[Battles + Heartwarming Moments + Everyday Life + Laid-Back Training + No System + Steady Growth]
Everyone said I was finished. When I got my Wimpod, the whole world laughed at me.
No one knew I could see its real stats. Beneath the surface-level F rank, tiny gray letters read: Potential: SS. In the notes, there were traces of a line that had been repeatedly deleted. The last three words were: “Don’t give up.”
So when it huddled in the corner, trembling, I crouched down beside it. When it came over and touched my fingertip, I told myself: I’ll take it somewhere no one else would dare imagine.
Later, I found a Zorua in the forest, curled up beneath a bush. The blood on its left hind leg had dried to a dark brown, and its whole body was shaking. There was one stat on its profile I’ll never forget: Affinity: -50. This individual has been forcibly transferred seven times and no longer trusts any human.
There was a brand on its back: VII-09.
The first time it took food from my hand that night, its forepaws were trembling. So were mine.
I’d only transmigrated into a book and wanted to live a quiet life. But the Eye of Truth let me see too much that others couldn’t: old wounds beneath Wimpod’s shell, screams in the fragments of Zorua’s memories, and the serial numbers and rules the Shadow Syndicate was writing into the foundations of this world.
Every Pokemon in my care is a note this world failed to erase.
And I’m someone who was never supposed to appear in this story. So I’m going to take them all beyond the pages.
