A New Journey in Pokémon

[Common]

They were going straight home.
After apologizing to Looker and the increasingly stressed members of the International Police, Cynthia had collected her nephew and left Galar as quickly as possible.
She had no intention of giving fate another opportunity.
===
The Dragonite Bus hummed with a low, steady vibration as it carried its passengers through the night sky high above the clouds.
Inside the private cabin, the atmosphere was heavy enough to outweigh the roar of the wind outside.
Cynthia sat perfectly upright, arms folded, her expression composed into the sort of mask that had intimidated Champions, criminals, and legendary Pokémon alike.
Her attention never left Ethan.
Ethan, meanwhile, appeared entirely unconcerned.
He was sprawled across a plush leather seat, absentmindedly scratching Eevee behind the ears. Eevee had melted into a puddle of contentment and seemed completely unaware that its trainer had recently helped expose a regional conspiracy and somehow acquired the friendship of Galar's ancient heroes.
Cynthia's gaze drifted downward.
And stopped.
Two Luxury Balls rested on Ethan's belt.
She could feel the aura coming from them even through the containment fields.
Distinct.
Ancient.
Powerful.
One in particular practically radiated legendary energy.
Cynthia stared at it for several seconds before finally speaking.
"Ethan."
"Hm?"
"Am I going to receive a call from Galar in the future claiming you took a Pokémon you weren't supposed to have?"
"Nope," Ethan said easily, not even looking up from scratching Eevee's chin. "One hundred percent legally mine. No regional government can lay a claim to her."
"Ethan," she said, her voice dropping to a tense, whisper that barely carried over the low hum of the Dragonite Bus. "I have studied the historical archives of nearly every region on the planet. I know the myths of Sinnoh, the lore of Unova, the hidden texts of Hoenn. But Galar..." She trailed off, her brow furrowing. "Galar's history is a black hole. The old royal family scrubbed their records centuries ago. There are no tapestries of those Pokémon. No ancient poems, no database entries, no names."

She looked from the Pokéballs back up to Ethan's completely relaxed face.

"When I stood in front of Leon's house and watched you come riding in on Sif," Cynthia continued quietly, "it felt like I was staring down Kyurem again."

Her eyes dropped briefly to the Luxury Ball.

"There was that same feeling. That same pressure. The certainty that if things went wrong..." She shook her head. "I don't think most people understand how terrifying powerful legendary Pokémon actually are."

Ethan was silent for several seconds.

Then he reached down and tapped the Luxury Ball lightly.

"Sif wouldn't hurt anybody."

"That's not what I am worried about, did you take a legendary pokemon from Galar?"
"No," Ethan said smoothly. "I didn't take a legendary Pokémon from Galar."

It wasn't a lie. Not technically. As far as the Galar region, its government, its history, and its soil were concerned, they didn't own the creature sitting on his belt. The past royal family had erased every trace of her existence, burying her name and her legacy so deeply that the modern world didn't even know she existed. You couldn't steal a myth that the region itself had discarded.

But more importantly, the system interface of his Pokémon GO account didn't recognize Galar's property laws. Sif was generated from his data, bound to his account, and registered directly to him. She belonged to him the moment the digital encounter locked in. He hadn't stolen anything from the Slumbering Weald; he had simply claimed what the system had unlocked for him.

Cynthia sighed in relief.

"So? Can we stop in Alola?" Ethan asks
Cynthia's sigh of relief cut short so abruptly she nearly choked on her next breath.

She froze, her head snapping back toward him. The exhaustion that had briefly begun to drain from her shoulders rushed right back in, settling over her like a heavy cloak.

"Alola?" she repeated, her voice pitching up just a fraction higher than her usual calm, collected Champion register. "Ethan, we are currently flying over the ocean in a high-speed corporate transit vehicle specifically routed for Sinnoh. We just fled an active, high-level Interpol investigation in Galar where you handed the lead investigator a metaphorical live grenade."
"Come on, Aunt Cynthia, it's a quick stop," Ethan bargained easily, leaning forward. "The beaches are great, the weather is fantastic, and honestly, you look like you could really use a vacation after all that Galar stress. Think of the Malasadas!"

Eevee let out a well-timed, enthusiastic "Vee!" from his lap, raising a paw in solidarity.

Cynthia pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes tightly as she tried to map out the sheer logistical madness of what her nephew was suggesting. "We are not going to Alola, Ethan. We are going to your Great-Grandmother Carolina's house, where you are going to sit down, stay put, and help me figure out exactly how we are going to integrate two ancient, undocumented, high-pressure entities into a quiet Sinnoh town without attracting the attention of the entire international League."

She opened one eye, giving him a pointed, non-negotiable glare.

"No tropical detours. No island challenges. We are going straight home.

 

[Common]

"So who is Yellow?" Ethan asks
Cynthia paused, her hand freezing on the handle of the cabin door. The stern, non-negotiable glare she had been giving him faltered, replaced by a sudden, sharp look of intense curiosity.

She turned back to him slowly, her gray eyes narrowing as she processed the name.

"Yellow?" she repeated, her voice dropping into that quiet, analytical tone she used when unearthing a completely undocumented piece of history. "Where did you hear that name, Ethan?"

"Alder was pretty loud." Ethan states

Cynthia sighed, her hand slowly dropping from the door handle. She realized that with the Dragonite Bus trapped in transit, there was no way she could dodge the question. More importantly, a cold dread settled in her stomach—if Yellow truly was watching both her and her nephew, Ethan needed to know exactly what kind of shadow they were standing in. It was time to read him in. Not just on Yellow, but on the Go War as a whole.
"What I am about to tell you is strictly censored by the Pokémon League, Ethan. If this leaves this cabin, the global ramifications would be catastrophic."
She leaned against the wall taking a minute to compose herself.
"Around eighty years ago, modern Pokéball technology advanced rapidly, moving far beyond the traditional apricorn balls and handmade captures of the past. With that sudden leap in technology came a massive, global ideological schism. Three distinct factions emerged, rewriting the face of humanity's relationship with Pokémon."

Cynthia paced a short step, her arms crossing tightly.

"The first were those who hungered for raw strength, wanting to harness and weaponize Pokémon for their sheer elemental power. They called themselves Team Valor. Then came the scientifically minded—intellectuals and researchers who wanted to analyze and exploit Pokémon biology to further human society and technology. They were Team Mystic."

She stopped, turning a dark, haunting gaze directly toward Ethan.

"And finally, there were the free spirits. The ones who rejected the militarism of Valor and the cold calculations of Mystic. They wanted to bypass the standard rules entirely, claiming they wanted nothing more than to befriend, bond, and love Pokémon as family. They called themselves Team Instinct."

Cynthia's voice dropped to a tense, chilling whisper. "An that team birthed some of the worst monsters this world had ever seen."
She took a slow breath, the cabin suddenly feeling much smaller.

"50 years after the founding of the three teams, The war started when a mad scientist named Willow, working in tandem with Mystic, developed a machine that could actively break down a Pokémon's latent potential. That harvested essence could then be fed to other Pokémon to artificially and exponentially increase their raw strength. It produced the items known today as Rare Candies—which are now heavily regulated by the global League, and making any more of them is strictly illegal."
"They killed pokemon to strengthen others? Couldn't they just train?" Ethan asks

Cynthia shakes her head. "You would think so but they were lazy and monstrous. Eventually, what Mystic was doing had leaked to Valor who saw that as cowardly an couldnt let mystic alone have a monopoly over rare candies.

"They killed Pokémon to strengthen others? Couldn't they just train?" Ethan asked, a cold knot tightening in his stomach.

Cynthia shook her head, her expression grim. "You would think so, but they were lazy and monstrous. Training takes years of dedication, patience, and mutual respect. Willow's machine offered a shortcut—limitless power on a silver platter, provided you were willing to pay the price in blood."

She shifted her weight as the Dragonite Bus hit a pocket of turbulent air, her voice cutting through the low hum of the cabin.

"You would think so, but like I had said, eventually what Mystic was doing leaked to Valor. Valor, with their obsession with honor and physical dominance, saw Mystic's methods as cowardly and weak. But they were also pragmatic; they knew they couldn't let Mystic maintain a monopoly over Rare Candies. If Mystic mass-produced an army of artificially perfected Pokémon, Valor's traditional forces would be wiped off the map. So, they attacked.

Valor was inherently stronger than Mystic, and eventually, Candela, the leader of Team Valor, managed to steal the plans to the device. No one knows its official name, but apparently, those operating it called it 'the mulcher.'

Unknown to both teams, Willow himself was actually a member of Team Instinct. He went running to his leader, Spark, claiming they needed to help Mystic before Valor wiped them out and came for Instinct next."

Ethan sat there silently looking at his aunt.

"So Instinct entered the war, and the entire world suddenly found itself consumed by a three-way conflict between the major teams. The devastation to the global infrastructure was almost immediate. Within the first month, every healing item on the market was completely gone, and every berry bush across the regions had been picked entirely dry, requiring another full growing season before they could ever be replenished.

Trainers couldn't heal their teams, resources were completely depleted, and the ecosystem was collapsing under the weight of thousands of battles."

"Eventually, points of strategic interest started popping up, and hundreds—sometimes even thousands—of battles were fought with hundreds of Pokémon entering the fray on both sides. These spots eventually got called gyms for some inane reason.

It was after the shortage of healing items started to become a critical issue that a Officer on Instinct made a suggestion. Why not catch a Pokémon that had such a large wild population that they were basically infinite? They could battle with them, and once they fainted, mulch them instead of wasting medicine. Then, they could use that harvested potential to forcefully evolve the survivors, forcing them to battle until they fainted, before mulching them too. Pokéballs were cheap and numerous compared to healing items.

"...And in across the globe, so were Eevees," Cynthia explained, her voice dropping as she took in the horrified expression on her nephew's face.

Ethan sat frozen, his mind reeling as the pieces slammed together. He wasn't just listening to a history lesson—he was hearing a dark, visceral retelling of the exact gameplay loop from the first year of Pokémon GO.

It made twisted, logical sense. Back then, healing items could only be obtained from the gyms. But those gyms could hold up to ten Pokémon at a time, and a challenger had to battle through the entire roster just to knock a single defender out. Taking down a fully fortified gym meant enduring a up fifty brutal, consecutive battles, and the meager medical supplies rewarded afterward were never enough to patch up the entire squad lost in the assault.

The resource scarcity was absolute.

Because of that deficit, trainers had turned to a ruthless strategy of mass-catching hyper-abundant species like Pidgey and Eevee. Turn them into exactly enough candy to fully evolve the pokemon, send it into battle, and then turn it into candy the second it fainted. It was simply easier to catch another four or five Eevees than it was to find a single Revive. An Eevee had been the prime target for this meat-grinder strategy specifically to force them into Vaporeon, because its unnaturally high base combat power and fast attacking move water gun made it the ultimate disposable weapon to break a gym's defenses.
"Holy fuck." Ethan mutters.
Cynthia nodded slowly, her eyes reflecting a profound, ancient disgust. "Language, Ethan. But... yes. That is exactly the horror of it. After 10 years of grueling war.
The League broke the three teams, buried the research, and locked away the remaining stockpiles of Willow's work because humanity was turning the bond between trainer and Pokémon into an assembly line of disposable martyrs."

She looked out the window as the Dragonite Bus gave a final, heavy tilt, the landing gear whining as it lined up with the runway below.

"The modern Gym circuit, the strict regulations on medicine, the forced registration of every capture—it was all designed to ensure we never view Pokémon as a resource to be optimized through a meat grinder again. The League wanted us to forget."

"But where does Yellow fit into all of this?" Ethan asks

"Yellow was the officer on instinct that pitched the Crucible Method." Cynthia responds flatly,
"She was the one who came up with that horrible idea?" Ethan asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked down at the Eevee curled up on his lap, its chest rising and falling in peaceful, rhythmic breaths he almost felt bad about the 3,000 Eevee candy in his pokemon go account but they are programs an not real pokemon until he brings them out.

"She did," Cynthia said, her eyes fixed on the Town runway rising up to meet them. "Willow built the hardware, but he didn't have a plan for mass application. Yellow did. She looked at population of Eevee's across the Pokemon world and saw an infinite supply of highly adaptable, genetically volatile fuel."
Cynthia turned away from the glass, her expression entirely hollow. "The other teams copied her. Across every region, trainers stopped raising their partners. They just caught, evolved, fought, and recycled. Because of the Crucible Method, Eevee nearly went extinct the world over. And in Unova? The population was entirely wiped out. That's why Alder knows her name, Ethan. That's why the older generation remembers her as the monster she is."
The Dragonite Bus hit the street with a heavy, definitive thud, they had landed at Veilstone.

 

[Common]

"Come," Cynthia said quietly, her Champion mask slipping seamlessly back into place as she stood up. "We have work to do before we return. Let's make this quick."

Cynthia pulled a heavy brass key from her coat pocket, unlocking the front door with a crisp click.

"We aren't staying long," she noted as the heavy door swung open, revealing a cool, preserved interior that smelled faintly of polished cedar, old books, and city dust.

As the pair entered the rather large house Ethan froze and took it all in one last time.
"Just long enough for you to gather your essential belongings, pack what you need, and sign off on the municipal management forms so we can put the estate under League administrative hold."

"Right," Ethan muttered, stepping across the threshold into the quiet grand hallway. "Household management, I miss my parents' aunt Cynthia."

Cynthia's hand paused on the strap of her leather briefcase. The crisp, official posture she always held—the unyielding Champion of Sinnoh—softened in an instant.

She set the briefcase down on the entryway table, turning to look at Ethan. She didn't offer a hollow platitude or try to steer him back toward the paperwork. Instead, she stepped across the polished hardwood floor and pulled him into a warm, grounding hug.

"I know, sweetheart," Cynthia whispered softly, her throat tight as she rested her hand against the back of his head. "I miss them too. Every single day."

Ethan stood frozen in her arms for a long moment.

========

The quiet hum of the laboratory equipment did little to soothe the tension rising in the room. Samuel Oak pinched the bridge of his nose, the official League report crinkling in his white-knuckled grip as he stared down at the crisp digital scan.

Professor Oak had a headache; they had dug up Yellow's body, and it was in fact still there in the grave.

The forensic markers matched. The DNA sequencing—cross-referenced with decades-old Viridian health registry files—was an absolute, hundred-percent lock. The bones resting beneath the roots of the Viridian forest were indisputably hers… So who was this imposter that both Champion Cynthia and Alder had spotted?

Oak let out a long, ragged exhale, setting the tablet down onto his desk beside a half-empty mug of cold coffee. He leaned back in his leather chair, staring up at the harsh fluorescent lighting of his Pallet Town office, his mind racing through decades of classified history.

He would rather be busy digging through the mysterious data that had been transferred over the radio. Unlike most labs, he got the full massive 5-gigabyte download. But instead he was chasing ghosts… This right here was the reason he retired as champion.

It was never the battles. It was the shadowy, bureaucratic horrors that bled out from the edges of the League's history. The things that refused to stay buried.

Oak pulled his desk phone toward him, his fingers moving with practiced, unhurried precision as he dialed Cynthia's private, encrypted phone number knowing that he's gonna have to be transferred a few times.

=======

Back in the grand hallway of the mansion, the heavy silence was broken by the sharp, persistent chime of Cynthia's secure communicator. The device had cost the league millions to develop for her, but with how often she was out exploring unknown areas, they needed a way to contact her in emergencies.

She gently released Ethan, giving his shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before stepping back. "Hold that thought for just a moment, sweetie," she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet warmth before her hand reached into her coat pocket.

She pulled out the sleek, black League transceiver. she pressed the accept button and placed the unit on the entryway table between them, switching it to speaker.

"Professor," Cynthia said, her voice instantly dropping into her sharp, Champion-level focus. "I hope you have some good news."

"Cynthia," Oak's voice came through the speaker, heavy with fatigue and laced with a cold, clinical tension that neither of them had heard from the old man in years. "We have a massive discrepancy. The forensic team just finished the sweep on the Viridian forest grave."

Cynthia's posture straightened instantly. "And?"

"The body is in the ground, Cynthia," Oak said flatly. "The skeletal structure, the DNA markers—it's an absolute lock. Yellow died decades ago. She never left that forest after the war."

"That's impossible. Alder positively identified her, and if anyone besides you knew that monster it was him… Give me a moment," Cynthia states before covering the microphone of her phone and turning to look at Ethan. "Honey, why don't you go pack your things? Work seems to want to interfere with this," Cynthia states

Ethan nodded slowly, though his eyes lingered on the heavy black slab in Cynthia's hand. It was a brick of a cellphone; the thing was more handheld radio than phone, but its existence was surprising.

"Right," Ethan murmured, forcing his eyes away from the transceiver. "I'll go pack my belongings."

He turned and headed up the carpeted stairs, his footsteps quiet against the polished wood. With every step away from the hallway, the distant, muffled murmur of Cynthia uncovering her microphone and resuming her quiet, razor-sharp exchange with Professor Oak faded into the background.

Reaching his old bedroom on the second floor, Ethan pushed the door open.

The room was still, bathed in the soft afternoon light streaming through the wide window that overlooked the rolling fields just outside of town—the very fields where he used to run until his legs ached, playing tag with Eevee while his parents watched from the porch.

Setting his heavy travel duffel onto the bed, Ethan walked over to the desk. He didn't rush. He picked up a small, hand-carved wooden Pidgey his father had whittled for him on his seventh birthday, running a thumb over the smoothed timber before placing it carefully into the side pocket of his bag. Next came a framed photograph from the nightstand—his mother laughing, his father holding a muddy garden spade, and a tiny, scruffy Eevee squirming in Ethan's arms.

He tucked the frame securely between folded clothes, zipping the duffel halfway shut.

As he reached for his old battle strategy notebooks, and laughed about how bad they were compared to the strategies he now knew from the proleauges on Earth. This world would not be ready for him.

 

[Common]

Cynthia leaned her head back against the leather seat, closing her eyes as rain began to patter rhythmically against the glass.

Yellow being back didn't make sense at all. Knowing her… She was probably tucked away in some forgotten, deep-underground wartime bunker where no regional scan or League patrol had any hope of finding her. But Oak confirming her body in the Viridian forest grave only made things a thousand times more confusing. She had genuinely tried to put it out of her mind—to focus entirely on her nephew's birthday—but the mystery gnawed at her like a splinter beneath the skin.

The cabin shook as they hit a rough patch of wind.

Across the aisle, Ethan didn't even stir. He was fast asleep, his head tilted awkwardly against the window frame as the Dragonite Bus rocked through the turbulence. It was going to be a short flight, but the boy was clearly exhausted. Seeing his old home after everything that had happened had obviously taken a massive toll on him.

Her gaze drifted down to the floor surrounding his seat. He had packed a lot of items—boxes of old books, framed photos, hand-whittled childhood toys, and worn battle notebooks. The duffel bag alone was bursting at the seams. She made a mental note to hire a private moving company later to clear out the rest of the mansion's contents and place them into secure storage.

The carriage pitched slightly as rain began to hit the small glass panes with increasing force, the heavy drops smearing the faint lights below into long, blurry streaks of red and yellow. They had arrived over Celestic; it would only be a moment before the Dragonite touched down.

With a heavy thud of leather and iron, the carriage settled onto the stone landing pad. The Dragonite gave a low, rumbling growl of relief, shaking the rainwater from itself.

Cynthia reached across the cabin, gently shaking Ethan's shoulder. "Ethan," she whispered softly. "We're here."

Ethan blinked heavily, his eyes bleary as he sat up and rubbed his face. He looked out the rain-streaked window at the dark, familiar pine trees framing the estate. "We landed already?" he muttered, his voice raspy.

"Just now," Cynthia said, offering a small, encouraging smile as she picked up two of the heavier boxes. "Come on. Help me get these inside before the storm gets any worse. We still have that 'administrative check' to deal with."

Ethan slung his duffel over his shoulder, holding a box under his arm. He wasn't fooled for a second, but he played along, following her up the wide stone steps to the heavy front doors.

Cynthia pushed the oak door open.

The foyer was pitch black. The usual warm lanterns were killed, leaving only the dim rain-light behind them.

"That's odd," Cynthia said, her voice carrying an absurdly performative edge. "The lamps must be—"

"SURPRISE!"

The lights slammed on. Confetti cannons erupted with loud, sharp pops, showering paper over the entryway. Banners stretched across the second-floor balcony: HAPPY BIRTHDAY Maverick!!!

Nemona was front and center, practically bouncing, while the rest of the guests cheered. Standing in the doorway with a box of old memories in his arms, Ethan couldn't help the wide, genuine smile that finally broke across his face.

=====

Nemona was front and center, practically bouncing, while the rest of the guests cheered. Standing in the doorway with a box of old memories in his arms, Ethan couldn't help the wide, genuine smile that finally broke across his face.


Near the fireplace, the low, mechanical hum of the cabinet-style CRT television flickered, casting a cool blue glow across the dark room.

On the screen, a senior researcher from the Aether Foundation—dressed in a crisp, high-collared lab coat—was giving a late-night broadcast interview. The static on the analog feed cracked faintly, but the scientist's grave tone cut cleanly through the room.

"...the 5-gigabyte high-frequency transmission intercepted across regional arrays is unlike any signal logged since the post-war reconstruction," the scientist explained, adjusting his glasses as complex waveform charts played on a monitor behind him. "We are looking at a fundamental shift in technology as we know it."

Ethan lay flat on his back, staring up at the dark wooden beams of the ceiling as the scientist's words echoed in his head.

His hand rested gently over Eevee, who was curled into a soft, warm ball against his ribs, breathing steadily in her sleep. The world was changing. Bulky field radios, paper ledgers, mechanical typewriters, and heavy aerial carriages—all of it was sitting on the precipice of an era he already knew intimately from his strange, overlapping memories. A future of digital interfaces, lightning-fast transfers, and hyper-connected networks.


He felt a quiet, smug thrill in his chest knowing he was the one who had triggered that massive five-gigabyte data dump in the first place. It would probably take another year or two before the world was ready for the next five-gig package through the system, but in the meantime, he couldn't just sit on his hands. He needed to figure out how to get directly involved.

His mind began to race, pulling concepts from his bleed-through memories—ideas reminiscent of survival mechanics like Palworld, but scaled up to industrial, real-world utility. What if Pokémon weren't just for battling or simple farm labor? What if they were the key to jumpstarting the entire microchip revolution overnight?

They could handle manufacturing far beyond what fragile 1980s machinery could manage. A Magnezone could precision-etch and mass-produce silicon wafers using pure, microscopic electromagnetic pulses. Ground and Rock-types could effortlessly extract and refine ultra-pure base silicon, while Fire and Electric-types provided exact, continuous heat and power control without relying on massive industrial power plants.

All he needed was a dedicated base of operations.

Ethan turned his head, looking out the rain-slicked window toward the dark, sprawling forests beyond the estate. The old wartime era had left dozens of hidden sites scattered across the regions. Secret bases, as they were called in the DS games.

If some of those places were still intact, he didn't just have a place to hide. He had a literal secret base… A Yellow may have been bad, but he could totally just copy his character from Pokémon Y. The whole goal of the opposite gender alter ego was to create such a massive difference in the two identities that there is no way it would come back to him.