Years passed slowly in Pallet Town.
And he savored every second.
The house wasn't large—just a two-bedroom, wood-frame home at the edge of a flower-covered hill. The view overlooked tall green fields, where wild Pidgey fluttered in the sun, and where the scent of fresh soil and distant rain was always in the air.
He loved it here.
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His father, Rento, was a hardworking man. No Talent. No Pokémon. But he was strong in other ways—honest, steady, reliable. He worked the nearby orchards and sometimes did delivery runs to Viridian, coming home with a dusty coat and that tired but proud smile.
Every night, he'd come home and say the same thing:
"I swear those Growlithe want me dead, kiddo."
And the boy—still too small to reach the sink without a stool—would laugh until his stomach hurt.
Rento always saved the best for him. Sweets from the market. A sketchpad with charcoal pencils. A cracked Poké Ball he said once belonged to a real Trainer, long ago.
But the real treasure came after dinner, when Rento would sit on the floor, his son in his lap, and talk about the world outside.
"You'll go farther than I ever did," he'd whisper, brushing a hand through his son's hair. "I can feel it. There's something in your eyes."
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His mother, Aira, was softer—warm as a Vulpix's tail in winter.
She stayed at home, tending the garden, watching over him like her heart beat only when he smiled.
She sang.
Not just lullabies, but old Pokémon ballads—songs about brave Trainers, about Lugia beneath the waves, about mountains that wept when their guardian fell.
She didn't have a Talent either. Just kindness. The kind that wrapped around a soul and stayed.
When he cried, she held him.
When he laughed, she laughed harder.
When he asked, "Mom, will I be strong one day?"
She touched his heart.
"You already are, baby. You just don't know it yet."
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He never told them who he really was.
He didn't need to.
Because here, in this quiet house with chipped paint and creaky floorboards, he wasn't a reincarnated soul with karma powers.
He was just their son.
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The years were gentle. Full of small moments that made him forget just how dangerous the world could be.
He fed wild Rattata under the fence. Watched the stars from the roof. Dug up roots from the garden and learned how to wash dishes with his tiny hands. His mother sometimes teased:
"You're too serious for your age."
And he was. Because deep inside, he knew the day would come—his 15th birthday—when everything would change.
But for now…
He rested in his father's arms under the stars. His mother braided his hair and kissed his forehead. And when he whispered, "I love you," he meant it with a depth no words could hold.
He wasn't just preparing for the greatest journey a Trainer could take.
He was living the one thing so few people in the world had:
A real family.