Mark Rivers didn't answer right away. He looked at Ethan steadily and spoke with quiet weight.
"You've studied nine years straight, from elementary through middle school. If you choose this path, you know our situation. There aren't many people who can help."
Ethan lifted his head, eyes firm. "I know. I'll work harder."
Mark nodded and said nothing more. He glanced at Mrs. Rivers, whose eyes had reddened. She took a brand-new debit card from her apron and handed it to Ethan. He accepted it with both hands.
"There's 150,000 credits on this card. It's everything we can spare to support you," she said. "We'll still cover your high-school tuition and living expenses, but anything Pokémon-related comes from this card. If it's not enough… you'll have to figure it out."
"Without enough resources, the trainer's road is hard. If one day you're exhausted and want to stop, we won't blame you. You're grown. You're responsible for your choices."
Mark's voice was low. Maybe he blamed himself for not providing more; maybe he simply wasn't optimistic.
Ethan smiled — not bravado, but genuine. "It's enough."That eased both their hearts a little.
Mark cleared his throat. "How do you plan to use it? At current prices, 150k can buy a decent breeding center Pokémon. But if you spend it all on the purchase, there's nothing left to raise it. Go too cheap, and you handicap your future."
Ethan already had a plan. "Dad, I'm going to take Shadow — the Poochyena — up into the hills and catch a partner myself. Then I'll put the money into training, so I don't fall too far behind early."
He didn't add the uncomfortable truth: without any 'cheat,' a kid who starts with a Weedle won't end up where a kid starts with a top-tier starter.
Before Mark could answer, Mrs. Rivers grew anxious and cut in."No. The wild Pokémon by the village aren't that aggressive, but what if you run into a roaming Ekans or Seviper? They attack people for no reason. You're not going into the mountain!"
"I've got Shadow. He'll protect me," Ethan muttered.
She drew breath to argue again, but Mark raised a hand. "I agree with your mother. You're not going alone. Tell me what species you want. I'll take Poochyena up tomorrow and find something suitable."
"Dad, let me come!"
"No. Your mother will keep an eye on you tomorrow. Just name what you want."
Ethan's shoulders slumped. He knew his father's temperament and didn't push. "Spinarak, Paras, Weedle… all fine. Best case, a Shroomish that wandered in from the village."
He added, "Some of those live in groups, some are poisonous. Be careful — you and Shadow both."
"I know. I've been in those hills with him plenty," Mark said. "I'll stop by old Mr. Grant's for two Pecha Berries and head north. There's a small Spinarak cluster up there. I'll see if there's a good one."
…
When Ethan woke the next morning, his father was already gone.
After a quick breakfast, Ethan tried to take a walk around the village, but his mother blocked the door, still worried he'd sneak off into the hills. He retreated to his room and kept studying.
Three or four hours later — around ten — sweat beaded his forehead. His right hand clamped his left wrist.
"Damn it… what are you doing? Trying to kill me with pain?"
This time it wasn't only the stabbing ache. His thoughts fuzzed, and fragments flashed in his mind — gone as soon as they appeared.
"Fine. Show me what you want to show."
Gritting his teeth, he shoved the chair back and lay on the bed, trembling as he forced himself to focus on those flickers.
It took several tries, but he finally caught hold of the vision:
A dilapidated shed. Dust lay so thick even the cobwebs wore a coat of gray.Old wooden planks leaned against stone. Farm tools were scattered across the floor, some still caked in fresh red soil.
His sight tunneled inward — to a small red wooden box about twenty centimeters tall. Its craftsmanship was delicate, a lacquered peony painted on the lid.
Inside, something shone with a soft white light, as if waiting to be found.
Ethan knew the thing in that box was what his left wrist — no, what the birthmark on his left wrist — was pointing him to.
"Interesting… a late golden finger? Sixteen years late?"
The shed in the vision was, by pure coincidence, their farm shed.
Ten agonizing minutes later, the pain finally ebbed. Ethan wiped his brow and hurried out to look for the red box.
"What are you doing?" his mother called from the living room — still keeping watch so he couldn't slip away.
"Just grabbing something," he answered, and went straight to the left-side shed.
The red box was right where he remembered — a childhood treasure chest. He hadn't opened it in years; dust dulled the lacquer. He lifted the lid.
Inside lay all sorts of odd stones he'd collected as a kid, little carvings he'd made from fruit pits, and two crude Pokémon figurines.
Almost without thinking, his hand went straight to a flat white stone, about the size of a thumb — teardrop-shaped, punched with a thread hole. The material was hard to place, its surface coated like rough, unpolished jade. It had clearly been ground and drilled by hand — an ancient pendant, almost like a magatama.
Mrs. Rivers peered in from the doorway. "Didn't you find that in the orchard stream when you were little? It's probably an antique — valuable for research. You never wanted to sell it."
"Yeah," Ethan said vaguely. "This is what I was looking for."
She watched him go, eyes misting. "If only it really were valuable… then he'd have the money to chase his dream."
Back in his room, Ethan pressed the pendant to the birthmark on his wrist.The skin burned — urging him on. The instant the pendant touched down, a cool sensation spread… and the pendant shattered.
The cool faded. The birthmark went silent. Nothing else happened.
"Uh… Open Sesame?Golden finger, activate?…Jarvis? Friday? If you're there, squeak?"
He shook his left hand. Nothing.
"Seriously? You scam me and run?" He flopped onto the bed, flicking his wrist like a bored kid. "Not enough energy? What does it even use?"
"—Oh, come on!"
"What is it?" his mother called. "Why are you yelling?"
"Nothing! Just a game!"
A light-blue screen had bloomed in midair, high-tech and translucent. At its center spun a roulette divided into eleven uneven segments, with a red button labeled START DRAW.
Ethan steadied his breathing, excitement tamped down. In each segment, a Pokémon icon:
A newbie gacha?
He stared. Ten of the eleven were dogs. The last was… an acorn.
A spy among the hounds?
Then he remembered: the acorn's final form is that tengu — Shiftry. Right, Seedot.
Was the golden finger hinting "dogs are man's best friend"? Or… is this a dog system?
The wheel showed: Fidough, Poochyena, Furfrou, Electrike, Seedot, Rockruff, Yamper, Lillipup, Houndoom, Growlithe, and — in the tiniest slice — Riolu.
"Draw one?"
Tempting. Aside from Fidough and Poochyena, most of those lines had solid final stats — three even had Mega Evolutions.
Growlithe's final, Arcanine, sat at a tidy base 555. Not the absolute peak below pseudo-legendary, but few matched its all-round excellence.
As for Riolu… Ethan practically drooled. Lucario — stylish, combat-savvy, and Mega-capable. Raised well, it could carry him for life.
Unfortunately, Growlithe and Riolu occupied tiny wedges, while Fidough and Poochyena took up nearly a third of the wheel.
Poochyena wasn't hopeless — with Moxie or Intimidate, Mightyena had real-world utility.Fidough? Cute pet. In a fight… reality would hit hard.
And that weird "copy a Legendary's move" skill some people fantasized about? This was real life. Walk up to a Legendary and you die. Even if you "got" the move, could you use it?
"Please don't land on Fidough," Ethan prayed. "I can live with Poochyena. Riolu would be great."
No more stalling. Fate favors the bold. He hit START DRAW.
A beat later he smacked his forehead. "Great. Forgot to wash my hands and do some ritual. What if this dog system is superstitious?"
He pressed a palm to his chest to keep his heart from leaping out while the wheel slowed…
It clicked to a halt — a burst of crimson light flashed — and a red-and-white Poké Ball popped out of the screen and bonked his nose.
"—Ow! That's wicked!"
"What was that? Clang? Stop messing around in there!" Footsteps approached. The Poké Ball on the floor shook, its button flashing.
It was about to open on its own.
Ignoring his throbbing nose, Ethan scooped it up and whispered, "Hey, little one — give me a second. I'll let you out soon, promise."
Thankfully, the shaking stopped; the light went still.
The door creaked open. Mrs. Rivers peeked in, then relaxed. "I thought—"
"Thought I snuck out? No way. I value my life," Ethan said, palming the Ball like it was empty.
She noticed it. "A Poké Ball?"
"Gift from a classmate. She kept it as a souvenir," he lied smoothly.
She didn't press. After a quick scan of the room, she closed the door.
"So this screen is invisible to anyone else," Ethan muttered, turning back to it.
The result panel displayed a large, black hound with orange markings on its muzzle and belly, bone-like rings on its limbs, a fan-shaped skull plate, and bony ridges along its back. Curved horns crowned its head — a demon-dog straight from the underworld.
"Hah… this is…"
"Houndoom."
(That's the starter blessing. Don't expect more handouts — otherwise, with the protagonist's luck, he really would've had to begin with Weedle.)