Chapter 2

The pressure in my head intensified as Sabrina's violet eyes bored into mine. I tried to look away, but there was something magnetic about her gaze—something that held me captive even as I felt her rifling through my thoughts like someone flipping through a filing cabinet.

"You're not her," Sabrina finally said, her voice soft but accusing.

So much for maintaining my cover. I glanced around, but thankfully no one else was close enough to hear.

"What gave it away?" I whispered, not bothering to deny it. "The clothes or the attitude?"

Sabrina didn't smile. "Your mind is different. It's..." she tilted her head slightly, "...sharper. More defined. Erika was a dull wallflower. Pleasant but uninteresting."

"Gee, thanks for the personality assessment."

"Who are you?" she asked, ignoring my sarcasm. "What did you do to her?"

I sighed, looking around again to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "Look, it's not like I asked to wake up in someone else's body, okay? I don't even know how I got here. One minute I was..." I trailed off, realizing I couldn't actually remember what I was doing before waking up in Erika's body. "Well, I don't remember exactly, but I definitely wasn't planning to commandeer some random girl's life in a world I thought was fictional."

Sabrina's eyes narrowed. "You expect me to believe you just... appeared here? From another world?"

"Believe whatever you want, Professor X. I'm still trying to figure it out myself." I crossed my arms defensively. "Besides, shouldn't you be able to tell if I'm lying, what with the whole mind-reading thing?"

"I can sense you're not being dishonest," she admitted reluctantly. "But that doesn't mean you're telling the truth. You could be delusional."

"Right. Because the more logical explanation is that I'm a psychotic kid who genuinely believes she's from another dimension," I said, rolling my eyes. "Listen—in the world I'm from, this place, all of this—" I gestured around us, "—is part of a game. A story. Pokémon aren't real there. And I know things about this world, about the future. Things I couldn't possibly know otherwise."

"Like what?" Sabrina challenged, though I noticed a flicker of curiosity breaking through her mask of indifference.

"Like the fact that you're going to be the Gym Leader of Saffron City. A psychic-type specialist. And a damn powerful one at that."

For the first time, Sabrina looked genuinely surprised, her composure cracking for just an instant before she smoothed it over. "Many people know I'm being groomed to take over the Gym."

"Do they also know about your collection of dolls? The ones you animate with your powers when you're alone in your room?"

Sabrina's pale face went even paler. "How could you—"

"Or that your psychic abilities started manifesting when you were five, and your parents were terrified of you for a while? Or that you can teleport yourself?"

"Stop it," she hissed, and I felt a slight increase in the pressure behind my eyes—a warning. "That's enough."

"Sorry," I said, actually meaning it. "I didn't mean to freak you out. It's just... I need you to believe me. I'm as confused by all this as you are."

Sabrina studied me for a long moment, the pressure in my head easing slightly. "Let's say I believe you," she finally said. "What do you intend to do now? Live Erika's life forever?"

"I don't have much choice, do I? It's not like I can go to the lost and found and pick up my original body. Besides, I can't even remember who I was before." I slumped back in my chair. "So yeah, I guess I'm Erika now. God, or should I say 'Arceus,' help us all."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Sabrina's face—so brief I almost missed it. "You're not what I expected."

"What, you mean you didn't anticipate the body-snatcher from another dimension who talks like she's auditioning for a role in a teen angst movie?"

"Erika was always so... compliant. Proper. Her mind was like a still pond—calm, untroubled, and frankly, rather boring." Sabrina's voice wasn't cruel, just matter-of-fact. "Your mind is a turbulent sea. It's... interesting."

"Thanks, I think? Though generally, I prefer my brain to remain un-observed." I raised an eyebrow. "How about you stop rummaging around in there without permission?"

"I'm not 'rummaging,'" Sabrina replied, looking mildly offended. "Surface thoughts are simply... loud. Like someone shouting in a quiet room. It takes more effort to block them out than to hear them."

"Well, I'll try to think more quietly then," I said.

To my surprise, Sabrina let out a small, genuine laugh. It transformed her face, making her look like the child she actually was rather than the intense, stoic psychic she presented herself as.

Our tentative bonding moment was interrupted by the click of expensive heels approaching on the marble floor. I looked up to see three older girls heading our way, each dressed in an outfit that probably cost more than most people made in a month.

The oldest appeared to be around fourteen or fifteen, with long blonde hair styled in loose waves that cascaded down her back. She wore a pale blue dress that complemented her fair complexion and blue eyes. The next girl, maybe thirteen, had striking violet-blue hair arranged in an elaborate updo, accentuated by a designer dress in a complementary lavender hue. The third girl, who looked to be twelve, sported pink hair worn in a high ponytail, her dress a shade of coral that matched her hair perfectly.

"Oh my God, it's the color-coordinated clone army," I muttered, earning another ghost of a smile from Sabrina.

"The Waterflower sisters," Sabrina explained under her breath. "Daughters of the Cerulean City Gym Leader. Daisy is the blonde, Violet is the one with purple hair, and Lily is the pink-haired one."

"Figured out the naming scheme all by myself, thanks," I replied, remembering them from the anime. They were the sisters who had abandoned the Gym to Misty while they pursued careers in water shows or something equally vapid.

"Erika! Is that you?" The blonde one—Daisy—exclaimed as they reached us, her eyes widening dramatically at my outfit. "I almost, like, didn't recognize you without your kimono!"

"What a tragedy that would have been," I deadpanned.

Daisy didn't seem to register my sarcasm. "I know, right? Anyway, we just had to come over and say hello!" She flipped her hair over her shoulder in a practiced motion. "Are you excited for the performance tonight? Wallace is, like, so talented, and his Milotic is absolutely gorgeous!"

"Wallace?" I asked, momentarily confused.

"Only the most amazing up-and-coming Coordinator from Hoenn!" Lily, the pink-haired one, jumped in. "He's doing a special exhibition at the gala! Don't tell me you, like, forgot?"

"Sorry, I was too busy questioning the existential crisis of being dressed like a Victorian doll in a world where animals can shoot lightning," I replied. "Fashion exhibitions must have slipped down my priority list."

Again, my sarcasm sailed right over their carefully coiffed heads.

"You're so funny, Erika!" Violet giggled, though I doubted she understood what she was laughing at. "Anyway, we've been practicing our own water ballet routine. We're going to incorporate it into the Cerulean Gym shows when Daddy finally puts us in charge."

"Because nothing says 'serious Pokémon Gym' like synchronized swimming," I muttered to Sabrina, who actually snorted.

"What was that?" Daisy asked, finally noticing I might not be hanging on their every word.

"I said that sounds fascinating," I replied with a bland smile. "I can't wait to see the depth of strategy involved."

"I know!" Lily nodded enthusiastically. "It's, like, so much work coordinating the movements with the Pokémon attacks. But the effects are totally worth it!"

I caught Sabrina's eye, and we shared a moment of silent understanding. These girls were so self-absorbed they couldn't even detect when they were being mocked.

"So, Sabrina," Daisy turned her attention to my new companion, "are you still doing that psychic... thing?" She said it like Sabrina had an embarrassing hobby rather than extraordinary powers.

"No, I gave it up," Sabrina replied. "I decided to pursue a career in interpretive dance instead."

I nearly choked trying to suppress my laughter. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who'd mastered the art of the deadpan delivery.

The Waterflower sisters exchanged confused glances, clearly unsure if Sabrina was serious. Before they could respond, Daisy spotted someone across the room and waved enthusiastically.

"Runt! Over here!"

A younger girl with vibrant orange-red hair pulled into a side ponytail reluctantly made her way towards us. She was wearing a simple yellow dress that she seemed uncomfortable in, tugging at the hem as she walked. Unlike her sisters, who moved with practiced grace, this girl stomped over like she was trying to crack the marble floor with each step.

"Stop calling me that," she growled as she reached us, directing a scowl at her sisters. "My name is Misty."

Ah, Misty—the future Water Gym Leader and Ash's traveling companion. She looked to be about my current age, maybe a year younger, which would put her at eight or nine. Too young to have started her Pokémon journey yet.

"Whatever, runt," Lily giggled, ruffling Misty's hair and messing up her already somewhat untidy ponytail. "Have you been hiding by the buffet this whole time?"

"So what if I was?" Misty shot back, smoothing her hair with an irritated gesture. "It's better than standing around talking about how pretty your hair looks."

"At least we brush ours," Violet said with a smirk, earning giggles from the other two older sisters.

Misty's face flushed with anger, nearly matching her hair. "Keep it up, and you'll all wake up with green hair tomorrow. I know where you keep your shampoo."

"You wouldn't dare!" Daisy gasped, protectively touching her blonde locks.

"Try me." Misty's grin was downright feral.

"Feisty little sea monster, aren't you?" I commented, earning an appraising look from Misty.

"You're Erika, right?" she asked, looking me up and down. "You look different."

"I decided to give the 'human doll' look a rest," I replied. "It was either that or develop a serious twitch from all the bowing and flower arranging."

Misty actually laughed at that. "I like this version better. The old you was kind of boring. No offense."

"None taken."

Sabrina smoothly interjected. "How is your training going, Misty? I heard you caught a Staryu recently."

"Yeah!" Misty's face lit up, her previous annoyance forgotten. "Daddy got me a Poké Ball for my birthday, and I used it at the beach. Staryu is awesome! I'm training it every day so I can be the best Water Pokémon trainer ever."

"Unlike some people," she added with a pointed look at her sisters, "I actually care about battling, not just how pretty my Pokémon look during performances."

"That's because you have no sense of aesthetics," Lily sniffed. "Battling is, like, so crude."

"Battling is the entire point of being a Gym Leader!" Misty protested.

"Not the only point," Daisy corrected with a flip of her hair. "Being a Gym Leader is also about style and grace. Something you clearly need to work on, runt."

"I hate to interrupt this fascinating debate on the true essence of Gym Leadership," I cut in, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "but I think your adoring public awaits." I nodded toward a group of well-dressed young men who were not-so-subtly glancing in the sisters' direction.

"Ooh, is that the Saffron Mayor's son?" Violet gasped, immediately fixing her hair. "He's gotten so cute!"

"And his friend is that model from the Poké Chic summer edition!" Lily added excitedly.

"We should totally go say hi," Daisy decided, already turning away. "Coming, Misty?"

"Hard pass," Misty muttered. "I'd rather eat Weedle soup."

"Suit yourself, runt," Daisy shrugged, and the three older sisters glided away, leaving Misty with us.

"Your sisters seem... nice," I offered lamely after a moment of awkward silence.

Misty snorted. "They're airheads. All they care about is clothes and boys and looking pretty for their stupid water shows."

"While you'd rather be battling," I finished for her.

"Exactly!" Misty nodded vigorously. "How can they be so shallow? We're supposed to be Gym Leaders someday, not... models or whatever."

"To be fair," I said, "I don't think there's a rule that says Gym Leaders can't also be fashionable."

"I guess," Misty conceded reluctantly. "But they don't even take the battling part seriously. It's embarrassing."

As Misty continued her rant about her sisters' priorities, I found myself mentally comparing this world to what I remembered from the Pokémon games and anime. The scale was obviously different—cities were actual cities, not the miniature versions depicted in the games. People had actual personalities beyond their trainer class ("Bug Catcher" or "Swimmer"), and the society was far more complex.

Yet the core elements were the same. Gyms existed, badges were a thing, and the characters I remembered were here—albeit younger versions of themselves. Misty was still feisty and determined, the Waterflower sisters were still vapid and appearance-obsessed, and Sabrina was still intensely psychic and somewhat socially awkward.

It was like finding myself inside a more realistic, expanded version of the Pokémon world I knew. The question was, how closely would future events follow what I remembered? Would Team Rocket still try to take over Silph Co.? Would a trainer named Red or Ash still emerge to become a champion? And most importantly, what role was I supposed to play in all this?

My philosophical musings were interrupted by Lynette, who appeared at my side looking slightly frazzled.

"Erika, your father is asking for you," she said, her voice strained. "He's... concerned about your attire."

"I bet he is," I muttered, then sighed. "Fine, lead me to the executioner."

Lynette winced. "Please try to be respectful. He's quite upset."

"Color me shocked."

I turned to Sabrina and Misty. "Duty calls. Apparently, wearing pants is a capital offense in the Hirano household."

Misty grinned. "Good luck. If it helps, I think you look way better like this."

"Thanks. It was nice speaking to you both," I said, meaning it more than I expected. Despite their quirks, both girls seemed like they could be actual friends—something I suspected the real Erika didn't have many of.

As Lynette led me away, I heard Misty say something that made Sabrina actually giggle. I found myself smiling. Maybe being stuck in this world wouldn't be a complete nightmare after all.

My smile faded as we approached a small group of men in expensive suits near the back of the ballroom. One man stood slightly apart from the others—a tall, slender man in his late forties or early fifties, with graying hair at his temples and the same deep brown eyes I now saw in the mirror. He wore a traditional kimono that probably cost more than a car, and his face was a mask of worry.

This, I assumed, was my "father."

I braced myself for a lecture as we drew near. Based on Lynette's warning and everything I'd pieced together about Erika's family, I expected him to be stern, traditional, and deeply disappointed in my rebellion. The corporate executive type who demanded perfection from his daughter.

Instead, as soon as he saw me, his face crumpled like a tissue paper in the rain.

"Erika!" he exclaimed, rushing forward to take my hands in his. "My dear, what's happened? Are you ill?" His eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he searched my face.

I blinked, completely wrong-footed by this reaction. "I'm... fine?"

"But your kimono! Your hair!" he continued, his voice rising with distress. "This isn't like you at all! Has something upset you? Did someone say something unkind?"

I stared at him in bewilderment, then turned to Lynette with a questioning look. She leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"You know how he is..."

Apparently, I didn't. I'd expected a stern patriarch, not this emotional man on the verge of tears because his daughter changed her outfit.

"Nothing's wrong," I assured him, trying to keep the confusion out of my voice. "I just wanted to try something different."

"Different?" he repeated, as if I'd suggested sacrificing Pokémon to dark gods. "But you love your kimonos! You've never expressed any interest in..." he gestured vaguely at my outfit, "...casual wear."

"People change, Dad," I said, the word 'Dad' feeling strange on my tongue. "It's not a big deal."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because his eyes actually welled up with tears. "Not a big deal? My little flower is wilting before my eyes, and it's not a big deal?"

Oh my God, he was actually crying now. Actual tears streaming down his face. In public. At a corporate gala.

I'd never been more mortified in my life—or at least, in this life.

"Jesus Christ—I mean, Dad, please don't cry," I said, looking around frantically to see if anyone was watching this spectacle. Several people were, in fact, stealing curious glances our way. "I'm not wilting, I'm just wearing pants."

"Sir," Lynette stepped in smoothly, "perhaps this conversation would be better continued somewhere more private?"

My father sniffled and dabbed at his eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. "Yes, yes, of course. You're right, Lynette." He gestured to a set of doors that presumably led to a private room or office. "Erika, dear, please come with me. We need to talk."

I followed him, shooting Lynette a bewildered look as I passed. She gave me an encouraging smile that did nothing to prepare me for whatever emotional hurricane awaited.

The room turned out to be a small but lavishly appointed conference room, with a polished table surrounded by plush chairs. My father closed the door behind us and turned to face me, his expression still distressed but slightly more composed.

"Now, Erika," he began, taking a deep breath, "please tell me what's troubling you. You know you can confide in your Papa."

Papa? I was going to get diabetes from all this saccharine family drama.

"Nothing's troubling me," I insisted. "I just wanted to be comfortable for once. Those kimonos are restrictive, and I'm tired of people treating me like a fragile object."

My father's eyes widened. "But you love being traditional! Just last week you were telling me how much you enjoyed your flower arranging lesson!"

I suppressed a snort. Of course she did. Flower arranging—how thrilling.

"Maybe I've had a change of heart," I said, trying to sound reasonable. "People evolve, you know. Like Pokémon."

My attempt at a Pokémon metaphor fell flat as my father's lower lip actually trembled. "First, you abandon your beautiful kimono, and now you're rejecting flower arranging? What next? Will you give up tea ceremony? Your calligraphy? Your gardens?"

The gardens caught my attention. I remembered that Erika, in the games, had been deeply connected to plants and Grass-type Pokémon. That was an aspect of her personality I might actually enjoy.

"I still like the gardens," I offered as a concession, hoping it might stem the tide of tears threatening to burst forth again.

It worked, somewhat. My father seized on this like a drowning man grabbing a life preserver. "You do? Oh, thank goodness. Your mother would be so relieved. You know how much she valued the family's connection to nature."

The mention of a mother gave me pause. In my fragmented memories of the games, I couldn't recall anything about Erika's family beyond her being wealthy. I decided to tread carefully.

"Right, Mom would want me to stay connected to the gardens," I agreed, watching his reaction closely.

A shadow of grief passed over his face, confirming my suspicion that Erika's mother was either gone or not in the picture. "If alive today, she would be so proud of how you've maintained her legacy," he said softly. "Even as a child, you've shown such dedication to her memory."

Mentally filing away this new information, I decided to try steering the conversation away from my rebellious fashion choices.

"So, um, how's work? The company doing well?" I asked, gesturing vaguely at our surroundings, which presumably belonged to Silph Co.

My father blinked at the abrupt change of subject but seemed relieved to move on. "Oh, yes, quite well, thank you. The new generation of Poké Balls is exceeding sales projections, and the prototype Master Ball is showing promising results in early testing."

The Master Ball—the ultimate Poké Ball that never failed to catch a Pokémon. In the games, it had been a key item, with Team Rocket trying to steal the technology. Was that still going to happen here?

"That's great," I said, genuinely interested now. "When will the Master Ball be released?"

"Oh, it won't be available to the public," my father explained, his expression growing serious. "Such technology is far too powerful for commercial use. The Master Balls will be strictly controlled, available only to League officials and other authorities to help quell dangerous situations—enraged Pokémon threatening populations, legendary Pokémon causing geological disturbances, that sort of thing."

At least he seemed to understand the ethical implications. Maybe he wasn't as naive as I'd initially assumed.

"That makes sense," I nodded. "You wouldn't want every trainer running around with the power to capture any Pokémon without fail."

"Precisely!" My father beamed, clearly pleased that I understood. "The board wanted to pursue a limited commercial release to our highest-paying clients, but I absolutely refused. Some technology simply shouldn't be available to the public, no matter how profitable it might be."

Interesting. So he did have some backbone after all, at least when it came to his principles.

"Speaking of responsibility," he continued, brightening considerably, "I have wonderful news! You've been accepted to the Pokémon Institute Preparatory School for the upcoming semester!"

Oh great, school. Just what every dimension-hopping body-snatcher needs.

"The... Pokémon Institute?" I repeated, vaguely recalling an episode from the anime where a bunch of rich kids attended a prestigious school that taught them Pokémon theory without any practical experience.

"Yes!" my father beamed. "The most exclusive educational institution in Kanto! Only the children of the most influential families are admitted. You'll receive a top-tier education in all subjects, with a special focus on Pokémon studies. And the best part—" he leaned forward as if sharing a delicious secret, "—is their unique approach to Gym challenges!"

"Let me guess," I said, remembering the episode. "Instead of actually battling for badges, you just have to pass theoretical tests?"

My father looked surprised. "Well, yes! How did you know? We only received the acceptance letter yesterday, and I wanted to surprise you tonight."

"Lucky guess," I muttered. "So I'd graduate with all eight badges without ever having to battle a real Gym Leader?"

"Exactly!" he said, missing my tone entirely. "It's so much safer and more civilized than sending children out into the wilderness to battle strangers. You'll be able to qualify for the Indigo League without ever leaving the safety of the school grounds!"

No wonder those graduates had gotten their asses handed to them by actual trainers in the anime. They had no real-world experience whatsoever.

"And what about actual Pokémon?" I asked. "Do I get any of those, or is it all theoretical?"

"Oh, the school has a wonderful collection of training Pokémon that students can work with during practical lessons," my father explained. "And of course, you'll finally receive your own Tangela when you start, just as we discussed."

I didn't have a Pokémon yet? That was news to me. "Right, my Tangela. Of course."

"I know how excited you've been about finally having your own," my father smiled. "Just like your mother's Tangrowth. She would be so proud to see you following in her footsteps."

So my mother had been a Grass-type trainer too. Interesting.

Before I could ask more questions about my apparently inherited Pokémon or my mother, the door opened and a woman in a crisp business suit poked her head in.

"President Hirano, I'm so sorry to interrupt, but the board members are requesting a few moments of your time before the main presentation."

My father sighed but nodded. "Of course, Miyamoto. Tell them I'll be right there." He turned back to me with an apologetic smile. "Duty calls, my dear. We'll continue this discussion later. Why don't you rejoin the other children while I attend to business?"

He leaned down to kiss the top of my head, which was so unexpected that I didn't have time to dodge. "I'm sorry if I overreacted earlier. You know how much I worry about you. You're all I have left."

And with that emotional gut-punch, he was gone, following the woman out the door and leaving me standing alone in the conference room, feeling strangely guilty for judging him so harshly.

"Well, that was unexpected," I muttered to the empty room. I'd been prepared for anger, disappointment, even punishment. Not tears and tender concern. It seemed Erika's father was less of a ruthless corporate tyrant and more of an overly emotional, doting parent who probably needed a hobby that didn't involve micromanaging his daughter's life.

I found Sabrina exactly where I'd left her, though Misty was nowhere to be seen. The psychic girl watched my approach with knowing eyes.

"How did it go with your father?" she asked as I flopped down in the chair beside her.

"He cried," I said flatly. "Actually cried. In public. Because I changed my outfit."

Sabrina nodded, unsurprised. "Shouta Hirano is known for his... emotional temperament. It makes him popular with his employees but somewhat difficult to deal with in business negotiations."

"So I've gathered. I was expecting some stern patriarch, not a human fountain." I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache coming on. "How does a man like that run a massive corporation?"

"He doesn't, not really," Sabrina replied, her voice low. "The board handles most of the actual business decisions. Your father is more than just the face of the company, though—he's a brilliant inventor and designer. Almost all of Silph's breakthrough technologies started as his ideas. He's just not interested in the corporate politics and day-to-day operations."

That explained a lot. I recalled how easily Team Rocket had taken over Silph Co. in the games—the president had surrendered immediately to protect his employees.

"Let me guess, he doesn't like conflict."

"He avoids it at all costs," Sabrina confirmed. "That's why the board members—"

She stopped suddenly, her eyes focused on something over my shoulder. I turned to see what had caught her attention and immediately tensed.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in an impeccably tailored suit was making his way to the front of the room, where a small stage had been set up. His dark hair was slicked back, and he moved with the confident swagger of someone who knew exactly how powerful he was. Even at this distance, there was something predatory about him, like a Persian sizing up its prey.

"Giovanni," I whispered, the name escaping before I could stop it.

The leader of Team Rocket. The main antagonist of the Pokémon games I remembered. The man who would, if events followed the same path, eventually try to take over this very building.

And he was walking right toward us.

No, not toward us, I realized with relief. Toward the stage. He was going to make some kind of speech or announcement.

"I wasn't listening to your thoughts," Sabrina murmured beside me, "but I can sense the dread and disgust you're giving off toward Leader Giovanni." Her eyes slid to mine, curious and calculating. "We should talk about that sometime."

I nodded mutely, watching as Giovanni took his place at the podium. The room fell silent as he surveyed the crowd with dark, intelligent eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

"Distinguished guests," he began, his voice smooth and cultured, "esteemed colleagues, and honored friends. It is my privilege to introduce a man who needs no introduction—the heart and soul of Silph Co., a visionary leader whose generosity and innovation have transformed the Pokémon world. Please join me in welcoming President Shouta Hirano."

Polite applause filled the room as my father made his way to the stage, smiling and nodding to people as he passed. If he'd been crying just minutes ago, there was no sign of it now. He looked every inch the corporate president, composed and dignified.

As my father began speaking about Silph Co.'s latest achievements and philanthropic initiatives, I found my attention drawn back to Giovanni, who had taken a seat at a nearby table. He was watching my father with an expression I couldn't quite decipher—something between amusement and calculation, like a chess player observing an opponent make a predictable move.

It made my skin crawl.

"He's a complicated man," Sabrina said softly, following my gaze. "Leader Giovanni."

"Complicated isn't the word I'd use," I muttered.

"Oh? And what word would you use?" she asked, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.

I hesitated, aware that accusing the Viridian Gym Leader of being the secret head of a criminal organization probably wasn't the smartest move, especially without evidence. In this world, Giovanni was a respected Gym Leader and businessman, not the openly villainous character from the games.

"Dangerous," I finally said. "He seems dangerous."

Sabrina nodded slowly. "Many powerful people are. That doesn't necessarily make them evil."

No, but some other things might, I thought to myself, watching Giovanni's predatory smile as he worked the room.

The speech ended, and my father left the stage to more applause. Giovanni rose to meet him, clasping my father's hand in what looked like a friendly gesture from a distance, but something about it made my stomach twist. The Rocket leader said something that made my father laugh, but the laughter didn't reach his eyes.

The rest of the gala passed in a blur of speeches, performances, and more awkward socializing. The highlight was undoubtedly the exhibition by Wallace, a young coordinator from Hoenn who couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen. With his flowing aqua hair, flamboyant purple and white outfit adorned with a matching cape, and a graceful confidence that commanded attention, he was impossible to ignore. His performance with his Milotic was nothing short of magical—the serpentine water Pokémon moved with incredible elegance, its rainbow scales shimmering as it executed perfectly choreographed water and ice moves that had the audience gasping in delight. Even I had to admit it was impressive, though I'd never say so to the Waterflower sisters.

I managed to avoid any further emotional confrontations with my father, who seemed content to let me stay with Sabrina while he attended to his business obligations.

As the evening wound down, Lynette found me to let me know we'd be leaving soon. I took the opportunity to exchange contact information with Sabrina, pulling out what turned out to be an advanced smartphone from my pocket.

"So, are you going to tell anyone?" I asked her quietly as we swapped numbers. "About... you know."

Sabrina considered this for a moment, her violet eyes unreadable. "No," she finally said. "It's not my secret to tell. Besides," she added with a small, sly smile, "I wasn't planning to tell anyone anyway. I don't actually care enough."

I laughed, genuinely amused by her blunt honesty. "Fair enough. But maybe we could... stay in touch? I have a feeling I'm going to need someone who knows the truth."

"I suppose that would be acceptable," Sabrina said, her tone neutral but her eyes revealing a hint of interest. "You're certainly more entertaining than the original Erika."

"Gee, thanks. I live to serve as your personal reality show."

Sabrina actually smirked at that. "We'll talk soon," she promised as Lynette approached to hurry me along. "Especially about what happened during the toast."

I nodded, knowing she meant Giovanni. That was a conversation that would need to happen somewhere private, away from potential eavesdroppers.

As Lynette and I left the gala, I found myself mentally reviewing everything I'd learned about my new life. I had a human Sobble for a father who ran Silph Co. (or at least served as its figurehead), a deceased mother who had been a Grass-type trainer with a Tangrowth, a promised Tangela in my future, and an exclusive spot at a pretentious Pokémon prep school.

I also had what might be my first actual friend in this world—a young psychic who knew I wasn't who I was pretending to be but seemed okay with it anyway.

And looming over it all was the shadow of Team Rocket and their leader, Giovanni, whose plans I remembered from another reality but had no idea how to counter in this one.

As we climbed into the sleek car that was apparently ours (no teleportation this time—too late for the regular service, Lynette explained), I stared out the window at the glittering skyline of Saffron City. The evening had been enlightening, if exhausting, and my mind was already churning with plans.

The ride back to Celadon City was mostly silent. Lynette seemed to sense my desire for quiet, only occasionally checking if I was comfortable or needed anything. I appreciated her discretion, using the time to organize my thoughts and consider my next steps.

By the time we arrived at the Hirano estate, I had made a decision. One that would likely cause my emotional father another crying fit, but it had to be done.

"I'm going to bed," I announced as we entered the mansion.

Lynette nodded. "Of course. Would you like me to help you—"

"No thanks," I cut her off. "I can manage on my own."

She looked slightly surprised but nodded. "Very well. Good night, Erika."

I made my way upstairs, but instead of heading to my bedroom, I waited until Lynette had disappeared down a different hallway, then made my way back down. I had noticed my father's study earlier—an imposing double-doored room off the main entrance hall, its dark wood doors standing out against the lighter décor of the rest of the house.

Now was as good a time as any to have this conversation. Before I lost my nerve.

I knocked on the study door, hearing a tired "Come in" from the other side. Pushing open the heavy door, I found my father seated behind a massive desk, surrounded by stacks of papers and what appeared to be technical schematics. He looked up in surprise as I entered.

"Erika! I thought you'd gone to bed." He set down the document he'd been reading and smiled warmly. "What can I do for you, my dear?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "I want to talk about the Pokémon Institute."

"Ah!" His face lit up. "I'm so glad you're excited about it! I've already ordered your school uniforms, and the registration paperwork is nearly complete. All we need is—"

"I don't want to go," I interrupted firmly.

The words hung in the air between us like a physical thing. My father's smile froze, then slowly faded as he processed what I'd said.

"I... I'm sorry, what?" he asked, as if he must have misheard.

"I don't want to attend the Pokémon Institute," I repeated, crossing my arms. "It's not for me."

His face did that crumpling thing again, and I braced myself for the waterworks. But instead, he let out a nervous laugh.

"Oh, I see, you're joking! Very funny, Erika. You had me worried for a moment."

"I'm not joking," I said flatly. "I want to test for my trainer license and travel to earn my badges. For real. Not by taking some fancy-pants written tests."

The color drained from my father's face as if someone had pulled a plug. His eyes rolled back in his head, and before I could say another word, he collapsed in a heap behind his desk.

"Dad?" I called, alarm shooting through me as I rushed around the desk. "Dad!"

He was out cold, crumpled in his expensive office chair like a marionette with its strings cut.

"Oh, for the love of—" I muttered, reaching for the desk phone to call for help. "Lynette! Henrik! Somebody!"

As I waited for help to arrive, I stared down at my marshmallow of a father. So much for having a reasonable conversation about my future.

Perfect end to a perfect day.