First day of School

The next morning, I woke up to the usual blare of the bell, echoing through the gray, dimly lit room. The other kids groaned, some pulling their thin blankets over their heads, others slowly rolling off their cots. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and tried to shake the heavy sleep that clung to me.

Today's the day, I thought, and despite the cold air and the creaky bed, I felt a flicker of something like excitement. It was my first real step outside these walls since I had arrived here, a chance to see more of the world—even if it was just a school filled with kids who had a lot more than me.

We were ushered out of bed, given the usual bowl of tasteless porridge, and then lined up in the courtyard. Marta was there, her arms crossed, her eyes scanning us as if daring any one of us to make trouble.

"All right, listen up," she barked. "We're walking to school, and I expect you all to behave. No wandering off, no talking back, and no messing around. You get there, you sit quietly, you learn what they tell you, and you don't embarrass us. Understood?"

A few of the kids nodded. I just kept my eyes on the ground. Yeah, got it. Don't be an embarrassment. Pretty low bar.

We set off, walking two by two down the narrow streets. The city around us was gray and grimy, the buildings old and leaning slightly, like they were tired of standing. I walked with Sam, the same quiet kid who'd sat across from me during the Pidgey stew dinner. He didn't say anything, just kept his head down, his hands shoved into his pockets. I matched his pace, trying not to stumble on the uneven cobblestones beneath our feet.

The morning was cool, a crispness in the air that made me shiver slightly in my too-thin clothes. But it wasn't just the cold—it was the anticipation of seeing something, anything, that hinted at what kind of world I was really in. I kept my eyes wide, scanning every corner of the street, hoping for a sign.

And then, as we walked past an old house with a broken fence, I saw it—a flash of brown and tan, wings beating rapidly. I looked up, my breath catching in my throat. There it was, soaring over us—a Pidgey. Its feathers ruffled slightly in the breeze, and it let out a soft, almost musical cry as it flew from one rooftop to another.

Holy... it's real.

I couldn't help but stare, my heart pounding in my chest. It was a real, live Pidgey—right there, above me. I almost stopped walking, but Sam nudged me, and I hurried to catch up, my eyes still glued to the bird as it landed on a power line and fluffed its feathers. It looked exactly like I remembered—small, plump, and somehow both mundane and magical at the same time. It wasn't just a game character or a cartoon anymore; it was a living creature, something that shared this world with me.

I tore my eyes away from the Pidgey, a grin tugging at my lips, and kept walking. I noticed, as we passed a small grove of trees, more Pokémon—small green bugs, crawling slowly along the branches. Caterpie. They were tiny, their segmented bodies inching their way along the bark, antennae twitching. One of them was munching on a leaf, its little mouth working methodically.

This is amazing. Caterpie. Right there, just hanging out like it's no big deal.

I wanted to say something, to point it out to Sam or one of the other kids, but the looks on their faces stopped me. They were tired, indifferent, their eyes straight ahead. They had seen all of this before. To them, the Pidgey, the Caterpie—they were just part of the background, no more interesting than the cracks in the sidewalk or the peeling paint on the buildings. It was like they didn't even see them.

Right. Okay. Act normal, Jack. Don't draw attention.

But inside, I couldn't help but feel that flutter of excitement. For the first time since I woke up in this body, I felt like maybe, just maybe, there was something incredible about being here. I was in a world where Pokémon were real, where I could reach out and touch them—if I were brave enough to try.

We finally arrived at the school—a large, imposing building that looked just as old and worn down as everything else in the city. The windows were small, and the brick walls were faded, chipped in places. The teachers stood at the entrance, directing us inside, and I could already see the other kids—those who weren't from the orphanage—staring at us as we approached.

I kept my head down, following Sam up the steps and into the building. The hallway was crowded, kids pushing and shoving, their laughter echoing off the walls. I felt a pang of something—maybe envy, maybe frustration. These kids all seemed to know each other, comfortable in a way that made me feel even more out of place.

We were led into a classroom, rows of small desks lined up in neat, uneven lines. I took a seat near the back, next to Sam, and tried to ignore the curious glances from some of the other kids. The teacher—a stern-looking woman with glasses perched on the end of her nose—began talking, her voice cutting through the noise.

"Settle down, everyone. We've got a few new students today. Be polite. We're here to learn, not to cause trouble."

I tuned her out after that, my eyes drifting to the window. Outside, I could see a few trees, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. I scanned them, hoping for another glimpse of a Pokémon, but they were empty. Still, just knowing they were out there was enough to keep that small spark of excitement alive.

The lesson began—something about basic math, which I already knew well enough. I scribbled in the notebook they'd handed me, trying to focus, but my mind kept drifting. I thought about the Pidgey, the Caterpie, about how they were just... there, part of the world.

If I can find a way out of this orphanage, if I can get strong enough, maybe one day I'll have a Pokémon of my own. Not for eating, but for real. For adventure. For freedom.

The idea seemed almost impossible, but it wouldn't leave my mind. There had to be a way. If there were Pokémon here, then there were trainers. People who worked with them, who tamed them, who used their strength to make something of themselves. I wanted that. I needed that.

The bell rang, and I was jolted out of my thoughts. The kids around me stood, their chairs scraping against the floor, and I followed, filing out into the hallway with the rest of them. Sam stuck close to me, his head down, his shoulders hunched. I patted him on the shoulder, and he glanced up at me, his eyes wary.

"Hey," I said quietly, giving him a small smile. "We made it through the first half of the day. Not bad, right?"

He blinked at me, then shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I guess."

We were led to a small courtyard for our break, and I could see more of the city from here—rooftops, chimneys, narrow alleys winding their way between buildings. I watched, my eyes scanning for any sign of movement. A rustle in the bushes caught my eye, and I saw a flicker of green—another Caterpie, slowly making its way up the trunk of a tree.

I smiled, a real smile this time. This world might be rough, and it might not be what I imagined, but it's still full of amazing things. And maybe, just maybe, I'll find a way to be part of that one day.

Sam nudged me, nodding toward a group of kids gathered near the fence. "We should go over there. Don't want to get in trouble for standing around."

I nodded, following him across the courtyard, my eyes still flicking back to the trees every now and then. I knew it was going to be hard. School, the orphanage, everything about this life was going to be a challenge. But I had seen something today—something that made it all a little easier to bear.

Pokémon are real. And that means anything is possible.