Pokemon: The Beginning of the Legend

[Location: Pallet Town – Ash's House, Early Morning]

Ash jolted awake.

The silence of the room was shattered by his sudden gasp, as if he had just been ripped from the depths of some vast, unseen ocean. His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath sharp and strained. Cold sweat clung to his skin like a second layer, dampening the sheets and plastering his dark hair to his forehead. His body was tense—every muscle wound tight, poised for battle. 

And his Aura… it was roaring.

He clutched at his chest with a trembling hand, heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape.

'That presence again.'

Not just a sensation. Not just a dream.

It had weight.

It had intention.

It had will.

But this time… this time, it was different. Stronger. Sharper.

Ash gritted his teeth as he pulled himself upright, throwing the covers aside. The air was cool against his damp skin, but he barely noticed. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat still, grounded only by the floor beneath him. The dark room felt smaller than usual, almost like the shadows were watching, holding their breath along with him.

His fingers dug into his knees, knuckles white.

"That… wasn't just a random feeling," he whispered, voice rough, still heavy with the echo of what he'd just felt. "It was real. It's real."

The dream still burned behind his eyes.

A cavern of glass and metal. A pulse like a heartbeat beneath the earth. Pain. Endless, searing pain. Not his own… but someone else's. Something else's.

And in the center of it all — a single, impossible eye, glowing with fury, confusion, and grief.

He exhaled slowly, deeply, letting his Aura settle bit by bit, the flares of energy dimming from wild arcs to a faint shimmer around his skin. He could feel the residue of the presence like static in the back of his mind, an invisible pressure that hadn't left him since the first dream weeks ago. But this time, it had reached deeper — into his bones, into the memory of his very soul.

He stood, his legs unsteady but driven by purpose, and moved to the window. With one hand, he parted the curtain. The world outside was still half-asleep — the sky a bruised canvas of purples and gray, tinged with the soft golden edge of oncoming dawn. Trees stood motionless in the windless morning. Even the Pidgey that usually greeted the sun were silent.

Like the world itself knew something was coming.

Ash's reflection stared back at him in the glass — older than his years, shadowed by understanding no child should have. But he wasn't a normal child. Not anymore. Not since his reincarnation. Not since his awakening.

His fingers pressed against the windowpane. The glass was cool to the touch, grounding, but it couldn't quiet the storm building in his chest.

"Something's stirring," he muttered. "No… someone."

He could feel it now with unsettling clarity. A power older than the League, older than the legends carved into stone tablets. A force tied to the first breath of life in this world — to the first act of creation, and the first act of betrayal.

"Powerful… ancient…" He paused, the next word heavier, reluctant. "Broken."

He'd sensed it before in pieces. In static. In nightmares. But now it was no longer fragmented. Now, it was gathering strength. Calling. Preparing.

He remembered the pain again — not physical, but something deeper. Existential. Like a soul that had been ripped apart and pieced back together by force. A consciousness never meant to be born, struggling to find purpose… or vengeance.

Ash closed his eyes, letting the wind from the window brush against his face.

"It's not just power I felt," he murmured. "It was rage. Fear. And sorrow."

There was only one being he knew of who could embody all those things. One whose birth was steeped in pain. One who had been forged by science, haunted by identity, and cast into shadow.

He opened his eyes.

And said the name that echoed in the silence of the world.

"And there is only one being like that. Mewtwo."

--------------------

[Later that day]

The afternoon sun was warm, casting golden rays across the small schoolyard where children shouted and laughed, their voices carrying on the breeze. Some tossed Poké Balls between them, pretending to battle with invisible partners. Others chased each other across the grass, faces flushed with excitement and joy.

But beneath the old oak tree near the edge of the yard, the atmosphere was quieter. More private.

Ash sat with his back against the trunk, one knee drawn up, arms resting on it. His eyes weren't watching the games or the people. They were fixed on the sky — the clouds moving slowly, like time itself had slowed down. His Aura extended outward in silent waves, subtle and instinctive, brushing against the edges of the world like a sixth sense reaching for a threat it couldn't quite define.

Beside him, Yellow sat cross-legged, sketching Pokémon in her notebook — a sleeping Pikachu, a jumping Clefairy, a curled-up Cubone. Her soft hum accompanied the scratch of her pencil, a small anchor of peace in an otherwise uneasy moment.

Close to Ash— a little closer than necessary, Green sipped her soda through a red straw, the corner of her mouth curled in a knowing smirk. She sat with deliberate casualness, but her shoulder brushed Ash's now and then. Not quite accidental... she never let an opportunity to needle him slip past.

"Hey, genius," she said, her voice lilting with amusement. "Why do you look like you haven't slept all night? Don't tell me you stayed up reading Pokédex entries again."

Ash didn't respond right away. His lips were pressed into a thin line. His eyes hadn't left the horizon.

Her smile faltered. "Hey. You alive in there?"

He still didn't respond.

Green arched an eyebrow. "…Earth to Ash?"

Yellow glanced up from her drawing, concern flickering across her gentle features. "Did something happen, Ash?" she asked, voice low and genuine.

He blinked once, slowly, then looked down at his hands — still a bit shaky from the morning. The dream lingered in the corners of his mind like smoke, impossible to clear.

"Everything's fine…" he lied. "I was just thinking."

"About what?" Green asked, her teasing tone fading just a bit.

He was quiet for a moment, like he was weighing the words in his mouth before he let them fall.

But before he could say anything...

"Hah!" a voice rang out. "I passed the test! Take that, brainiac!"

Gary Oak came sprinting across the schoolyard like a Tauros on a sugar high, waving a crumpled piece of paper triumphantly over his head. His grin stretched ear to ear, wild and smug, clearly expecting fanfare — or at least for Green to look mildly impressed.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't see the small rock in his path.

WHAM.

The victory was short-lived.

He tripped spectacularly, arms flailing as he crashed face-first into the dirt with an audible thud, sending a puff of dust into the air. His prized test paper fluttered out of his hand and landed gently a few feet away — a perfect 73% circled in red ink at the top corner.

The three under the tree stared.

Yellow blinked a few times, looking genuinely concerned. "Oh no… Is he okay?"

Green snorted behind her straw, barely suppressing a laugh. "That's what he gets for gloating like an idiot.

"…He's improving," Yellow said after a beat, trying to stay optimistic as she resumed her sketching.

"Slowly," Green added, not unkindly.

Ash allowed himself a brief smile. A soft, honest one that tugged at the corners of his mouth despite everything weighing on him.

"Even the best rivals start somewhere," he murmured.

It was a simple moment. An ordinary one. The kind that felt almost normal — like how life was supposed to be.

"By the way, what were you saying?" Green asked.

Ash kept silent for a second.

"Nothing important," he lied again.

-------------------

[In class]

Professor Oak stood at the front of the small but well-organized classroom, a large chalkboard behind him already scribbled with type matchup diagrams. He clutched a piece of white chalk like it was a conductor's baton, ready to orchestrate the symphony of learning.

"Alright, students!" he called, his voice full of that familiar enthusiasm. "Today's lesson: Pokémon type matchups and real-world applications."

A quiet murmur rippled through the class, half-interested at best—until Ash, sitting by the window, suddenly sat up straighter.

'Finally, something I can actually enjoy,' he thought with a small smirk. These early years at school had mostly been dull: safety lessons, basic math with PokéDollars, history lectures that treated battles like a footnote. But this? This was real.

Oak turned to the board and underlined a large triangle that connected Electric → Flying → Fighting. He tapped the chalk against the line between Flying and Ground.

"Can anyone tell me why Flying-types are resistant to Ground-type moves?"

A few hands wavered in the air, but Yellow's went up instantly—eager, but gentle.

"Yes, Yellow?"

"Because they don't touch the ground?" she asked, a bit uncertain.

Oak smiled. "Correct! Simple, but often overlooked. Many trainers forget the basic physics of battle terrain. That's why, for example, Levitate and Magnet Rise abilities matter so much in official League rules."

A few students began scribbling notes. Ash already knew this, but he glanced sideways. Yellow's cheeks were slightly flushed, proud of her answer.

Gary leaned back in his chair and stretched, clearly waiting for a chance to jump in. Oak, ever the showman, gave him one.

"Next question: What Pokémon is considered the most dangerous due to its aggressive instinct, despite its average stats?"

Gary's hand snapped up, confident as ever.

"Yes, Gary?"

"Primeape!" he declared, grinning.

"Good!" Oak nodded. "Anyone know why?"

Gary's grin faltered just a bit. "Uh… it's got, like, anger issues or something?"

The professor tilted his head, half-approving.

"Close," Oak said. "Anyone want to expand on that?"

Ash raised his hand with a casual calmness. The classroom went still.

"Yes, Ash?"

He adjusted in his seat, voice clear and steady. "Because Primeape has a rage loop. Once angered, it becomes stronger the longer the battle goes on. It enters a berserk-like state, ignoring pain entirely. It's one of the few non-Legendary Pokémon recorded taking down opponents far above its level through sheer fury."

Oak blinked. "…Excellent answer, Ash. Very detailed. That kind of information isn't in our standard textbooks yet. Where did you learn that?"

Ash just shrugged. "I read ahead."

'If Primeape was ever considered a threat, then Annihilape is the nightmare that follows. It doesn't just make Primeape look like a warm-up act—it makes it seem like a harmless rehearsal before the real destruction begins. Everything Primeape was—its rage, its power, its unpredictability—Annihilape takes and pushes beyond the limit, evolving into something far more terrifying, relentless, and unchained.'

Gary scowled, jaw tight. 'Show-off…'

Yellow leaned toward Ash and whispered with an awed smile, "That was awesome…"

From the other side of the room, Green watched quietly, tapping her pencil against her lower lip. Under the desk, her hand clapped once—soft and hidden—eyes narrowing with interest.

'So he does know more than he lets on…'

Oak turned back to the board. "Let's look at another case. Why are Bug-types weak to Flying? Think nature. Real-world logic."

This time, the class buzzed with guesses—"Because birds eat bugs?", "Air pressure?", "Wings are fragile?"

Ash didn't answer. He let others speak. He already knew the whole curriculum. Instead, he glanced back at the classroom.

Green was watching him again, her gaze intense. Not just competitive. Curious. The kind of curiosity that dissects and peels back layers. She tilted her head ever so slightly, as if weighing something.

Yellow, beside him, continued to jot down notes in neat, rounded handwriting. Every few seconds, she peeked at his notebook—completely blank—and frowned.

"Ash… aren't you going to write any of this down?" she whispered.

He grinned. "Already got it memorized."

The next hour passed quickly as Oak walked them through more examples—why Fire beats Steel, why Ice-types struggle defensively, and why Normal is both weak and versatile in the real world. Ash answered only when he felt it added something unique. He didn't want to show off. Not too much, anyway.

But each time he spoke, the classroom quieted.

By the end of the lesson, Oak set down the chalk and clapped his hands.

"Well done, everyone. Tomorrow we'll have a small practical demo in the training yard. Bring your PokéBalls—if you've been assigned one—and wear your protective gloves."

The bell rang.

As students began to pack up their things, Gary slung his bag over his shoulder and shot Ash a glare. "Don't think you're smarter just because you got one answer right."

Ash smiled back, not rising to the bait. "Wasn't just one."

Gary stormed off with a grumble.

Yellow beamed. "You're really amazing, you know."

Ash gave her a soft smile. "Thanks. I'm just... interested in the subject."

Behind them, Green lingered at her desk, deliberately slow in packing up.

As Ash passed by, she stood.

"Hey, Ash," she said, voice deceptively casual. "That stuff about Primeape… you're not just guessing, are you?"

Ash met her eyes. "Nope."

A beat of silence.

"…I like that," Green said, her smirk widening. 

'Yeah, that's not the only thing you like about me, Green... we both know it.'

He laughed once, the sound sharper than Yellow's soft giggles.

"Thanks."

Ash walked out into the sunny hallway with the girls close behind, and Oak watched them go with a thoughtful look.

'That boy's going to make big things when his journey starts.'