Several boys and girls, all around eight or nine years old, were gathered in a circle, pointing and chattering excitedly about a Nidorino that stood proudly before them, its body measuring nearly a meter long.
"It really is a Nidorino! I'm going to catch it and make it my first partner as a future Pokémon Trainer!" one boy exclaimed with enthusiasm. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a red-and-white Poké Ball—just the most basic type, the kind you could find in any store in major cities. Cheap, and not exactly the most reliable.
He threw it with all his might. Nidorino glanced at it, gave a light jab with the horn on its head, and the Poké Ball was deflected easily. The horn's power, combined with the poor quality of the ball, left a crack running down its side.
"Ahh, that was the Poké Ball I bought with my New Year's money!" the boy cried, picking up the broken remains with a sorrowful expression.
"Alright, it's my turn now!" a girl chimed in, undeterred by the boy's failure. She pulled out her own Poké Ball and hurled it with a determined look. This time, her throw landed squarely against Nidorino's side. A red light engulfed the Pokémon and pulled it into the ball. For a brief moment, hope flickered in her eyes.
Crack!
The Poké Ball shattered, and Nidorino burst back out, unharmed and visibly annoyed.
"M-my Poké Ball broke too…" she whispered, eyes filling with tears. Seeing two consecutive failures, the other children backed off, clutching their own Poké Balls protectively, afraid of the same fate.
Logan watched from a distance and shook his head silently. This kind of docile behavior was only possible from Pokémon near human settlements, where frequent contact with people had dulled their wild instincts. Out in the deep grasslands or untouched forests, wild Pokémon were far more aggressive. If kids like these tried something like that out there, they wouldn't just lose a Poké Ball—they might get themselves impaled by a furious Nidorino's horn.
It was precisely because Pokémon near towns were relatively safe that parents allowed their kids to play outdoors. These ten-year-olds had no real sense of the dangers that came with being a Pokémon Trainer. Choosing that path meant facing the risk of death every single day.
"Hahaha, that's not how you catch a Pokémon! You have to weaken them first before throwing the ball!"
Just then, a boy around fifteen years old stepped forward. He wore a sleeveless vest and had a cap turned backward in a "cool" fashion. The younger kids immediately lit up at the sight of him.
"Hey, it's Ash!" they cried in unison, running up to him like he was a local hero.
"Watch closely!" Ash grinned and pulled out a Poké Ball. "Go, Poliwag! Use Water Gun on that Nidorino!"
With a flash of light, a Poliwag materialized and unleashed a powerful stream of water from its curled tail-hands, striking Nidorino straight in the face.
"Huh? Still got fight in it? Poliwag, again! Double Water Gun!"
Poliwag raised its other fin, and twin jets of water blasted Nidorino. Though the force wasn't deadly, it was more than enough to daze a Pokémon of this strength level, especially one without a Trainer.
With Nidorino staggered, Ash tossed a Poké Ball with practiced ease. This time, the device clicked shut—capture successful.
"You see? That's how you catch a Pokémon!" Ash announced, then casually handed the ball to the group. "Here, this Nidorino's yours now."
One of the boys excitedly snatched the ball and bolted toward Pallet Town, the others yelling and laughing as they chased after him in a blur of pure childhood chaos.
Ash watched them go, smiling fondly. Whether or not the Nidorino would listen to those kids was another question entirely—not one he seemed to worry about.
That's when he noticed Logan standing nearby and approached with a friendly wave.
"Hey there! Are you from around here? Don't think I've seen you before—whoa, what is that Pokémon?! It looks amazing!"
Ash's attention had snapped to the Rapidash beside Logan. He reached out, clearly intending to pet it.
Snort!
Rapidash gave a sharp exhale and a flicker of flame from its nostrils, glaring at Ash. The boy flinched, retreating awkwardly.
Watching him, Logan couldn't help but feel a strange sense of disconnect. He remembered Ash vaguely from watching the anime as a kid. That version of Ash was… not exactly the brightest. Some even jokingly called him "Ash the Trash."
But here? This Ash seemed stronger, more competent. Then again, in this real world, the age to become a Trainer had been raised to fifteen. Ten-year-olds venturing into the wild? That was a death sentence. Pokémon attacks here weren't flashy sparks and anime sound effects—they could kill.
"You're Ash, right? I'm Logan. I'm not from Pallet Town—I live over at Professor Oak's lab."
"Whoa, you live with that cranky old man?" Ash laughed. "People say he's a total weirdo."
Logan chuckled. "Cranky? I think you've been misinformed. He's actually pretty nice."
He patted Rapidash's neck and said, "Well, I've gotta run. Need to buy dinner ingredients. Otherwise, I'll be going to bed hungry tonight."
"You're going shopping? Then you've got to visit Aunt Tsuko's market! Her veggies are the best!" Ash said eagerly.
"I've been there before," Logan replied with a smile. "But thanks for the tip. See you around."
He waved, and with a nudge to Rapidash, the fiery steed took off toward town like a speeding car. Ash stood behind, watching him go, then looked at the Poké Ball in his hand.
"That guy was cool," he said to himself. "Don't you think so, Poliwag?"
Inside the Poké Ball, Poliwag raised a fin, seemingly agreeing.
With ingredients in tow and Rapidash's unmatched speed, Logan returned to Professor Oak's lab before sunset.
He was already old enough to set off on his journey as a Trainer. But after enduring unspeakable experiments at the hands of Team Rocket, his body was still recovering. That was why he'd spent over a month recuperating under Professor Oak's care.
Still, Logan was beginning to suspect that the Professor just wanted an excuse to enjoy more of his cooking…
Night fell. After reading by lamplight until his eyes ached, Logan began preparing for bed when—
{Someone's coming.}
Mewtwo's voice suddenly echoed in his mind. Even from within the Poké Ball, its psychic abilities allowed it to scan a wide radius. The Master Ball, which housed it, had many features: it could isolate a Pokémon's powers completely—or allow them free reign, depending on the setting.
"Someone's coming?" Logan stiffened. His first thought was Team Rocket. Had they come back after a month of silence?
Before he could react, a familiar voice rang from downstairs.
"Hey! Anyone home?! Did one of your Pokémon escape? I found a weird little one with a plant on its back!"
It was Ash.
The same Ash he'd met earlier that afternoon.
And just like that, things were about to get a lot more complicated.
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