Freedom feels amazing!
After making sure Nemona wasn't chasing, he quietly poked his head out from a dense clump of bushes.
Whew—he'd almost become a pampered Pokémon with room, board, and someone to love him.
At the end of the day, he was still too weak.
"I'm going to become a master at collecting Pokédex!"
With his goal set, Jason didn't waste time. He headed west, quickly leaving Nemona far behind, and began a dull but efficient grind to fill out his Dex.
This time, he played it smart. He turned into a tiny tuft of grass and swayed silently among the meadow, saying nothing and blending in with the wind.
His first target, Lechonk, soon wandered into view—a plump black pig with its super-sensitive snout furiously rooting beneath a tree. In no time it unearthed a few tempting, glossy Oran Berries someone had buried, and grunted in satisfaction.
Jason didn't make a move. From the perspective of a single blade of grass, he quietly watched everything it did—how it walked, how it used its nose to sort scents, how it chewed, even the cadence of its post-meal sunbathing snores.
A long while later—
[Lechonk Dex completion: 10%… 30%… 70%… 100%!]
[Entry complete. +1 allocatable base stat point!]
[New entry "Lechonk" unlocked. Moves "Mud Shot," "Tail Whip," and "Stuff Cheeks" added to the move pool.]
As that familiar chime rang in his head, Jason immediately dropped the stat point into HP. His jelly-like body felt a touch denser, like its mass had increased. The boost was tiny—but undeniably real.
"Nice. Keep going."
Using the same trick, he quickly found a Tarountula diligently weaving. With the prior experience, his observation was even more precise this time.
[Tarountula Dex completion: 100%!]
[Entry complete. +1 allocatable base stat point!]
[New form "Tarountula" unlocked. Moves "String Shot," "Bug Bite," and "Counter" added to the move pool.]
Another base stat point in the bag!
"Great. Always getting stronger," he thought, very pleased. He could now transform into Lechonk or Tarountula at will and use their moves, giving him more options in battle. Once he collected a few more entries, he could start thinking about fighting.
By his read of the cheat, observation was the safest but slowest way to fill an entry. If he really wanted to progress fast, he'd need battles.
With two entries secured, his courage swelled. He wandered into a rocky area and ran into a Spidops—the evolved form of Tarountula. Bigger frame, more complex legs, a dark green carapace like armor—clearly not to be trifled with.
Jason turned into a Tarountula and tailed it, trying to observe.
[Spidops Dex completion: 0.1%… 0.2%…]
The progress bar crawled like it was constipated. After ages, it barely scraped 2%.
Seriously? This slow?
"What the heck?" He gave up on the spot. "At this rate I'll be here till the heat death of the universe."
Dex progress from observation wasn't linear; the further you went, the slower it got. He quickly spotted the real issue: his own strength—his base stats—determined observation efficiency. Against evolved Pokémon with far higher base stats, his progress tanked. The stronger he was, the faster he'd fill entries for high–base stat Pokémon.
Rather than waste time on evolved targets, he'd gather entries from weaklings first, boost himself, then circle back for the strong ones—a virtuous cycle.
With that straightened out, his mood brightened. He drifted out of the rocks and plunged into the forest.
Spidops blinked as Jason suddenly left. It had assumed this tagalong Tarountula was one of its countless offspring keeping an eye on it. It had finally gotten used to being shadowed… and the kid just bailed.
Where are you going—home for dinner?
…
The forest was a different world from the grassland. Tall trees blotted out the sky; sunlight trickled through the leaves in mottled patches.
In Tarountula form, Jason hid under a fern, his eight legs gripping the veins of a frond, blending in perfectly. He searched for his next subject.
Soon, two tiny white figures bounced into view—one big, one small—holding hands and hopping in lockstep. Their movements were so synchronized that even their hop height and rhythm matched.
Tandemaus.
Jason's eyes lit up. Small bodies, not very aggressive, and they moved as a pair—perfect early-game subjects. And in battle, Tandemaus were famously useful.
"Alright, you two it is."
He silently crept out from under the leaf and trailed the pair from a distance, using trunks and grass as cover.
Their division of labor was crystal clear. The larger one kept constant watch, its little ears swiveling like tiny radar dishes. The smaller one handled logistics—nimble climbing onto low branches, slicing berries with sharp incisors, and stuffing them into its cheek pouches. They worked with effortless chemistry: a glance, a tiny cue—and each knew what the other intended.
[Tandemaus Dex completion: 5%… 10%… 15%…]
The steadily rising bar lifted his spirits. Everything was going to plan.
Then, as always, trouble arrived out of nowhere.
Just as the forager nipped off a plump Pecha Berry, a red-black shadow arrowed down from the sky toward the unsuspecting pair—a Fletchling, eyes razor-sharp and beak gleaming. It was here to hunt.
"Chee!"
The lookout let out a piercing alarm, reacting with shocking speed. It didn't try to brawl; instead it yanked its partner close and, together, kicked up a big clod of dirt.
[Mud-Slap]!
The mud smacked squarely into the diving Fletchling's face, blinding it in an instant.
"Chyu?!"
With a panicked chirp, its assault faltered. The pair didn't look back; they dove into a crude nest of twigs and pebbles nearby and vanished.
"Nice work," Jason couldn't help cheering silently. A textbook sequence—warning, counter, escape—smooth as silk.
The mud-caked Fletchling fluttered midair and shook off the muck. Realizing it had missed the best window, it didn't stubbornly attack the nest. It circled twice overhead and let out a few taunting chirps.
As a fellow Pokémon, Jason understood it perfectly: "You got lucky. Next time you won't get away!"
With that, the Fletchling winged off.
Jason figured it wouldn't let this go. At the same time, a new prompt pinged in his head.
[Fletchling Dex completion: 1%… 2%…]
"Oh? A bonus."
That flash encounter had nudged the Fletchling entry forward. But the good news ended there. The mouse couple clearly had avian-induced PTSD. Most of the time they huddled in their nest and refused to come out. Only at certain times would they pop out, snatch a nearby fallen berry, and immediately retreat.
Meanwhile, the Fletchling, like a territorial bully, kept swooping back to circle and heckle. The back-and-forth throttled Jason's progress; only during those brief peeks could the bar inch forward.
[Tandemaus Dex completion: 33%!]
He'd thought about switching to a different Tandemaus pair, but discovered something odd: since he'd started observing, he hadn't seen any others. Tandemaus shouldn't be that rare.
He suspected the Fletchling was to blame.
Bored and simmering as he waited in the shadows, his gaze kept drifting to the patrolling Fletchling. His eyes grew colder.
What is this, clocking in for work?
That little couple was living their life, and you just had to stir the pot. What—single birds see a pair and get jealous?