The spreadsheet refused to load.
Again.
And maybe that was the last straw.
He sighed, the kind of sigh that came from a man who had rebuilt a city twice: once from an earthquake, once from a terrorist siege, and still got lectured by a senator about "beautification priorities."
He clicked again. The file froze. A single cell blinked back at him mockingly
#VALUE!
"Yeah," he muttered, "me too, Excel. Me too."
He rubbed his temple. Twelve years ago, he'd been the golden boy of city management, the miracle worker who could make both sides of a political blood feud smile for a photo-op while quietly rerouting the budget toward infrastructure that wouldn't collapse next typhoon season.
Rebuilding the city after the siege had given him purpose. Seeing families return, schools reopen, kids playing in parks that didn't exist six months earlier, that had meant something. Of course, the credit went to a rotating cast of "visionary" politicians whose main contribution was a dramatic press conference and a slogan that looked better on a billboard than in an audit.
He hadn't cared about the credit. He cared about the work. But over time, every meeting, every "urgent" memo chipped away at him. Pet projects over power grids. Monuments over maintenance. His patience wasn't thin anymore; it was transparent.
Now, he was a glorified complaint filter.
Still, he stayed. Someone had to. Someone had to make sure the next "visionary" didn't pave over the drainage system or rename the city square after their dog.
If there was one thing he'd learned in his years as a city administrator, it was this: Politics wasn't about doing what was right. It was about making sure everyone thought they'd won.
He stared at the clock on his monitor. 11:59 PM.
His only reprieve from bureaucratic hell was his Switch sitting on the desk, half-charged and dustier than the "anti-corruption committee" inbox.
A single cartridge sat in it, Pokémon Legends: Arceus. His one comfort. A quiet world, far away, where he could just… fix things.
He smiled faintly, muttering, "If only real life had a Pokédex. I'd know exactly which species of idiot I'm talking to."
He powered on his Switch, ready to journey once more into the ancient lands of Hisui. A playful thought crossed his mind: If Arceus is real, I hope he's hiring.
The light flickered.
Once. Twice.
And then... the world went white.
"Your world wanes. Mine waits."
===
Cold sweat soaked through his shirt like he'd been caught in a summer rainstorm — only, last he checked, his apartment's AC was working fine.
Or it was.
Now he wasn't so sure this was his apartment.
The ceiling above him wasn't the familiar white paint flaking near the light fixture. It was wooden. Carved. Polished with care, though the scent of oil and herbs hinted at something older, medieval.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
Still wood. Still there.
"...What the hell?" he muttered, the rough texture of his voice catching him by surprise.
It came out lower, smoother. Less of a caffeine-stained croak and more… aristocratic?
His fingers dug into the mattress, absurdly soft, decadent. The kind of softness reserved for people who never had to sit through procurement hearings.
And his hand—
It wasn't his hand.
Slimmer, longer fingers. The calluses were gone. The veins beneath the skin glowed faintly with vitality, the farthest thing from the overworked civil servant he'd been.
He sat up, the silk sheets sliding off a chest that… did not belong to a man fueled by instant noodles and late-night coffee. Lean muscle. Defined abs. His reflection in the polished metal basin nearby completed the shock.
Sharp jawline.
Clear skin.
Hair that hadn't declared independence years ago.
"…didn't have to buff me this hard," he whispered, a wry grin fighting the panic
He stood. Balanced. Light. Powerful. His body responded with a fluid, spring-steel tension, like it had been fine-tuned for agility and strength. No stiffness. No fatigue. Just a raw, functional energy humming beneath the surface.
"This is wrong," he breathed, a nervous, disbelieving laugh escaping him. "I haven't felt this good since… never. I've never felt this good."
For a man who'd lived on instant noodles and committee stress, this was like stepping into a RPG character creation screen and discovering someone had maxed all his stats for him.
Something glinted on his hand, a golden ring, etched with the familiar insignia of a Poké Ball. His fingers trembled. The contrast hit him: this elegant hand, far removed from the tired, ink-stained one that used to sign off on repair budgets and flood control plans.
He stepped closer to the metal basin.
The reflection staring back at him was that of a man in his early twenties. Silver hair, regal in its precision. High cheekbones, a proud jawline. Eyes the color of molten gold — his eyes, yet not.
Sharper. Unsettling. Alive.
He scowled. "Perfect. I look like the poster boy for a bad otome game." It was just too much.
He looked like a classical painting of a young prince who had clearly neglected his administrative duties to attend fencing practice.
A groan of realization escaped him.
Prince.
The memory, vague and intrusive, of a massive, glowing white alpaca sending him on a mission to a world of chaos, poverty, and disasters finally elbowed its way past the rationalizing part of his brain.
"Right. Arceus. New world. Guide them to happiness. Transmigrated as a Prince," he rattled off, rubbing his temples. "Great. From running a mid-sized, functional city to... running a medieval kingdom that's a magnet for calamities, apparently without even the basic luxury of parents to delegate to."
He sighed. "The city building starts from the ground up, literally."
His gaze fell on a nearby desk cluttered with what appeared to be maps, a dried-up quill, and a heavy, leather-bound journal. He instinctively reached out to pick up a simple, unremarkable piece of chalk resting beside it.
The moment his fingers brushed it, a pale blue box flickered into existence, hovering above the object.
[Chalk ]
A soft, white stone used for marking. Highly portable.
He froze. Then grinned despite himself.
"Okay. That's… actually cool."
He picked up the leather journal next.
[The Royal Ledger]
An old, weighty book containing years of royal decree, tax records, and the occasional drawing of a particularly sad-looking horse.
READ MORE (POKEPEDIA)? (Y/N)
He didn't hesitate. He reached out and, with a jolt of mental energy, pressed Y.
The box expanded into a translucent scroll, data unfolding like an endless library: names, dates, alliances, census reports. It was a complete historical database, perfectly indexed. Some entries were grayed out, locked, but still it was knowledge. Power.
"Oh, Arceus," he whispered, a genuine smile finally breaking through his cynical facade. "I have the ultimate cheat sheet."
He inspected himself, a new pane flickered into view:
[Caelum Argentis]
Role: World Administrator
Title: Prince Regent of Aurialis
Registered Partner: —
Pokédex Access: ENABLED
Poképedia Access: ENABLED
Trainer Attributes
HP: Best
Attack: Best
Defense: Very Good
Sp. Atk: Best
Sp. Def: Best
Speed: Very Good
Overall Potential: ★★★★★
"Champion-Grade"
He blinked. "...Champion-grade?"
A slow grin crept across his face. "Okay, Arceus, you didn't cheap out."
He flexed a hand experimentally. Power coiled beneath the skin, a clean, fluid strength that felt earned. The kind of body a lifelong field trainer might build, someone who could hold a line beside a Lucario or wrestle a Garchomp into calm if he had to.
He nodded once, the weight of it settling.
"Not for show," he murmured. "For work." 👀
The interface pulsed once more, then dimmed, leaving faint motes of light drifting like shed pixels.
He exhaled through a crooked smile. "Guess this is my starter kit. One overclocked body, a Poképedia, and a job title. How generous."
Outside, distant thunder rolled. The air shimmered faintly, as if reality itself was… unstable.
And somewhere in the forests beyond the city walls, something not-of-this-world cried out.
A roar, deep, alien, and full of static.
Caelum froze. A new message blinked before his eyes.
[Unknown Space-Time Distortion Detected]
Rift between worlds.
Entities leaking through.
Classification: ???
He swallowed, heartbeat steadying. Then his grin returned, smaller, sharper, alive with something he hadn't felt in years.
"Alright, Arceus," he whispered, stepping toward the window where stormlight flashed against the horizon.
"I'll play your game."