Pokémon could be artificially bred these days.
In fact, most of the second-generation rich kids—those born into big-shot families in the Pokémon Alliance—didn't even bother with the whole "buy a starter" routine. Their parents just handed them a Pokémon raised at home like it was a lunchbox. Some even had backup starters in case their first choice didn't match their vibe.
And the Alliance? They didn't really care.
As long as you didn't go around poaching endangered Pokémon or breaking any major rules, no one cared where you got your first partner from. You could buy it, hatch it, inherit it, trade for it—heck, even stumble across one in the bushes and toss a Poké Ball at it.
Which brought David to his current plan: catching one in the wild.
Yes, that sounded brave on paper. Very adventurous. Real "main character" energy.
In practice? Almost nobody chose that route anymore.
Wild Pokémon were, well… wild. They didn't come with instructions or good manners. They didn't trust you, they didn't want to play catch, and they definitely didn't appreciate you stepping into their territory like it was a petting zoo.
Regular people, if they just wandered in unprepared, would most likely walk out bruised, poisoned, electrocuted, or not at all.
And the kicker? Even if you survived the effort and actually caught one, chances were, its stats would be garbage. The good ones—the rare, powerful, promising Pokémon—were all deep in the secret realms. The stuff you could find in nearby woods or fields? Mostly bugs and birds with the intelligence of a sandwich.
That's why most people didn't even consider going the wild route. Why risk your life for a Caterpie with stage fright when you could buy a calm, well-bred Bulbasaur with good IVs?
But David didn't have that option. His budget couldn't stretch to a used Poké Ball, let alone a professionally bred starter. If he was going to become a Trainer, he'd have to do it the hard way.
And after months of thinking, reading, comparing options, and then lowering expectations again and again... he'd finally come up with a plan.
Weedle.
Yes, the squishy, worm-looking Bug-Type with a needle on its head.
Weedle wasn't anyone's dream partner, but it checked all the boxes for David.
First, they were everywhere. You could find Weedle in forests, parks, maybe even your backyard if you left a soda can out too long.
Second, their qualifications were usually on the low end. Which sounded bad—but also meant people didn't fight over them. No one was guarding them like some rare Shiny. That meant David could try without too much competition.
Third, they weren't all that dangerous. Sure, they had poison, and sure, that sounded scary. But if you wore gloves and didn't try to hug one bare-handed, you'd probably be fine.
Best of all? Weedle evolved fast. Like, ridiculously fast.
With just a little training, Weedle would become Kakuna. And after that? Beedrill.
An actual flying, double-stinger-wielding, angry-as-heck Beedrill.
Now, would it be strong? Not really.
Would it win tournaments? Absolutely not.
But could it help him pass the rookie tests, complete a few beginner challenges, and get into a secret realm?
That was the plan.
See, once a Trainer gained enough experience and completed the necessary assessments, they could apply for access to one of the many "mystery zones" around the world—basically, wild areas filled with rare Pokémon, unique items, and opportunities you couldn't get anywhere else.
Getting into one of those zones was a dream for every Trainer. And it was David's only real shot at catching up with the rich kids who'd been handed powerful starters and training plans from day one.
All he needed was something—anything—to help him survive that first step.
And a Beedrill, with its speed and twin stingers, was better than nothing.
Of course, there was still one problem: catching a Weedle.
It sounded simple. But David had already learned the hard way that it wasn't just a matter of walking into the forest and asking politely.
Weedle were fast. Sneaky, too. And they liked to hang out high up in trees where you couldn't reach them.
David had spent hours just trying to spot one. He once climbed a tree only to realize what he thought was a Weedle was actually a weirdly shaped pinecone. Another time, he accidentally kicked a Beedrill nest and had to sprint for his life with a bag full of decoy honey.
And let's not even talk about the time he got stuck in a bush for two hours, trying to crawl after what turned out to be a Rattata with a weed in its mouth.
But none of that discouraged him.
He knew what he wanted: one slightly dumb, not-too-poisonous, hopefully lazy Weedle.
With that, he could start his journey.
The journey wouldn't be glamorous. It wouldn't be fast. But it would be real.
And that was more than most people like him ever got.
***
While David was sitting at his desk, daydreaming about his future as a Pokémon Trainer—riding on the back of a shiny Charizard, sunglasses on, hair blowing in the wind, fans screaming his name—something very weird happened.
Out of nowhere, a robotic voice echoed in his head like a microwave announcing it had finished nuking his lunch.
[Ding! It is detected that the host has arrived in the Pokémon world. Negative Emotion System activated!]
David blinked.
"Wait, what?" he muttered aloud, looking around the classroom. No one else seemed to notice anything. Melissa was still writing "Charmander = Fire type = warm habitat" on the chalkboard, and the rest of the class was either dozing off or pretending to take notes.
David frowned and rubbed his temple. "Took you long enough," he grumbled in his head. "Eighteen years. Eighteen! You seriously just decided to wake up now?"
Honestly, if he had a dollar for every time he'd hoped some cheat system would appear after getting reincarnated into this world, he might've been able to afford a starter Pokémon by now. But nothing ever happened.
Until today.
Still, better late than never.
David cleared his throat and mentally focused. "Alright then, what's the deal with this system?"
As if on cue, the voice replied:
[Negative Emotion System. Generate negative emotions in others to collect points. Use points to spin prize pools. Higher emotions = more points. Use points for rewards. Simple.]
"Huh," David mumbled. "So I just make people mad, sad, or embarrassed, and I get rewarded?"
[Correct. You may now view your current prize pools. There are five tiers: S, A, B, C, and D. Higher tiers offer better rewards. Each draw consumes a set amount of emotional points. No limit to the number of draws, provided you have enough points.]
David's brain was already calculating. "So what's in these prize pools?"
[Potential rewards include Poké Balls, berries, training manuals, evolutionary items, rare Pokémon, TMs, and more. There is even a microscopic chance to obtain Legendary Pokémon items, such as Arceus's plates.]
David nearly choked on his spit. "Legendary plates? What, like actual god-tier stuff?"
[Yes. Probability estimated at one in several trillion. Possibly worse, depending on luck.]
David's eye twitched.
"Well, I guess technically it's possible," he muttered. "Assuming I live to be a thousand and spend every day of it making people cry."
The system wasn't done.
[In addition, every 10 consecutive draws from a prize pool guarantees at least one item from the next lower tier. For example: 10 C-rank draws = minimum one D-rank item.]
"Oh wow," David said, eyebrows raising. "A pity system? You're actually not completely evil."
[Note: D-tier has no lower tier. Therefore, no guarantee below it.]
David frowned. "Of course not. You wouldn't want to be too generous."
Still, even a D-tier item was better than nothing.
Then the system gave him the cost breakdown, and his hopeful thoughts were instantly drop-kicked into a ditch.
**[Draw costs are as follows:
D-tier: 100 emotion points
C-tier: 1,000 emotion points
B-tier: 10,000 emotion points
A-tier: 100,000 emotion points
S-tier: 1,000,000 emotion points]**
David stared blankly. "You've got to be kidding me."
[This system is committed to fairness and balance.]
David mentally shouted, "Fairness? You want me to harvest a million negative emotion points for a single S-tier draw? What am I supposed to do—insult the entire world?!"
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, muttering under his breath.
"Sure, okay. I'll just start small. Maybe make someone trip in the hallway. Step on a toe. Send an embarrassing text from someone's phone. Piece of cake. Only need to do that about ten thousand times before I can get a chance at a B-tier draw that probably gives me a Poké Ball."
He paused. "And that Poké Ball's probably empty."
Still, as much as he wanted to complain, this was still better than nothing. A system was a system. If he played it right, he could earn useful stuff without spending a single coin.
Even if it meant turning into the class clown or public nuisance, so be it.
David sighed and leaned forward, looking out the window again.
"This system might have some conscience," he muttered, "but it's still a cheapskate."
No one in class heard him.
Not that it mattered.
David had just been given a sliver of hope—a terribly slow, probably frustrating, maybe socially disastrous sliver of hope—but hope nonetheless.
David was still off in dreamland.
In his mind, he was already a world-class Pokémon trainer, flanked by a shiny Beedrill wearing sunglasses, casually tossing Ultra Balls like a boss. Maybe he'd even have a cool nickname like "The Bug Whisperer" or "David the Daring." He was mid-pose—arms folded, cape flapping in the wind—when—
Thunk!
A sharp pain smacked him square between the eyebrows.
"OW—what the?!"
His fantasy shattered like a dropped Poké Ball.
David blinked, eyes watering slightly, and looked up just in time to see a piece of chalk clatter to the floor next to his desk. Then he saw her.
At the front of the classroom, arms folded, eyes narrowed like a hawk ready to peck a student into submission, stood his teacher.
Melissa.
she had the kind of presence that made even the most confident students sit a little straighter.
"David!" she barked, voice icy. "Daydreaming again?!"
Her voice wasn't loud, but it could probably freeze a Gyarados mid-rage.
The entire class turned to look at him.
David straightened in his seat like he was being inspected for military service. "Sorry, ma'am."
Melissa narrowed her eyes.
"We're in the final term of your final year, and you're still zoning out in the middle of battle strategy lectures?"
He nodded sheepishly. "Wasn't intentional."
"Then answer this." She pointed at the blackboard behind her, where three familiar faces stared back at him: Charmander, Squirtle, and Bulbasaur.
The classic trio.
Melissa tapped the board with her pointer stick. "If someone doesn't come from a wealthy family, which of the three starter Pokémon is the most suitable for a rookie?"
David stared at the board, and his brain began to spiral.
He knew what she wanted. A textbook answer. Something about type advantages, adaptability, early evolution benefits. But instead, his inner monologue took over.
Wait a second. She said 'if the family isn't wealthy'—who in the world without money can even afford a starter like one of these three?
He clenched his jaw.
Lady, if I had enough money for Charmander, I wouldn't be plotting to kidnap a Weedle from a bush.
He resisted the urge to say it out loud.
I'm out here planning a full-on forest heist just to get a bug that evolves into a wasp with anger issues—and you're talking about choosing between elemental reptiles like we're shopping for snacks?
His eyebrow twitched.
And right then, in the middle of his quiet outrage, something happened.
[Ding! Host negative emotion points +10, +10, +10…]
David froze.
"Wait… that counted?" he thought, eyes wide. "I just gave myself emotional damage and got points?"
A slow "???" scrolled across the inside of his brain.
So… venting internally… actually worked?
Was this a glitch?
Was his system broken? Or was this just how it was supposed to work?
David sat there for a second, stunned. Then a thought occurred to him.
Forget the bug-catching. If I can farm points off my own inner suffering, I'm basically an emotional battery!
Still, he had a question to answer.
He looked up at Melissa again, who tapped the pointer impatiently against her palm. "Well?"
David cleared his throat. "Ma'am, respectfully… I don't think any of those three are super affordable for someone broke."
She raised a brow. "But if you had to choose?"
He sighed dramatically, staring at the blackboard.
"Well… then I'd probably go with the Garlic bastard."
The room went silent.
Melissa blinked. "The what?"
"You know, The garlic frog. The little guy with the salad growing on his back."
A few students in the back snorted. One actually choked on his water.
Then he heard it again in his head:
[Negative emotion points +15 (teacher suppressed rage), +10 (class laughter), +5 (personal embarrassment)]
He grinned.
He was racking up points just by being himself.
Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad after all.