Chapter 4

One week later

There are few things in life more soul-crushing than studying for an exam you don't care about. Actually, that's not true. There are plenty of things more soul-crushing—poverty, disease, having to listen to motivational speakers—but at this particular moment, as I flipped through yet another mind-numbing page about proper campsite selection, I couldn't think of any.

"The ideal campsite should be at least 200 feet from any water source to minimize environmental impact," I read aloud, my voice a monotone drone. "Great. Because when I'm being chased by a rampaging Pokémon, the first thing I'll think about is whether I'm the EPA-recommended distance from the nearest puddle."

I was sprawled across my bed, surrounded by a small fortress of books that Lynette had procured for me. The Complete Guide to Pokémon First Aid, Wilderness Survival: Johto Edition, Pokémon Battle Ethics and Regulations—they all blurred together in a haze of boring.

My laptop was open beside me, displaying the results of the practice test I'd taken at the beginning of the week. Forty-third percentile. Not bad for someone who couldn't remember her own name a few weeks ago but could somehow recall that Nidorina evolves using a Moon Stone.

Most of my knowledge from what I assumed were Pokémon games in my previous life had proven surprisingly accurate. Evolution methods, type matchups, abilities—all of it transferred pretty well to this reality. The more technical aspects of Pokémon biology matched up too, even concepts like natures and inherited characteristics.

There were gaps, though. I'd searched online for any mention of Mega Evolution or what I thought of as Alpha Pokémon, but came up empty. The closest I found were some obscure forum posts about unusually large and aggressive wild Pokémon in remote areas, tucked away in the dark corners of the internet where conspiracy theories flourish.

My late-night research sessions had revealed a world both familiar and jarringly different from what I remembered. Professor Oak existed here, but not as just a kindly old man giving out starter Pokémon. He was a retired Champion and world-renowned academic whose research was cited in scholarly journals across multiple regions. The timeline wasn't neat and tidy like in the games where new regions seemed to be discovered as the franchise needed to sell more products. Most regions existed simultaneously, though Paldea and Alola were described as "remote island territories with limited international engagement"—diplomatic speak for "isolationist and irrelevant."

Even more disturbing was the brief mention of the Orre region, which wasn't the sun-baked wasteland I vaguely remembered from a GameCube title, but rather a nuclear fallout zone where crime lords reigned supreme. That particular discovery had sent me down another rabbit hole that ended with articles about the "Kanto War" that had apparently ended just six years ago. Nuclear weapons were a thing in this world. Great. Charming. Exactly what I needed to know before falling asleep.

I'd looked for any mention of a Ketchum family but found nothing. There was, however, an obituary for Samson and Sara Oak (née Nelson), casualties of that same war, survived by their daughter Daisy and son Blue. Not Gary, but Blue. This world was a blend of everything I remembered, yet distinctly its own.

The geopolitical landscape was equally complicated. Kanto maintained friendly alliances with Johto (post-war, apparently), Sinnoh, Unova, and Kalos. Relations with Hoenn and Galar were described as "diplomatically neutral," which I assumed meant "we smile at each other in public but talk shit behind closed doors."

As for Gym Leaders, many were either predecessors or younger versions of the ones I remembered from games or the series. Kanto seemed to follow an inheritance model, with Gym leadership staying within families—which explained why everyone expected me to follow in the footsteps of whoever the real Erika was related to.

Case in point: the current Celadon Gym Leader was a woman named Sadie Morgan, apparently my maternal aunt. According to the Celadon Gym's official page, she was 42 years old and a skilled Grass-type specialist, just like my mother had been. She'd taken over the Gym after Lucinda Hirano's "untimely death" three years ago. I hadn't "met" Aunt Sadie yet, at least not in my time in this body. Another relationship I'd need to navigate without any context or memories to guide me.

What troubled me most was the tight control over information about powerful Pokémon. Basic knowledge matched what I remembered, but details about powerhouses like Kingdra, Dragonite, and Metagross were sparse. The Stone family apparently hoarded Metagross, while Wallace guarded the secrets of Milotic breeding and evolution. And legendary Pokémon? Complete information blackout. Not even a whisper on the public internet.

It made me wonder if my searches had triggered some government watchlist. Note to self: maybe be more careful with the research topics.

I slammed the wilderness survival book shut and tossed it onto the growing "read enough to probably not die" pile.

"Screw it," I muttered, pulling my laptop closer. "If I read one more paragraph about edible berries, I'm going to lose what's left of my mind."

I clicked over to the practice test resource Lynette had convinced my father to purchase for me. The questions had been fairly straightforward, though some required connecting multiple concepts. I'd scored a 60% on my most recent attempt—about two percentage points above the average, according to the site's statistics. I'd just spent an hour reviewing all the questions I'd missed, and I was officially Done With It All.

Switching tabs, I navigated to Rotomnet, this world's equivalent of Reddit, complete with an eerily similar logo except the alien mascot was replaced with a mischievous-looking Rotom. I'd discovered it while procrastinating earlier in the week and had quickly fallen down various rabbit holes.

I scrolled through a page filled with memes from other aspiring trainers who were also studying for licensing exams. One showed a picture of a Psyduck clutching its head with the caption "Me after trying to memorize all 18 type matchups." Another featured a Snorlax sprawled across a pile of textbooks: "Study position: activated."

I snorted at one that showed a split image—on the left, a majestic Arcanine leaping through a field labeled "The Pokémon journey I imagined"; on the right, a bedraggled trainer huddled under a makeshift shelter in pouring rain with a caption reading "The Pokémon journey I'm actually preparing for."

As I continued scrolling, I clicked into a thread discussing different team strategies with accompanying video clips. The first showed what the poster called a "hazard stacking" approach. A sturdy-looking Ferrothorn unleashed a carpet of Spikes across the battlefield, metal barbs embedding themselves into the ground, before launching a Leech Seed that attached to an opposing Sableye. The Sableye's trainer looked furious as their Pokémon's energy was slowly sapped away, all while risking damage if they switched out.

The next video demonstrated a weather team. A massive Tyranitar entered the field with a roar, immediately whipping up a sandstorm that obscured most of the battlefield. Through the swirling sand, I could see the opposing Cloyster forced to close its shell against the abrasive particles. The Tyranitar's trainer called out a command, and the behemoth charged through the storm, seemingly unaffected, to deliver a devastating Crunch attack to the defensive Pokémon.

The third video fascinated me the most. It showed a Trick Room strategy featuring a Bronzong floating serenely at one end of the battlefield. After taking a hit from a speedy Jolteon, the Bronzong's eyes glowed blue, and the video itself seemed to buffer and distort. When the image cleared, the dimensions of the battlefield appeared subtly wrong, like looking through warped glass. The previously lightning-fast Jolteon now moved as if through molasses, while the usually ponderous Bronzong shot forward with startling speed, slamming into its opponent with a Heavy Slam attack that sent the electric Pokémon flying.

"Fascinating stuff you're studying there."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Lynette was standing behind me, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in that particular way that screamed "I'm not mad, I'm disappointed."

"Jesus—" I caught myself before completing the blasphemy that would only confuse her. "Don't sneak up on me like that. I could have had a heart attack, and then you'd have to explain to my father why his precious heir is dead."

"I've been standing here for two minutes," Lynette replied dryly. "You were too engrossed in... what appears to be battle videos rather than the survival guide I gave you."

I closed my laptop slightly, as if that would somehow erase my guilt. "I'm taking a strategic break. Studies show that short breaks improve retention and cognitive function."

"Studies also show that you need to actually study between breaks for that to work." She picked up the discarded wilderness survival guide. "How far did you get?"

"Far enough to know that if I'm bleeding out in the wilderness, I should apply pressure to the wound," I replied. "Which is common sense."

Lynette sighed and sat on the edge of my bed, careful not to disturb my fortress of books. "The exam isn't just about Pokémon knowledge, Erika. Wilderness survival and first aid are essential skills for any trainer. You'll be out there on your own—"

"With you," I interjected.

"—with me," she acknowledged, "but there may be situations where we get separated, or I'm unable to help. These skills could save your life or your Pokémon's life."

I groaned dramatically, flopping back onto my pillows. "I'm scoring top marks on all the Pokémon-related questions. It's just hard to get motivated about the proper way to set up a tent when I know you'll be there to do it for me."

Lynette's eyes narrowed. "Let me be absolutely clear: I will show you how to set up a tent exactly once. After that, you're on your own. I'm your guide, not your servant."

"Fine," I muttered. "But when we're caught in a rainstorm and my tent collapses because I mixed up pole A and pole B, I expect you to at least feel a little guilty."

"I'll survive the guilt," she replied. "And what about medical emergencies? What if I break my leg or get knocked unconscious?"

"Then I'll use my Pokémon to teleport us to the nearest hospital, like any sane person would," I countered. "Why is it necessary to know the exact pressure and location for a makeshift tourniquet when I could just get a psychic Pokémon and bypass this whole 'roughing it' aesthetic?"

"You don't have a Pokémon that can teleport yet," Lynette pointed out. "And even if you did, it would take time for that Pokémon to become proficient enough to safely teleport humans, especially in an emergency situation."

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, do you have a Pokémon that can teleport? Or fly?"

Lynette's momentary silence was all the answer I needed.

"Ha!" I grinned triumphantly. "So all this survival stuff is just as useless for you as it is for me."

Lynette pressed her lips together in that way that meant she was trying not to smile—or in this case, trying not to concede the point. "That's not the point. The entire journey is the journey itself, not just teleporting from gym to gym."

"Says who?" I challenged. "Nobody actually enjoys hiking uphill both ways in the snow."

"You might surprise yourself," Lynette said, with infuriating wisdom in her voice. "Some of my fondest memories are from those long journeys between cities, discovering hidden spots that most trainers miss because they're too focused on their next badge."

"Well, aren't you just a regular Thoreau," I muttered.

Before Lynette could ask who Thoreau was (another name that would mean nothing in this world), the doorbell chimed distantly from downstairs.

"Saved by the bell," I said, sitting up. "Maybe it's a wandering hypnotist here to erase all knowledge of wilderness survival from my brain. Or just someone selling cookies. I'd accept either at this point."

"I'll get it," Lynette said, rising from the bed. "You should use this time to actually study something useful."

"Yes, mom," I called after her as she left the room.

The moment she was gone, I reopened my laptop and returned to Rotomnet. Freedom, sweet freedom—if only for a few minutes.

I had just clicked into a thread comparing different evolutionary stones when I felt a presence in my room. I looked up, expecting to see Lynette returned to torment me with more studying, but instead found myself staring at Sabrina.

The dark-haired girl stood in my doorway, regarding me with those unsettling violet eyes. She was dressed more casually than at the gala, in a simple black dress with leggings underneath, though she still maintained that aura of careful composure that seemed at odds with her age.

"Sup," I said, closing my laptop again.

Sabrina tilted her head slightly. "You're not surprised to see me."

"After you did your whole mind-reading thing at the gala? It would take a lot more than you silently appearing in my bedroom to surprise me." I gestured to the desk chair. "Take a seat. Or hover ominously. Whatever works for you."

The corner of Sabrina's mouth twitched in what might have been amusement as she took the offered chair. "Lynette said I could come up. She's getting us some tea."

"Of course she is," I said, rolling my eyes. "Heaven forbid we go thirty minutes without a proper tea service in this house."

Sabrina glanced at the books surrounding me. "You're studying for the Johto licensing exam."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Trying to. It's about as exciting as watching paint dry, except paint at least has the decency to change color."

"Your father fainted when you told him you wanted to be a trainer." Again, not a question.

"News travels fast," I remarked.

"I picked up some stray thoughts from your father and Lynette when they greeted me at the door," Sabrina said simply. "They're both still quite concerned about the incident."

"Right. Psychic. That's not creepy at all."

Sabrina shrugged, unbothered. "It's simply how I perceive the world. Like how you see with your eyes or hear with your ears."

"Except my eyes don't invade other people's private thoughts."

"True," she conceded. "Though they do perceive things differently than most people's."

"What, because I don't find the prospect of memorizing knot-tying techniques thrilling?" I replied dryly.

"No, because you see this world as... unfamiliar. New. Like you're experiencing it for the first time," she said matter-of-factly.

I rolled my eyes. "Gee, thanks for broadcasting that observation. Maybe announce it over the PA system while you're at it."

"No one else would understand what I mean," Sabrina said with the faintest hint of a smile. "Your secret is safe."

I couldn't help but appreciate Sabrina's straightforwardness. Unlike everyone else I had to tiptoe around, with her I didn't have to pretend to be someone I wasn't—which was ironic, considering I was literally inhabiting someone else's body. She knew I wasn't the real Erika, and she didn't seem to care. She was just... curious.

"So," I said, changing the subject, "what brings you to Celadon? Social call? Psychic reconnaissance mission? Warning me about an impending apocalypse that only you can see?"

"My father had business with yours," she replied. "I asked to come along when I sensed you were here."

"Sensed?" I repeated. "Like, you can tell where I am from a distance?"

"To an extent. It's not precise. More like... being aware of a distinctive color in my peripheral vision."

"Great. So I'm a walking psychic beacon. That's not disturbing at all."

Sabrina didn't respond to that, instead gazing around my room with mild interest. Her eyes lingered on my laptop.

"You were watching battle strategy videos," she observed.

"Beats reading about how to properly dig a latrine," I replied. "At least Pokémon battles are interesting."

"How is your studying progressing overall?" she asked.

I groaned, throwing my hands up. "It's mind-numbing. The Pokémon stuff is fine—evolution methods, type matchups, battle regulations, all that. But why do I need to know how to build a shelter from scratch? Or the exact technique for the abdominal thrust? If I choke on a Magikarp bone in the wilderness, I'll just press my stomach on something and hope for the best. If that doesn't work out... well, I guess I'll just die. I'm certainly not expecting to perform self-surgery."

"The exam tests your readiness for all scenarios," Sabrina said. "Including ones where technology or Pokémon assistance might not be available."

"Yeah, well, it's boring as hell," I muttered. "What about you? Ever thought about taking the exam?"

A flicker of something—amusement?—passed across Sabrina's face. "I took it last year and passed. I received my Johto trainer license shortly after."

I sat up straighter, genuinely surprised. "Wait, seriously? You're already licensed?"

She nodded. "My tenth birthday was a few days before the exam. I had prepared thoroughly."

"Then why aren't you out there traveling? Getting badges, challenging gyms, all that?"

In response, Sabrina reached into her pocket and withdrew a minimized Poké Ball. With a tap, it expanded to full size, and she released the Pokémon inside in a flash of light.

A small, yellow-brown Pokémon materialized on my bed. It was humanoid but petite, with a fox-like face currently relaxed in sleep. Its eyes were closed, and its head seemed disproportionately large for its body.

"This is Putin," Sabrina said. The sleeping Abra stirred slightly at the sound of its name, but didn't wake.

"Putin?" I repeated, unable to help the snort that escaped me. The name conjured images of a shirtless dictator riding bears and manipulating elections—that would mean absolutely nothing in this world.

"He's named after his father, my mother's Hypno," Sabrina explained, apparently not noticing my reaction. "His mother is my father's Kadabra."

The Abra's ears twitched, and it yawned widely, revealing tiny fangs, before settling back into its sleeping position.

"Putin hatched about two months after I passed the exam," Sabrina continued. "For the first seven months, he mostly slept or teleported away whenever I tried to train with him. It's only in the last three months that he's begun to listen to my commands consistently."

"So he's the reason you're not out conquering the Pokémon League," I surmised.

"Partly," she acknowledged. "I've been battling trainers at my father's gym in Saffron, which has been valuable experience. But traveling extensively isn't really my preference, at least not yet."

I couldn't help but smirk. "So the prim and proper psychic princess isn't ready to slug it out in the muddy wilderness? I'm shocked."

"I prefer to cultivate my abilities in a controlled environment for now," Sabrina replied, unruffled by my teasing. "Physical comfort is conducive to psychic development."

"In other words, you like indoor plumbing and regular meals. Can't say I blame you."

A thought suddenly occurred to me. "Wait a minute. You said you became old enough right before the last Johto trainer exam..." I narrowed my eyes at her. "Did your birthday just pass?"

Sabrina remained silent, her face expressionless, but there was something in her lack of response that gave her away.

"It's today, isn't it?" I exclaimed, my eyes widening.

She gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"And you're spending your birthday with me? I'm flattered, but also concerned about your life choices." I shook my head in mock dismay. "Happy birthday, by the way. Congratulations on being one year closer to the inevitable march toward death. Though I suppose with your psychic abilities, you've probably already seen exactly how it all ends."

The corner of Sabrina's mouth twitched ever so slightly. "Thank you for the... unique well wishes."

"I aim for originality in all things, especially birthday greetings."

"Contrary to popular belief, I cannot actually see the future," Sabrina added. "My abilities are limited to reading current thoughts and emotions and deducing outcomes with that added information."

"So you're saying the fortune-telling business isn't in your future? What a shame. You could have made a killing predicting lottery numbers and the next fashion trends. Though I suppose knowing what everyone is thinking about you is enough for one lifetime. There's always high stakes poker."

Sabrina merely raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by my suggestion. "Cheating is beneath me."

We fell into a surprisingly comfortable silence. The Abra dozed between us, occasionally twitching in its sleep. I found myself wondering if it was dreaming, and if so, what a psychic Pokémon's dreams might entail.

"About Giovanni," Sabrina said, breaking the silence. "I think now is as good a time as any to have this conversation."

Her expression turned slightly more serious. "My father is concerned about him. Giovanni has been making strategic investments throughout Kanto, particularly in Celadon and Saffron. On the surface, it appears to be legitimate business, but..."

She trailed off, her eyes unfocused in a way that suggested she was seeing something beyond the physical.

"But what?" I prompted.

"There are... currents beneath the surface," she said carefully. "Thoughts that don't match the spoken words. Intentions hidden behind polite smiles. My father senses it too, though he lacks my specific abilities."

"Can't you just read his mind?" I asked. "Get the full scoop on whatever he's planning?"

A flicker of frustration crossed Sabrina's face. "Giovanni has... protections. I'm not sure if it's mental training or a Psychic-type Pokémon shielding him, but his thoughts are unusually difficult to access."

"So you can't get in at all?"

"I could force my way in if I truly wanted to," she admitted, her voice lowering. "But like when I first met you, he would be aware of my probing. It would give me away immediately, which seems...unwise at this stage."

I hesitated, wrestling with whether to share what I knew—or thought I knew—about Giovanni. On one hand, Sabrina was the only person who was aware of my unusual situation. On the other hand, I vaguely remembered that in some version of the Pokémon story—maybe the manga?—Sabrina herself had been aligned with the villains.

But that seemed ridiculous as I looked at the composed young girl before me. Whatever version of events that might have been, this Sabrina was clearly different—a child, like me, albeit an unusually powerful and perceptive one.

"In my... previous knowledge," I said carefully, "Giovanni was the leader of a criminal organization called Team Rocket."

Sabrina's eyes widened slightly—the most surprise I'd seen from her.

"They stole Pokémon and exploited them for profit," I continued. "In the... stories I know, a young trainer from Pallet Town kept running into them—first at Mt. Moon, then at the Game Corner in Celadon, later at the Pokémon Tower in Lavender Town, and finally at Silph Co. in Saffron."

"Silph Co.," Sabrina murmured. "My father mentioned increased security concerns there recently."

"In the story, the big twist was that Giovanni, the criminal mastermind, was also the Gym Leader of Viridian City, hiding in plain sight."

We both sat with this information for a moment, then Sabrina shook her head.

"It seems far-fetched that a single ten-year-old trainer could repeatedly thwart a criminal organization when there are adults with decades of experience who should be addressing such threats."

"My thoughts exactly," I agreed. "Though you have to admit, my presence here suggests that some version of those events might unfold in this world too."

Sabrina tilted her head thoughtfully. "Perhaps. I have caught whispers of something brewing—lingering thoughts in crowds, flickers of fear or secrecy. But they're disorganized, scattered. If what you describe is developing, it's still in its early stages."

"How early? Like, should we be worried now, or is this a future problem?"

"Based on what I've sensed, any significant threat is likely years away—five, perhaps ten," she said. "And if it does emerge, I believe I will have developed my abilities enough by then to intervene effectively."

Her confidence was both impressive and slightly unnerving for someone so young. This Sabrina was clearly more capable than the game or anime versions I recalled—a prodigy even by this world's standards, which explained her fast track to becoming a Gym Leader someday.

We continued talking as the afternoon wore on, comparing notes about our respective situations. Lynette brought tea at some point, seeming pleased that I was socializing with someone my own age, even if that someone was an eerie psychic who could read minds.

Before I realized it, the light streaming through my windows had turned golden with the approach of evening.

Sabrina glanced at the clock on my bedside table. "It's getting late. I should return to Saffron."

"Already?" I was surprised by my own disappointment. Despite her unsettling abilities, I'd enjoyed talking with someone who knew the truth about me—or at least part of it.

"It's nearly eight," she pointed out. "Putin and I need to practice teleporting back to Saffron. It's good training for him."

The Abra, who had awakened during our conversation and was now sitting alertly between us, made a soft chirping sound.

"Before I go," Sabrina said, standing up, "you should know that the top scorers on the licensing exam get to choose from a selection of Pokémon bred by the League or Champion, based on their percentile score."

"Wait, what?" I sat up straighter. "Why am I just hearing about this now?"

"It's in the application materials," she said with a hint of a smile. "Did you not read them thoroughly?"

"I was more focused on not failing than on the perks of doing well," I admitted. "What kind of Pokémon are we talking about?"

But before I could get an answer, Sabrina placed her hand on Putin's head. The Abra's eyes glowed briefly, and in the next instant, both of them vanished with a soft pop of displaced air.

"Showoff," I muttered to the empty space where they'd been.

Two weeks later

The exam had been every bit as grueling as I'd feared. Four hours of questions ranging from the straightforward ("Which evolution stone is used for Pikachu?") to the absurdly specific ("Which Pokémon has a Pokédex entry that claims it is a 'very short-lived' Pokémon?") to the utterly irrelevant ("Which knot is often used to secure a tarp to a tree?").

I'd done my best, though some questions had left me completely baffled. One section had shown silhouettes of Pokémon from various angles, asking us to identify them. I'd instantly recognized Jigglypuff from above (thank you, anime childhood memory) but had stared blankly at several others.

Now, two days after the exam, I was sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop open, my finger hovering over the email that would contain my results. Lynette sat across from me, attempting to look calm but betraying her nerves by repeatedly straightening the place settings that were already perfectly aligned. My father paced nearby, practically vibrating with anticipation.

"Just open it, Erika," Lynette urged.

"Yeah, rip off the Band-Aid," I muttered. "Because who doesn't love a good morning dose of disappointment with their breakfast?"

"You did fine," Lynette insisted. "You studied hard."

I gave her a look. We both knew that "studied hard" was a generous interpretation of my half-hearted skimming and Rotomnet procrastination sessions.

"Whatever," I said, clicking on the email. "Let's get this over with."

The message opened, and the first thing that caught my eye was a large, bold "PASS" at the top of the screen. I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Not that I'd really doubted I would pass—the basic Pokémon knowledge alone should have carried me over the threshold—but it was still a relief.

"You passed!" my father exclaimed, reading over my shoulder. "Oh, Erika, I'm so proud of you!"

"Let me see the detailed results," Lynette said, leaning forward.

I scrolled down to find my percentile score, expecting to land somewhere in the middle of the pack. When I saw the number, I blinked in surprise.

"Ninetieth percentile," I read aloud.

Lynette's eyes widened. "Ninetieth? That's... that's exceptional, Erika! Especially with only two weeks of preparation!"

My father looked like he might faint again, this time from pride rather than shock. "My brilliant daughter," he murmured, his eyes already getting misty.

I was both pleased and mildly disappointed. Pleased because, well, 90th percentile was nothing to sneeze at. Disappointed because I'd apparently just missed whatever cutoff would have qualified me for one of the coveted starter Pokémon or something similarly rare.

"You qualified for an elite-bred Pokémon with that score," Lynette said, pointing to a section of the email I hadn't reached yet.

My spirits lifted slightly. "Elite-bred? As in, not just a random Rattata from Route 1?"

"These would be Pokémon bred from the companions of Elite Four members, Gym Leaders, or other high-ranking trainers," she explained. "They often have special moves or characteristics that you wouldn't find in wild specimens."

I scrolled down to see the options available to those in my scoring bracket (85th-95th percentile). The email listed nine choices: Spinarak, Pidgey, Bellsprout, Nidoran (f), Vulpix, Poliwhirl, Pineco, Snubbull, and Natu.

"Look, a Grass-type!" my father exclaimed, pointing to Bellsprout on the list. "It's perfect for you, Erika!"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Just because this body's previous occupant had a thing for Grass types didn't mean I had to follow suit.

"They're all excellent options," Lynette commented, scanning the list. "Of course, your father could purchase you any Pokémon you wanted from a top breeder, but there's prestige in receiving one through the licensing program. These will be the offspring of Pokémon raised by some of the most skilled trainers in the region."

As I looked through the choices more carefully, I noticed a section of legal text at the bottom of the email, along with instructions to select and submit my choice within two weeks or forfeit my spot.

Something stirred in my memory as I reviewed the list again—not a memory from this life, but from before. A faint image of a purple Game Boy Color, the familiar tune of Pokémon Silver playing as I wandered through tall grass, searching for one specific Pokémon that had always been among my favorites...

Without overthinking it, I clicked the "Print Form" button at the bottom of the email. The printer in the office whirred to life, producing a sheet of paper with checkboxes next to each Pokémon option.

"Have you decided already?" Lynette asked, surprised.

I didn't answer, instead grabbing a pen from the counter and decisively checking one of the boxes. I folded the form, slipped it into the pre-addressed envelope that had printed along shortly after, and sealed it.

"Don't you want to think about it more?" my father asked, looking bewildered at my sudden decisiveness. "This is an important choice. Perhaps we should research each option thoroughly, consider the competitive viability, the temperament, the—"

"Nope," I interrupted, standing up and heading for the door. "I know exactly what I want."

Without another word, I walked outside to the mailbox at the end of our long driveway, dropped the envelope inside, and raised the flag.

Decision made. No going back now.