Chapter 7: The Storm's Edge

The rod jerked in my hands, its sudden weight almost yanking it free from my grip. My heart slammed against my ribs as I fought to keep control, my fingers curling tighter around the handle. The fishing line quivered with tension, the tip of the rod bending under the strain. Whatever was on the other end of that line was no ordinary catch.

"Hold it steady, kid," Misty urged beside me, her voice unusually serious.

Sweat trickled down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I gritted my teeth, every muscle in my young body burning as I leaned back, trying to counter the sheer force threatening to pull me into the lake. This was more than just a test of strength; it was a battle of wills.

"I've got it," I growled, though my voice betrayed the flicker of doubt creeping in. The rod shook violently, the line singing as it sliced through the water. For a moment, I wondered if this was a mistake—if maybe, just maybe, I'd bitten off more than I could chew.

The wind picked up, whipping through the trees around us. Misty, usually so quick with a quip or a teasing remark, was silent. Her eyes were locked on the water, her expression a mix of concern and determination. She knew as well as I did that this was no joke.

The rod bucked again, nearly slipping from my hands. Panic surged, but I buried it deep. I'd been in tighter spots than this—well, at least in my previous life. But here, in this world, with this ten-year-old body? The rules were different. Everything was different.

I shot a glance at Misty, my voice edged with desperation. "Misty, help me!"

She met my gaze, and for a split second, I saw her hesitate. But then that familiar smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth, the one that said she was up for the challenge. "Already, kid? You'll have to pay."

I almost barked out a laugh despite the tension. Trust Misty to bring money into the equation, even now. But there was no time for jokes. I nodded, begrudgingly thinking about how her love for money was starting to make sense in a world where resources were everything—especially when you didn't have cheats like I did.

Without another word, she stepped in, her hands wrapping around the rod just above mine. The sudden warmth of her body pressed against my back threw me off for a moment, but I snapped back to reality as the rod lurched again. We both leaned back, our combined strength barely enough to hold steady against whatever beast we had on the line.

"Use some force, kid!" Misty's voice was right in my ear, her breath hot against my cheek. I grunted in response, digging deep into reserves I didn't know I had. The rod was vibrating in our hands, the tension nearly unbearable. My muscles screamed in protest, but I ignored the pain, focusing on the task at hand.

With a final, desperate heave, we pulled. The line jerked violently, the rod whipping back. For a moment, I thought we'd lost it. But then, with a heavy thud, whatever we'd hooked crashed onto the shore behind us.

The recoil sent us tumbling backward. I barely had time to register the impact before I felt the cold, unforgiving water of the lake envelop me. The shock stole the breath from my lungs, and for a moment, I was disoriented, my limbs flailing as I fought to surface.

When I finally broke through, gasping for air, the sight that greeted me made my blood run cold.

There, just a few feet away, towering over the water with an enraged roar, was a massive Gyarados. Its serpentine body churned the water around it, waves crashing against the shore. Its eyes, burning with fury, locked onto mine, and for a moment, I was paralyzed with fear.

This wasn't just a Pokémon battle. This was survival.

"Move, Punit!" Misty's voice cut through the terror, sharp and commanding. She was already swimming toward me, her strokes powerful and precise. In seconds, she had grabbed me, her grip almost painful as she dragged me toward the shore.

My mind raced, every strategic thought I usually prided myself on vanishing in the face of this very real threat. The Gyarados let out another deafening roar, its massive form surging toward us. The water churned violently, making it harder to swim, harder to escape.

But Misty didn't falter. With a final, desperate push, she shoved me onto the grass, her strength almost surprising. I tumbled onto the shore, coughing and gasping for breath, my body trembling from the cold and the shock.

"You know that hurts, right?" I muttered, trying to regain some semblance of control, some of the bravado I'd lost in the water.

Misty, soaked and breathing heavily, shot me a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, but you're not dead, are you?"

Before I could retort, the situation took another turn. I hadn't even noticed the figure lying near us, limp and motionless, until now.

Ash Ketchum.

His Pikachu was cradled in his arms, the usually lively Pokémon now frighteningly still. The sight of Ash's face—pale, panicked—struck me like a punch to the gut. The kid was clearly out of his depth, and from the look in his eyes, he knew it.

Misty was on her feet in an instant, her focus shifting entirely to the new crisis. "Is it breathing?" she asked, her voice edged with urgency.

Ash nodded, but his expression told me everything I needed to know. Pikachu wasn't just unconscious—it was in real danger.

"Ash, you need to get Pikachu to a Pokémon Center. Now, or he will die," I said, my voice hardening with the weight of the situation.

Ash's eyes flicked to me, confusion and trust warring in his expression. But he didn't hesitate. Grabbing Misty's bike—an action that earned him a sharp yell from her—he took off, Pikachu clutched tightly to his chest.

Misty watched him go, her frustration at the loss of her bike clear on her face. But it was overshadowed by something else—worry, and maybe a hint of something deeper.

"So, you know that kid?" she asked, her tone more serious now, her gaze sharp as she studied me.

I handed her the fishing rod, now a useless piece of equipment, and nodded. "I know his name—Ash, from Pallet Town," I responded, trying to keep my tone casual. But as her eyes bore into mine, I couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't just asking out of curiosity. There was something more behind her question, something I wasn't sure I was ready to confront.

Before I could dwell on it, a distant rumble of thunder broke the silence. I glanced up at the sky, dark clouds gathering on the horizon. The storm was coming—both literally and figuratively. And I had a feeling it was bringing more than just rain.

As I stood there, drenched, shivering, and more alive than I'd felt in a long time, I couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, I was finally starting to understand this world. And if that meant facing more storms like this one, well, so be it.

Because I wasn't just here to survive.

I was here to win.