A Different World of Pokémon

Late autumn.

Withered and yellow leaves swirled down from the sky, adding color to the bland, rough streets. On the mottled telephone pole, several crows hoarse their throats, but no one payed any attention.

A dark alley somewhere in Saffron City.

In the messy garbage heap, where the filthy water flowed freely, there lay a scrawny figure. Haggard face, tattered clothes, and bare feet covered in mud. The figure was silent, as if even his heartbeat had been muted. There was a red and white ball on his chest clutched between his pale hands covered with blue veins.

Suddenly, the man's eyelids flickered, and he sat up from the ground with rapid panting. The eyes that seemed to be covered with a layer of gray fog were full of confusion, and gradually became clear. Memories like backflowing spring water, wantonly impacted his consciousness. He sat there for a while, only then did he gradually understand his situation.

His name is Natsu. He was born in a poor family in Saffron City. His parents died early due to overwork. Since birth, he had only one goal, to survive. And now, the original Natsu died, and woke up again, replaced by an ordinary soul from a distant world.

"I'm still alive?" he muttered with disbelief.

He looked down and observed the dirt between his fingers, his jagged ribs, and the pokéball in his hand that was a little stiff from applying force. Through the clear red glass, a petite yellow figure could be seen.

"Pokémon."

*thunder*

The sky suddenly drizzled, casting a veil on the whole city. The raindrops slapped his thin body, and the ice cold penetrated into the bone marrow, bit by bit taking away the remaining body temperature. A biting chill engulfed his consciousness. Natsu felt a cramp in his stomach and licked his dry lips.

Compared to these, the bone-chilling coldness is what worries him most. He stretched out his hand, took some rainwater and sent it to his mouth, which relieved him a little.

"I can't go on like this. I need food, shelter, and warm clothes.".

His weak body can't stand any troubles at all, even if it's just weak rain.

"Big brother, that kid just ran here"

Suddenly, a small voice passed through the thin rain curtain and entered Natsu's ears. It was followed by a few quick footsteps.

Natsu squinted, propped his knees hard, and staggered to his feet from the dirty water, the soles of his feet gradually losing feeling and becoming stiff in the water.

Under the rain curtain, three figures gradually became clear.

*da da da*

Stepping on the wet ground, through the misty water vapor, they quickly appeared in front of Natsu. The leader was a fierce-looking man with a ferocious scar on his face, and his feral eyes seemed to want to devour him. Greed flashed through his eyes when they landed on the Pokéball in Natsu's hands.

"Big brother, that's him!" The henchman next to the scarred man looked arrogant and pointed at Natsu, his long eyes further narrowing, and the depths of his eyes were also full of greed.

This scarred man was known to Natsu. He was a gangster who roamed these streets. Because of his vicious methods and arrogant behavior, he was regarded as the leader of the local gangsters. But at the end of the day, he's also just one of the bottom people in Saffron City. For the people at bottom of society, the only way to change their fortunes was to get a Pokémon and enter the Trainer profession.

Trainers are the mainstream of this world. And the one with Pokémon have the hardest fist. Without Pokémon, they're always just a bunch of people fighting to survive. And now, Natsu has a Pokéball in his hands.

The scarred man clenched his fists and walked towards Natsu with fierce eyes. With his current weak body, he can't stand any punches from the gangsters, people that have been fighting all year round. They don't speak any words. For people like them, whether they are fighting for land or food, their fists are the truth, and Natsu knows this.

Watching the scarred man getting closer, he tightened the Pokéball in his hand. This Pokéball is a hot potato, but it's also an opportunity to change his fate, and it's the only thing he can rely on right now.

He opened his mouth slightly, and sucked the foul-smelling air little by little, feeling the burning pain in his lungs. He then held his breath, and immediately pressed the button on the Pokéball, and along with a red light, the Pokéball opened: a petite and earthy yellow, with a segmented body, spikes on the head and tail, worm-like Pokémon appeared between the two.

Weedle, a very common Pokémon. For a Trainer, it is synonymous with weak, and for ordinary people, they live in groups and are poisonous existences that cannot be provoked in the forest. Such a weak Pokémon is not even as big as the scarred man's fist, and thus is not popular with the Trainers, but it has become a fragrant pie in the eyes of these low-level residents.

Seeing Weedle, the scarred man was startled at first, but it was quickly overshadowed by greed. Desires can distort a person's perception.

"Do you know what Pokémon this is? Do you know how to command a Pokémon?"

His expression was tyrannical and his voice was harsh. A Trainer is not only a person who has Pokémon, but also needs corresponding theoretical knowledge, understand Pokémons' abilities, habits, and personality, and know how to command them to fight and exert their due strength.

In the eyes of the scarred man, people like Natsu, who have almost exhausted all their energy just by living, how can it be possible to understand Pokémon, let alone command the Pokémon to fight, even if it's only a very common Weedle.

Natsu's face was cold. Through the memory of his predecessor, he already understood that this world is indeed the Pokémon world, but it is not the utopian Pokémon world that he had in his mind. Here, human beings are buried in the mouth of the vicious Pokémon, and there are not few people that cherish Pokémon as the food on the table. There is no absolute friendship between people.

In his previous life, he was not a good person. He had experienced social beatings and was well aware of the ugliness of human nature, so he quickly adapted to the current situation.

"Weedle, String Shot," Natsu said coldly, his voice weak but firm.

Hearing his order, Weedle froze for a moment, then turned to look for the source of the sound.

Those small, black eyes met Natsu's unquestionable gaze. The little body trembled slightly. The scarred man was startled at first, but when he saw Weedle's reaction, his smile became more cruel.

He took big strides and rushed up. He felt a little apprehensive in his heart, and seemed unwilling to let the person in front of him say anything more. The calloused fist got closer. But Natsu stood still, or couldn't move, just commanded again:

"String Shot!"

*ssss*

Suddenly, when the scarred man's fist was only a few inches away from his face, a white seemingly thin thread quickly popped out and wrapped around the fist.

The scarred man was surprised. He wanted to continue to exert force, but found that the silk thread spit out by the petite Weedle wrapped tightly around his fist, making it difficult to continue to move quickly.

Natsu took a step back, and the voice came again, "Weedle, Poison Sting."

*Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!*

The sharp corners on Weedle's head lit up with a purple halo, and several small Poison Stings glowing with cold light shot out, submerging into the strong arm. In an instant, the scarred man's face turned red, and beads of sweat the size of beans burst out from his forehead, hitting his arm, where circles of purple quickly spread and swelled. He was poisoned. The poison spread rapidly, and the scarred man staggered, kneeling in front of Natsu.

With Weedle's current ability and poison, he won't die, but he will lose his mobility. Seeing that something was wrong, the two henchmen behind him wanted to run. But they heard Natsu's lingering voice, "Want to run?"

The two stopped abruptly, turned around stiffly, and looked flattering, "Hey listen. We were just following orders...".

But before he could finish speaking, Natsu interrupted, "Money, food, and clothes, or death, choose one." The frail body revealed an unquestionable coldness.