Chapter 11: The Weight of the Night

The streets of Viridian City were quiet, almost too quiet. The moon hung low, casting long, eerie shadows across the cracked pavement. My red shoes crunched softly beneath me as Misty trudged beside me, the broken remains of her bike slung over her shoulder like a dead weight. Her knuckles were white, her grip iron, but I didn't comment. I could see the tension in her frame, the way her shoulders tightened with each step, the way her mouth was set in a hard line. There was no point in asking her if she was okay. 

I already knew the answer.

My mind, however, was elsewhere. The trainer. That mysterious bastard who'd ambushed us out of nowhere earlier. Who was he? And why did he feel so… dangerous? My thoughts swirled, playing out a hundred different scenarios, each one worse than the last. I couldn't afford to relax, not yet. Not when we were being hunted. My Bulbasaur and Pidgey were still recovering from that fight, and Bulbasaur, well… Bulbasaur was barely hanging on.

Misty snorted, breaking the silence between us. "You know, this whole thing is your fault. If you hadn't insisted we push forward, maybe… maybe this wouldn't have happened."

I glanced at her, at the sharpness in her voice, but said nothing. She wasn't wrong, but she wasn't right either. The world wasn't that simple. Not anymore.

As the Pokémon Center loomed ahead, its neon lights flickering in the distance, I noticed Misty still wore my red jacket. A gesture of kindness, sure, but now it felt heavy. A reminder of the unspoken tension between us. The rain from earlier had soaked through our clothes, but now everything felt dry, brittle, like the air between us.

My gaze drifted toward the shadows again, a habit I hadn't been able to shake since arriving in this world. My instincts screamed at me to stay sharp, to be suspicious of everything and everyone. Even Misty. Even Ash. But for now, Balbasur was the priority. And my Pokémon.

The Pokémon Center doors slid open with a hiss, and I stepped back, gesturing for Misty to go first. She hesitated, her eyes narrowing, as if she didn't trust the simple act of politeness.

"Gentleman now, huh?" she muttered, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

I shrugged it off, stepping aside as she stormed in, the door sliding shut behind me, sealing the night's weight inside with us. The sterile, too-clean smell of the Pokémon Center did little to ease the unease gnawing at my gut.

And then, I saw Ash.

He sat near the counter, his head bowed, eyes wide with worry. His hand rested lightly on counter. The moment Misty spotted him, her eyes blazed, and she practically flew at him, fury rolling off her in waves.

"Bastard Ash, what the hell did you do to my bike!?" Her voice cut through the quiet air like a knife. Ash flinched, eyes flicking up toward her, guilt already swimming in his gaze. He stammered, trying to form a defense, but Misty wasn't having any of it.

"You happened to my bike, you little loser! This is what's left after you stole it to save your damn Pokémon!" Her voice was like venom, but I could see through it. I'd been watching her for a while. This wasn't just about the bike.

Ash tried again, his voice a whisper, "Misty, I didn't mean—Pikachu—he's not doing so well."

And just like that, Misty's anger flickered. The fire dimmed, replaced by something else. Fear, maybe. Her lips pressed into a tight line, and she turned away, trying to hide the sudden vulnerability in her face. But I saw it. 

We all saw it.

The doors to the back room swung open, and Nurse Joy appeared, flanked by two Chansey. They wheeled Pikachu out on a stretcher, his small body looking even smaller under the harsh fluorescent lights.

"He'll be alright," Nurse Joy offered with a forced smile. But I heard the strain in her voice. Pikachu wasn't alright. Not yet. Not by a long shot.

Ash's face crumpled. He didn't say anything, just stared at Pikachu, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the stretcher. The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. The tension had shifted, morphed into something more fragile. Hope, maybe. But hope on a knife's edge.

I stood up, moving toward Nurse Joy. My face was calm, controlled. "How's Pikachu, really?" I asked, my fingers brushing Pikachu's cheek lightly. The warmth was still there, but fading.

Nurse Joy hesitated, her eyes locking with mine. She wasn't just talking to a ten-year-old. "He'll need to stay here overnight. We've done what we can… but only time will tell."

I nodded, understanding what she wasn't saying. Pikachu was hanging on by a thread.

Pulling out my own Pokéballs, I handed them to Nurse Joy. "My Bulbasaur and Pidgey need looking at too. They took some hits in the fight."

She nodded and signaled for her Chansey to take them. As they disappeared into the back, I couldn't stop the battle scenarios from running through my mind. I was already calculating our next move, already planning how to be better prepared next time. Because there would be a next time. There always was.

Misty, her anger deflated now, slumped into a chair, her broken bike resting beside her like some sad, defeated relic. She shot a glance at Ash, her expression softening for a moment. "I'll give you time, Ash," she muttered, her voice low. "But you still owe me a new bike."

The edge in her voice was gone, replaced by something that sounded almost like concern. I leaned against the wall, observing, intrigued. This bond between Misty and Ash, it was deeper than just a broken bike. I'd have to keep an eye on that.

As they fell into a tense, awkward silence, I slipped into the corner, alone. My Pokédex was in my hand, but I wasn't really looking at it. My mind raced, not with battle strategies for once, but something deeper. This world was more dangerous than I'd realized. More brutal. Ash and Misty, they were just kids, but even they were being swept up in it.

And me?

I was alone, in more ways than one. I had my cheats, sure. Unlimited money. Rapid evolution. But for the first time since waking up in this body, I wondered if it would be enough.

The night dragged on, each minute heavier than the last. The Pokémon Center felt too quiet, too still. Ash hadn't moved from Pikachu's side. Misty sat nearby, arms crossed, her bravado long gone. And I leaned back in my chair, hand brushing over the sling bag at my side.

Whatever was coming next… I had to be ready.

Because if I wasn't, we wouldn't survive the night.