After finishing the day's training, Senmu grabbed a quick meal in the cafeteria before returning to the dormitory with his Pawniard.
When he reached his door, he took out his key and unlocked it. A small slip of paper wedged into the crack of the doorframe fluttered to the ground.
He picked it up.
"Safe."
Only then did he relax.
This district was anything but peaceful. Precautions were necessary—otherwise, one might wake up with a blade at their throat and never know what went wrong.
Inside the room, Pawniard immediately ran to the bedside and dragged out a large stone from beneath the bed. It began sharpening its twin blades against it with practiced devotion.
Senmu couldn't help but smile at the sight. The stone was practically Pawniard's treasure.
He had found it one morning while jogging by the river with Pawniard. The whetstone had a natural groove in the center—perfectly shaped for honing blades. After sharpening itself on it once, Pawniard had become completely attached to it. Senmu had carried the heavy stone all the way back to the dorm, and ever since, sharpening its blades after training had become Pawniard's nightly ritual.
Ignoring the steady scraping sounds behind him, Senmu began preparing dinner.
He could eat in the cafeteria. Pawniard could not.
While Pokémon could survive on ordinary human food, without energy cubes to replenish what they burned during training, the results would be severely compromised.
From the cabinet, Senmu took out a half-empty, unsealed bag of standard Dark-type energy cubes. He had purchased them from a black-market shop that specialized in Pokémon supplies. Forty cubes per bag—1,500 credits. A "discount," considering he technically worked for the black-market boss. For others, the price was 1,800.
When he first obtained Pawniard, he had been completely broke. He had even advanced next month's wages from Iwama just to buy a month's worth of Pokémon feed and Moomoo Milk. His wallet had emptied the moment it was filled.
Fortunately, he only had one Pawniard to raise—and even then, it was barely affordable.
It was worth noting: being a trainer was a profession that burned money faster than fire consumed dry grass.
He counted silently.
"Five cubes tonight… sixteen left. I'll need to restock soon."
A trace of bitterness crept into his thoughts.
"Warden, that's enough sharpening. Time to eat."
At the call of food, Pawniard instantly dropped the whetstone and ran to its bowl.
"Tonight's menu: energy cubes with Beedrill honey—and one bottle of Moomoo Milk."
If Pawniard could speak in full sentences, it would probably declare:The happiest moments of my life are breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Watching Pawniard devour its meal, Senmu, however, felt no joy.
Pawniard was still in its growth stage. Basic energy cubes were sufficient for now. But once it passed this stage, he would need higher-grade formulas. Without them, its training and development would stall.
If only he could make energy cubes himself.
A naïve wish.
Each type of energy cube required a specific secret formula and precise preparation technique. Those recipes were monopolized by established families and professional breeders. Senmu had neither money nor connections—he had no access.
Becoming a certified Pokémon Breeder was even harder. One had to pass the Breeder Association's examination. Rumor had it that even the introductory written exam had a pass rate below ten percent. The final practical test was worse—candidates had to produce the exact energy cube specified by the examiner within a strict time limit.
Most breeding knowledge was tightly guarded by elite clans.
How was someone like him supposed to learn?
As the thought settled, a strange heaviness pressed against his skull. The world before his eyes slowed.
Pawniard's chewing became sluggish—like a slow-motion scene from a film.
"What's happening to me?"
Alarmed, Senmu focused his gaze out the window.
A scruffy Rattata rummaged through a pile of trash. Behind it, a Meowth crouched low, poised to hunt. The Rattata remained oblivious.
In a flash, Meowth pounced.
Senmu saw everything—the stretch of muscle, the arc of movement, even the glint of teeth in Meowth's mouth. Every detail was painfully clear.
Is this… my ability?
His breathing grew shallow.
He turned his gaze to a pencil on the desk.
With a single thought, a faint pink energy surged from within him and wrapped around it.
The pencil trembled—then lifted.
It moved left.
Right.
His heart pounded.
"Psychic…?"
He looked toward the cabinet, intending to test something larger—
A violent headache exploded through his mind.
His vision blurred. His limbs went weak.
He staggered, catching himself against the desk before slowly making his way to the bed. Sitting down, he pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to soothe the pain.
Pawniard noticed immediately. It abandoned its food and hurried over, staring at him with visible concern.
"I'm fine, Pawniard. Just… need to rest."
Fragments of memory from his previous life surfaced—episodes of the Pokémon anime. Certain humans were born with psychic powers. They could wield telekinesis, communicate telepathically with Pokémon.
The most famous example was Sabrina, the Gym Leader of Saffron City—cold, formidable, able to turn her own parents into dolls. The only person she seemed to respect was Giovanni.
Had he just awakened something similar?
But his ability felt weak—nothing like the overwhelming power shown in the anime. He had wanted to attempt telepathy.
Now, however, exhaustion crushed him. His mental energy was completely drained.
Sleep tugged at him.
In his mind, he called out silently:
System.
His personal information panel materialized before his eyes.
Name: SenmuAge: 14Number of Pokémon: 1Special Physique: Psychic (Beginner Level)Gym Badges: None
"So I really have awakened psychic power…"
Since transmigrating into this world, he hadn't encountered a single psychic. There was no one to guide him. No way to learn how to strengthen it.
That was a problem.
"Tomorrow's my rest day. I'll go to the Marigold City Library. It's a major city—there has to be something useful there."
After resting for a while, Senmu regained enough strength to stand. He retrieved a steel brush from the cabinet and called out:
"Massage time!"
Pawniard immediately leapt onto the table and lay flat.
Senmu began brushing along its metallic body. As the steel bristles swept rhythmically across its armor, Pawniard lifted its arms, letting out a satisfied buzzing hum. Then it raised a thumb dramatically—as if to rate the service five stars—and silently requested Technician Senmu No. 38 for next time.
Watching Pawniard's exaggerated antics, Senmu finally allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation.
For tonight, at least, the world felt manageable.