Latest Update: March 25, 2023
Summary: A modern-day swordmaster dies and wakes up in the pokemon world. A ralts aims to become a glorious knight.
Hoenn will never be the same. OC-Insert.
Link: https://forums.sufficientvelocity.com/threads/when-is-a-spoon-a-sword-pokemon-oc-insert.104572/reader/
Word count:120k
Chapters:29
Appetizer 1.1
Aaron Kanda-Locke
Arlington, VA, USA
I dodged Luke's mace and jabbed with my longsword towards his armpit. He replied by tucking his arms and stepping into the jab for a rising backhand.
The grip on my sword shifted subtly. I stepped forward to meet him, making the head of the mace sail behind me. The pommel of my sword was held so it jutted out towards his hand.
"Gah! Shit," he yelped as his own momentum knocked his weapon out of his hand.
I smiled and sheathed the sword. "Good match, Luke."
He shook off the numbness in his hand and retrieved his mace. "Yeah, damn good trick there. I didn't think you could aim for a small target like that, especially if you're not cutting at it."
"Takes some practice is all. It's why I'm the instructor and you're the assistant."
"Yeah, yeah. Weren't you some kendo guy too?"
"A bit," I demurred.
It was a bit more than "a bit" though. I started kendo at the age of eight after seeing my big brother get into karate and wanting something different but equally cool. Five years later, I reached one-kyū at the age of thirteen, the junior version of the first dan and as high a rank as a minor was allowed to have. I kept up with it for most of my life, even competing at the World Kendo Championships in Japan and coming in fourth in the men's individual bracket.
After hitting sixth-dan at the age of thirty-six, I retired from the sport because I felt that going any higher wasn't likely because of the ultra-traditionalist sentiment among higher ranked masters. In the eyes of the eighth-dan grandmasters, being half-gaijin was as good as not being Japanese at all.
I was now thirty-eight, but I'd still be a bit embarrassed if I lost a duel to some brat.
Looking to the side, I saw Kevin, our newest, sparring against Stacy, one of my assistants. They were both using a spear and shield, though it was abundantly clear that Stacy was dancing circles around the poor lad.
"One more?" Luke called.
"Haven't had enough of a beating yet?"
"You don't hit hard, old man. It's all speed and technique with you."
"Speed and technique are what differentiates a great swordsman from a good one."
I drew my sword and took a ready grip. HEMA, Historical European Martial Arts, I'd picked up from a friend in high school named Carl. He was everything that I wanted to be at the time: tall, good looking, and popular. I was fourteen when he introduced HEMA to me and though it was always second on my priority list behind kendo, I was glad to have picked it up.
I'd tried several weapons over the decades, but I preferred the longsword because it was the closest analog to a katana. It wasn't a one for one comparison, but it didn't have to be. The speed and versatility were what I was after; if I wanted another katana, I'd have dropped HEMA long ago.
Luke came in low this time and swung for my torso with a soft grunt. I stepped back and readily gave ground, one of the disadvantages of voluntarily foregoing a shield, and rang his helmet with a swift retaliatory strike. Our eyes met as he acknowledged the point and returned to his ready stance.
Luke was the oldest in the club after me at twenty-eight and far too experienced to give me any more free points after that blunder so we circled each other as he took my probing jabs on his raised shield.
That was fine. He'd get impatient soon.
Sure enough, he rushed forward, trying his best to get past my guard with a shield charge.
I skipped backwards and to the side, allowing him to run past me.
He expected that. He turned on a dime and followed me with the mace, forcing me to duck. But that left his armpits open and a swift stab forced him to reel himself in.
We traded several more blows. That was the big difference between HEMA and kendo; most HEMA clubs weren't as structured as a kendo dojo. There were rules, as any sport involving weapons required, but while a kendo match was over in a few lightning-fast strikes, HEMA put a greater premium on stamina.
Then, I made a fatal mistake.
We got so into our spar that we didn't see Stacy and Kevin. Or perhaps, it was they who approached us.
It didn't matter.
Stacy got her spear past Kevin's shield and landed a vicious stab into his bicep even as he was making his own thrust. Her attack made him release his grip unexpectedly and the spear sailed past the assistant instructor, landing just beside me as I was stepping away from Luke's mace.
I couldn't correct my step and my foot landed on the haft of the spear, rolling my ankle. As I fell, I felt a heavy impact against my head. Belatedly, I realized that Luke hadn't stopped his blow in time either, connecting with my head as I tripped.
My head bounced against the floor and, helmet or not, that was the last I knew of life as Aaron Kanda-Locke.
X
Aaron Fulan
Mossdeep City, Hoenn Region
I awoke to the most agonizing headache of my life. Both lives, as it turned out.
I was Aaron Kanda-Locke, a swordmaster of both kendo and HEMA. I lived a good life until a freak accident at the club.
I was Aaron Fulan, eldest son of Sharon Fulan, the gym leader of Mossdeep City, and Jin Fulan, an astronaut who sought to find evidence of extraterrestrial pokémon. I had two adorable little siblings, Tate and Liza Fulan, twins who were three years younger than me.
'At least I'm still named Aaron,' I thought sardonically. 'God forbid I be called something different. Or is it "Arceus forbid" now?'
Then the emotions came, like thunder that followed the lightning as Young-Aaron's memories became my own.
There was fondness there. This version of me grew up in a comfortable home. The Fulan family wasn't living in the lap of luxury like the Stones, but we were well off. What we lacked in raw wealth we more than made up for in prestige. Being a gym leader meant something. At the bare minimum, past me knew he had it good.
There was love too. Young-Aaron really loved his little siblings. He snuck them candy whenever he could and did his best to make sure Liza wouldn't tease her little brother too much. He was also the one who comforted them when his mother's lessons would get too harsh.
And then there was the bitterness and resentment.
Sharon Fulan, formerly Sharon Summers, the Oracle of Mossdeep. She was a Summers, the last of the family who ruled Mossdeep City since before the founding of the Hoenn League. She may have given up her last name when she married dad, a trainer from Kanto, but she sure as hell didn't give up her family legacy. That is, the gym.
The gym was everything to her. It was so important that when Drake, champion at the time, offered her a position as one of his Elite Four twelve years ago, she turned him down.
She was that good, a psychic mistress who possessed immense personal and political power as the head of the traditional bloc in Hoenn politics.
And I had the dubious privilege of being her eldest son.
That alone wouldn't be so bad. The problem was, I wasn't talented enough for mother dearest. Oh, compared to most, I was a prodigy, but that wasn't good enough for mom, wasn't good enough for the gym.
Something about being twins had boosted my siblings' psychic affinities to astronomical levels. They were able to bend a spoon when they were four years old. They were holding entire conversations between them with telepathy at the age of seven. Presently, at ten, they could even fly for short periods if they wanted to.
I couldn't do any of that.
What I could do was see emotions as colors. Cool. Useful. But… It wasn't telekinesis. It wasn't telepathy. It wasn't divination. And that meant it wasn't good enough for Sharon Fulan.
The day that the twins bent their first spoon, she sat me down and told me in no uncertain terms that they were heirs, not me. I was seven at the time.
Fucking seven.
Back then, I didn't understand the difference between being her son and being the heir. When mom told me I couldn't be the next gym leader, all I heard was that mom didn't want me anymore. I cried myself to sleep for weeks until dad came home from his astronaut training. It was the first true fight they had. Shouting, telekinetically thrown vases, the whole shebang.
I got over it… kind of.
Dad and I had a long talk. He explained what being the heir meant and how it wasn't that mom iddn't love me anymore. He made me promise that I wouldn't hold it against Tate and Liza. They hadn't done anything.
I grew up. Eventually, I even forgave mom when I discovered just what the colors I saw meant. She loved me… in her own hardass, fucked up, kick the chick off a cliff so it can learn to fly sort of way. We weren't really the same, but I at least did understand that the gym should go to the most talented.
Still, she was why I had mommy issues in this life. Issues up the fucking wazoo.
I felt my memories settle as the glow of tranquil blue approached from beyond the walls.
"Aaron? Bro? You up? You're going to be late!" Liza's voice came through the door.
"Yeah, I'm coming," I called.
Today was special. Today, at the age of thirteen, I was to become a trainer in truth. I was being kicked out of my house. Tate and Liza were going to be fostered at the gym, learning from our mother to become the psychic masters they could be. Me? The journey was all but forced on me.
I had one shot to pass the TLE, the trainer licensing exam. If I failed for whatever reason, I would be forced to take a civilian career path. It wasn't as though I couldn't take the TLE again, but my family played against me here too. No second chances. If I failed, mother dearest would pull every string she could to deny me a life as a trainer.
"I'd be doing both you and the League a favor," she'd said in that haughty, dismissive tone of hers. "If you can't even pass the basic exam, you're more likely to die out there."
That was the second time she and dad fought. But as always, she got her way in the end.
'Doesn't matter,' I thought as the white aura of resolve circled around me. 'I'm going to pass and make her eat her fucking words.'
I sighed. It was a little unnerving how quickly Young-Aaron's dreams became my own, but that was fine. I always liked Pokémon as a franchise anyway. I was twelve back when Yellow came out.
If anything, I was incredibly fortunate. Growing up in a psychic gym meant I at least picked up how to keep my thoughts to myself. Sure, mom could barge her way through my mind if she wanted, but it was such a huge breach of privacy that she literally threatened to murder one of her trainers when he did it to someone else.
X
I stepped into the testing hall. Lucky for me, it was at the trainer school. The building was fairly new, less than six years old. It was also the most advanced trainer school in Hoenn. Not that we had the highest grades or anything, but in a more literal sense: It was the most technologically advanced school in Hoenn. Because the Mossdeep Space Center was located here, all of the best and brightest in the region tended to gather in our city, which also extended to teachers. The trainer school had an excellent relationship with the space center and we often got leftover or outdated tech passed onto us.
"Aaron," my mother called. I turned to see her aura flicker blue and white with a tinge of purple. "I expect excellence."
Blue. Peace. White. Willpower. Purple. Love. I rolled my eyes. She was just as bad as pre-Red Sabrina. No, that wasn't quite fair. At least she wasn't a crime lord? "Love you too, mom."
I swore, something about unlocking powerful psychic abilities as a kid fucked up a person. It was why I doted on Tate and Liza so. I was hoping that if I gave them all the affection my hardass mom and absentee dad didn't give them, they'd be semi-functional adults without the angst and awkwardness.
I went to my class and sat down without speaking to anyone. It wasn't as though I had many friends. That was somewhat difficult when all the parents were intimidated by my mom or all the kids were envious of being a gym leader's son. Seeing their emotions wasn't nearly as fun as it sounded.
The exam itself was… trivial.
It was divided into three sections: pokémon, wilderness survival, and laws and regulations. The first asked everything that old-me would have expected: type charts, dual type identification, general diet, et cetera. To someone raised by a gym leader, it was insultingly easy.
The third was similarly simple thanks to young-me's background, but there was a surprisingly large number of regulations that a new trainer had to be aware of. The badges, their gyms, and the start of each season was obvious. Emergency response standard operating procedures and the obligations of trainers at each badge level were less so.
Still, it was the second that gave me the most trouble. Mossdeep was the largest island in the Hoenn Region short of Ever Grande itself, but being an island meant there weren't many places available for practical survival training. I did well, but I knew for a fact that I lost some points here.
After our theoreticals, we were taken to the quad where the practicals began.
First, a proctor brought out his pokémon, an exploud, and had it use a series of moves. We were told to identify as many as we could, a task made all the harder by the sheer diversity of moves available to a well-trained normal type.
Second, we were paired off and handed a school-approved zigzagoon. The battle, if it could be called that, was testing for our ability to command under pressure. The task itself wasn't particularly difficult, all of us knew what a zigzagoon could do by heart now, but it wasn't supposed to be. The pressure of encountering a new pokémon and immediately being thrown into a battle was enough to make many of us fumble and forget all we'd studied.
Last came the wilderness survival practicals. We had to identify edible berries out of a basket, start a fire, and cook a meal. Then, we were told to set up a tent, demonstrate ropework, and prove we could signal for help using the League-mandated ranger emergency codes.
X
My results came in the mail a week after the exam: Ninety-three in the survival practicals, eighty-two in the survival theoreticals, but otherwise perfect all around for an impressive four-seventy-five out of five hundred.
"Only? Well, at least you only lost points in wilderness survival," mom said with an arched brow. "Anything else would have been embarrassing."
"Don't say that, Sharon," dad said, his aura tinged with the purple of love and red of annoyance. It was one of the few nights when he was home early enough for a family dinner. "That's what? Ninety-five percent? You did amazingly well, Aaron. I definitely didn't score that high."
"Thanks, dad," I said.
"He knows what I meant," she huffed.
"It's not hard to say 'You did well,' dear."
Mom looked at me with an imperious expression before her façade broke. "You… Your performance was… adequate," she finished.
"Thanks, mom," I said with a sigh. That was as good as I'd get with her.
Dad rolled his eyes but he wasn't fooling me. There was love there, but also a fair bit of pink, lust. He apparently had a thing for awkward girls. He wasn't fooling the twins either. Unlike the rest of our family, he wasn't really a part of the gym and so never learned how to shield his emotions and thoughts. They didn't get "the talk" so much as exposure by proximity.
Yeah, we made ourselves scarce real fast after that.
X
I stood in the gym lobby as I'd done a thousand times before. But this time, I stood shoulder to shoulder with another nine students, all high scorers like me. Mom, Gym Leader Fulan now, looked us over one by one.
"You are here because you each passed the trainer licensing exam with flying colors. For your stellar performance, I congratulate you and welcome you into the ranks of Hoenn's trainers," she began, sounding perfectly professional and poised.
I knew better. Dad wrote the speech because mom was too socially awkward to say anything complimentary about us. Hell, I knew for a fact that she was using her divination to read the speech that she'd left on her desk for that exact purpose. I met her gaze and allowed my eyes to trail up towards her office with a smug smirk.
A sharp telekinetic jab made me jolt.
"As you are the ten highest scoring students from Mossdeep Trainer School, you have earned the right to receive a starter from my gym. I will now call you into my office one by one according to your score where you will be permitted to make your choice in private. Aaron Fulan."
"Yes, ma'am."
The whispers began immediately.
"Must be nice to be a parachute."
"Silver spoon much?"
"He's her son, of course he's first."
Mom turned towards them with a cold glare, shutting them up instantly. I'd seen her quell an ornery walrein in the middle of a mating season with that glare. A bunch of thirteen year old brats stood no chance.
"You will go last," she said. "You were the highest scoring student at the academy and thus given the chance to select a Hoenn starter from Professor Birch. You gave up that choice, correct?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then you have already made your decision and so will be moved to the back of the queue."
I nodded. That was expected; she'd warned me as much. It was a good chance to show how few fucks she gave about me being her son here. I always wanted a psychic anyway and wasn't too picky about the exact species. I felt I knew them best in this life, for obvious reasons, and I could more easily bond with a pokémon whose intelligence was similar to my own.
And, if I was being honest with myself, in the darkest corner of my mind, I admitted that I wanted one to nurture my own powers. I wanted to prove mom wrong, to become a powerful psychic in my own right. I wouldn't be the first to develop psychic abilities after training a psychic type after all, and unlike most, I had a hell of a head start.
She called the second place student and led the girl into her office. Then the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. One by one, each new trainer emerged from her office with a wide grin, ready to be the next Sabrina or Will or Caitlin. They were almost certainly in for a horrible disappointment.
I walked into her office and looked around. Despite her being mom, I seldom spent any time here. There was a family photo in one corner, but it was small, smaller than the average wallet. The rest of her office was dominated by shelves and shelves of books. About half of them were books written by my extended family, back when they were alive. The rest were journal articles about psychics, psychology, or some other pertinent subject.
"Aaron," mom drew my attention back to her. In her hand was a pokéball. "This is the only one left. Now, are you certain you don't want a Hoenn starter?"
"Didn't you say that ship's sailed?"
"I did. I lied. I had Professor Birch hold off on naming the three for you. Last chance."
I raised a brow at her. It was as good as an "I love you" from her. She never gave second chances. But… But she was here… and it made me nervous.
"Okay, what's wrong with that one?"
"Nothing, per se. The ralts inside is prodigious, amazingly talented if I'm to be truthful."
"Cool, I love ralts. They're one of my favorite pokémon. You know that."
"Very well." She lazily tossed the ball on the ground and the ralts popped out amidst a cloud of shimmering lights.
I stood in awe. As far as young-Aaron was concerned, it was a ralts. Great, but nothing to go gaga over. Old-Aaron shoved young-Aaron into a dark corner in my mind. A real, breathing pokémon was standing before me.
It held in its hand a single silver spoon, the sort used by mom's gym pokémon to practice their psychic abilities.
And then, its eyes met mine. It then did something I didn't expect: It spoke.
Not literally, it wasn't Team Rocket's meowth, but it spoke through telepathy.
'Greetings,' it said. Its mental voice was clear and high, pure like a single piano note. 'Are you my liege?'
I looked at mom. "I know what you mean by 'prodigious.' Did you save the strongest ralts for me?"
"No, of course not."
"Then how wasn't this one claimed already? Telepathy at what? A year old? That's stupid-fast, even for a psychic type."
"Indeed. No one wanted this ralts."
I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Clearly, I'd lucked out with the most promising specimen. "I'm your trainer," I told it.
The ralts continued to take me by surprise. It took two steps, tiny seeing how it was barely above a foot tall, and knelt. It fell onto one knee, hilariously cute seeing how it was wearing that overlarge white robe. Then, flourishing its spoon, it presented the utensil to me on both palms and spoke.
'Then you are my lord and master. I solemnly swear before the Origin of All: I will be your sword and shield. I will cut down your enemies. I will defend you against every strife. Your dreams will be my own, your dearest wish my reason for being. This squire swears to be your most loyal knight!'
"Umm… What the hell?"
"Remember, I gave you a chance." There was a bone-deep weariness in my mom's tone. I didn't think she could emote that well…
"He's super advanced already. Why wouldn't I want him? The rest of the kids were clearly idiots," I said. I too got on one knee and addressed him. "Hey, I'm sure you'll make a fantastic knight one day and I'd be proud to call you my partner."
'R-Really?' he said, voice ringing like the purest bell. 'Y-You mean it? Truly?'
"Yeah, you'll become a wonderful gallade. I promise."
The ralts froze, his smile turned brittle as the purple of love and joy turned yellow and red.
"Aaron, dear," mom said. "That ralts is female."
Link: https://forums.sufficientvelocity.com/threads/when-is-a-spoon-a-sword-pokemon-oc-insert.104572/reader/