello," he said, calm. "It looked like you were hurt, so I came to help."
The Elekid blinked. Tilted its head.
"Ele?"