A Different Pokémon World

Late autumn.

Withered, yellow leaves spiraled down from the air, adding a bit of color to the rigid, rough streets.

On a mottled utility pole, a few crows rasped their throats, but no one paid them any mind.

A dark, cramped alley somewhere in Goldenrod City.

Amidst a disorderly pile of discarded trash and willfully flowing, filthy, dirty water, a skinny figure lay.

A withered face, tattered clothes, and bare feet covered in mud.

The figure was quiet, as if even his heartbeat had fallen silent.

Only in the hand held against his chest, he gripped a red-and-white spherical ball for dear life.

His fingertips were pale, his veins protruding.

Suddenly.

The man's eyelids trembled, and accompanied by rapid breathing, he jerked into a sitting position from the ground.

His eyes, as if covered by a layer of gray fog, were full of confusion before gradually clearing.

Memories rushed in like a backward-flowing spring, wantonly assaulting his consciousness.

He sat for a moment.

Only then did he gradually understand his situation.

His name was Xia Yan, born into a impoverished family in Goldenrod City. With his parents dying young from overwork, he had rummaged through garbage, eaten filth, stolen things, and slept on the streets, making him a most typical low-class resident of Goldenrod City.

Since birth, he had only one goal: to survive.

And now, the original Xia Yan was dead, and waking up once more was an ordinary person from a distant world.

I'm... still alive? he thought in disbelief.

He lowered his head to look.

The dirt between his fingers, the vaguely visible, bony ribs, and the Poké Ball he held in his hand, stiffened somewhat from exertion.

Through the transparent red glass, a petite yellow figure could be seen inside.

"A Pokémon."

Swish, swish.

The sky suddenly began to drizzle with a pattering light rain, casting a layer of thin gauze over the entire city.

Raindrops beat against his frail body, the cold seeping deep into his marrow and bit by bit robbing him of his already scant remaining body temperature.

The piercing chill swept through his consciousness.

Xia Yan felt the twisting pain in his stomach and the dryness of his lips.

Yet compared to these, the bone-chilling cold was what he worried about most.

He reached out, caught some rainwater, and brought it to his mouth, slightly easing his dry mouth.

"I can't go on like this. I need food, a place for shelter, and warm clothes."

Xia Yan was well aware of his current state.

His frail body could not withstand any tempering at all.

Not even a single rainstorm.

"Boss, that kid ran right over here."

Abruptly.

A faint sound pierced through the thin rain curtain, reaching Xia Yan's ears.

Followed closely by a few hurried footsteps.

Xia Yan narrowed his eyes, struggling to support himself with his knees as he stumbled up from the dirty water, his feet soaked in the water gradually losing feeling and becoming stiff.

Beneath the rain curtain, three figures approached from afar.

Pat, pat, pat.

Stepping through the rain.

They quickly cut through the hazy water vapor and appeared before Xia Yan.

At the lead was a fierce-looking man with a hideous scar across his face, his ferocious gaze seeming ready to eat someone.

When his sweeping gaze fell upon the Poké Ball in Xia Yan's hand, his greed became uncontrollable.

"Boss, it's him!" the lackey beside Scarface looked arrogant, pointing at Xia Yan with his narrow eyes flashing, the depths of his gaze likewise filled with greed.

Xia Yan knew this Scarface.

He was a hoodlum hanging around this street, and because of his ruthless methods and rather overbearing actions, he counted as somewhat of a boss among the thugs.

But when all was said and done, he was merely one of the people at the very bottom of Goldenrod City.

For this group of people lingering at the absolute bottom, the only way to change their fate was to obtain a Pokémon, thereby stepping into the profession of a Pokémon Trainer.

Pokémon trainers were the mainstream of this world.

And Pokémon were the hardest fists in this world.

Without Pokémon, they were ultimately just a bunch of brawlers fighting fiercely just to survive.

And right now, Xia Yan had a Poké Ball in his hand!

Clack, clack.

Scarface clenched his fists, his gaze fierce as he walked toward Xia Yan.

With his frail body at the moment, he simply couldn't withstand fists honed by years of brawling.

No words, and no need for words.

For people like them, whether fighting for territory or food, a hard fist was the only truth.

Xia Yan understood this deeply.

Watching Scarface draw closer and closer, he tightened his grip on the Poké Ball in his hand.

This Poké Ball was a hot potato, but it was also a chance to change his destiny, as well as his only reliance for now.

His mouth opened slightly, and as his Adam's apple moved, the foul, pungent air was sucked into his lungs bit by bit.

Holding his breath and concentrating.

He savored the burning pain in his lungs.

He pressed the button on the Poké Ball, and accompanied by a beam of red light, the Poké Ball opened, revealing a petite, earthy-yellow, segmented insect Pokémon with spikes on its head and tail and seven pairs of pink abdominal feet appearing between the two of them.

Weedle.

A very common Pokémon.

To Pokémon trainers, it was synonymous with weakness, but to ordinary people, gregarious and venomous, they were existences in the forest that must not be provoked.

Such a weak Pokémon wasn't even as big as Scarface's fist, and not favored by Pokémon trainers, yet it had become a prized commodity in the eyes of these bottom-tier residents.

Seeing the Weedle, Scarface was startled at first, but it was quickly covered up by greed.

Desire could distort a person's perception.

"Do you know what kind of Pokémon this is? Do you know how to command a Pokémon?"

His expression was tyrannical, and his voice ruthless.

A Pokémon trainer wasn't just someone who owned a Pokémon; they also needed corresponding theoretical knowledge to understand a Pokémon's abilities, habits, and temperament, and know how to command them to fight and display their proper strength.

In Scarface's eyes, someone like Xia Yan, whose entire energy was practically exhausted just trying to stay alive, how could he possibly understand Pokémon, let alone command a Pokémon in battle.

Even if this was a very common Weedle.

Xia Yan's face was cold.

Through the memories of his predecessor, he already understood that this world was indeed the Pokémon world, but it was not the utopian Pokémon world of his impression where everyone got along wonderfully and all was well.

Here, humans falling victim to the mouths of ferocious Pokémon, and rare Pokémon becoming food on human dining tables, were hardly a minority.

Between humans, there was no such thing as absolute friendliness; there was far more backstabbing and scheming.

In his past life, he was no good person. Having experienced the beatings of society and knowing the ugliness of human nature well, he quickly adapted to the current situation.

"Weedle, String Shot," Xia Yan said coldly, his voice weak but firm.

Hearing his command, the Weedle froze for a moment, turning its head to search for the source of the voice.

Those small black eyes met Xia Yan's unquestionable gaze.

Its little body trembled slightly.

Scarface was taken aback at first upon hearing this, but seeing the Weedle's reaction, his smile grew increasingly cruel.

He took large strides and rushed forward.

There was a faint apprehension deep in his heart, as if he was unwilling to let the person before him say anything more.

That calloused fist grew closer and closer.

Yet Xia Yan stood in place without moving, or unable to move, and simply commanded again:

"String Shot!"

Hiss, hiss, hiss—

Suddenly.

Just as Scarface's fist was a mere few inches from his face, a white, seemingly delicate thread rapidly shot out and wrapped around the fist.

Scarface was startled.

Wanting to continue exerting force, he discovered that the thread spat out by the petite Weedle tightly bound his fist, making it difficult to continue swinging rapidly.

Xia Yan took a step back, and his voice sounded once more, grating harshly in Scarface's ears.

"Weedle, Poison Sting."

Swish! Swish! Swish!

A purple aura lit up the sharp horn on Weedle's head, and several tiny, cold-glinting poison stingers shot out, embedding themselves in the muscular arm.

In an instant, Scarface's face flushed crimson, large beads of sweat oozing from his forehead as a ring of purple quickly spread and swelled on the arm that had been struck by the poison sting.

Poisoned.

The toxin spread rapidly, and Scarface staggered, collapsing to his knees before Xia Yan.

With Weedle's current ability and venom, it wasn't fatal, but the loss of mobility was without a doubt.

The two lackeys behind him saw that things were going wrong and turned tail to run.

Yet they heard Xia Yan's leisurely voice drift over, "Running?"

The pair's footsteps came to an abrupt halt, and they stiffly turned around, expressions ingratiating.

"Big Brother, no! Pokémon Trainer."

Before he could finish, Xia Yan interrupted him, "Money, food, clothes, or death, pick one."

His frail body exuded an unquestionable chill.