Alright, so while this is technically not my first story to post on this site, I deleted that one due to losing the will to write and am now having a go at rewriting it. Coincidentally, it has almost been exactly a year since I first posted it. Hopefully now after my first year in high school I am better equipped with the skills to make a more compelling story.

Regardless, any feedback is appreciated, and I will most certainly rewrite chapters if need be (especially these early chapters). Thanks in advance, guys, and enjoy.

Also, for some odd reason, my will to rewrite this thing was so strong that I pulled an all-nighter just to do it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon.

…

1: My Peaceful Life Has Come To An End, It Seems

Beep beep beep.

'. . .'

Beep beep beep.

'. . .'

Beep beep beep.

'. . . damn it.'

Beep beep be-

The persistently annoying tone screeched in my ear for the last time as I finally roused myself from my slumber and elegantly slapped the screen of my phone with the palm of my hand. Somehow, I seem to have hit the snooze button first try. Just as planned, of course.

'. . .'

'. . .'

'. . .'

Beep beep beep.

'. . . end me.'

I seemed to have drifted off at some point after pressing snooze, only to be awoken exactly nine minutes later by the same alarm. I rolled my body over on my bed and slowly opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling fan as it slowly, almost hypnotizingly rotates.

'. . .'

'No! Sleep, begone!'

I am in the process of slowly rising from my bed when a thought strikes me like a thunderbolt from the blue.

'Today's my birthday. I'm getting a pokemon, aren't I?'

Now, probably to most kids turning my age, being 13 now, this thought would surely inspire a sense of urgency and excitement that would undoubtedly plague their morning routine until they were finally able to receive their first pokemon and beging their grand, jolly old "pokemon adventure". Unfortunately, not to me. In fact, I would say that it makes me move even slower with a matching somber expression adorning my already striking visage. You see, the reason being here is that I have absolutely no choice in the matter. Let me explain.

I, Shiro Amakino, am the youngest in a several generation-long line of respected pokemon trainers, when my family were still trainers, anyway. Nowadays, they are respected business owners. Although I suppose it is worth mentionion that we might be pretty well off, but we still aren't necessarily incredibly rich or anything. Regardless of money, though, you could probably say my parents are are "pillars of the community" here in Viridian City. Anyhow, both of my parents were avid pokemon trainers back in their day and both firmly believe that going on a "pokemon journey" is an important part of growing into an adult. And thus, I was oh so eloquently informed by my father that I would essentially be thrown out of the house on my birthday, until they deemed my "pokemon adventure" to be over. By which I can only assume he meant until I grew up enough. Still, they were somewhat worried about the current state of Kanto, as many would-be trainers' parents are recently, but they believe that I will be strong enough to fend for myself. I on the other hand think they are delusional to think so.

You see, in recent years the region of Kanto has had a significant increase in crime rate compared to a decade ago, back around when my parents did their adventuring. This has varied from petty theft, to assault and armed robbery, to even abduction and abuse of young trainers. Not to mention, of course, murder, assassination, rape, and all other shades of things you don't want to have done to you. This has been partially due to the rise of several infamous gangs originating in other regions. Either that, or they appeared as an effect of the rising criminal activity. This, along with several other political factors has brought about one of several new laws, essentially saying that a child must now be 13 years old to be sent on their way to become a "pokemon master" rather than 10. And yes, it really is as stupid as it sounds.

I suppose this was just a move to hopefully ease the parents into some false sense of security that 'surely by then they will be ready', or something along those lines. Regardless, it is utter nonsense to believe that the average 13-year-old child will really fare much better against a gangster than a 10-year-old. Yet here we are.

'Fuck politics,' I thought tiredly as I leaned against the shower wall, letting the hot water run across my pale skin therapeutically. 'Or maybe not, seeing as that law is the only reason I'm still in the comfort of my home, and not out in the wilderness right now.'

Even still, you are probably thinking, 'What's so bad about being forced to go on a pokemon adventure, aren't you going to anyway, Shiro-sama?' If you are, then let me put it this way. No, not really. I don't know if your feeble mind has yet to process the previous list of gangsta shit that goes down in the streets, but I don't really want any part of that. I would much rather prefer to just continue my school life, go to college, and get a nice stable job at a young age while everyone else is stuck pursuing their pokemon fantasies. Seriously, there are giant monsters ready to strip the skin from my bones out there, and my parents are literally pushing me their way. I will never understand what could motivate a man to do things like that. My dad always says things like, "You'll understand one day," but will I really? It seems a bit dodgy when your only explanation is that I could potentially come up with an answer sometime in the future, which could literally be any quantity of time from now.

After a while I eventually turned off the water and stumbled out of the shower. As I picked up the towel I had laid out and began to dry myself off, I turned to the mirror. My pale yellow eyes stare almost lifelessly back at me as I take in my appearance. I am probably what most would consider skinny, as I admittedly tend to skip meals such as lunch quite often. I would consider my face not necessarily attractive, but not particularly appalling either, so probably just average I suppose. Then again, how am I supposed to know? I'm a guy for Arceus' sake, this is not within my scope of knowledge! Regardless of that, my most notable feature is probably my desaturated, light green hair that comes just down to my eyes. I personally really like the color, which is why I choose to regularly dye my naturally blond hair to look this way. My strong attachment to it is probably due to the fact that it is almost kind of a dull, uninteresting color, so doesn't attract a lot of attention or too many stares. Though, my opinion on my hair color doesn't matter too much to my parents and they only let me keep it as is because they claim it compliments my eyes. Oh well, makes no difference to me.

Deciding that I have probably pleasured myself enough by staring at my oh so beautiful self, I quickly finish getting ready and mentally prepare myself for what is to come. Well, after I eat breakfast.

"At least they still do last meals here," I muttered with a wry smile.

It really felt like a last meal, too. My mother had specifically asked me what I wanted for breakfast. I asked for a metric ton of 24 karat gold. She didn't enjoy my joke. The joyless old fart, you see what your incredibly superior adulthood has done to you? I know you are eager to get me out of the house, but at least act like you are happy to have me here until I'm gone!

I happen to be the sole inhabitant of the second floor of my family's two-story house, so I had, obviously, mastered the art maneuvering up and down the stairs silently. You see, the problem was that certain steps would make noticeable creaks when stepped on, unless you knew the specific places on them in which to step. And so, using the secret greninja level techniques I had perfected, I silently made my way down the steps. I did this all the while carefully listening for ongoing activity, so I at least knew what awaited me. Or in other words, hoping catch something along the lines of, "Haha! As if we would actually throw our only son out into the wilderness to fend for himself! This will be such a good prank!"

*Mental sob*

It goes without saying, I didn't hear anything of the sort.

…

I ate my breakfast in relative silence, painfully thinking about my fate when I get done chomping on these eggs.

I loudly sigh. "Welp, I'm done. Let's get this over with," I say as I get up. My parents both give me stern looks but relent, leading me into the living room where my gifts lie in sacks. Of course they wouldn't waste time putting them in nicely paper-wrapped boxes. After all, who really has the time for that? I go ahead and take the liberty of dropping my ass on the couch, leaving my parents to dish out the gifts in order of importance, I suppose. Soon after I sit down, though, I feel a familiar weight jump onto my lap. Ah yes, my cat, Sorren.

To be quite honest, I did not like my cat, or rather purrloin, Sorren. One glaring flaw in the demon's absolutely wonderful personality was that he was extremely… dedicated. By dedicated, I of course mean to the name of his species, purrloin. In other words, he steals all my shit.

This cat has no shame, he will steal anything he can get his dirty little paws on. Especially, for some annoying reason, money. I see no point, like what does a cat really want with money? What makes it especially annoying is that he seems to regularly find new spots for his stash, often leaving me hopelessly lacking in allowance money. I would get rid of him, to be completely honest, but it just makes me feel guilty thinking about it. After all, I was the one who asked for a pet.

'Damn you, past self!'

Now, though, it was almost relaxing to see him. It almost even brings a smile to my lips. Almost. I am snapped out of my thoughts as my parents push Sorren to the side and set one of the bags down onto my lap. Sighing once more, I open it.

Unsurprisingly, I find clothes. After all, I do remember my parents saying that I would only need to take my phone, and they would take care of all the rest of my supplies. Anyway, the clothes consisted of various shirts, long sleeve and short, as well as shorts, pants, gloves, etc. The color choices seemed to be to my liking, at least, with it mostly consisting of greys, blacks, and shades of green. At the bottom of the bag was a small box containing a simple yet environment-resistant watch. I won't argue, everything seems to be nice and lowkey; nothing extravagant.

The rest of the bags contained what you could expect for a trainer to have: a backpack made specifically with trainers in mind, a belt capable of magnetically attaching pokeballs to, said pokeballs, potions, etc. One notable device was a small black cylindrical capsule about as tall as my finger which I recognized as a compact sleeping bag. Apparently, some genius made it possible to easily store a sleeping bag in these tiny capsules, and made billions.

Finally, it was down to the last bag, which was considerably smaller than the rest, and I had a feeling I already knew what was inside. And whaddya know, I was right. My dead eyes stared defeated at the last nail in the coffin; a sleek black Pokedex and a dark green spotted pokeball.

My parents sometimes say that kids these days are lucky because in recent years Pokedexes have begun to be mass produced, essentially making them available for the everyday Joe, rather than exclusive to a couple of some old guy's field aides. What actually surprised me was that this actually seemed to be the latest high-end model that seems to be advertised everywhere you go. A single eyebrow slowly raised as I came to recall just how much money one of these costs. I made a mental note to give extra thanks in a moment, right now my attention was captured by the pokeball resting in my palm.

Rather than the classic red and white design I had been expecting I was intriguingly surprised by something different. The ball had six large green circles spread evenly across its surface, with the remaining space black. The band around the middle of the ball, as well as the button, though, were a bright orange. I vaguely recalled a lesson from school, in which this particular model was known as a dusk ball. The dusk ball's main shtick was that it worked best in the dark. For what reason, or how, well… I leave that up to the scientists, how am I supposed to know?

I traced my finger around the cool metal button before finally pointing the ball at the ground in front of me and pressing the orange button for the first time. I guess you could see this as my first real leap toward becoming a trainer. I was expecting something normal. Something, average, you could say. But not really… this.

I stared, and two glinting eyes stared back from within the recesses of its pitch-black openings. It smiled unnervingly at my confused and slightly horrified expression. Its arms were almost comically large when compared to the length, or rather lack thereof its legs. Can I even call those legs? Pegs?

This thing looked hopeless. I then learned the true meaning of despair.