The night was quiet, save for the rhythmic clicking of keyboard keys and the soft hum of a computer fan.
Ryo leaned closer to his screen, his eyes locked on the tiny sprite of his Charizard unleashing its final Flamethrower. The Elite Four's last Pokémon collapsed in a burst of pixels. The victory theme played — a melody that always stirred a childlike joy deep inside him.
"Finally beat it again…" he murmured with a tired smile.
It was well past midnight. Empty snack wrappers cluttered his desk, and the glow from his monitor painted faint shadows across his small apartment. Ryo stretched, feeling the dull ache of exhaustion settle in. It had been years since he'd felt this alive — not in the real world, but in the one behind the screen.
Pokémon had always been his escape. A world of wonder, friendship, and dreams — so unlike the gray routine of his own life.
He pressed Save and leaned back, but before he could close the emulator, his screen flickered.
A sharp, white flash blinded him.
"What the—"
A burning sensation shot through his chest. His breath caught in his throat. The sound of the fan distorted, replaced by the looping 8-bit opening theme of the game — cheerful and mocking. His vision spun, pixels dancing wildly before everything turned black.
The music… wouldn't stop.
Then, silence.
When Ryo opened his eyes again, he wasn't in his chair. He wasn't even in his apartment.
A soft breeze carried the scent of grass and blooming flowers. Sunlight filtered through white curtains. His hands — small, trembling — gripped a blanket far too large for him. Confused, he stumbled out of bed and ran to a mirror across the room.
The reflection staring back was not his.
A young boy — twelve, maybe thirteen years old — with messy black hair, brown eyes with slightly tan skin .
Panic gripped him. His heart raced as memories flooded his mind — his apartment, the game, the blinding light.
"This… can't be real," he whispered.
A gentle knock came at the door. A woman entered, her kind smile framed by auburn hair tied into a bun.
"Oh, you're awake," she said softly. "You must be our new boy. The others will be so happy to meet you."
"W-where… am I?" Ryo asked, his voice trembling.
She laughed lightly. "You're safe now, dear. Welcome to Pallet Town."
Pallet Town.
The name struck him like lightning.
He stumbled to the window. Beyond the wooden fence and the dirt path, he could see rolling green fields and, in the distance, the familiar red roofs of a small, peaceful town.
It couldn't be.
And yet, it was.
He was in the world of Pokémon.
That night, as the stars shone over Pallet Town, Ryo sat by the window of the orphanage, staring into the distance.
He had died.
He had been reborn.
And somehow, he'd awakened in the very world he'd only ever dreamed of.
But this wasn't a game anymore. There were no save files, no respawns, no easy battles.
In this world, Pokémon were real — and so were their dangers.
Ryo clenched his small fists. "If this is my new life… then I'll live it my way."
He didn't know what fate awaited him, but one thing was certain — in this life he will live his life to fullest without any regrets of previous life.