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Flint Harrison awoke with a start, the cold metal of the park bench pressing into his back. As he sat up, the bleak dawn light washed over him, accentuating the lines of regret etched deeply into his face. He often thought to himself, Even after all this time, I still can't get used to sleeping on this bench.
Why did he sleep on benches? The answer was painfully simple. He didn't want to waste money—no, he didn't believe he deserved the money to be wasted on him. His actions of abandoning his family haunted him, and this was his penance: a life stripped of comfort, a daily reminder of his failings.
With a heavy sigh, Flint began his morning routine. He folded the cardboard that had served as his makeshift mattress and picked up the old, raggedy cloth that was his blanket. Each movement was methodical, as he tidied his sparse belongings with a kind of resigned care.
Carrying his meager possessions, Flint made his way to a public bathroom. Inside, he washed off the grime of the night with cold water that made his worn hands sting. He looked into the mirror, barely recognizing the man staring back at him. With meticulous movements, he applied his disguise—a fake, dirty beard and a red beanie. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep people from recognizing him, enough to let him blend into the background, just another faceless soul in the city.
Flint then started his day's work as a sanitation worker, a job that involved cleaning dumpsters—a task that others shunned but which Flint embraced. He loaded the trash into an old wheelbarrow, its wheel squeaking under the weight. As he moved through the hidden backstreets rather than the main roads, he did so not just to avoid bothering people with the smell but also to skirt the edges of a world that he felt he no longer belonged to.
As Flint pushed the creaking wheelbarrow down the narrow backstreet, its wheel gave an ominous groan before snapping off entirely. The barrow tipped, spilling its contents—a dismal cascade of garbage—onto the cobblestone path. The sound of crashing trash echoed off the walls of the narrow alley, drawing the attention of nearby food cart owners and pedestrians.
"I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry," Flint muttered repeatedly, his voice a hoarse whisper. He quickly grabbed the ragged blanket that served as his protection against the cold nights, now repurposing it to gather the scattered refuse. With shaking hands and a bowed back, he swept the trash into the blanket, tying it into a makeshift bundle. Lifting the heavy load strained his old muscles, and a sharp pain shot through his back, but he continued without pause.
No one came forward to help; instead, they watched him with looks of pity. He hated those looks but he did nothing but put his head down and continue on his weary path to the disposal plant known as the Pewter Waste Facility.
The facility was a place where sanitation workers like Flint brought their collections—trash, Pokémon excrement, and other waste. Payment was doled out based on the amount each person brought in. Flint's load that day earned him a dozen Pokédollars, a sum so meager it wouldn't even buy a water bottle. He accepted the money quietly, his pride swallowing any complaints, his eyes not meeting those of the cashier.
With the little money in hand, Flint left the plant and headed for his second job, which ironically paid more—being a beggar. He made his way to the outskirts of Pewter City. Inside the city, he felt too exposed, too known; on the outskirts, he could maintain a semblance of anonymity. There, he would offer to be a tour guide, a role that brought him a small sense of dignity amidst the desperation.
Flint sat on a rock by the roadside, not bothering to pull out the cardboard that doubled as his makeshift mattress at night. You deserve this, he told himself, his gaze fixed on the small rocks scattered at his feet.
Suddenly, the sound of wheels crunching on gravel snapped him from his thoughts. Flint looked up to see a young boy on a bicycle, a thermos swinging from his neck. The boy's eyes, weary yet sharp, scanned the area before landing on Flint with an odd flicker of recognition.
That can't be right, Flint thought, puzzled. I've never met this young man in my life.
"Hey, do you know where the nearest antique shop is?" the boy asked, an unusual question for a Pokémon trainer, who would typically inquire about a Pokémon Center or a gym.
"You looking to hire a tour guide?"
The boy glanced at the rocks near Flint's feet and said, "Don't you sell rocks for a living?"
Flint opened his mouth to retort, then closed it, a chuckle escaping him instead. "You're funny, kid. For that, I'll give you a discount. I'll take 100 Pokédollars for being your guide."
"Sure, the name's Austin."
"Flint," he responded, not bothering to hide his common name.
"Well then, lead the way," Austin said, pausing as his gaze swept over Pewter City. The city was dramatically different from its depiction in the anime.
Pewter City boasted a stunning array of structures directly hewn from the mountainside. The facades were grand, etched deeply into the rock. Each building and passageway seamlessly integrated into the mountain itself. Streets wound their way between towering rock walls, and the homes and shops were adorned with intricate carvings.
"What, never seen a city carved into a mountain before?" Flint asked, a hint of pride warming his tone. He loved witnessing these reactions; they rekindled a sense of pride in his city, a fleeting reminder of the better days he once enjoyed.
Austin couldn't help but chuckle as he took in the view of Pewter City.
You never see this back home.
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Austin stepped into the antique shop — the air was thick with the musty scent of old wood and paper. Shelves lined the walls, laden with artifacts that ranged from sparkling jewels to faded books.
An older man with silvering hair glanced up from an aged leather-bound ledger as Austin entered. Setting the book aside with care, he greeted, "What can I do for you, young sir?"
"I found some antiques in Viridian Forest and I was wondering if I could sell them."
"Ah, let's see what you've unearthed that might pique the interest of a collector," the man said, his eyes lighting up with interest.
Austin carefully laid out his finds on the counter: a rusted dagger, a worn crate, expired potions, tattered pieces of cloth, and Nobunaga's map. The man leaned forward, his eyes sharpening as he inspected each item. He picked up the dagger, turning it over in his hands, his fingers tracing the oxidation. He then examined the crate, noting its frailty, and frowned slightly at the expired potions before setting his gaze on the map and cloth.
"Indeed, you have brought in quite a collection," the shopkeeper remarked. "Regrettably, the map and cloth hold no value here."
"I get the cloth, but why the map?"
"The map, you see, has been altered, which detracts from its authenticity as a collectible. It might find a home in a more eclectic collection, but it doesn't belong amongst the genuine antiquities."
Austin nodded, absorbing the information. "What can I get for everything else?"
"The crate, sadly, has suffered too much to be of value. Had it been intact, perhaps it could have fetched a handsome sum."
Austin smiled back, holding back a chuckle—the Quick Claw item he had already retrieved from the crate was enough for him not to rue the lost "fortune."
"The bottles and the dagger, however, are quite splendid," the shopkeeper continued, his voice adopting a note of enthusiasm. "These pieces could indeed enchant the right collector."
Austin steeled himself for the negotiation. "How about 4000 Pokédollars?"
"5000," Austin countered firmly.
"Let's settle at 4500, shall we?"
"4600."
"4550, my final offer. Take this, and let us both be satisfied with a fair exchange," the shopkeeper concluded, his expression amiable yet final.
"Pleasure doing business with you," Austin agreed, shaking the shopkeeper's hand.
"Is there anything else?" the shopkeeper asked, noting Austin's lingering presence.
"Not really, but I am curious if you know the history behind these items."
"Well, I have lived that history so," the shopkeeper said with a melancholic smile.
"If it's too hard then I can..." Austin started, sensing the emotional weight behind the man's words.
"No, no, who am I to not answer the questions of a young man," the shopkeeper interjected, encouragingly motioning for Austin to continue.
"What is the history behind this air supply drop?"
"World War II," the shopkeeper responded simply.
Austin's expression shifted abruptly from calm to one of shock, his hand instinctively moving to rub his ears as if to ensure he had heard correctly. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear that correctly."
"World War II, this crate belongs to the Axis powers," the shopkeeper repeated.
Austin raised his hands, trying to steady his thoughts and emotions. World War II? Axis powers? What? How is something like that possible in this world?
Austin took a few deep breaths, regaining his composure after the initial shock. "Sorry, I didn't expect to hear something like that."
"I am sure hearing something like a world war happening would be shocking for a young child."
Austin nodded slowly. "When did this World War II happen?"
"1939," the shopkeeper answered, watching Austin carefully.
Austin, not the biggest history buff but knowledgeable enough from his school days on Earth to recognize the parallels, furrowed his brow in thought. "Can you tell me who the sides were?"
"Well, many of these sides don't exist today, but there were two sides fighting in the war: The Allies and the Axis powers. The Allies were—Unova, Galar, The Soviet Republic of Sinnoh, and Northern Kanto. The Axis powers were—Greater Orrean Reich, The Kingdom of Kalos, and Southern Kanto."
Austin gave the shopkeeper a blank look, recognizing some of the regions from the anime and some from actual history.
Wait, Cynthia is Russian?!
Austin chuckled at the idea, not entirely sure why it had popped into his head.
"Northern and Southern Kanto?" he asked, eager to understand more. The shopkeeper, sensing Austin's deepening interest, pulled out an old, worn map. It depicted the regions of Johto, Hoenn, and Kanto not as separate entities but as one vast country — the Kingdom of Ransei.
"This was the map of this region almost 200 years ago," the shopkeeper explained, his finger tracing the faded lines of old borders.
Austin nodded, the name 'Ransei' ringing a faint bell in his memory.
The shopkeeper continued, "Due to a lot of infighting, Ransei slowly dissolved into two regions, Hoenn and the Eastern Ransei Empire, which claimed to be the successor to the Ransei Empire. The latter proclaimed itself the legitimate successor to the Ransei throne, yet it resembled less a unified nation and more a patchwork of fiefdoms under the control of various warlords. This caused the people of the north to revolt against the warlords, creating Northern Kanto, while the southern warlords united, forming Southern Kanto."
"As tensions were high during this time, the Greater Orrean Reich invaded the Great Islands, triggering World War II."
Austin, trying to keep up, nodded slowly. "So, Southern Kanto is Johto?"
The old man nodded in affirmation.
With a gulp, Austin ventured another question. "What is the Northern Front?"
The shopkeeper took a deep breath, his eyes clouding with a hint of reverence and sorrow. "The Northern Front was the name given to a battlefield during the height of World War II, where Viridian Forest and beyond were captured by Southern Kanto. It was essentially where the most battles were fought, and the most lives were lost."
Austin nodded, attempting to grasp the gravity of the information. Yet, he found it hard to truly feel the weight of such historical tragedy. It was like reading about distant disasters online; the impact felt muted because it didn't directly affect him.
The shopkeeper, however, was visibly affected.
Austin gave the old man a respectful moment of silence, allowing him to gather his thoughts before diving into another question. "What ended the war?"
"Different reasons for different fronts ended the war."
"What ended Southern and Northern Kanto's war?"
"Mew," the old man stated simply.
"Pardon?"
"The Legendary Pokémon: Mew. It was during the height of the war, with Kanto being slowly pushed back until it appeared." The shopkeeper's voice grew intense as he recounted the tale. "The Axis powers invaded from Pallet Beach, causing a lot of destruction. They blew up this truck during the battle, beneath which the legendary Mew was sleeping."
Austin struggled to maintain his composure, the story teetering on the edge of unbelievable. The old man continued with a tone of deep reverence. "It happened in an instant. The entire invasion was destroyed in five minutes. The Northern Front was conquered by Mew in five minutes. Mew was ... strong."
"You witnessed it?"
The old man's eyes moistened, almost in tears. "You can't even imagine it, boy. The day I was holding my injured Arcanine, with enemies surrounding us, and then I heard giggling. As I turned, I saw Mew. It had healed my buddy, and then I saw what true power was. It didn't matter what Pokémon, what weapon was used against Mew; it just giggled as if it was playing a game. The moment it used a move, reality seemed to crack as Mew defeated the invasion. Kanto was able to regroup and then invade Southern Kanto without a problem as Mew had practically crippled the army of one of the Axis powers. To this day, Kanto honors Mew by using its mural on our money."
Austin was in complete awe, "What about the other Axis powers? How were they defeated?"
"Don't know," the old man shrugged slightly, his earlier emotion subsiding into fatigue.
Austin frowned, his mind already turning over where he could learn more. He mentally noted to buy a book on this war; his interest had been thoroughly piqued.
"Was a bomb dropped?" Austin asked, the question at the forefront of his mind. He needed to know if the Pokémon world had ever witnessed something as catastrophic as a nuke.
"Probably."
"What do you mean?"
"The thing is, information about this war isn't generally spoken about; it's considered taboo by many."
"Why?"
The old man took a deep breath, his hands clasping together as if bracing himself to share something painful. "Kanto during the war had done a lot of questionable things, things that the government hides. That's all I know."
Austin nodded slowly, his thoughts briefly drifting. He recalled reading on the internet about how Japan hadn't apologized for the atrocities committed by the Japanese Empire during World War II. Whether that was completely true or not, he hadn't taken the time to verify, but he felt a stark parallel.
"Wait, did Kanto drop the bomb?" Austin's confusion mounted.
"No, I don't know if a bomb was dropped or not."
The confusion clouded Austin's face further, prompting the shopkeeper to sigh deeply. "Do you know what the Orre region looks like?"
"Desert."
"That's what modern Orre looks like. During the era of the Greater Orrean Reich, the land was one of the most beautiful, lush, and fertile. Yet now, it's a desert."
"What happened?"
"I don't exactly know what happened, but my brother used to be part of the navy. He told me that a week before the Greater Orrean Reich surrendered, he had seen this blue comet flying through the ocean, and a few minutes later, a shockwave blew away the clouds in the sky over hundreds of kilometers."
Austin felt his jaw drop, his mind racing to comprehend the scale of such an event.
"He told me that a Pokémon had burnt the Greater Orrean Reich to ash."
Austin felt a chill run down his spine. "P-pokémon," he stammered, the word feeling alien and ominous in this context.
The old man grimly nodded, leaning forward to confide in a whisper, as if the walls themselves might listen.
"Don't tell anyone this, but my brother was able to hear the call of this Pokémon."
Austin gulped, leaning in as the old man whispered the name.
"Victini."
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Flint lingered outside the antique shop, savoring the snack Austin had given him earlier. Pikachu guarded the thermos nearby, seemingly protective of its contents for reasons known only to the Pokémon itself. As he enjoyed his snack, he mused aloud to Pikachu, "Your trainer is very unique."
Suddenly, the shop door swung open, and Austin stepped out. His expression was unreadably blank.
"What happened?"
Austin simply closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, the weight of the world seemingly resting on his shoulders.
"I need to sleep."
"Okay, let's get you to the Pokémon Center then," Flint suggested with a gentle firmness, understanding that whatever Austin had learned inside was deeply unsettling. Austin only nodded in agreement and mechanically grabbed his bike, ready to leave.
The duo walked in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the occasional creak of the bike and the distant chatter of the city around them. The quiet gave Austin too much room to think, and the jumble of history and dates he had just absorbed pressed heavily on his mind.
"Flint, what's the current year?"
Flint turned to look at Austin, a perplexed expression crossing his face.
"1997, why?"
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[ Author Note ]
1- Ransei, the kingdom that consisted of Kanto, Johto, and Hoenn, isn't a name I made up; rather, it's a reference to the video game: Pokémon Conquest.
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2- The Great Islands that the Greater Orrean Reich invaded, triggering WW2, are essentially the Poland of the Pokémon world. "The Great Islands" is the old name for the Orange Islands Archipelago.
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3- 1997 is significant as it marks the year when the first episode of the Pokémon anime aired on TV. And this is the lore reason why Victini is the Victory Pokemon and the reason why the trainer will be blessed by victory is because Victini can nuke nations out of existence.
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Thank you for your continued support and engagement with my work. Have a blessed day, and I look forward to reading your thoughts in the comments!