The previous night, Kai had sat with his back against the wall of the general store, turning the Poké Ball over in his hands. The mechanism was simple. Press the button; the red light captures the target, and the ball seals. In the games, the current HP percentage, status conditions, species modifier, and ball type modifier were the formulas that determined catch rate. Here, in reality, he had no idea if those formulas held.
But he'd find out today.
His mind was already going through his options. Route 1 spawns: Pidgey, Rattata, Caterpie, Weedle.
Rattata was tempting. He knew the strategy—F.E.A.R. Focus Sash, Endeavor, Quick Attack, Rattata. A level 1 Rattata with perfect execution could take down even legendaries. The math was beautiful, survive one hit with Focus Sash, use Endeavor to bring opponent to 1 HP, finish with Quick Attack's priority. Unbeatable in theory.
Useless in practice for him.
Focus Sash required money he didn't have. Endeavor was a level 30+ move or an egg move requiring breeding. Quick Attack was learnable, but Rattata's stats were terrible, nearly the worst in the game. And most critically, Rattata had no utility outside of that one gimmick. No versatility. No adaptability. One trick that required resources he couldn't access.
Dead end.
Caterpie and Weedle were worse. Pure early-game fodder designed to evolve quickly. Caterpie's only real move was String Shot until level 15. Weedle had Poison Sting, which was decent, but both evolved into Pokémon with four-times weaknesses that would get them killed in real combat. Glass cannons that shattered if you breathed on them wrong.
That left Pidgey.
Kai stared up at the night sky, thinking. Pidgey. Normal/Flying. Technically worse than Rattata, but distributed better. Learns Sand Attack at level 5. Learns Gust at level 9. Learns Quick Attack at level 13.
More importantly, it could fly.
In the games, that was just convenient for travel. Here, in reality, that meant reconnaissance. Scouting. Aerial perspective on routes, on opponent positions, on escape routes. Information was power, and Pidgey could gather it from angles no ground-bound Pokémon could match.
And then there were the abilities. Pidgey could have three: Keen Eye, Tangled Feet, or Big Pecks as a hidden ability.
Keen Eye prevented accuracy reduction. Worthless for his strategy, he wanted accuracy reduction just on his opponents. Big Pecks prevented Defense reduction. Situationally useful but not game-changing. But Tangled Feet, now that was interesting. If Pidgey was confused, its evasion increased by two stages. Most players saw it as a curse, a joke ability. Who wanted to confuse their own Pokémon? But skilled trainers knew how to turn it into an advantage.
In any case, if he could just get a Pidgey and have it know Double Team and Sand Attack...
The evasion stacking would be obscene.
That was future planning, though. Theoretical. Right now, he just needed a Pidgey that knew Sand Attack. That could follow basic commands. That wouldn't die immediately. He needed something that could execute a simple, repeatable strategy. Something that didn't require rare TMs or complex breeding. Something that would obey even without badges, because he had no badges and couldn't get them.
Something toxic.
Dawn broke over Route 1 with a chorus of Pidgey calls, territorial declarations, mating songs, and warnings of predators. Kai had been awake for an hour already, crouched in the tall grass near a cluster of trees where he'd observed the flock roosting. His legs had gone numb twenty minutes ago. He didn't move.
The Poké Ball sat in his hand, thumb resting on the button. One shot. One chance.
His stomach cramped. He'd eaten half a berry before dawn, saving the rest for afterward. If there was an afterward. The hunger was constant now, a background effect that coloured every thought. His mouth tasted like copper and stale berries. The bite wound on his arm throbbed with each heartbeat, a dull reminder that Route 1 didn't forgive mistakes.
The backpack Hiroshi had given him sat beside him in the grass. Inside: three berries and the scrap metal. He'd crushed one berry into pulp last night, working by moonlight, separating flesh from skin and seeds with fingers that shook from exhaustion. The pulp sat on a flat stone fifteen feet away, glistening slightly in the early light.
Bait.
Kai watched the flock through the grass stems, each blade sharp and distinct in his hunger-focused vision. The world of Route 1 was waking up around him, and it was louder than he'd expected. In the games, routes were just backgrounds with encounter rates, silent except for battle music. Here, they were alive.
The grass rustled constantly with hidden movement, insects, small Pokémon, and predators stalking prey. A Rattata screamed somewhere in the underbrush, unseen by Kai.
Something had it.
A wet crunch and then silence signalled death, which took maybe three seconds.
Dangerous. All of it. The games never showed you what happened between battles. Never showed the Ekans that waited in tall grass for warm-blooded prey, coiled and patient. Never showed the territorial disputes that left Pokémon injured and dying, their bodies feeding the ecosystem's cycle.
He'd crossed Route 1 three times now in his scouting missions. Each crossing had taught him something. He had witnessed a pack of patient Rattata circle a Pidgey with a broken wing who was unable to fly. They'd waited for it to weaken, to stop fighting. The world didn't care about fairness or levels or turn-based combat. It didn't care about type advantages or move pools or base stat totals.
It just consumed.
The flock were visible now in the growing light, their brown and cream plumage taking on colour as the sun rose. Six Pidgey, maybe more; he'd counted eight yesterday, but two might have left or died. They occupied the tree in layers, with their roosting positions revealing a vertical hierarchy. Largest at the top, claiming the sturdiest branches with the best vantage points. Smallest at the bottom, perching on thin branches that swayed in the morning breeze.
Kai's eyes found his target immediately. Smaller than the others, its feathers were ruffled and dull where the others' shone. It perched on the lowest branch, isolated even within the flock's lowest tier. And even as Kai watched, a larger Pidgey, mid-tier, not even close to alpha, hopped over and pecked it hard enough to make it flinch and nearly lose balance. The small one didn't fight back. Didn't even try. Just moved three hops down the branch, head low.
Weak.
Perfect.
A low flock position meant low level, probably 3, maybe 4. Its submissive behaviour meant it had lost fights and learnt helplessness. It would be easier to intimidate, easier to corner. The injury to its wing meant reduced mobility. Every factor increased the catch rate.
The flock began to disperse as the sun climbed higher, burning off the morning chill. The alpha went first, powerful and confident, wings cutting through air. It didn't look back. The mid-tier followed in loose formation, spreading out to claim foraging territories. The stragglers came last, fluttering down to the ground to search for whatever scraps the stronger ones left behind.
Kai's target landed badly, one wing beating harder than the other to compensate, hitting the ground with a small thump instead of a graceful landing. Favouring its left side. The bird was surviving despite the injury, which meant it was adaptable or, at the very least, smart enough to compensate for weakness. But the flock seemed to be losing patience with it. Another few days and it would be driven out completely, left to die alone where predators would find it easy.
Unless he got to it first.
The Pidgey hopped through the grass, head bobbing with each movement, pecking at dirt, searching for seeds or insects. Moving closer to the bait. Closer. It saw the berry pulp. Froze. Head cocked at an angle that in another context might have been cute.
Kai's heart hammered. His hand was cramping from holding the Poké Ball so long, fingers locked in position. His back ached from staying crouched, muscles screaming for movement. His vision swam slightly from hunger and dehydration, the edges going soft. He blinked hard, forcing focus.
The Pidgey hopped closer to the pulp. Cautious. One hop. Pause. Another hop. Pause. Checking for threats.
Suddenly, three larger Pidgey noticed and dived towards the bait.
'No. No. No!'
But they were already coming, wings tucked, diving fast. The plan was falling apart. Kai had wanted the small one to eat the bait. The small one ran, wings spread but not flying, just scrambling on foot away from the food like a startled chicken as the larger three landed and immediately began fighting over the pulp, wings slapping, beaks jabbing, screeching.
Not what Kai had planned. But workable.
The small Pidgey was already fifteen feet away, still moving, spooked by the sudden aggression. If it got much further, he'd lose his chance.
Kai's hand found the scrap metal, fingers closing around familiar edges. He waited, counting heartbeats. The timing mattered. Too soon and they'd scatter but stay close, alerted but not afraid. Too late, and they'd finish eating and disperse. He needed them distracted and focused entirely on each other.
One of the larger Pidgey got a beak full of pulp and tried to swallow. Another attacked it, jealous or just mean. They tumbled, screeching, feathers flying.
Now.
Kai brought the metal down on a rock with everything he had.
CLANG.
The sound cracked through the morning air like a gunshot, sharp and violent and wrong. All three Pidgey were startled, wings flaring wide in panic, alarm calls piercing, and took off in three different directions. They didn't go far, just retreated to the tree's middle branches, chirping warnings to the flock.
The small Pidgey had been watching from a distance, too low in the hierarchy to even attempt claiming food. The alarm calls triggered something instinctive, something hardwired into every flock bird's brain. It had to return to the flock. To safety. To numbers.
Its wings beat frantically—
It got maybe five feet off the ground.
The left wing wasn't working right. Not broken, as Kai could see it extend fully and see the feathers spread, but weak. Malnourished, maybe, or healing from an old injury that had never quite recovered. The Pidgey's flight was lopsided, one wing pulling harder while the other struggled to keep up, and it barely made it to a low bush before the flight pattern collapsed.
It crashed into the branches with a rustling thump. Landed hard in the dirt below. Panting. Wings splayed awkwardly, trembling with effort.
Alone.
Kai started moving before he'd consciously decided to. Slow. Low. Fifteen feet away. Fourteen. Thirteen. His knees protested the movement after staying still so long.
His foot came down on a dry twig.
Snap.
The sound was small, but in the morning quiet, it might as well have been thunder. The Pidgey's head whipped toward him, neck rotating with that uncanny bird flexibility. Their eyes met.
Kai froze. His leg was extended mid-step, off-balance, toes barely touching the ground. His breathing too loud in his own ears. The Pidgey's eyes were black and sharp and intelligent. Not human intelligence, something alien, but not animal stupidity either. It was reading him. Deciding on a course of action.
Fifteen seconds passed. Kai didn't breathe. Didn't blink. His raised foot was starting to shake from holding position, calf muscle cramping. Sweat dripped down his temple despite the morning chill.
The Pidgey's head tilted. Its wings twitched, preparing for flight, tensing for takeoff, but it didn't move. Was this human dangerous? Was flying worth the pain? Could it even make it back to the tree?
Kai's foot was cramping badly now. His balance was failing, body swaying slightly. If he moved now, any sudden movement, the bird would just bolt. Injured or not, fear could overcome pain. If he didn't move, he'd fall, and falling would trigger the same response.
He let his foot descend. Slowly. So slowly it took three full seconds to complete the motion, until his sole touched grass and dirt.
The Pidgey watched but didn't flee.
Kai took another step. Another. Twelve feet. Ten. Eight.
The Pidgey made a sound, not an alarm call, more like a question. A chirp that seemed to ask: 'what are you?'
Not prey. Not predator. Something else. Something that moved wrong, smelt wrong, but wasn't attacking.
Seven feet. Six. Close enough now to see individual feathers, to see the dirt matted into its plumage, to see the way its injured wing hung just slightly lower than the healthy one.
Kai's hand moved toward the Poké Ball at his belt. The motion was slow, but the Pidgey saw it. Birds noticed movement. Its body tensed, weight shifting to its legs.
'Don't run. Don't run. Don't—'
The Pidgey stood up, wings spreading slightly. Ready to flee despite the pain, despite knowing flight would hurt.
Kai's thumb hit the button. The ball enlarged with a soft click that sounded deafening in the moment, a mechanical sound foreign to the natural world.
The Pidgey's eyes went wide.
Kai threw.
Not a perfect arc. His arm was weak from hunger, muscles depleted, his aim slightly off. The ball tumbled more than spun, its trajectory wobbly, not the clean throw he'd visualised a hundred times.
The Pidgey tried to jump. Its wings beat once, twice—
The ball struck it mid-motion, right at the centre of mass.
The red light exploded like a bomb going off. The Pidgey dissolved into energy, matter becoming light becoming data, pulled into the capture mechanism with a sound like rushing wind. The ball hit the ground and bounced once, twice, rolled into a divot in the dirt and settled.
Kai's legs gave out. He fell to his knees, breathing hard, staring at the ball. His heart hammered against his ribs. His hands were shaking.
The ball rocked.
Once.
"Come on." Kai whispered, willing it to stay put.
Inside that ball, the Pidgey was fighting. Struggling against the energy conversion, against the foreign technology, against captivity. Catch rate was typically a formula: current HP percentage, status conditions, species modifier, and ball type modifier. But formulas were abstractions. Inside that ball was a living creature deciding whether to submit or resist.
The ball rocked again.
Twice.
Kai's fingernails dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood. In the games, three shakes meant success. But this wasn't a game. Things might be different. The catch rate might not account for injury or exhaustion the same way. The Pidgey might break free and flee, and he'd have nothing. Worse than nothing, a wasted ball.
The ball rocked a third time.
"Please."
It went still.
Click.
The sound was soft. Final. Mechanical. The ball's light turned solid white, indicating successful capture and active containment.
Kai made a sound, half-laugh, half-sob, that came from somewhere deep and broken. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely grip the dirt beneath him. Adrenaline and hunger and exhaustion crashed into him all at once, a wave that left him gasping.
He'd done it.
He crawled forward, actually crawled on hands and knees, his legs refusing to work properly, muscles turned to water. He grabbed the Poké Ball with both hands. It was warm. Actually warm, like it had absorbed body heat from the Pidgey.
His first Pokémon.
Kai tried to stand and nearly fell again. His vision was greying at the edges, tunnelling. When was the last time he'd had water? Yesterday morning? The day before?
The world was spinning slightly. He needed food. Needed to rest. Needed to—
A rustling sound. Close. Too close.
Kai's head snapped up, survival instinct overriding exhaustion. Three Rattata had emerged from the tall grass, perhaps drawn by the noise of the capture or just by chance. They were staring at him with flat, predatory eyes. Evaluating. He was sitting on the ground, weak, vulnerable, alone.
Prey.
One of them took a step forward. Then another. Testing.
Kai's hand found the scrap metal, fingers closing around it like a lifeline. His other hand tightened on the Poké Ball. He could release the Pidgey, try to battle, but it was injured, untrained, and wouldn't obey. He'd be sending it to get hurt while he—
The lead Rattata charged.
Kai swung the metal in a wide arc. The Rattata dodged easily, too fast, and circled to his left. The other two were flanking him, spreading out. Pack tactics. They'd done this before. His back hit a tree. Cornered. His vision was still swimming. His arm felt like lead, barely able to hold the metal up.
The Rattata charged again. Kai kicked out desperately, connecting with something solid. The Rattata squealed and retreated, but the other two were moving in, one from each side—
A screech split the air.
One of the larger Pidgey from the flock, not the alpha, but close, dove from above like a missile. It didn't attack the Rattata directly, just buzzed them at high speed, wings slapping, talons raking air inches from their faces, driving them back. This was its flock's hunting ground, and the Rattata were trespassing, disrupting the morning routine.
The Rattata scattered into the tall grass, retreating from the aerial threat.
The Pidgey landed on a branch directly above Kai, turned its head to look down at him with one sharp eye, gave him what could only be described as a look of disdain, and flew back toward its flock without a second glance.
Kai sat there, back against the tree, breathing in ragged gasps. Saved by accident. By pure, dumb luck.
He'd almost died. Again.
His hands were still shaking. The Poké Ball was clutched so tightly in his fist that the edges dug into his skin, leaving red marks. He looked down at it, this thing he'd risked his life for, and felt nothing. No triumph. No joy. Just exhaustion and the knowledge that he'd gotten lucky.
If that Pidgey hadn't been territorial. If the Rattata had been hungrier. If he'd been thirty seconds slower getting to the tree.
If. If. If.
Survival wasn't about skill. It was about luck. And his luck was running out.
The walk back to town took an hour. It should have taken twenty minutes. But he was too weak to move any faster.
Kai kept to the path, moving slowly, stopping every few minutes to rest against trees or rocks. His legs felt like water. The sun was climbing higher, and he had no shade, no hat, nothing to protect him from the heat. Sweat soaked through his shirt. The bite wound on his arm was throbbing again, definitely infected, red and hot and angry. He needed water. Needed food. Needed to sleep for about sixteen hours.
But he had a Pokémon.
The Poké Ball was clipped to his belt now, bouncing against his hip with each step. He'd done it. Built something from nothing. Caught a Pokémon without a Professor's help, without parents buying him supplies, without the system's support.
Just him, stolen berries, and one imperfect throw.
He made it to the town's outskirts and headed straight for his spot behind the general store. The wall was there, solid and familiar. He collapsed against it, sliding down until he was sitting, head tilted back, eyes closed.
The Poké Ball pressed against his side.
Inside it was a Pidgey. Level 3, maybe 4. Injured wing. Weak by any competitive standard. But his.
Kai's hand rested on the ball, feeling its warmth through his palm. He just sat there with his back against the wall, feeling the sun warm his face, feeling the Poké Ball's weight at his belt.
He'd caught his first Pokémon.
Everything else could wait.