Pokemon: An Unexpected Odyssey

Nobunaga walked into the Pokémon Center, his mind set on the next steps of his Pokémon journey. But first, he had a different task to attend to. Approaching the counter, he addressed a weary-looking intern who seemed to be barely keeping his eyes open.

"Excuse me, where is the communication room?"

The intern, too tired to muster more than a basic response, merely yawned and pointed towards a door on the far side of the room. Nobunaga noted the direction with a nod of thanks.

"Can you also check if my Pokémon are okay?"

The intern watched as Nobunaga walked away, then turned his attention back to the Pokéballs laid out before him. He picked them up, his movements sluggish, his mind wandering to his mother's words when he had chosen this career path. "Go be a medical professional, it will be good," she had said, "it will bring respect to the household." The intern scoffed quietly to himself, muttering under his breath, "My ass."

Despite his grumblings, the intern started the process of checking the health of the Pokémon. His hands, though tired, were practiced and precise as he placed each Pokéball into the healing machine. The soft hum and glow of the machine brought a brief respite to his weariness, reminding him of the importance of his job—even if the respect he'd been promised felt far away at moments like these.

...

Nobunaga wasn't expecting the voice of a teenage girl to greet him when he dialed Gary's number.

"E-Excuse me, but can I talk to Gary?"

"Oh, like, totally, he's caught up in a Gym Battle against Brock right now, so what's the 411?" the girl replied, her tone casual. She introduced herself as Amanda.

"Well, once Gary is done, tell him I want to talk."

"Hey, girlfriend, who ya gabbing with?" Another girl suddenly flashed onto the screen, leaning into view with a playful smirk. "Oh snap, I thought it was your main squeeze," she teased, giggling.

Nobunaga's cheeks turned a shade of pink at those words.

"Jessica!" Amanda chided, nudging her friend aside with her elbow. The screen wobbled as she adjusted it back to focus on herself. Nobunaga remembered seeing this group of girls with Gary when they had battled.

"Hey, why are you hanging with Gary?"

"Oh, we're hitting up his concert in Cerulean City, and Gary was all stoked to cover our trip if we played his cheerleaders and entourage."

"What about the car?"

"That's our wheels. You don't seriously think we'd let a ten-year-old drive, do ya?" Amanda laughed.

"But you're cool just mooching off him?"

"Hey, he was all about having these babes on board," Amanda shot back, moving the camera to show five gorgeous girls striking poses. The sounds of a Pokémon battle played in the background. "To make everyone wicked jealous."

"Right," Nobunaga elongated the word as he scratched his nose, clearly confused.

"Just tell Gary, I wanted to talk."

"Sure thing, dude."

Just as Nobunaga was about to end the call, Amanda's voice chimed in with a cheerful burst, "Yo, Gary just wrapped up his battle. You wanna chat now?"

"Of course, that's why I called."

"You're never gonna snag a honey with that vibe, dude," Amanda teased, a playful smirk curling her lips.

Nobunaga gave Amanda a dry look, clearly not in the mood for banter. Catching the hint, Amanda quickly softened, chuckling, "Chill, dude, I'm just messin' with you."

Turning away from the screen for a moment, Amanda shouted over her shoulder, "Hey, Gary, this rad samurai cosplayer dude wants to yak with you."

"Oh, that must be Nobunaga," Gary's voice responded, and soon his face appeared on the screen. Nobunaga blinked, surprised and somewhat flattered that Gary had remembered his name.

"Hey there, Nobunaga, right?"

"Yeah, and I know it's past the deadline but I battled all the trainers from Pallet Town, especially Austin."

"Who?" Gary looked genuinely confused.

"The trainer with the Pikachu."

"Oh, you mean Ash," Gary corrected him with a slight chuckle, assuming a simple mix-up of names.

Nobunaga's frown deepened. He was quite sure the boy's name was Austin, not Ash. "Okay, so just tell me your bank account number and I'll wire you the money," Gary said, brushing past the confusion with a wave of his hand.

"Oh, it's... Wait, you're paying me?"

"Of course, you held your end of the bargain, I'll hold up mine."

"But what about the deadline?"

"What about it? You were in Viridian Forest, and knowing Ash's slow speed, I'm surprised you only missed the deadline by a day. So, how much do I owe you?"

"25,000."

"What?!" Gary practically shouted, his voice echoing slightly in the gym behind him.

"You must be wrong," Gary stammered, his forehead creasing as he tried to process the sum.

"No, you promised me if I beat a trainer from Pallet Town with a Pikachu, I get 20k, and if I battle the trainers from Pallet, I get 5k, and if I beat them, 10k. I'm sure you can do the math."

Gary facepalmed.

He had indeed said those words in the heat of the moment, and now with everyone from the gym leader to the girls watching, he knew he had to pay up or risk his reputation plummeting.

"Fine, just tell me your account number. I'll wire you the money," Gary said with a forced smile, trying to find a silver lining in this expensive cloud. At least among all the trainers from Pallet, only Ash had been defeated by the "samurai boy."

As Nobunaga recited his bank details, Gary nodded.

As soon as the screen went black, Nobunaga released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His heart raced from the adrenaline of the moment—he had just scammed Gary in the spur of the moment.

While waiting in the Pokémon Center earlier, Nobunaga had overheard conversations about trainers being rescued by Pokémon rangers from Viridian Forest—many had been injured by wild Pokémon and were now in the ICU. Even more disturbing were whispers of attacks by figures in black clothes with a distinct red 'R' emblem. The realization hit Nobunaga hard; Austin had practically saved his life. He felt a deep sense of gratitude, a debt he felt compelled to repay, but mere prayers seemed insufficient.

When the opportunity arose as Gary agreed to pay, Nobunaga saw his chance.

Now, all he needed to do was wait for the money to arrive, then he could contact Austin and send him $15,000. He almost smiled at his cleverness until a troubling thought stopped him cold—I don't have Austin's contact info.

"Oh," Nobunaga muttered aloud, frustration creeping into his voice. He considered asking Gary for Austin's information but immediately dismissed the idea. That might risk exposing his scam.

Taking a deep breath, Nobunaga recognized that his initial plan to be a trainer in Viridian City was now derailed. He would need to travel to Pewter City to deliver the money to Austin personally. However, with Team Rocket's looming threat in the forest, a delay was inevitable. By the time it was safe to travel, Austin would likely have moved on from Pewter City.

"Looks like I'm going to be a traveling trainer," Nobunaga chuckled softly to himself, his laughter echoing slightly in the empty room.

He couldn't help but marvel at how much his life had shifted—from a humble silk farmer to a nomadic Pokémon trainer embroiled in adventures he'd never imagined.

Hidden deep within the dense forests surrounding Viridian City, the Southern Warehouses, owned by the business tycoon Giovanni John Gotti, seemed nothing more than abandoned relics at the edge of civilization.

But beneath this guise, they harbored the secret base of Team Rocket.

Jessie, James, and Meowth treaded softly along a secluded path that carved through thick undergrowth and towering trees. The forest was alive with the chirping of pokemon and the rustling of leaves, masking their approach. Reaching the warehouse, which looked forsaken and overgrown with vines, Jessie pressed her ID card on a rusted sign that warned of danger. The ground beneath them shuddered slightly as a section of the forest floor slid away, revealing a staircase descending into darkness. The trio quickly slipped down the stairs, the entrance closing silently above them, erasing any sign of their passage.

As they descended, the air grew cool and damp, the sounds of the forest fading into a distant memory as they found themselves in a room, dimly lit by the glow from massive screens at the front, was packed with rows of Team Rocket members. The captains, distinguished by their elaborate uniforms, stood rigidly at the front.

Suddenly, the final screen flickered to life, casting a harsh light that revealed a shadowed figure seated confidently with a Persian by his side, its regal appearance accentuated by a red jewel on its forehead. The Persian's eyes swept over the crowd with a detached air of superiority.

Alongside this central display, smaller screens dotted the wall, each showcasing the faces of the Team Rocket executives.

"Alright, let's cut to the chase. What's the status on the Eevee operation?"

The voice that shattered the silence belonged to Executive Archer, his spikey aquamarine hair and sharp teal eyes giving him an imposing look.

"Boss, we didn't get the Eevee," one of the Team Rocket captains stammered, his voice betraying a hint of fear.

"Then you ain't fit for your job," snapped Executive Arianna, her scarlet hair and matching eyes blazing.

"If there's nothing else to report, then beat it," Archer added coldly, his face stoic, while the other executives displayed a similar disinterest as the captains slowly retreated in disgrace.

Sird clicked her tongue in irritation, her frustration evident. Despite exhaustive searches, her team had come up empty-handed.

"Why don't we put it to the floor?" suggested Executive Proton, his tone almost light-hearted. His vibrant green hair seemed to catch the dim light as he addressed the crowd.

He eyed the gathered members, who now looked increasingly uneasy.

The stage was set for any grunt with information about the Eevee to step forward.

Jessie, buoyed by a surge of reckless confidence, yelled, "We have a clue on this Eevee!" James and Meowth stood beside her, their faces glistening with sweat.

"Oh!" Arianna responded with a smirk, clearly amused and somewhat impressed by Jessie's audacity. The other executives simply raised an eyebrow.

"Give the trio some room then."

At Archer's words, the crowd of Rocket members parted like the Red Sea, creating a clear path for Jessie, James, and Meowth to step forward. Though visibly nervous, the trio mustered a brave front.

"Okay, what's this clue?"

"Meowth!" Jessie managed to squeak out, her voice strained as she felt the lump in her throat grow. She was acutely aware of the eyes of everyone on them—eyes filled with jealousy, anger, greed, and a myriad of other emotions. Meowth, taking his cue, carefully took out a cloth and unfolded it to reveal a lock of brown fur.

"That's it."

"No, we know that the Eevee has been captured by a boy," James interjected quickly, trying to salvage their claim.

"Your proof?" Archer demanded, gesturing for one of the nearby scientists to collect the fur sample.

"While we were trying to capture Eevee, we encountered a boy who said that he fought an Eevee that was able to evolve and devolve into multiple evolutions," Jessie added, her voice steadier now.

A shockwave of murmurs rippled through the crowd, and even the executives froze, suddenly realizing why their elusive boss had placed such high importance on capturing this particular Eevee.

"You don't have the Eevee?" A deep, commanding voice sliced through the chamber, silencing the murmurs and causing every head to turn to the Big Boss.

Meowth stuttered a response, "N-No, B-B-Boss." The only sound that followed was the steady, ominous tapping of the boss's finger against his armchair. Each tap echoed ominously through the chamber, amplifying the anxiety that hung in the air.

"What did the boy look like?"

"H-He had a hand covering his face throughout the time we encountered him," Jessie managed to croak out, her voice thick with regret for stepping forward.

"Any identifiable features?"

"He-he had a Rattata," James added, his voice shaky as the trio began to realize how suspicious their encounter had been.

"Why didn't you interrogate him?"

"We heard an Eevee's cry while we were talking, so..." Jessie trailed off, offering a weak smile.

A heavy silence fell over the room as all eyes turned toward the executives and the big boss, waiting for their judgment.

"A Rattata is a common Pokémon captured by rookie trainers but rarely by veteran trainers. Most likely, the boy would be participating in the Pokémon League, meaning he would currently be in Pewter City," The Big Boss finally spoke, his voice slicing through the silence like a sharp blade.

"Your command."

"A squad of Team Rocket is to remain searching for Eevee in Viridian Forest," the boss dictated. "A few Team Rocket members are to look in Pewter City for any trainers with an Eevee, and I want a squad to capture the route through Mount Moon. The boy will have to pass through there—it's the only route out of Pewter City—and I expect the Eevee to be captured."

"Understood."

The assembly saluted the big boss in unison, their movements crisp and disciplined.

"Now, you three, for a job well done, you deserve your reward."

The trio's faces lit up with happiness, a glimmer of hope flickering in their eyes. They straightened up, their earlier anxiety replaced by a burst of unexpected joy.

"Which of the executives wants these three?"

The trio eagerly turned their gaze to the smaller screens. However, none of the executives seemed impressed enough to take on the responsibility of training them. Silence fell over the room, thick and heavy.

"Shame," the boss commented dryly, as the trio's shoulders slumped, their brief spark of joy dimming.

"Executive Sabrina will take you three under her wing," the boss finally declared, his decision final as his screen went dark.

The trio looked onto the screen in shock, the youngest of all the Team Rocket executives, Sabrina sat. She was a slim young woman of medium height with long black hair styled with shorter layers around her face and small purple eyes. She glanced at the trio dismissively before snorting softly, her focus returning to her nails which she continued to file using her psychic powers on a nail filer.

"Great, now I have to babysit you three losers."

Flint Harrison awoke with a start, the cold metal of the park bench pressing into his back. As he sat up, the bleak dawn light washed over him, accentuating the lines of regret etched deeply into his face. He often thought to himself, Even after all this time, I still can't get used to sleeping on this bench.

Why did he sleep on benches? The answer was painfully simple. He didn't want to waste money—no, he didn't believe he deserved the money to be wasted on him. His actions of abandoning his family haunted him, and this was his penance: a life stripped of comfort, a daily reminder of his failings.

With a heavy sigh, Flint began his morning routine. He folded the cardboard that had served as his makeshift mattress and picked up the old, raggedy cloth that was his blanket. Each movement was methodical, as he tidied his sparse belongings with a kind of resigned care.

Carrying his meager possessions, Flint made his way to a public bathroom. Inside, he washed off the grime of the night with cold water that made his worn hands sting. He looked into the mirror, barely recognizing the man staring back at him. With meticulous movements, he applied his disguise—a fake, dirty beard and a red beanie. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep people from recognizing him, enough to let him blend into the background, just another faceless soul in the city.

Flint then started his day's work as a sanitation worker, a job that involved cleaning dumpsters—a task that others shunned but which Flint embraced. He loaded the trash into an old wheelbarrow, its wheel squeaking under the weight. As he moved through the hidden backstreets rather than the main roads, he did so not just to avoid bothering people with the smell but also to skirt the edges of a world that he felt he no longer belonged to.

As Flint pushed the creaking wheelbarrow down the narrow backstreet, its wheel gave an ominous groan before snapping off entirely. The barrow tipped, spilling its contents—a dismal cascade of garbage—onto the cobblestone path. The sound of crashing trash echoed off the walls of the narrow alley, drawing the attention of nearby food cart owners and pedestrians.

"I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry," Flint muttered repeatedly, his voice a hoarse whisper. He quickly grabbed the ragged blanket that served as his protection against the cold nights, now repurposing it to gather the scattered refuse. With shaking hands and a bowed back, he swept the trash into the blanket, tying it into a makeshift bundle. Lifting the heavy load strained his old muscles, and a sharp pain shot through his back, but he continued without pause.

No one came forward to help; instead, they watched him with looks of pity. He hated those looks but he did nothing but put his head down and continue on his weary path to the disposal plant known as the Pewter Waste Facility.

The facility was a place where sanitation workers like Flint brought their collections—trash, Pokémon excrement, and other waste. Payment was doled out based on the amount each person brought in. Flint's load that day earned him a dozen Pokédollars, a sum so meager it wouldn't even buy a water bottle. He accepted the money quietly, his pride swallowing any complaints, his eyes not meeting those of the cashier.

With the little money in hand, Flint left the plant and headed for his second job, which ironically paid more—being a beggar. He made his way to the outskirts of Pewter City. Inside the city, he felt too exposed, too known; on the outskirts, he could maintain a semblance of anonymity. There, he would offer to be a tour guide, a role that brought him a small sense of dignity amidst the desperation.

Flint sat on a rock by the roadside, not bothering to pull out the cardboard that doubled as his makeshift mattress at night. You deserve this, he told himself, his gaze fixed on the small rocks scattered at his feet.

Suddenly, the sound of wheels crunching on gravel snapped him from his thoughts. Flint looked up to see a young boy on a bicycle, a thermos swinging from his neck. The boy's eyes, weary yet sharp, scanned the area before landing on Flint with an odd flicker of recognition.

That can't be right, Flint thought, puzzled. I've never met this young man in my life.

"Hey, do you know where the nearest antique shop is?" the boy asked, an unusual question for a Pokémon trainer, who would typically inquire about a Pokémon Center or a gym.

"You looking to hire a tour guide?"

The boy glanced at the rocks near Flint's feet and said, "Don't you sell rocks for a living?"

Flint opened his mouth to retort, then closed it, a chuckle escaping him instead. "You're funny, kid. For that, I'll give you a discount. I'll take 100 Pokédollars for being your guide."

"Sure, the name's Austin."

"Flint," he responded, not bothering to hide his common name.

"Well then, lead the way," Austin said, pausing as his gaze swept over Pewter City. The city was dramatically different from its depiction in the anime.

Pewter City boasted a stunning array of structures directly hewn from the mountainside. The facades were grand, etched deeply into the rock. Each building and passageway seamlessly integrated into the mountain itself. Streets wound their way between towering rock walls, and the homes and shops were adorned with intricate carvings.

"What, never seen a city carved into a mountain before?" Flint asked, a hint of pride warming his tone. He loved witnessing these reactions; they rekindled a sense of pride in his city, a fleeting reminder of the better days he once enjoyed.

Austin couldn't help but chuckle as he took in the view of Pewter City.

You never see this back home.

Austin stepped into the antique shop — the air was thick with the musty scent of old wood and paper. Shelves lined the walls, laden with artifacts that ranged from sparkling jewels to faded books.

An older man with silvering hair glanced up from an aged leather-bound ledger as Austin entered. Setting the book aside with care, he greeted, "What can I do for you, young sir?"

"I found some antiques in Viridian Forest and I was wondering if I could sell them."

"Ah, let's see what you've unearthed that might pique the interest of a collector," the man said, his eyes lighting up with interest.

Austin carefully laid out his finds on the counter: a rusted dagger, a worn crate, expired potions, tattered pieces of cloth, and Nobunaga's map. The man leaned forward, his eyes sharpening as he inspected each item. He picked up the dagger, turning it over in his hands, his fingers tracing the oxidation. He then examined the crate, noting its frailty, and frowned slightly at the expired potions before setting his gaze on the map and cloth.

"Indeed, you have brought in quite a collection," the shopkeeper remarked. "Regrettably, the map and cloth hold no value here."

"I get the cloth, but why the map?"

"The map, you see, has been altered, which detracts from its authenticity as a collectible. It might find a home in a more eclectic collection, but it doesn't belong amongst the genuine antiquities."

Austin nodded, absorbing the information. "What can I get for everything else?"

"The crate, sadly, has suffered too much to be of value. Had it been intact, perhaps it could have fetched a handsome sum."

Austin smiled back, holding back a chuckle—the Quick Claw item he had already retrieved from the crate was enough for him not to rue the lost "fortune."

"The bottles and the dagger, however, are quite splendid," the shopkeeper continued, his voice adopting a note of enthusiasm. "These pieces could indeed enchant the right collector."

Austin steeled himself for the negotiation. "How about 4000 Pokédollars?"

"5000," Austin countered firmly.

"Let's settle at 4500, shall we?"

"4600."

"4550, my final offer. Take this, and let us both be satisfied with a fair exchange," the shopkeeper concluded, his expression amiable yet final.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Austin agreed, shaking the shopkeeper's hand.

"Is there anything else?" the shopkeeper asked, noting Austin's lingering presence.

"Not really, but I am curious if you know the history behind these items."

"Well, I have lived that history so," the shopkeeper said with a melancholic smile.

"If it's too hard then I can..." Austin started, sensing the emotional weight behind the man's words.

"No, no, who am I to not answer the questions of a young man," the shopkeeper interjected, encouragingly motioning for Austin to continue.

"What is the history behind this air supply drop?"

"World War II," the shopkeeper responded simply.

Austin's expression shifted abruptly from calm to one of shock, his hand instinctively moving to rub his ears as if to ensure he had heard correctly. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear that correctly."

"World War II, this crate belongs to the Axis powers," the shopkeeper repeated.

Austin raised his hands, trying to steady his thoughts and emotions. World War II? Axis powers? What? How is something like that possible in this world?

Austin took a few deep breaths, regaining his composure after the initial shock. "Sorry, I didn't expect to hear something like that."

"I am sure hearing something like a world war happening would be shocking for a young child."

Austin nodded slowly. "When did this World War II happen?"

"1939," the shopkeeper answered, watching Austin carefully.

Austin, not the biggest history buff but knowledgeable enough from his school days on Earth to recognize the parallels, furrowed his brow in thought. "Can you tell me who the sides were?"

"Well, many of these sides don't exist today, but there were two sides fighting in the war: The Allies and the Axis powers. The Allies were—Unova, Galar, The Soviet Republic of Sinnoh, and Northern Kanto. The Axis powers were—Greater Orrean Reich, The Kingdom of Kalos, and Southern Kanto."

Austin gave the shopkeeper a blank look, recognizing some of the regions from the anime and some from actual history.

Wait, Cynthia is Russian?!

Austin chuckled at the idea, not entirely sure why it had popped into his head.

"Northern and Southern Kanto?" he asked, eager to understand more. The shopkeeper, sensing Austin's deepening interest, pulled out an old, worn map. It depicted the regions of Johto, Hoenn, and Kanto not as separate entities but as one vast country — the Kingdom of Ransei.

"This was the map of this region almost 200 years ago," the shopkeeper explained, his finger tracing the faded lines of old borders.

Austin nodded, the name 'Ransei' ringing a faint bell in his memory.

The shopkeeper continued, "Due to a lot of infighting, Ransei slowly dissolved into two regions, Hoenn and the Eastern Ransei Empire, which claimed to be the successor to the Ransei Empire. The latter proclaimed itself the legitimate successor to the Ransei throne, yet it resembled less a unified nation and more a patchwork of fiefdoms under the control of various warlords. This caused the people of the north to revolt against the warlords, creating Northern Kanto, while the southern warlords united, forming Southern Kanto."

"As tensions were high during this time, the Greater Orrean Reich invaded the Great Islands, triggering World War II."

Austin, trying to keep up, nodded slowly. "So, Southern Kanto is Johto?"

The old man nodded in affirmation.

With a gulp, Austin ventured another question. "What is the Northern Front?"

The shopkeeper took a deep breath, his eyes clouding with a hint of reverence and sorrow. "The Northern Front was the name given to a battlefield during the height of World War II, where Viridian Forest and beyond were captured by Southern Kanto. It was essentially where the most battles were fought, and the most lives were lost."

Austin nodded, attempting to grasp the gravity of the information. Yet, he found it hard to truly feel the weight of such historical tragedy. It was like reading about distant disasters online; the impact felt muted because it didn't directly affect him.

The shopkeeper, however, was visibly affected.

Austin gave the old man a respectful moment of silence, allowing him to gather his thoughts before diving into another question. "What ended the war?"

"Different reasons for different fronts ended the war."

"What ended Southern and Northern Kanto's war?"

"Mew," the old man stated simply.

"Pardon?"

"The Legendary Pokémon: Mew. It was during the height of the war, with Kanto being slowly pushed back until it appeared." The shopkeeper's voice grew intense as he recounted the tale. "The Axis powers invaded from Pallet Beach, causing a lot of destruction. They blew up this truck during the battle, beneath which the legendary Mew was sleeping."

Austin struggled to maintain his composure, the story teetering on the edge of unbelievable. The old man continued with a tone of deep reverence. "It happened in an instant. The entire invasion was destroyed in five minutes. The Northern Front was conquered by Mew in five minutes. Mew was ... strong."

"You witnessed it?"

The old man's eyes moistened, almost in tears. "You can't even imagine it, boy. The day I was holding my injured Arcanine, with enemies surrounding us, and then I heard giggling. As I turned, I saw Mew. It had healed my buddy, and then I saw what true power was. It didn't matter what Pokémon, what weapon was used against Mew; it just giggled as if it was playing a game. The moment it used a move, reality seemed to crack as Mew defeated the invasion. Kanto was able to regroup and then invade Southern Kanto without a problem as Mew had practically crippled the army of one of the Axis powers. To this day, Kanto honors Mew by using its mural on our money."

Austin was in complete awe, "What about the other Axis powers? How were they defeated?"

"Don't know," the old man shrugged slightly, his earlier emotion subsiding into fatigue.

Austin frowned, his mind already turning over where he could learn more. He mentally noted to buy a book on this war; his interest had been thoroughly piqued.

"Was a bomb dropped?" Austin asked, the question at the forefront of his mind. He needed to know if the Pokémon world had ever witnessed something as catastrophic as a nuke.

"Probably."

"What do you mean?"

"The thing is, information about this war isn't generally spoken about; it's considered taboo by many."

"Why?"

The old man took a deep breath, his hands clasping together as if bracing himself to share something painful. "Kanto during the war had done a lot of questionable things, things that the government hides. That's all I know."

Austin nodded slowly, his thoughts briefly drifting. He recalled reading on the internet about how Japan hadn't apologized for the atrocities committed by the Japanese Empire during World War II. Whether that was completely true or not, he hadn't taken the time to verify, but he felt a stark parallel.

"Wait, did Kanto drop the bomb?" Austin's confusion mounted.

"No, I don't know if a bomb was dropped or not."

The confusion clouded Austin's face further, prompting the shopkeeper to sigh deeply. "Do you know what the Orre region looks like?"

"Desert."

"That's what modern Orre looks like. During the era of the Greater Orrean Reich, the land was one of the most beautiful, lush, and fertile. Yet now, it's a desert."

"What happened?"

"I don't exactly know what happened, but my brother used to be part of the navy. He told me that a week before the Greater Orrean Reich surrendered, he had seen this blue comet flying through the ocean, and a few minutes later, a shockwave blew away the clouds in the sky over hundreds of kilometers."

Austin felt his jaw drop, his mind racing to comprehend the scale of such an event.

"He told me that a Pokémon had burnt the Greater Orrean Reich to ash."

Austin felt a chill run down his spine. "P-pokémon," he stammered, the word feeling alien and ominous in this context.

The old man grimly nodded, leaning forward to confide in a whisper, as if the walls themselves might listen.

"Don't tell anyone this, but my brother was able to hear the call of this Pokémon."

Austin gulped, leaning in as the old man whispered the name.

"Victini."

Flint lingered outside the antique shop, savoring the snack Austin had given him earlier. Pikachu guarded the thermos nearby, seemingly protective of its contents for reasons known only to the Pokémon itself. As he enjoyed his snack, he mused aloud to Pikachu, "Your trainer is very unique."

Suddenly, the shop door swung open, and Austin stepped out. His expression was unreadably blank.

"What happened?"

Austin simply closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, the weight of the world seemingly resting on his shoulders.

"I need to sleep."

"Okay, let's get you to the Pokémon Center then," Flint suggested with a gentle firmness, understanding that whatever Austin had learned inside was deeply unsettling. Austin only nodded in agreement and mechanically grabbed his bike, ready to leave.

The duo walked in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the occasional creak of the bike and the distant chatter of the city around them. The quiet gave Austin too much room to think, and the jumble of history and dates he had just absorbed pressed heavily on his mind.

"Flint, what's the current year?"

Flint turned to look at Austin, a perplexed expression crossing his face.

"1997, why?"