The day the Trainer Exam results were posted, the Celadon City Municipal Orphanage became a pressure cooker. The usual, quiet despair was replaced by raw anger. Of the fifteen children in Jim's age group who had sat for the exam, fourteen had failed. They were now condemned to another year in this grey purgatory, another year of watching the world move on. Their faces were masks of sullen fury.
Shoves in the hallway became more frequent. Whispers in the dormitory were sharp and venomous. A tray was "accidentally" knocked over in the refectory, its contents splattering across the floor in a grey puddle. The caretakers, worn down by their patience, could only sigh and dole out half-hearted punishments. It was a day of mourning, you see.
And into this cauldron of resentment walked Jim, the sole victor. He did not gloat. He was as silent and withdrawn as ever, but his success was a glaring spotlight that drew every resentful gaze. He was, after all, a traitor to their collective failure. They hated him for it.
Jim felt their animosity like a physical force, but he did not care. He was too consumed by his own brand of hopelessness. His provisional license felt like a cruel joke. He was a trainer with no Pokémon, just like a child with no parent, the irony was thick. The path forward was a sheer cliff face he had no tools to climb. He had seen the caliber of the starters the wealthy children were given sleek, powerful, bred for combat.
What could he possibly get? He had money now, or would soon. But he knew from his research that buying a Pokémon on the open market was a minefield. You could buy a Magikarp for a pittance, a Rattata for a few hundred Pokedollars. But a truly strong, well-bred Pokémon with a good nature and high potential? That cost a fortune, the kind of money that bought cars and houses. A Dratini from a reputable breeder could cost upwards of 5,000,000 Pokedollars. He had nowhere near that kind of disposable income. His license was a key to a door, but the room on the other side was empty. The rage of the other orphans and his own cold despair mingled in the stale air, creating a storm of negativity.
That night, sleep offered no escape. He lay on his lumpy cot, the sounds of muffled sobs and angry muttering filling the long dormitory. He stared at the cracked ceiling, his mind racing, caught in a loop of calculations. He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew, a sound had jolted him to full, heart-pounding alertness.
It was a soft thump, followed by a faint, mischievous giggle.
Jim's eyes snapped open. The dormitory was bathed in the faint, sickly orange glow of the city lights filtering through the grimy windows. Everything was still. The other boys were asleep. He held his breath, listening. There it was again. A tiny, chittering laugh, coming from the foot of his bed.
Slowly, silently, he propped himself up on his elbows. His eyes scanned the darkness. And then he saw it. A blur of motion. A flicker of bright, impossible pink.
It was perched on the iron footboard of his bed, a small creature no taller than his forearm. It was humanoid in shape, with a slender, wiry frame. Its skin was a shocking shade of fuchsia, and a lock of darker magenta hair swept over one of its large, expressive eyes. Long, pointed ears twitched, and a wide, toothy grin stretched across its face, revealing a sharp little fang. A pair of small, bat-like wings fluttered on its back, and a thin, spade-tipped tail swished back and forth with electric energy.
Jim's breath caught in his throat. His mind, a finely tuned encyclopedia of Pokémon knowledge, identified it in a nanosecond. Impidimp. A Dark/Fairy type. Native to the Glimwood Tangle in the Galar region.
It shouldn't have been here. It was like finding a polar bear in the Sahara. (Jim can break the fourth wall, hurray)
The Impidimp's grin widened. It seemed to thrive on his shock, drawing energy from it. With another silent giggle, it leaped from the footboard. But it didn't just jump. It launched itself into a series of impossible, gravity-defying acrobatics. It corkscrewed through the air, pushed off the wall with a soft pat, and landed without a sound on the neighboring cot, its movements as fluid and silent as pouring ink. The boy in the bed didn't even stir.
Jim watched, mesmerized. This was no ordinary Pokémon. The agility was breathtaking, the control absolute. Every movement was precise. It was a force of nature, a tiny embodiment of chaos. He could see the potential radiating from it, an aura of power that the average trainer would completely miss. This Impidimp was special.
It then began to move through the room, a herald of mischief. It crept over to Marco's bed (the bully with the previously broken nose) and with a delicate touch, tied his shoelaces together. It found a half-eaten bag of chips by another boy's bed and, with painstaking slowness, began to stack the chips one on top of the other, creating a teetering, greasy tower.
It was toying with them, feeding on the negative energy that permeated the room. Jim understood instinctively. Impidimp were known to feed on frustration and negative emotions. This orphanage, this pit of despair, was a five-star restaurant for it.
The creature's glowing red eyes eventually settled back on Jim. He was the only one awake, the only one providing it with an audience. The toothy grin returned, and this time, it was a challenge. It beckoned with one long, three-fingered hand, and then bounded towards the open doorway of the dorm, disappearing into the dark hallway.
Jim hesitated for only a second. Caution warred with a burning, desperate curiosity. This was the most interesting thing that had happened to him in a year. He slipped out of bed, his bare feet cold on the linoleum, and followed.
(Many would rightly call it stupidity)
The hallway was a pit of shadows. He saw the flicker of pink at the far end, by the stairwell. He crept forward, his senses on high alert. He rounded a corner and stopped dead. The Impidimp was waiting for him, floating a few inches off the ground, its little wings beating in a silent blur.
Its expression had changed. The playful grin was gone, replaced by a look of predatory focus. Before Jim could even process the shift, the Impidimp clapped its hands together sharply.
Crack.
The sound was small but jarringly loud in the silence. Jim felt a bizarre, momentary stun wash over him, as if his brain had been unplugged and plugged back in. His muscles locked for a split second. Fake Out, his mind supplied. A priority move. Always hits first on the first turn. Causes flinching. To see it executed with such speed and precision was incredible.
In that single moment of hesitation, the Impidimp shot forward like a bullet. It was impossibly fast. It darted past his shoulder, and he felt a sharp, stinging pain in his arm. He gasped and looked down to see two small puncture marks, already welling with tiny beads of blood. Bite. A Dark-type move.
He spun around, but the creature was already gone from sight. He heard its giggle echoing from down the stairs. The little monster was playing with him. A dangerous, painful game of tag. A part of him, the sensible part, screamed at him to go back to bed. But the other part, the angry, desperate part that had devoured books for a year, was captivated. This was real.. It was raw, untamed power. And even a flicker of it has made him addicted.
He continued his pursuit, more cautiously now, down to the ground floor. The main common room was a wide, open space filled with shabby couches and rickety tables. The only light came from the massive, grime-streaked windows. The Impidimp was in the center of the room, hovering, waiting for him.
This time, it didn't wait for him to get close. It drew its hands back, and a swirling ball of malevolent purple-black energy began to form between them. The air grew cold. Jim felt the hairs on his arms stand up. The raw power emanating from the small creature was terrifying. He knew that if that attack hit him, it would be more than just a stinging bite. Dark Pulse.
He dove sideways, crashing behind one of the threadbare couches just as the Impidimp thrust its hands forward. The orb of dark energy shot across the room and slammed into the wall where he had been standing. There was no loud explosion, just a sickening thwump and the sound of cracking plaster. A basketball-sized crater of blackened, crumbling drywall appeared in the wall.
Jim stared, his heart hammering in his chest. The control was astonishing. The attack was concentrated, powerful, and utterly devoid of wasted energy. A Pokémon that could use a move of that caliber, with that level of precision, was a diamond in the rough. A prodigy.
From behind the couch, he peeked out. The Impidimp was watching the hole it had made, its head cocked as if admiring its handiwork. It then turned its gaze back to Jim's hiding spot, giggled once more, and zipped towards the main entrance. It squeezed through the mail slot in the front door, a feat that should have been physically impossible, for humans at least but such laws were rarely applicable to pokemons or more sinisterly pocket monsters, and was gone.
Jim remained behind the couch for a long time, his body trembling with adrenaline. He touched the bite mark on his arm. It stung, but it was the crater in the wall that held his attention. He had seen his future. He had seen the answer to his hopeless prayer. He had to catch that Pokémon. But how? He had no Poké Balls, no items, nothing.
He went back to his bed, his mind on fire. He knew the Impidimp would be back. This place was too rich a feeding ground for it to abandon. He would not be unprepared next time.
The next morning, Jim presented his provisional license at the orphanage's administrative office. The weary caretaker on duty barely looked at it, stamped a release form, and handed him a small envelope containing the few personal effects he'd arrived with and a transit pass. Just like that, his life in the grey building was over.
His first stop was not the department store, but a sterile, imposing building downtown: the offices of Chen, Ito, and Associates, Attorneys at Law. He had found their name on some of his parents' old documents. A prim receptionist looked down her nose at the scruffy-looking orphan until he stated his name and his purpose. A flicker of recognition crossed her face, and she quickly showed him into a large, quiet office lined with law books.
Mr. Chen was an elderly, kind-faced man who, to Jim's surprise, had known his parents personally. "Arden and Lina were good people," he said, his voice gentle. "I was their customer for years. Best Pecha berry juice in all of Kanto. I was so sorry to hear of the... tragedy."
Jim just nodded, his throat too tight to speak.
"Now," Mr. Chen continued, turning to a thick file on his desk, "let's discuss your situation. As you have correctly surmised, your Trainer License legally recognizes you as an adult. As such, you are now the sole beneficiary and executor of your parents' estate. It is my duty to transfer it to your control."
He laid out the documents, explaining each one with painstaking clarity. The numbers were larger than Jim had imagined.
"Your parents maintained two primary accounts," the lawyer explained, pointing to a bank statement. "A personal savings account, which currently holds 31,450 Pokedollars. And the business account for 'Arden's Berry Basket,' which has a balance of 22,800 Pokedollars. These funds are now fully accessible to you."
He slid another folder across the desk. "They were also prudent investors. They owned several long-term bonds and a modest portfolio of stocks. The most significant holding is 500 shares in the Silph Corporation. Given their current market value, the total portfolio is worth approximately 41,000 Pokedollars. I would advise you not to liquidate this immediately, but the option is yours."
Finally, he produced a property deed. "And of course, there is the property. The shop and the two-bedroom apartment above it. Given the real estate market in Celadon, the property itself is conservatively valued at around 200,000 Pokedollars. It is yours, free and clear."
Jim stared at the papers, his mind reeling. He was not just solvent; he was wealthy, at least by the standards of a twelve-year-old starting his journey. A weight he didn't even know he was carrying lifted from his shoulders.
"One more thing," Mr. Chen said, looking at him over his spectacles. "Your younger brother, John. His tuition at the Pewter City boarding school is paid for the remainder of the year from a separate educational trust your parents established. As his next of kin and a legal adult, you will be his presumptive guardian. We will need to file the paperwork, but it should be a formality."
The final piece slotted into place. He could bring John home. He could protect him. The promise he had made to himself was now a concrete reality. He signed the papers with a hand that was surprisingly steady.
His first act as a free and wealthy man was to go home. Walking to the familiar street, seeing the little shop with its hand-painted sign, was like a punch to the gut. It was boarded up, a notice from the city taped to the door. Using the keys Mr. Chen had given him, he unlocked it.
The air inside was stale, but underneath it all, was the faint scent of berries. It was dusty, but otherwise untouched, as if a moment frozen in time. He walked through the shop, his fingers tracing the counter, and went upstairs to the apartment. It had been cleaned by the police, but the memory of that horrible morning was a stain that would never wash out. He ignored the living room and went straight to the back rooms. He began to pack.
He carefully dismantled his mother's prized possessions: her industrial-grade berry press, the high-speed blender, and the vacuum-sealing machine she used for her pastes. These were top-of-the-line, custom-made pieces of equipment, worth a small fortune on their own. He also went down to the cellar and packed crate after crate of their reserved berries , which were rare, perfectly preserved specimens he knew he couldn't find anywhere else.
His next stop was the Celadon Department Store, often mockingly called the "temple of commerce". He walked past the toy section, the clothing aisles, and went straight to the Trainer's Outpost on the fifth floor. He bought the best backpack money could buy, a military-spec "Trekker 9000" that came with built-in solar panels and, most importantly, spatial expansion technology. The clerk demonstrated how a sleeping bag, a tent, and a full-sized cooking pot could be stored in a side pocket and weigh almost nothing. It cost him 8,000 Pokedollars.
He then purchased the latest model of the Pokegear, the 'Navi-V'. It had a full-color holographic map, a region-unlocked Pokedex, a long-range communicator, and a live news feed. As the clerk was setting it up, the news feed flickered to life. A bubbly newscaster was talking excitedly.
"…the buzz is already starting for the 500th Indigo League Conference!" she chirped. "This historic anniversary tournament, set to take place in two years, is expected to be the biggest in the League's history, with trainers from all over the world vying for a spot!"
Two years. The timeline clicked into place in his mind. That was his goal. The 500th Conference.
For his survival gear, he eschewed the shiny, expensive equipment in the department store. He went to a dingy, cluttered pawn shop in the city's underbelly called "Koga's Korner." There, he bought second-hand but practical items: a well-balanced, carbon steel survival knife with a worn leather sheath; a waterproof, two-person tent that had a few well-mended patches; a magnesium flint and steel; a small, cast-iron skillet. They were items that had been tested and proven reliable. They felt more real, more trustworthy than the pristine gear in the big store.
Laden with his purchases, he returned to the orphanage one last time, using a back entrance to avoid the other children. He went to his cot and waited.
As midnight approached, he made his preparations. He opened one of his father's old crates. The rich, sweet scent of perfectly preserved Pecha berries filled the air. He took out the most perfect one plump, pink, and practically glowing with sweetness. He knew that for a creature that fed on negativity, a burst of pure, positive flavor would be an irresistible lure. He placed the berry in the center of the floor and retreated to his bed, a single, empty Poké Ball clutched in his hand.
He didn't have to wait long. Just as before, a flicker of pink heralded the Impidimp's arrival. It squeezed through a crack in the window and landed silently in the room. Its eyes immediately locked onto the berry. It sniffed the air, its head tilting. It was cautious, intelligent. It remembered him.
Its gaze flickered from the berry to Jim, sitting silently on his bed. He didn't move. He just watched, projecting an aura of calm. This wasn't a battle. It was a proposal.
The Impidimp crept forward, its movements slow and deliberate. It circled the berry, its eyes never leaving Jim. It seemed to understand. The berry was an offering. A tribute. Finally, it snatched the berry and took a large bite, its eyes closing in ecstasy as the sweet flavor flooded its senses.
While it was distracted, Jim slowly rolled the Poké Ball across the floor towards it. It didn't bounce; it rolled smoothly, coming to a stop right in front of the Impidimp.
The creature finished the berry, licked its fingers clean, and looked down at the red and white sphere. It nudged it with its nose. Then it looked back at Jim. Its glowing red eyes were not mischievous now; they were shockingly intelligent, analytical. It seemed to be weighing its options. A life of flitting through the shadows, stealing scraps of misery, or… something else. A partnership. A chance to turn its energy towards a real purpose (Or so Jim thought, in reality it was more interested in free meals and more negativity which was oozing from Jim but don't tell him that.
With a decisive nod, the Impidimp tapped the button on the front of the Poké Ball with its long finger. A beam of red light shot out, enveloped the small creature, and drew it inside. The ball shook once, twice, three times.
Click.
The sound echoed in the silent dormitory, the most definitive sound Jim had ever heard. He walked over and picked up the ball. It felt warm in his hand. He had done it. He had his starter.
He pressed the button again. The Impidimp reappeared in a flash of light. It looked up at him, its expression questioning. Jim simply nodded. "Partners," he said, his voice raspy from disuse.
The Impidimp's toothy grin returned, wider than ever. I understood. It leaped onto Jim's shoulder and chittered happily in his ear. In that moment, sitting in the gloom of the miserable orphanage, holding his new, impossible Pokémon, Jime finally felt happy, quite strange when the pokemon he caught enjoyed negativity.
He took out his new Pokegear. "Let's see what we're working with," he murmured. He activated the Pokedex scanner and aimed it at his new partner.
$$Impidimp, the Wily Pokémon. Dark/Fairy Type. Through its nose, it sucks in the negative emotions of others, which become the source of its energy.$$
The scanner continued its analysis, displaying data on the holographic screen.
$$Ability: Prankster (Status moves have increased priority).$$$$Nature: Naughty (+Attack, -Special Defense).. Remarkable offensive detected$$
Jim's eyes widened. Prankster was an incredible ability, and a Naughty nature was perfect for a physical attacker. He had hit the jackpot. The Impidimp, as if sensing his approval, hopped off his shoulder and began to show off. It demonstrated its moves again: the sharp, stunning Fake Out; the vicious Bite; a low, menacing whisper that was Confide, lowering an opponent's special attack. Finally, it summoned a small, controlled flicker of that same dark energy from the night before, showing him the raw power it held in reserve.
Jim opened a fresh, new notebook. The first page he titled: "Project Chimera: Impidimp Training Regimen." He began to write, his mind already planning. He would need to start an training regimen focused on Attack and Speed. He'd research every TM Impidimp could learn, every move its evolutions could master. He was happy, strangely, that his starter was from Galar. It was unique. It was an unknown quantity in Kanto. It was an edge.
He flipped his Pokegear to the map of Kanto. His finger hovered over the icons of the eight gyms. Pewter City, with its Rock-types, was a death sentence for an Impidimp. Cerulean's Water-types were manageable, but not ideal. He looked at his own city, Celadon. Erika's Gym. Grass-types. His Impidimp, with its dual Dark/Fairy typing, had a neutral matchup against Grass, but if he could find a good Flying or Fire-type TM... no, that wasn't it. He zoomed in on Vermilion City. Lt. Surge.But his reputation cut short his plan before it began. Choices, Choices