Normally, the human body had a failsafe—a built-in "warning system" designed to prevent spiritual overload.
But during a first meditation, that system had no prior reference for what "mental energy exhaustion" even looked like.
So when the brain's internal database lacked that record, it didn't know when to sound the alarm.
That's why accidents—like total spiritual depletion—almost always happened during a first attempt.
Even so, for most people, it was still nearly impossible to drain their mental reserves entirely.
The body's protective instincts were too strong, and the average human's spirit too limited.
…
That's why the Psychic Association used a person's first meditation duration as a way to measure their latent talent.
At age six, the official record for fastest entry into meditation was seven minutes, and the longest first session ever recorded was twenty-nine minutes and forty-six seconds.
Ash, however…
Entered meditation in under a minute—
And stayed in it for three full hours.
If those numbers were ever made public, half the Psychic Association would faint on the spot.
It wasn't just unheard of. It was unthinkable.
That level of spiritual endurance was beyond prodigious—it was the kind of result that would grant someone the title of "once-in-an-era genius."
But that wasn't even the most unbelievable part.
The true miracle was that he had completely drained his spiritual energy… and survived.
To understand how impossible that was, one had to grasp how meditation efficiency worked.
Each person had a different total "mental energy capacity," which grew with age and talent.
Most meditation techniques consumed energy at similar rates, so one's first session was used as a reference point.
For example—say a six-year-old's total mental strength was represented by the number 10.
If, during their first meditation, they consumed 7 units, that would mean:
7 ÷ 10 = 70% efficiency.
That percentage—the proportion of spiritual energy used before the safety mechanism kicked in—became a permanent ceiling for their future training.
Once the body registered the act of meditation in its database, it would never again allow energy depletion beyond that recorded threshold.
No matter how powerful the psychic became—
No matter how strong their will or how refined their technique—
The body would automatically force them out of meditation when they hit that same percentage of spiritual consumption.
That's why the first meditation was so important. It set the limit of potential.
The Psychic Association had long since categorized the results:
Below 30%: Ordinary aptitude
30–50%: Excellent
50–70%: Genius
70–80%: Super Genius
80% and above: Death Zone — No one survives that much depletion
Over 80%, and the brain suffered irreversible trauma.
Those who attempted it were left either comatose… or dead.
Yet Ash's first meditation had burned through everything.
100%.
A number that wasn't just off the charts—it was supposed to be impossible.
And yet, when he woke up, there was no brain damage.
No vegetative state.
No lingering trauma.
He was alive.
Alive… with the theoretical "perfect psychic talent" no one in history had ever possessed.
Though, of course, Ash had no idea.
He simply sat on his bed, sweating as he realized just how close he'd come to dying.
"Never again," he muttered, wiping his brow. "That was way too reckless. I can't afford to die again—not after getting a second chance like this."
In his past life, he'd drowned while trying to save someone else.
Now, reborn in the Pokémon world, gifted with the power of Aura and Viridian, he couldn't—wouldn't—throw that away.
He took a shaky breath, reviewing the data he'd just looked up on his computer.
"I was able to meditate instantly, and last three whole hours…" He thought for a moment, a faint smirk crossing his lips. "That's probably because my mental strength as a transmigrator is way higher than a normal kid's."
"As for draining all my energy and still surviving…" His eyes narrowed. "Guess that's just the protagonist's halo working in my favor."
He chuckled softly but couldn't suppress the lingering tremor in his hands.
Taking a deep breath, Ash walked to the window, opened it, and let the cool breeze wash over him.
"Phew…"
He closed his eyes, spread his arms wide, and let the air fill his lungs, calming his racing thoughts.
Then, when he was finally steady—
He whispered the word that had been echoing in his mind ever since he'd awakened in this world:
"System."
The moment hung in the air, charged with invisible energy—
The beginning of something that would change the fate of both Ash and the Pokémon world forever.
…
…