Screech—Snap!
A tooth-aching, sharp noise, like nails scraping a chalkboard before violently snapping metal, pierced Miles's eardrums.
Deep in sleep, he furrowed his brow into a tight knot.
Even though the soundproofing of this rundown apartment was terrible, wasn't this racket a little too close for comfort?
It sounded as if someone was chewing on rebar right next to his pillow!
"Which renovation crew is it this time... Are you trying to kill someone this early in the morning?" Miles mumbled.
With his morning crankiness flaring up, he struggled to pry his leaden eyelids open.
The faint morning light, dancing with dust motes, filtered through the gaps in the torn curtains and illuminated a dark silhouette right beside his bed.
That single glance instantly cleared Miles's groggy mind. A chill shot straight up his spine to the crown of his head.
There was no renovation crew.
Standing there was a half-meter-tall, round-headed little creature with dark blue fur and a creamy white belly.
It stood on its hind legs, its large, bear-like ears twitching up and down like waves with every chew of its cheeks.
In its small hands, which only sported three claws, it tightly clutched half of a mangled metal object.
It was the "heavy-duty" alarm clock Miles had bought from a street stall for fifteen bucks just last night.
Right now, the little guy was treating it like a wafer biscuit.
With a loud crunch, it bit off half of the clock's metal casing, exposing the intricate gears and batteries inside.
Then, tilting its neck back, it swallowed the mess with obvious relish.
"Holy crap! Have mercy on that clock!" Miles let out a bizarre yelp and shot out of bed like he'd been electrocuted.
His back slammed heavily against the cold, peeling plaster of the wall.
"Gon? Gon?" (You're awake? I'm hungry...)
Hearing the commotion, the little guy paused its meal.
It turned its head. Its eyes—mostly white with tiny pupils—showed a mix of pure, unadulterated stupidity and absolute innocence.
It even had a red copper wire dangling from the corner of its mouth, looking exactly like a naughty child caught stealing a snack.
"Is... is that a freaking Munchlax?!" Miles gasped, his pupils shrinking violently.
As a veteran anime fan, he obviously recognized the creature.
But its lifelike texture, the fluffy yet slightly dusty fur, and the distinct animal scent lingering in the air were things no holographic projection or figurine could replicate.
Just as Miles tried to rationalize the situation, a sledgehammer-like pain exploded deep within his brain.
"Hiss—!"
Miles clutched his head in agony, feeling as though countless ants were gnawing at his nerves.
Two torrential floods of memories violently crashed, merged, and restructured within his mind.
It took a full five minutes before the suffocating pain receded.
Miles gasped for air, his pajamas soaked in sweat.
When he looked up again, his gaze toward the Munchlax had changed.
The panic was gone, replaced by a complex mix of resignation, heartache, and responsibility.
"Sure enough, the entire world background changed on me, but my job and everything else stayed the same. I just got some extra memories."
Massaging his temples, Miles processed the information in his head.
He had transitioned directly from a standard modern society into a parallel world where human civilization and extraordinary creatures—Pokémon—were deeply intertwined.
In this world, during the morning rush hour, you could see Cyclizar carrying commuters nimbly through traffic, replacing electric bikes.
At the distant construction site, there were no roaring cranes; instead, muscular Conkeldurr swung concrete pillars to rebuild damaged walls.
Down at the intersection, the traffic police weren't assisted by K-9 units, but by majestic, sharp-eyed Mabosstiff. Anyone trying to run a red light had to weigh the consequences against those fangs.
Even in the windows of the community clinic, you could see Comfey releasing pink, soothing waves to calm crying infants.
This was reality.
And in this magical realist world, Miles was still stuck at the bottom of the social ladder as a streamer on the verge of bankruptcy.
The only difference was that his niche was now "Pokémon Appraisal."
As for the little ancestor in front of him currently treating an alarm clock as breakfast...
It used to be a Munchlax plush toy he had picked up from a garbage dump on a stormy night not long ago.
The billions of years of world-building changes had directly transformed it into a living, breathing Pokémon.
The Big Eater, Munchlax.
This wasn't just a species name; it was a death warrant masquerading as a grocery bill.
According to the League Pokédex, this thing's daily food intake was exactly equal to its own body weight!
Even though Miles had been dead broke, he had stubbornly adhered to the principle of "finders keepers, we're family now."
He chewed on dry steamed buns and pickled vegetables every day just to buy expired milk and discounted Poké Blocks for the little guy.
And the result?
Looking at the Munchlax before him, a wave of bitterness washed over Miles.
Munchlax raised by other Trainers were as round as rubber balls, their fat rolling when they walked.
But his?
Its fur hung loosely on its frame, its eye sockets were sunken, and it was as skinny as a monkey wearing an oversized hoodie.
It hadn't been abused into losing weight; it was purely starved by this impoverished household.
"Gon..."
The Munchlax sensed Miles's plummeting mood.
Its simple brain assumed its master was angry about the alarm clock incident, or perhaps disgusted by its gluttony.
Panicking, the little guy hid the remaining half of the clock behind its back.
After a moment of hesitation, it extended its three-clawed hand and struggled to reach into the thick fur under its armpit.
Following some rummaging, it produced two squashed white steamed buns, complete with a few stray blue hairs clinging to them.
It presented them as if offering a great treasure.
This was its secret stash—food it hadn't dared to eat yesterday and had hidden away.
It carefully offered the slightly larger bun to Miles and placed the smaller one in front of itself.
Its wide mouth cracked open into a flattering, goofy smile as it pointed at Miles, then at the buns.
'Don't be mad, I won't eat the clock anymore,' its gestures seemed to say. 'Here is something delicious. One for you, one for me.'
In that instant, an invisible hand ruthlessly squeezed Miles's heart.
He was an orphan in his past life, and he was still an orphan in this one.
Across the memories of two lifetimes, this clumsy, gluttonous, yet fiercely loyal little creature was his only attachment.
"You dummy..."
Miles felt his nose tingle.
Instead of taking the bun, he reached out and vigorously rubbed the soft fur on top of the Munchlax's head.
"I'm not hungry. You can have them both," he said, pushing the large bun back. He tried to make his voice sound as gentle as possible. "Eat up. Don't hide them anymore, they've gone sour."
The Munchlax froze, its beady eyes filled with utter disbelief.
But encouraged by Miles's firm gaze, instinct finally conquered reason.
Awoo! It opened its mouth wide, like an abyssal maw unhinging, and swallowed both buns whole without a single chew.
It didn't even burp.
Watching the Munchlax finish, Miles sighed and grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
The screen had a crack, but it was still functional.
The moment he unlocked it, a barrage of news notifications popped up, further overhauling his worldview:
[Morning Report: West District sewer system paralyzed. Suspected Grimer blockage. The Cleaning Union has dispatched Muk to communicate and clear the pipes...]
[Crackdown! An underground workshop utilizing Voltorb for illegal explosive fishing has been apprehended by Officer Jenny's squad!]
[Police Bulletin: Severe crackdown on Ditto fraud! A criminal syndicate instructed Ditto to transform into limited-edition Hermes bags for sale. Victims returned home to find their bags had reverted to their original forms. Police advise caution against counterfeits...]
[Entertainment Headlines: Jynx Emotional Counseling Center opens today. Experts urge: Please do not harbor feelings beyond friendship for your Pokémon!]
[Shocking! East Sea fishermen catch a gigantic Magikarp. Experts claim it contains trace amounts of Dragon-type bloodline. Suspected Gyarados devolution?]
Miles smiled bitterly and swiped away the absurd news.
He opened his messaging app.
Pinned at the top weren't texts from beautiful women, but rather a stream of cold rent-collection messages from Mrs. Higgins, his landlady, followed by a barrage of voice notes from Manager Ruby, his streaming guild's operations manager.