Ashes and Ambition

[Nephthys8079]

The Fleur family home smelled like boiled potatoes and desperation.

I stood at the kitchen counter, hands moving through the familiar motions of peeling vegetables while my mind wandered somewhere between this life and the last. The knife—dull, because we couldn't afford to replace it—scraped against the potato skin with a sound that set my teeth on edge. Behind me, my younger siblings argued over a handheld game system that had been old when I was born. Well, when Astolfo was born. When this body was born.

Fourteen years in this world, and I still hadn't figured out the right way to think about it.

"Astolfo, you're doing it wrong again." My mother's voice cut through my thoughts. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on an apron that had more patches than original fabric. Her face carried the kind of exhaustion that came from raising eight children on a factory worker's salary and whatever odd jobs my father could pick up. "You're taking off too much. We need to stretch what we have."

"Sorry, Mom." I adjusted my grip, trying to peel thinner strips. The potato was already more hole than vegetable, but I didn't say that.

She sighed and moved to the stove, checking the pot of water that had been struggling to boil for the past twenty minutes. Our electric bill was three weeks overdue. The power company had sent two warnings already. We kept the heat low, the lights off when we could, and prayed that we'd make it through another month.

This wasn't how Pokémon was supposed to be.
In my past life—and I still thought of it that way, even after fourteen years—Pokémon had been a game. A show. A world of adventure where ten-year-olds left home with a starter and a dream, where money was something you got from beating trainers, where the biggest worry was whether you'd packed enough Potions. I'd played every generation, watched every series, absorbed every piece of lore like it mattered.
Then I'd died. Car accident, I think. The memories were fuzzy, like trying to remember a dream weeks after waking. One moment I was crossing a street, the next I was screaming in a language I didn't know, held by hands that weren't my mother's but somehow were.
Twenty years old, and I'd been given a second chance at life.

As a fourteen-year-old boy named Astolfo Fleur, in a world where Pokémon were real and everything I thought I knew was wrong.

"Astolfo!" My youngest sister, Marie, crashed into my legs with the force of a Tackle attack. At four years old, she had more energy than our entire household combined. "Astolfo, Astolfo! Tell René to give me a turn!"

"René," I called over my shoulder, not looking up from the potatoes. "Share with your sister."

"She had a turn!" René, six years old and already showing signs of the stubborn streak that ran through our family, clutched the game system to his chest. "She used all my continues!"

"Then let her watch. Marie, you can watch, right?"

Marie's lower lip trembled. I knew that look. In about five seconds, she'd start crying, and then Mom would get involved, and then everyone would be miserable.

I set down the knife and turned around, crouching to Marie's level. She had the same black hair as me, though hers was tied up in pigtails that Mom had somehow found time to do this morning. Her eyes—brown, like most of the family—were already welling up with tears.

"Hey," I said softly. "How about this? After dinner, I'll tell you a story about Pokémon. A real adventure story. Would you like that?"

The tears stopped immediately. "With a Pikachu?"

"With whatever Pokémon you want."

"Pikachu!" She threw her arms around my neck, nearly knocking me over. Behind her, René had already gone back to his game, crisis averted.

I hugged her back, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle over my shoulders. Seven younger siblings. Seven kids who depended on me to be the responsible older brother, who looked up to me, who needed me.

Seven reasons why I couldn't leave.

The Pokémon journey in this world started at fourteen. It was legal, encouraged even, for kids my age to take the trainer's exam, get licensed, and head out into the world with a starter Pokémon and whatever supplies they could carry. The government provided a basic stipend—enough for a few Pokéballs and maybe a week's worth of food if you were careful. After that, you were on your own.

Most kids didn't make it past the first month.
I'd learned that the hard way, watching the news reports that my parents tried to hide from us younger kids. Trainer found dead on Route 203, killed by a pack of wild Shinx. Trainer missing on Route 206, presumed dead after a rockslide. Trainer hospitalized after a Pokémon battle went wrong, family unable to afford the medical bills, funeral scheduled for next week.

This world didn't pull its punches.

Pokémon were dangerous. Not in the cute, fainting-after-a-battle way I remembered from the games. They were wild animals with elemental powers, and they killed people.

Routes between cities were genuinely dangerous, patrolled by Rangers who were more like armed guards than the friendly helpers from the games. Cities had walls. Real walls, with guards and checkpoints, because wild Pokémon didn't respect property lines.
And legendaries? Legendaries were myths. Gods. Things that appeared in ancient texts and religious ceremonies, that people prayed to but never expected to see. The idea of a ten-year-old catching Dialga or Palkia was laughable. Insane. The kind of thing that got you committed to a psychiatric ward.

I'd spent fourteen years adjusting my expectations.

"Astolfo." My father's voice came from the front door. He stepped inside, boots muddy from whatever construction site he'd been working at today. His face was weathered, aged beyond his forty years, but he managed a smile when he saw us. "How's my crew?"

"Hungry!" Marie announced, finally releasing me to run to Dad.

He scooped her up with a grunt, and I saw him wince. His back had been bothering him for months, but doctors cost money we didn't have. He'd been taking over-the-counter pain medication and pushing through, because that's what you did when you had eight kids to feed.

"Dinner's almost ready," Mom said from the stove. "Wash up."

Dad set Marie down and headed for the bathroom. I went back to the potatoes, now with renewed focus on peeling them as efficiently as possible. Around me, my siblings continued their chaos—René and Marie fighting over the game again, my other sisters Lisette and Colette arguing about something that had happened at school, my brothers Antoine and Jacques building something out of blocks that would inevitably end in tears when it fell over.

And then there was Julien.

My youngest brother, barely two years old, sat in his playpen in the corner, quietly playing with a stuffed Teddiursa that had been passed down through all eight of us. He was the quiet one, the easy one, the one who never caused trouble.

He was also sick.

Nothing serious, the free clinic had said. Just a respiratory thing. It would clear up on its own. But it had been three months, and he still coughed at night, still struggled to breathe sometimes, still looked pale and tired even after a full night's sleep.

The medication he needed cost more than Dad made in a week.

I looked at Julien, at his small hands clutching the worn stuffed toy, and felt something twist in my chest. In my past life, I'd been an only child. Spoiled, probably. I'd had my own room, my own computer, my own everything. I'd complained about being bored, about having nothing to do, about wanting more.

Now I had seven siblings, and I'd give anything to make sure they had enough.

"Dinner!" Mom called, and the chaos shifted from the living room to the kitchen table.

We didn't have enough chairs for everyone, so the youngest ones sat on cushions on the floor. We didn't have matching plates, so everyone got whatever was clean. We didn't have enough food for everyone to feel full, so Mom and Dad took smaller portions and pretended they weren't hungry.

I did the same, pushing half my potatoes onto Marie's plate when she wasn't looking.

This was my life. This was my family. This was the reality of being Astolfo Fleur, fourteen years old, eldest of eight children, living in Twinleaf Town in the Sinnoh region.

And tomorrow, I was supposed to take the trainer's exam.

---

After dinner, after the dishes were washed and the younger kids were herded toward bed, I finally had a moment to myself. I sat on the back porch, looking out at the forest that bordered our property. Somewhere in those trees, wild Pokémon lived their lives, hunting and fighting and surviving.

Just like us, really.

"You're thinking too loud." My father's voice made me jump. He settled onto the porch beside me, groaning as his back protested the movement. "Want to talk about it?"

I didn't answer immediately. What could I say? That I was a twenty-year-old man trapped in a fourteen-year-old's body? That I remembered a world where Pokémon were entertainment, not survival? That I was terrified of leaving my family but equally terrified of staying?

"The exam's tomorrow," I said finally.

"I know." Dad pulled out a cigarette, then seemed to think better of it and put it away.

Trying to quit, he'd said. Trying to save money, more like. "You nervous?"

"Yeah."

"Good. You should be." He leaned back against the porch railing, looking up at the stars. "Being a trainer isn't like the stories, Astolfo. It's not an adventure. It's a job, and a dangerous one at that."

"I know."

"Do you?" He turned to look at me, and I saw the worry in his eyes. "Because I see the way you look at those Pokémon magazines at the store. I see the way you watch the trainer battles on TV. You've got that look, like you think it's going to be exciting."

I wanted to tell him that I knew better. That I'd spent fourteen years in this world learning exactly how brutal it could be. That I'd watched the news reports, read the statistics, understood that most trainers failed within the first year.

But I also wanted to tell him that I had an advantage. That I knew things about Pokémon that nobody else did. That I remembered type matchups and evolution levels and move pools, even if the details were different here. That I had knowledge from a past life that could make the difference between success and failure.

I couldn't tell him any of that.

"I'm not stupid, Dad," I said instead. "I know it's dangerous. I know most people fail."

"Then why do it?" His voice was quiet. "You could stay here. Get a job at the factory, like me. It's not glamorous, but it's steady. It's safe."

"Is it?" I looked at him. "You work sixty hours a week and we still can't afford Julien's medication. You're destroying your back for a paycheck that barely covers rent. How is that safe?"

He flinched, and I immediately regretted my words. But they were true, and we both knew it.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean—"

"No, you're right." He rubbed his face with both hands. "You're absolutely right. This isn't... I wanted better for you kids. All of you. I thought if I just worked hard enough, if I just put in the hours, we'd be okay. But it's never enough, is it?"

We sat in silence for a moment, two people who loved each other but couldn't fix each other's problems.

"If you become a trainer," Dad said finally, "you won't be able to send money home. Not at first. Maybe not for a long time. The stipend they give you is barely enough to keep yourself alive, let alone support a family."

"I know."

"And you might not make it. You might get hurt, or worse. I might get a call one day telling me that my son is dead on some route, killed by a wild Pokémon or a rockslide or just bad luck."
"I know."

"Then why?" He turned to face me fully. "Why risk it? Why leave?"

Because I have knowledge that could change everything. Because I know things about Pokémon that could give me an edge. Because I'm not really fourteen, I'm twenty, and I can't spend the rest of my life peeling potatoes and watching my siblings go hungry.

Because I'm selfish, and I want more than this.
"Because someone has to," I said instead. "Someone has to try. And maybe... maybe if I succeed, I can help. Really help. Not just with money, but with everything."

Dad studied my face for a long moment, and I wondered what he saw. Did he see his fourteen-year-old son, naive and hopeful? Or did he see something else, something older and more desperate?

"You've got your mother's eyes," he said finally. "Did you know that? Same determination. Same stubbornness. When she decides something, that's it. No changing her mind."

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a 'be careful.'" He stood up, groaning again as his back protested. "And it's a 'come home safe.' And it's a 'I love you, even if you're making a stupid decision.'"

I stood up too, and he pulled me into a hug. He smelled like sweat and cigarettes and the cheap soap we bought in bulk, and I hugged him back hard enough to hurt.

"I'll be careful," I promised. "I'll come home safe."

He didn't say anything, just held me for another moment before letting go and heading back inside.

I stayed on the porch, looking out at the forest, and tried to convince myself that I wasn't lying.

---

The trainer's exam was held in Sandgem Town, a thirty-minute walk from Twinleaf. I left early, before the sun was fully up, because I wanted to avoid the crowds. Mom had packed me a lunch—a sandwich made from yesterday's leftover potatoes, mashed and fried into something resembling a patty—and Dad had pressed a few bills into my hand despite my protests.

"For emergencies," he'd said. "Don't spend it unless you have to."

I'd nodded, knowing that those bills represented hours of his life, hours of back-breaking work that he couldn't afford to give away. But I'd taken them anyway, because refusing would have hurt him more.

The walk to Sandgem Town was peaceful. Route 201 was one of the safest routes in Sinnoh, regularly patrolled and cleared of any dangerous Pokémon. I still saw a few Bidoof and Starly, but they kept their distance. Wild Pokémon in this world had learned to be wary of humans, and humans had learned to be wary of them.

Mutual respect through mutual fear. That was the foundation of civilization here.

Sandgem Town was bigger than Twinleaf, but not by much. It had a Pokémon Center, a Mart, and the Pokémon Lab where Professor Rowan conducted his research. The lab was also where the trainer's exam was held, because Rowan was responsible for distributing starter Pokémon to new trainers.

In the games, you just got your starter. Picked one of three, and off you went.

Here, you had to earn it.

The exam building was a squat, concrete structure attached to the lab. A line of teenagers stretched out the door and down the street, all of them around my age, all of them with the same nervous energy. I recognized a few faces from school, kids I'd known for years but never really talked to.

I joined the line and waited.

"Astolfo Fleur?" A girl's voice, familiar. I turned to see Celeste Durand, one of my classmates.

She was tall for fourteen, with brown hair pulled back in a practical ponytail and the kind of athletic build that came from actually training for this. Her family owned a small ranch on the outskirts of town, and she'd been working with Pokémon her whole life.

"Hey, Celeste."

"Didn't think I'd see you here." She looked me up and down, and I was suddenly very aware of my appearance. At 164 centimeters and 56 kilograms, I was small for my age. My black hair was long enough to tie back, which I usually did, and my features were... delicate. Feminine. I'd been mistaken for a girl more times than I could count, and I'd long since stopped being bothered by it.

Mostly.

"Why wouldn't I be here?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. You just never seemed like the trainer type. You're always helping with your siblings, right? Thought you'd stay in town."

"Things change."

"I guess." She shifted her weight, looking uncomfortable. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but... do you know what you're getting into? The exam's not easy, and even if you pass, being a trainer is expensive. My parents have been saving for years to help me get started, and they're still worried it won't be enough."

I appreciated the concern, even if it stung. Celeste wasn't trying to be mean. She was just stating facts.

"I know what I'm getting into," I said.

"Okay." She didn't look convinced. "Well, good luck anyway. Maybe we'll end up traveling together or something."

"Maybe."

She moved back to her spot in line, and I was left alone with my thoughts again.

The truth was, I didn't know if I could pass the exam. In my past life, I'd been decent at Pokémon games. Not competitive-level, but good enough to beat the main story and catch most of the legendaries. I knew type matchups, I knew evolution chains, I knew strategies.

But this wasn't a game.

The exam would test practical knowledge. First aid for Pokémon and humans. Route safety. Battle tactics. Resource management. Legal regulations. And that was just the written portion. There was also a practical test, where you had to demonstrate basic competency with a Pokémon.

I'd been studying for months, reading every book I could get my hands on from the library, watching every training video available on our ancient TV. But studying and doing were different things, and I'd never actually trained a Pokémon before.

The line moved slowly. One by one, teenagers disappeared into the building, and one by one, they came out either celebrating or crying. The pass rate was about fifty percent, I'd heard. Half of the kids who took the exam would walk away with a trainer's license and the right to receive a starter Pokémon.

The other half would go home and figure out what to do with the rest of their lives.
"Next!" A bored-looking administrator called from the doorway.
I stepped inside.

---

The exam room was sterile and cold, with fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead and made everything look slightly sickly. Twenty desks were arranged in rows, each with a test booklet and a pencil. I found my assigned seat—number 14, because of course it was—and sat down.
Around me, other teenagers were doing the same, all of us trying to look confident and failing miserably.

"You have two hours for the written portion," the administrator announced. She was a middle-aged woman with gray hair and the kind of expression that suggested she'd seen too many hopeful kids fail. "No talking, no cheating, no bathroom breaks. If you finish early, remain in your seat until time is called. Begin."

I opened the booklet and started reading.
Question 1: A trainer encounters a wild Pokémon on Route 203. The Pokémon is aggressive and blocking the path. What are the three recommended courses of action, in order of priority?

I wrote: 1) Retreat to a safe distance and alert the nearest Ranger station. 2) If retreat is not possible, use a defensive Pokémon to create an opening for escape. 3) Only engage in battle if absolutely necessary for self-defense, and be prepared to flee if the battle turns unfavorable.
Question 2: A trainer's Pokémon is poisoned during a battle. The nearest Pokémon Center is two hours away. What immediate steps should the trainer take?

I wrote: 1) Administer an Antidote if available. 2) If no Antidote is available, use a Pecha Berry or other natural remedy. 3) Keep the Pokémon calm and monitor for worsening symptoms. 4) If symptoms worsen, recall the Pokémon to its Pokéball to slow the poison's progression and seek emergency help immediately.

The questions continued, each one designed to test not just knowledge but judgment. This wasn't about memorizing facts. It was about proving that you could make life-or-death decisions in the field.

I worked through the booklet methodically, drawing on both my past life's knowledge and the studying I'd done in this one. Some questions were straightforward. Others required me to think carefully about the differences between the game mechanics I remembered and the reality of this world.
In the games, a poisoned Pokémon just lost HP gradually. Here, poison could kill if left untreated. In the games, you could run from any wild encounter. Here, some Pokémon were faster than humans and would chase you down. In the games, Pokémon Centers were free and everywhere. Here, they existed in major towns and cities, but rural areas might not have access to one for days of travel.
Everything was harder. Everything was more dangerous. Everything had consequences.
I finished with twenty minutes to spare and spent the time reviewing my answers, making sure I hadn't made any stupid mistakes. Around me, other kids were still working, some of them looking panicked as the clock ticked down.
"Time!" the administrator called. "Pencils down. Pass your booklets to the front."

We did, and then we were herded out of the exam room and into a waiting area. The practical portion would be next, but first they had to grade the written tests. Only those who passed would move on.

I sat in a plastic chair that was slightly too small and tried not to think about what would happen if I failed. Would I go home and tell my family that I wasn't good enough? Would I get a job at the factory, like Dad suggested? Would I spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been?

"Astolfo Fleur." My name, called from a speaker. "Report to Room 3 for practical examination."
I stood up, legs shaky, and followed the signs to Room 3.

The practical exam room was larger, with a small battle arena marked out on the floor. A middle-aged man in a lab coat stood waiting, a Pokéball in his hand.

"Astolfo Fleur," he read from a clipboard. "Fourteen years old, Twinleaf Town, no prior Pokémon training experience. Is that correct?"
"Yes, sir."

"Alright." He tossed the Pokéball, and a Bidoof materialized in the arena. It looked around, confused, then sat down and started grooming itself. "This is a standard Bidoof, caught this morning on Route 201. Your task is to demonstrate basic command competency. Get the Bidoof to perform three different actions of your choice. You have five minutes."

I stared at the Bidoof. It stared back, utterly disinterested in me.

This was it. This was the moment where my past life knowledge would either help or hurt me.

In the games, you just selected a move and the Pokémon used it. Here, Pokémon were living creatures with their own thoughts and motivations. They didn't automatically obey strangers. You had to earn their cooperation, even temporarily.

I approached the Bidoof slowly, crouching down to its level. It watched me with dark, beady eyes, still grooming itself.

"Hey there," I said softly. "I know you don't know me, and I know you probably don't want to be here. But I need your help. Just for a few minutes, okay?"

The Bidoof stopped grooming and tilted its head.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a piece of the potato sandwich Mom had packed. It wasn't much, but it was something. I held it out.

"If you help me, you can have this. Deal?"

The Bidoof sniffed the air, then waddled over and took the food from my hand. It ate quickly, then looked up at me expectantly.

"Okay," I said. "Can you use Tackle on that target?" I pointed to a training dummy on the far side of the arena.

The Bidoof looked at the dummy, then back at me, then back at the dummy. For a moment, I thought it was going to refuse. Then it charged forward, slamming into the dummy with surprising force.

"Good! Now, can you use Defense Curl?"

The Bidoof curled into a ball, its fur bristling slightly.

"Perfect. One more. Can you use Rollout?"

The Bidoof, still curled up, began to roll toward me. I stepped aside quickly, and it rolled past, uncurling at the edge of the arena.

"Time," the examiner called. He made a note on his clipboard. "Adequate. You pass."

Relief flooded through me so intensely that I almost sat down right there. I'd passed. I'd actually passed.

"Report to the distribution center to receive your trainer's license and select your starter Pokémon," the examiner continued. "Next!"
I left the room in a daze, following the signs to the distribution center. Other kids were there, some celebrating, some looking shell-shocked. Celeste was among them, grinning widely.

"You made it!" she said when she saw me. "I wasn't sure you would, no offense."

"None taken." I was still processing the fact that I'd passed. "Did you?"

"Obviously." She gestured to the license in her hand, a small plastic card with her photo and information. "I'm thinking about choosing Chimchar. What about you?"

I hadn't let myself think that far ahead. In the games, the Sinnoh starters were Turtwig, Chimchar, and Piplup. Grass, Fire, and Water. The classic trio.

But this wasn't the games, and I needed to think strategically.

Chimchar evolved into Infernape, a powerful Fire/Fighting type. Strong, fast, versatile. But Fire-types required a lot of food to maintain their internal flames, and food cost money I didn't have.

Piplup evolved into Empoleon, a Water/Steel type. Excellent defensive typing, good move pool. But Water-types needed access to water, and traveling through Sinnoh's mountainous terrain would make that difficult.

Turtwig evolved into Torterra, a Grass/Ground type. Sturdy, reliable, and Grass-types could supplement their diet with photosynthesis, making them cheaper to feed.

From a purely practical standpoint, Turtwig made the most sense.

But I also remembered something from my past life. In the games, Turtwig was considered the "easy mode" starter because it was good against the first two gyms. Chimchar was "hard mode" because it struggled early on.

Here, there was no easy mode. There was only survival.

"I'm not sure yet," I told Celeste. "I need to think about it."

"Well, don't think too long. They only have a limited number of each."

She was right. I got in line for the distribution center, and when my turn came, I stepped up to the counter.

Professor Rowan himself was there, an elderly man with gray hair and a stern expression. He looked at me over his glasses.

"Astolfo Fleur," he read from his computer. "Congratulations on passing the exam. You've earned the right to receive a starter Pokémon and begin your journey as a trainer. We have three species available: Turtwig, Chimchar, and Piplup. Each has been raised in our lab and is ready for training. Choose wisely. This decision will shape your entire journey."

I looked at the three Pokéballs on the counter, each labeled with a species name.

Turtwig. Chimchar. Piplup.

In my past life, I'd always chosen the Fire starter. Always. It was tradition, my personal preference, the way I'd played every game.

But this wasn't a game, and I couldn't afford to make decisions based on preference.

I thought about my family. About Julien's medication. About Dad's back. About the bills piling up on the kitchen table.

I thought about the long journey ahead, about the routes I'd have to travel, about the battles I'd have to win.

I thought about survival.

"Turtwig," I said. "I choose Turtwig."

Professor Rowan nodded and handed me the Pokéball. It was heavier than I expected, warm to the touch.

"This Turtwig is male, approximately three months old, and knows the moves Tackle, Withdraw, Absorb, and Razor Leaf. He's been health-checked and is ready for training. Treat him well."

"I will."

Rowan handed me a few more items: my trainer's license, a Pokédex (a basic model, not the fancy ones from the games), five additional Pokéballs, and a voucher for a starter kit at the Pokémart.

"The stipend will be deposited into your account monthly," he continued. "It's not much, but it's enough to survive if you're careful. Register at Pokémon Centers as you travel to maintain your license. And remember: being a trainer is a privilege, not a right. If you abuse your Pokémon or break the law, your license will be revoked. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Then good luck, Trainer Fleur. You'll need it."

I left the distribution center with a Pokéball in my hand and a weight on my shoulders.

Outside, the sun was high in the sky. Other new trainers were gathered in groups, releasing their starters, taking photos, celebrating.

I found a quiet spot away from the crowds and pressed the button on the Pokéball.

Light burst forth, coalescing into a small, turtle-like Pokémon. Turtwig looked up at me with curious eyes, a small sprout growing from his head.

"Hey," I said softly. "I'm Astolfo. I guess we're partners now."

Turtwig tilted his head, studying me. Then he walked forward and bumped his head against my leg.

I crouched down and carefully placed my hand on his shell. It was warm, slightly rough, alive.
This was real. This was actually happening.
I was a Pokémon trainer.

---

The starter kit from the Pokémart included a sleeping bag, a basic first aid kit, a water bottle, a week's worth of Pokémon food, and a map of Sinnoh. I spread everything out on the ground outside the shop, taking inventory.

It wasn't much. The sleeping bag was thin, the first aid kit was missing half its supplies, and the Pokémon food was the cheapest brand available. But it was mine, and it was a start.

Turtwig watched me organize everything, occasionally sniffing at items that interested him. He seemed calm, curious, not at all bothered by the fact that he'd just been given to a complete stranger.

I wondered if the lab had trained that into him, or if he was just naturally trusting.

"Alright," I said, more to myself than to him. "We need a plan. We can't just wander around hoping for the best. We need to be smart about this."

Turtwig made a small sound, somewhere between a chirp and a grunt.

I pulled out the map and studied it. Sandgem Town was on the southern coast of Sinnoh. To the north was Jubilife City, the largest city in the region. Between here and there was Route 202, a relatively safe route that most new trainers used to get their first experience.

In the games, you'd battle a few trainers, catch a few Pokémon, and arrive in Jubilife ready for your first gym challenge.

Here, Route 202 was known for wild Shinx attacks. Three trainers had died there in the past year.

But I didn't have a choice. If I wanted to make money, I needed to battle other trainers. If I wanted to get stronger, I needed to train. And if I wanted to eventually help my family, I needed to succeed.

"We're going to Jubilife," I told Turtwig. "But we're going to be careful. We're going to train on Route 202, battle some trainers, and make sure we're ready before we take on anything serious. Sound good?"

Turtwig bumped his head against my leg again. I decided to take that as agreement.

I packed up my supplies, recalled Turtwig to his Pokéball, and started walking.

Route 202 began just outside Sandgem Town, marked by a wooden sign that read: "CAUTION: WILD POKÉMON AHEAD. TRAVEL AT YOUR OWN RISK."

I took a deep breath and stepped onto the route.

The path was dirt, worn down by years of foot traffic. Trees lined both sides, thick enough to block out most of the sunlight. In the distance, I could hear the sounds of wild Pokémon: chirping, rustling, the occasional cry.

I released Turtwig from his Pokéball. If we were going to be attacked, I wanted him out and ready.

"Stay close," I told him. "If you see anything dangerous, let me know."

We walked for about ten minutes before we encountered our first wild Pokémon. A Starly, perched on a low branch, watching us with beady eyes.

In the games, this would be a random encounter. A battle would start automatically, and I'd either catch it or defeat it.

Here, the Starly just watched us pass. It didn't attack, didn't flee, just observed.

I kept walking, Turtwig at my side, and tried to calm my racing heart.

This was fine. This was normal. Not every wild Pokémon was aggressive. Most of them just wanted to be left alone.

We encountered three more Starly and two Bidoof before we saw another trainer. He was a kid about my age, with spiky brown hair and a confident stance. A Pokéball was clipped to his belt.

"Hey!" he called out when he saw me. "You a trainer?"

"Yeah," I called back.

"Want to battle?"

This was it. My first real trainer battle. In the games, you couldn't refuse. Here, I could walk away. But I needed the experience, and I needed the money. Trainer battles paid out, a tradition that dated back centuries. Something about honor and respect and proving your worth.

"Sure," I said.

We moved to a clear area off the path, taking positions about ten meters apart. Turtwig stood in front of me, ready.

"One on one," the kid said. "Standard rules. You good with that?"

"Good with that."

"Alright! Go, Starly!"

He threw his Pokéball, and a Starly materialized in the air, wings spread wide. It was bigger than the wild ones we'd seen, better fed, clearly trained.

This was going to be harder than I thought.

"Turtwig, ready?" I asked.

Turtwig grunted and lowered his stance, preparing for battle.

The kid didn't wait. "Starly, Quick Attack!"
The Starly dove, moving faster than I could track. It slammed into Turtwig, sending him skidding backward.

Turtwig shook his head and got back up, but I could see he was hurt. That one attack had done real damage.

I needed to think. Starly was a Flying-type, which meant it was weak to Rock, Electric, and Ice moves. Turtwig didn't have any of those. But Starly was also a Normal/Flying type, which meant it was weak to... nothing that Turtwig could exploit.

This was a bad matchup.

"Turtwig, use Absorb!"

Turtwig's sprout glowed green, and tendrils of energy reached out toward Starly. They connected, and I saw the bird flinch as its energy was drained. Turtwig looked a little better, some of his health restored.

"Starly, Wing Attack!"

The bird's wings glowed white, and it dove again. This time, Turtwig was ready. He used Withdraw, pulling into his shell. The Wing Attack connected, but the damage was reduced.

"Good!" I called. "Now, Razor Leaf!"

Turtwig emerged from his shell and fired a barrage of sharp leaves. They cut through the air, slicing into Starly. The bird cried out and faltered in the air.

"Starly, Aerial Ace!"

The bird recovered and dove again, this time with a move that couldn't miss. It struck Turtwig hard, and my starter stumbled.

This wasn't working. Starly was too fast, too mobile. Turtwig couldn't keep up.

I needed to change tactics.

"Turtwig, use Absorb again, but aim for the ground!"

Turtwig looked confused, but he did as I asked. The green energy tendrils reached down, connecting with the grass and plants around us. Energy flowed into Turtwig, restoring his health.

The kid frowned. "What are you doing?"

I didn't answer. I was watching Starly, watching how it moved, looking for a pattern.

There. Every time it dove, it came from the same angle. It was a trained move, practiced until it was instinct. But that made it predictable.

"Turtwig, wait for my signal," I said quietly.
Starly dove again, wings glowing with Aerial Ace.

"Now! Razor Leaf, full spread!"

Turtwig fired leaves in every direction, creating a cloud of sharp projectiles. Starly flew right into it, unable to dodge. The bird cried out and fell, hitting the ground hard.

It didn't get up.

"Starly is unable to battle," I said, using the formal language. "I win."

The kid recalled his Starly, looking frustrated. "That was a cheap trick."

"That was strategy," I corrected. "You relied too much on Aerial Ace. It's a good move, but it's predictable."

He glared at me, then pulled out some bills and handed them over. "Whatever. Here's your prize money."

I took it—500 Pokédollars, enough for a few days of food—and watched him storm off.
Turtwig walked over to me, looking tired but proud. I crouched down and checked him over. He had some scratches and bruises, but nothing serious.

"You did great," I told him. "Really great. I'm proud of you."

He bumped his head against my hand, and I felt something warm in my chest. Pride, maybe. Or relief. Or just the simple joy of having a partner who trusted me.

We'd won our first battle.

It was a small victory, but it was ours.

---

We battled three more trainers that day, winning two and losing one. The loss stung—a kid with a Shinx that was too fast and too strong for Turtwig to handle—but I learned from it. I learned that Electric-types were dangerous, that speed mattered more than power sometimes, that I needed to be smarter about choosing my battles.

By the time the sun started to set, I was exhausted. Turtwig was even more so, barely able to walk. We found a clearing off the main path, and I set up camp.

The sleeping bag was as thin as I'd feared, and the ground was hard and cold. I used my backpack as a pillow and tried to get comfortable.

Turtwig curled up next to me, his shell warm against my side.

I stared up at the stars, thinking about everything that had happened. This morning, I'd been Astolfo Fleur, eldest son, big brother, kid from Twinleaf Town. Now I was Astolfo Fleur, Pokémon Trainer.

It didn't feel real yet.

I thought about my family, about whether they were worried about me. I thought about Julien, about his cough, about the medication we couldn't afford. I thought about Dad's back and Mom's exhaustion and my siblings' futures.
I thought about the 500 Pokédollars in my pocket, earned from a single day of battles. It wasn't much, but it was more than Dad made in a day at the factory.

Maybe this could work. Maybe I could actually do this.

Or maybe I was deluding myself, and I'd end up like the trainers on the news, dead on a route somewhere, another statistic.

"Hey, Turtwig," I whispered. "You awake?"
He made a small sound, somewhere between asleep and awake.

"I'm scared," I admitted. "I know I'm supposed to be confident and strong and all that, but I'm scared. I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I'm good enough."

Turtwig shifted, pressing closer against me.

"But I'm going to try," I continued. "I'm going to try my hardest, because I don't have a choice.

Because my family needs me to succeed.

Because I need to prove that I can do this."
The stars above were bright, unobscured by city lights. I could see the Milky Way, a river of light across the sky.

In my past life, I'd never seen stars like this. Too much light pollution, too much noise, too much everything.

Here, in this world, things were simpler. Harder, but simpler.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, Turtwig warm against my side, the sounds of the forest around us.

Tomorrow, we'd keep going. We'd train, we'd battle, we'd survive.

One day at a time.

That was all I could do.

One day at a time.

(How did this read to you guys as I am rn I'm just trying different writing styles to see what works for me)