Morning on the northeast summit was the kind of cold that didn't feel dramatic.
It felt personal.
Enzo's eyes cracked open to grey light and biting wind. His mouth tasted like ash. His stomach felt hollow—so empty it was almost painful, like it was trying to fold in on itself.
For a second, he forgot where he was.
Then he felt it.
Breath.
Not his.
A warm, stupid presence hovering far too close.
Enzo blinked—and found Koffing floating inches above his face, casting a round shadow over his eyes.
It vibrated faintly. Not from fear.
From temptation.
Its grin was fixed in that same idiotic way, but the wobble of its body made the dilemma obvious even without words:
Boom now… or wait until he's awake?
Enzo ignored it for one heartbeat.
He reached for the Great Ball at his belt instead.
Click.
Light spilled out, and a tiny shape tumbled into existence—small, damp-looking feathers fluffed by the wind, eyes still too new for the world.
The baby Rookidee.
Light Blue.
Prodigy.
It chirped once, thin and confused, then pressed closer to Enzo's warmth like instinct was the only thing it trusted.
Enzo's gaze drifted to the ruined nest nearby.
Four eggs had been shattered by the blast—shell fragments scattered across stone like bone.
One had hatched.
The rest… hadn't.
Enzo crouched and gathered the broken shells, careful not to slice his fingers on the edges. White fragments filled his palm.
He brought them back and held them out to the newborn.
"Eat."
The baby stared for a second.
Then it pecked.
Once.
Twice.
Then it went savage—tiny beak snapping fast, devouring the fragments like it had been starving its whole life.
Enzo watched it chew through calcium and keratin with alarming enthusiasm.
He exhaled.
"Normally you eat your own shell," he muttered, mostly to himself. "But no one's eating these."
He tilted his hand, letting the last fragments fall closer.
"So… you get a bonus."
The baby chirped again—happier this time—and kept eating.
Above them, Koffing vibrated a little harder, as if offended that it wasn't the one being fed.
Enzo finally turned his head toward it.
Koffing hovered there, grinning like a loaded weapon.
Enzo's voice came out flat.
"Don't even think about exploding."
Koffing froze mid-wobble.
Enzo's eyes narrowed.
"You only explode when I tell you to. Understand?"
And then—
A voice slid into his head.
Not his voice.
Not the System.
Something thick, slow, and ridiculously pleased.
"O… kay… Mas… ter…"
Enzo jerked back so hard he nearly fell off the rock.
He hit the ground sitting, one hand already moving toward his knife before he even realized it.
His heart pounded.
For half a second, he genuinely thought the hunger had finally snapped his brain.
Then his vision flickered.
A blue window appeared—clean, centered, clinical.
[ SYSTEM UPDATE COMPLETE ]
Class: Junior Psychic (Rank 1)
Skills Unlocked:
— Telepathy (Range (20m))
— Remote Scan
Enzo stared.
"A Psychic…"
His throat tightened.
Enzo's mind flashed—Sabrina's name, whispered like a threat even among Rocket ranks. Psychics weren't just respected.
They were feared.
They could use telepathy in fights, they could use telekinesis, and some cases even teleport.
And if anyone here realized what he was a Psychic, people would try to recruit and if he didn't accept they would kill him.
Enzo slowly looked back at Koffing.
The purple bomb floated proudly, as if it had accomplished something impressive by learning one word at a time.
Enzo's jaw tightened.
"Good," he muttered. "So I'm not hallucinating."
Koffing's eyes blinked.
The voice returned, delighted and dumb.
"Mas… ter… bum?"
Enzo pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Not now."
Koffing deflated slightly, like a disappointed balloon.
A new window slammed into his vision before he could breathe properly.
Red.
Sharp.
Unfriendly.
[ NEW MISSION ]
MISSION: KING OF THE HILL
Objective: Achieve 1st Place in the Day 50 Exam.
Penalty: Failure = DEATH
Reward: ??????
Enzo stared at it.
Then he slowly tilted his head toward the sky like he was asking the universe why it was like this.
"…Death again?" he muttered. "How original, Deoxys."
Koffing bobbed happily, as if it liked the word death.
Enzo didn't.
But he also didn't panic.
Because he knew this exam.
He remembered it.
He'd lived it before.
And this time, he could participate in it this time he had a Pokémon and he knows how to win it.
He had a plan already assembling itself in his head like a machine clicking into place.
First, food.
Enzo tore open a ration bar and ate like it was medicine—fast, efficient, barely tasting it.
Then he tested the new reality.
He looked at the baby on his shoulder.
Can you understand me?
He pushed the thought gently, like tapping on glass.
The response was… not words.
Warmth.
Hunger.
A simple, fuzzy feeling of safe here.
Enzo blinked.
"Yeah," he murmured. "You're a baby…"
The Rookidee chirped and tucked closer into his collar.
Enzo shifted his focus to Koffing.
Don't explode.
Koffing vibrated with offended enthusiasm.
"Bum…?" it asked inside his skull.
Enzo deadpanned.
"No."
Koffing drooped.
"oh… sad…"
Enzo stared at it for a long second.
Then, against his will, he let out a single sharp breath that was almost a laugh.
"Pathetic."
Koffing perked up immediately, misunderstanding the tone as praise.
Enzo stood.
He adjusted the straps of his bag, checked his belt, then looked down at the baby again.
He lifted it carefully and settled it more securely on his shoulder.
Then he clicked Koffing back into its ball.
Not because he didn't need it.
Because he didn't want eyes on it.
Not inside the base.
Not with "Mad Bomber" already crawling through people's mouths.
He started walking.
The base was louder in daylight.
More movement. More shouting. More recruits trying to look brave while their eyes stayed hungry.
Enzo entered dirty, windburned, smelling faintly of smoke—and with a strange little bird perched on his shoulder like it belonged there.
Heads turned.
Whispers followed.
But nobody stepped into his path.
He didn't slow.
He went straight to the Exchange Center.
Same smell. Metal and disinfectant. Same reinforced counter.
Same grunt.
The man looked up lazily—then his eyes locked onto the Rookidee.
Something changed in his face.
Not fear.
Interest.
Maybe even a little respect.
"Well," the grunt said, toothpick shifting. "Looks like you got lucky."
Enzo didn't answer.
He reached down and placed a Great Ball on the counter.
The one holding the other Rookidee.
The grunt's gaze flicked to the ball, then to Enzo's face, then back to the ball again—like his brain was trying to catch up.
A recruit with a Great Ball?
That wasn't "lucky."
That was backed.
The grunt's posture straightened. Not fully. Just enough.
He ran it across the scanner under the counter.
A soft beep.
His eyes narrowed slightly at the reading.
Green.
He didn't say it out loud, but Enzo saw the thought happen anyway.
This is impossible unless…
The grunt looked up again, suddenly careful.
As if Enzo might be someone else wearing a recruit uniform.
As if somewhere above them, an Admin might be watching this counter right now.
The grunt's mind filled in names like guesses.
Viper…Petrel…
Someone with authority.
Someone who could make his life easy… or end it quietly.
The grunt's tone softened.
"So," he said, almost polite. "Selling?"
Enzo kept his face blank.
"Mhm."
The grunt nodded too quickly.
"Of course. Of course." He tapped his terminal. "I can do… better than standard."
Enzo didn't raise an eyebrow.
He just waited.
The grunt named the number like it was casual—like he wasn't handing a recruit a small fortune.
"Standard table would be six thousand," he said, eyes flicking to Enzo's face again. "But…"
He smiled, careful.
"I can do eight-five."
Enzo didn't react.
The grunt leaned closer, lowering his voice. "And today? I'll run your purchases at a discount. Call it… goodwill." he added, like it was generosity.
A bribe disguised as service.
Buying favors with numbers.
Enzo understood instantly.
He also understood the advantage.
So he let the misunderstanding live.
"Fine," Enzo said.
The grunt smiled, eager.
Enzo spent the next minutes turning points into survival.
Twenty Poké Balls.
Camping gear, thermal bag, Ultraviolet (UV) lantern, a roll of cord, sealed matches.
Then the expensive item.
He placed another list down short, precise.
The grunt scanned it, whistled softly, and glanced up like he wanted to impress someone.
"An egg incubator," he said.
Enzo didn't blink.
"I need it."
The grunt hesitated for a fraction of a second—then nodded like he'd just decided to be helpful.
"I can get one," he said. "Not new. But it works." He leaned closer. "And I can give you a discount."
A minute later, a compact device slid across the counter—portable, insulated, with a faint internal hum like a small heartbeat.
Enzo took it and tucked it under his arm.
Then he handed over the final list.
Ingredients.
Better berry base. Cleaner binders. Mineral concentrates.
Not cheap junk.
"Good ingredients," the grunt muttered, impressed despite himself.
Enzo didn't answer.
The grunt chuckled nervously and finalized the transaction.
Then—like it was an afterthought, like he was doing Enzo a favor because he wanted to be remembered—
He lowered his voice.
"One more thing," he said quietly. "Free tip."
Enzo looked at him.
The grunt swallowed.
"For someone with your… talent…" he murmured, careful with the word, "the southern caverns are good."
Enzo didn't move.
The grunt continued anyway, voice even lower.
"But watch the Ghosts. They drain the life out of the careless."
Enzo's mouth twitched.
Not a smile.
Something sharper.
"Got it, thank you" he said.
He turned and walked out with an incubator under his arm, supplies in his pack, Poké Balls clinking softly at his belt—and a plan tightening in his head.
Third member.
South caverns.
Ghosts.
Enzo stepped into the daylight, the baby Rookidee still perched on his shoulder, blinking at the world like it was deciding whether to bite it.
Enzo didn't look back at the Exchange Center.
He looked toward the treeline.
And for the first time since waking on this island, he felt something close to certainty.
Not safety.
Not peace.
Just… direction.
He adjusted his grip on the incubator.
"Let's go," he murmured.