The alarm clock's mechanical trill cut through the silence of the room like a serrated blade. Ash's eyes snapped open, not with the foggy confusion of a ten-year-old, but with the sharp, cold clarity of a man who had seen the end of the world and back. He reached out, his hand finding the snooze button with practiced precision, silencing the noise before it could finish its second cycle.
He sat up, the springs of the mattress groaning under his weight. A massive, bone-deep yawn escaped him, but it died in his throat as his gaze fell upon the yellow form curled at the foot of his bed.
The creature's fur was a vibrant, electric gold, broken by the two iconic chocolate-brown stripes across its back. Its tail, a jagged lightning bolt of dense muscle, lay still. The red pouches on its cheeks hummed with a low-level static—a rhythmic, soothing thrum that Ash could feel in his very teeth.
Pikachu.
Ash looked down at his own hands. They were smaller, the skin unblemished by the deeper scars of his later years, his callouses replaced by the soft grip of a boy who had only just begun his journey. His hair was a chaotic nest of black spikes, and the room around him smelled of morning dew and Pallet Town's coastal salt.
"It wasn't a dream," Ash whispered. His voice was higher than he remembered, yet it carried a weight that didn't belong to a child.
The memories were a fractured mosaic. In one life, he was Hiroshi, a mundane student in a world where Pokémon were mere pixels and ink—an escape from a dull, gray reality. He had watched "Ash Ketchum" through a screen, frustrated by the boy's tactical naivety and his penchant for snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. But those memories were now fused with his own. He felt the sting of Ritchie's Sparky defeating his Charizard at the Indigo League; he felt the hollow ache of the loss to Harrison in Johto and the bitter frustration of Tyson's Meowth in Hoenn.
He remembered the scripts. He remembered the "losses" that felt like destiny.
"I was so incredibly stupid," Ash muttered, a frown deepening on his face. He leaned back against the headboard, sorting through the chronological sludge of his mind.
He had just returned from the Battle Frontier. He had bested Brandon's Regice. He had seen May and Max off to their next adventure. Yesterday, Gary's Electivire had humbled him in a lopsided skirmish, providing the catalyst for a journey to the Sinnoh region.
In the "original" timeline, Sinnoh was where he would meet Paul—the rival who would force him to evolve. It was also where he would meet Tobias, the man with the Darkrai who existed solely to gatekeep his destiny.
"Not this time," Ash said, his fists clenching. "Lily Valley won't be a Top 4 finish. It won't be a stepping stone for someone else's legend."
He saw the path clearly now: Sinnoh, Unova, Kalos, Alola. He wouldn't just participate; he would dismantle them. He would conquer the Champion Road in Kanto, claim his seat among the Masters Eight in Galar, and finally take the title that had eluded him for a lifetime.
A soft weight shifted against his leg.
"Pika-pi?"
Pikachu was awake, its dark eyes blinking with sleepy curiosity. It reached out a paw, rubbing its face before stretching its limbs with a crackle of sparks.
Ash's expression softened. This was the anchor. This wasn't a digital sprite or a cartoon character; this was his partner, a living battery of loyalty and untapped potential. He reached down, scooping the Pokémon into his arms.
"Sorry, buddy. I got a little ahead of myself," Ash murmured.
As he held him, Ash's fingers moved with a sudden, intuitive grace. He didn't just pat the Pokémon's head; he applied a rhythmic, firm pressure to the base of the ears, then moved his thumb in a circular motion beneath Pikachu's chin, before tracing the nerve lines down the spine. It was a professional groomer's touch, a technique learned from years of high-level training and supplemental knowledge from a world that treated Pokémon biology like a science.
"Pi... Pika-pi..."
Pikachu's ears flattened in pure ecstasy. His body went limp in Ash's arms, his cheeks sparking not with aggression, but with a warm, contented glow. He looked up at Ash with widened eyes, wondering where his trainer had learned to hit all the right spots so perfectly.
Ash didn't answer. He was staring into the void of his own mind, where a translucent interface flickered to life.
In the world of Hiroshi, they called it a "Gold Finger"—a cheat code for the reincarnated. To Ash, it looked like a refined version of a standard Rotom-Dex interface, but far more vast. It was his Bag from the Sinnoh-Galar era, a sub-dimensional storage system stocked with the spoils of a thousand battles.
System Interface: The Infinite Bag
Standard Items: Charcoal, Mystic Water, Miracle Seeds... (Stock: 1,000+)
Evolutionary Stones: Fire, Water, Thunder, Dawn... (Stock: 1,000+)
Tactical Gear: Choice Bands, Life Orbs, Leftovers, Rocky Helmets...
Special Artifacts: Mega Stones, Z-Crystals, Keystone.
Ash scrolled through the lists, his breath catching. This wasn't just a collection; it was an arsenal. He looked at the shop coins—a currency converted from his previous "achievements." He had enough for a massive head start.
He didn't hesitate. He knew his roster. He knew who was waiting in the wings.
Charizard. Sceptile. Heracross. Glalie.
And the one he had left behind in the Viridian Forest. The one he was finally going to bring home.
Purchase Confirmed: Charizardite Y, Sceptilite, Heracronite, Glalitite, Pidgeotite. Purchase Confirmed: Multi-Link Evolution Keystone.
The coins vanished. In their place, six iridescent gems materialized within the system's digital pockets, humming with the raw, primal energy of Mega Evolution. The Keystone was the most expensive—a specialized variant capable of maintaining multiple resonances.
It was a staggering amount of power for a trainer who hadn't even set foot in Sinnoh yet.
A loud, rhythmic rumbling broke his concentration. Ash blinked, the interface fading as he looked down at Pikachu. The Pokémon was clutching his stomach, looking slightly sheepish.
"Gurgle..."
"Pika-pi," Pikachu admitted, a tiny blush creeping onto his yellow cheeks.
Ash laughed, the sound natural and confident. He hoisted Pikachu onto his shoulder, the Pokémon's claws catching familiarly on his shirt.
"Right. Legendaries and championships can wait an hour," Ash said, heading for the door. "Let's go get some breakfast. We have a flight to catch."