The last of the Oran Berry was safely in my stomach, and the Moomoo Milk was down to the final, warm sip. I felt a little heavier, a little cozier, and more than a little full.
Mama gave me a soft smile as she stood and took the tray.
"Now that my little star has a full belly," she said, "it's time for you to sleep."
I blinked up at her, still chewing the final bit of fruit in my cheek.
"No fightin'?" she asked sweetly, eyes narrowed with mischief.
I puffed out my chest. "No fight, Mama. Me good boy."
She laughed—warm and proud—and picked me up from the mat with practiced ease. I snuggled into her neck as she carried me into my room. The gentle scent of her shampoo mixed with the faint sweetness of the berries we'd just eaten. Honestly? I wasn't even pretending. I really did want to rest... eventually.
My crib was designed after a coiled Ekans resting in the protective embrace of a larger Arbok. The design looked like a mother curled around her baby—a custom piece, apparently. She said it "spoke to her." It was weirdly comforting, like I was being protected even when alone.
She laid me down gently, brushing some stray strands of my violet-tinted hair from my face, then leaned down and kissed my forehead.
"I love you, my little star," she whispered.
"I love Mama too," I whispered back, letting my tiny fingers curl around hers just for a moment.
She slowly pulled her hand back, gave me one last look... and walked out of the room.
The door clicked closed with a soft snick.
I waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then—
Click!
A flash.
"...Did she just take a picture?"
I let out a soft sigh and ignored it. With the coast clear, I opened my eyes fully and sat up inside the curled tail of the Ekans blanket design.
It was time.
No more toys. No more berry-induced naps.
Time to meditate.
I closed my eyes, slowed my breathing, and slipped into the void within. Nights had become my personal training ground. I played the part of a toddler during the day—laughing, napping, pretending to mispronounce words—but when night fell?
I worked.
⸻
Two months later...
I was now one year and seven months old. My growth was steady, both mentally and physically. The transformation to a 4-5 year old body was starting to show, just like the system said it would.
Right now, I was deep in meditation again, lying in the coiled bed with my legs crossed and my hands resting on my knees. My breathing was calm, my mind fully focused.
Then it happened.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[Ding ding~! Guess who's finally back, baby?]
My eyes twitched.
"...You."
[That's right. It's me, your favorite, fashionable, flawlessly dramatic Void Dragon System—back after a short nap to inform you of something extra spicy.]
"...Talk," I said flatly.
[Rude.] The system huffed. [But fine. Congratulations, Host, on completing a hidden side quest: 'Connection to Nature: Embrace the Ancient Forest.']
[Reward granted: You have obtained the blessing of the Verdant Spirit.]
My eyes snapped open, wide and burning with excitement.
The Verdant Spirit...?
I sat up fully in my bed, feeling something new—something alive—stirring just beneath the surface of my soul. A calm, humming warmth that wrapped around my aura like a living vine. It was... peaceful. Wise. Wild.
[Here's your shiny new ability set, oh tiny lord of leaves and latent dragon rage.]
⸻
Verdant Spirit: Awakened Abilities
• Healing (Active):
Heals Pokémon or himself through touch and focused emotion. Stronger bonds = stronger healing.
• Psychic Empathy (Active):
Senses and understands the emotions of Pokémon. Creates a mental bridge for deeper connection.
• Communication (Active):
Telepathically speaks with Pokémon, bypassing language barriers.
• Self-Healing (Active):
Repairs his own wounds slowly, especially while meditating, calm, or surrounded by trusted Pokémon.
• Power Boost / Level Enhancement (Locked):
Triggers during moments of extreme emotion to temporarily raise a Pokémon's strength or push growth.
• Forced Evolution (Locked):
Emotions can catalyze a Pokémon's evolution—especially if the creature is stuck or struggling.
• Telekinesis (Locked):
Manipulate light objects with psychic energy, typically under stress or heightened emotion.
• Emotional Influence (Locked):
Subtly shifts a Pokémon's feelings, boosting morale, resolve, or clarity through sheer presence.
⸻
I could barely contain myself.
This—this was huge.
With communication, I could talk to Pokémon. Really talk. Not just command. I could reason with them. Convince them. Calm them.
I could speak their language—not with words, but with feeling.
And self-healing? That alone was a blessing. It meant I could push myself further. Train harder. Break my limits. Bleed if I had to... and come back stronger.
I grinned, lying back again in the coiled bed of faux-Arbok leather.
The system, of course, wasn't done.
[Aww, would you look at you~ Already becoming a mini mystic jungle whisperer. Mama Void Dragon would be so proud~]
I rolled my eyes, but I didn't bother replying.
Because right now?
I had work to do.
And if this power meant what I thought it did?
Then I was one step closer to becoming something more.
Not just the heir of the Void Dragon...
But the voice the wilds themselves answered.
Yua's POV
I stared down at my phone.
It felt heavy in my hand, heavier than it should've been—considering it wasn't a Poké Ball, or a boulder, or a rampaging Miltank. Just a sleek little thing with a cracked corner and a smiling Pika-case on the back.
And yet here I was.
Frozen.
Paralyzed.
Because I was about to do something far more dangerous than wrangling a wild Steelix or navigating an aggressive daycare full of toddler Trainers.
I was about to call... my mother.
And tell her I had a baby.
A son.
Without a husband.
Without ever telling her I was even thinking of having a child.
I rubbed my temples with one hand and held the phone with the other, groaning into the quiet hum of the apartment's warm lighting.
How did I get here again?
Oh yeah.
"I'll call her soon," I said... a year ago.
And then... well...
John happened.
My sweet, adorable, terrifyingly smart little star.
He was lying peacefully in his crib right now—his baby bed modeled after an Ekans curled protectively around an Arbok, like a mother holding her baby in scaled coils. It had been a custom order. Because my baby deserved nothing less than the most unique and loving cradle.
And now?
He was asleep—or pretending to be, more like. I knew better. Every night since movie night two months ago, I'd caught him on the baby monitor sitting upright with his little legs crossed, eyes closed like some tiny sage, meditating. MED-I-TA-TING. At one year and seven months.
What child does that?!
I was rolling in the mud and trying to ride stray Pokémon when I was five, and this boy?
He said his first word at one year old.
Not one and a half, like the book told me.
Oh, the book. The Book.
"Raising Your Baby Trainer to Greatness!" it had promised. So many tips, tricks, and routines. All of it rendered useless because my baby was a genius.
He called me "Mama" at one.
Said "I love Mama" before he was two.
Watched a movie, tried meditating the same night, and kept doing it.
Now, he was trying small sentences. Learning from me talking to him. Like a sponge. No... like a sponge that had leveled up, evolved, and mastered the art of absorption.
So yeah. I was a new mother, trying to raise an exceptional child on her own... and now I had to call my mother?
My mother—who was once known as the Iron Rose of Sinnoh. A trainer so fierce her Gallade learned to cook just to make her sit still and eat.
She wasn't even battle-oriented, not like those aggressive League types. But her presence alone made Trainers ten years younger than her fold under pressure.
She trained calmly.
Silently.
Efficiently.
Deadly.
All while smiling like a polite librarian.
I'm her second child. Her first, my big brother, inherited her inner steel, her discipline, her graceful edge in every battle.
And me?
...I ran from a Lombre once because I thought it sneezed at me.
So yeah.
Calling her?
Telling her she had a grandson?
Whom I had without a partner?
Terrifying.
Still, I looked over at the baby monitor. At the little image of my boy, curled into a ball, hands folded under his cheek, breathing softly.
My little star.
He was the reason for everything now. My fears? My worries?
They could wait.
He was more than worth it.
So I pressed the call button, took a deep breath, and waited as the dial tone began to ring.
Ring...
Ring...
Click.
"Hello?" came the calm, sharp voice of my mother.
I squeezed my eyes shut, took one final inhale, and whispered to myself—
"Well... let's get this earful and possible death sentence out of the way."
"Hopefully... my child's cuteness will save me."