POV: Andre
It was mid-morning by the time I finally sat still and took stock of my situation.
Three Pokémon. One empty ball. Zero income.
The tarp was rolled. My back still ached. The organizer lady from last night had already come by to ask if I needed a hot drink. I declined—mostly because I didn't want to owe anyone anything until I figured out how bad my situation really was.
Shinx was sniffing a patch of moss nearby. Oshawott had made it a game to toss pebbles at him. Neither of them seemed concerned that we were on the verge of homelessness.
Trevenant, thankfully, was still in his ball. For now.
I rubbed my eyes. "Okay, Andre. You are now officially a broke ranch hand with a haunted tree ghost, an electric cat, and a sword otter."
I checked my satchel. Nay Miriam's last bits of packed food—some flattened rice cakes and jerked meat—were still intact. Maybe another day or two if I rationed, but Oshawott had the appetite of a teenage boy after gym class, and Shinx was growing fast.
I wasn't sure if Trevenant ate. Wood? Souls? Do I even want to know?
And I still didn't have a Trainer ID.
---
Floccesy Pokémon Center, Late Morning
The center was packed. A seasonal trainer surge meant half of them were kids—sleep-deprived and wide-eyed. I waited behind a girl fussing over her Sandile's chipped fang and a boy carrying his fainted Patrat like it was a rare plushie.
Eventually, Nurse Joy called me over. She was all smiles, but I could tell by the way she squinted at her screen that this wasn't going to be painless.
"Name, please?"
"Andre Cruz. I'm here to register my Trainer ID."
She typed, paused, typed again.
"Ah. You're one of those without a pre-registered League account."
I nodded. "Internet's a myth in my village. We barter for stories and scare off Pidove with garden rakes."
She politely ignored my sarcasm. "Right. Well, you've been assigned a Basic League ID."
A small card popped out of a terminal. It looked like a hotel keycard someone forgot to design. Just my name, a barcode, and the blandest gray border known to man.
"This allows you access to Pokémon Centers, one free healing cycle per day, and limited food and item rations," Nurse Joy said. "It does not allow for PokéMart discounts, occupation listings, or League stipend eligibility."
I blinked. "No discounts?"
"Correct."
"No food vouchers?"
"Only emergency protein paste."
My stomach folded in protest.
"What about jobs? Can I be registered as a farmer or something?"
"Occupational designations require either a minimum of three gym badges or certified education from a League-accredited institution."
I stared. "Even janitor?"
"Especially janitor. It's a regulated field now. Competitive market."
I felt a vein twitch. This was not in the game. This wasn't even in the anime. Actually—no, scratch that. The anime did have people living in tents, getting robbed by guys in matching outfits every other week, and somehow still affording food and hair gel. But I was starting to think those trainers had secret trust funds or sold rare candies on the black market. Because here in the real world, no badge meant no job. And no job meant no rice.
They said I didn't need to chase gyms.
No need to enter the League circuit, they said.
Yeah, sure—no need, if you want to live in the wilds, not sell your farm's produce, and be unable to legally farm without a gym badge.
Those two knew. But they didn't tell me.
I bet it was Mina who planned this…
---
Outside the Pokémon Center
I sat on the curb, staring at my brand-new ID like it had personally insulted me.
Shinx rubbed against my knee. Oshawott plopped down beside me and offered half his dry ration bar. I chewed on it. It was spicy. I hated that I liked it.
"Alright," I muttered. "New plan: Don't starve. Don't go into Poké-debt. Try not to die."
The vending machine outside the Center gleamed in the morning light. I approached it, swiped my card, and waited.
ERROR: Clearance Level Inadequate.
Shinx growled at it. Oshawott raised a shell in mock challenge.
I sighed. "We're gonna need to get creative."
A moment later, the vending machine spit the card back out like it was offended I'd even tried. I turned and sat back on the curb. The Center doors whooshed open and closed behind passing trainers—some chattering about their next route, others comparing Pokédex entries.
I watched a pair of them unwrap proper sandwiches—real ones, with meat and lettuce and everything—and decided not to cry out of principle.
---
Later That Day
I found a bench in a quieter corner of town and sat with my team. I pulled out my notebook—yes, I kept one—and started writing down ideas.
HOW TO STOP BEING BROKE (AND HUNGRY)
Check for temp work posters or task boardsAsk about delivery jobs or trainer escort missionsSee if local shops need helpersFish? Can Oshawott fish?Berry foraging? Legal?Talk to Trevenant??? (Pending emotional readiness)
As I scribbled, I heard a voice.
"Hey, you the guy who caught that scary Trevenant last night?"
I looked up. A teenager with a shiny League jacket and too-perfect hair grinned down at me.
"Heard you did it without a real team. Wild. What badge are you at?"
I held up my ID. His face fell.
"Oh. Uh... cool. Well, good luck, man."
He backed away like I had PokéRus.
I turned back to my list.
"No pressure," I told my team. "Just need to survive with three hungry mouths, no money, and a haunted tree who may or may not expect a dowry."
Shinx yawned. Oshawott burped.
"Okay, calm down, Andre," I told myself. "Let's ask if the Center gives free calls or if a postal service is included in my League plan."