It was 2026, and the Pokémon community was abuzz with excitement. Generation 10 was just around the corner, and to celebrate, Nintendo had organized a groundbreaking tournament. The twist? All participants would use randomized Pokémon teams.
Traditionally, tournaments followed a standard format, with players meticulously crafting their teams, optimizing stats, moves, and strategies. But in recent years, Nintendo had been experimenting with new rules to level the playing field and spark fresh excitement. This new format had its skeptics, but the novelty kept fans intrigued.
And here I was, Alex Carter who is a boy with yellow hair and blue eyes,a boy at his 20s standing on the grand stage of this unpredictable tournament. Across from me was my final opponent—a player whose skill and unwavering loyalty to Incineroar had earned him the nickname The Incineroar Lover.
The match had come down to this moment: my Light Ball Pikachu against his Choice Band, Tera Fire Incineroar. The battlefield was tense, the crowd holding its collective breath. Incineroar had already activated its Intimidate ability, cutting my Pikachu's Attack stat, and it was locked into Flare Blitz—a devastating move amplified by its Tera Fire typing and the Choice Band.
I analyzed the situation, my mind racing. The odds were stacked against me, and my options were limited. Pikachu's only hope was to Terastallize into Electric type, use Volt Tackle, and pray to Arceus for a critical hit. Without knowing either of our Pokémon's EVs or IVs, it was all I could do—gamble on luck and trust in the luck I had that he is a attack type Inceniroar instead of Defense type
I looked across the field, locking eyes with my opponent. They were calm, confident, their expression betraying no doubt. My hand hovered over the move selection screen, my fingers trembling slightly. This was it. The entire tournament rested on this one decision.
"Volt Tackle," I whispered under my breath, selecting the move. Pikachu's Terastallization crystalized its body into a dazzling Electric form, sparks flying as it prepared to charge.
I exhaled deeply, my heart pounding in my chest. As Pikachu launched forward, the screen lit up with dramatic flashes of light and sound.
Please, Arceus, I thought, clenching my fists. Let this be a critical hit,ıf its a crit ı would do everything you say,ı say EVERYTHING,
The stadium fell silent, every eye glued to the unfolding battle. This was the moment that would decide it all.
After what felt like an eternity—20 seconds of the most nerve-wracking cutscene of my life—the result finally appeared on the screen. The crowd erupted into a deafening roar, cheers and shouts filling the air as the battlefield faded into victory animations.
My heart was pounding as I forced myself to look at the screen. Pikachu had done it. The Volt Tackle had landed a critical hit, and Incineroar was down.
I could hardly believe it. My hands trembled, my chest tight with overwhelming relief and joy. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, barely able to process the fact that I had won.
Across the stage, The Incineroar Lover sat still for a moment, his expression calm despite the loss. There was no bitterness in his eyes, no frustration. He simply stood, composed as ever, and walked toward me with his hand outstretched.
I hesitated, my emotions threatening to overwhelm me. The crowd's cheers blurred into a distant hum as I extended my own hand. We shook, his grip firm yet respectful, and for the first time, I saw a faint smile on his face.
"Well played," he said, his voice steady and genuine.
"Th-thank you," I stammered, still shaking. My voice wavered with a mix of disbelief and happiness.
As he returned to his seat, he let out a small sigh, perhaps of relief, perhaps of acceptance. I could only stand there, frozen in the moment, my heart still racing.
The stadium lights seemed brighter, the noise louder, and the realization finally hit me—I had done it. I had won the championship And Pikachu... Pikachu had made it.
The sound of celebration echoed from every corner of the stadium, a deafening roar of excitement and disbelief. I stood at the center of it all, my heart pounding in my chest as I took in the chaos around me. I had finally done it. After months of dedication, countless sleepless nights, and unrelenting effort, I had achieved my dream.
"I did it," I whispered to myself, almost unable to believe it. "I finally won."
I, Alex Carter, had claimed my first World Championship title. The match had been grueling, pushing me to the edge of my limits. My opponent, renowned as "The Incineroar Lover," was one of the most formidable players in competitive Pokémon history. And yet, against all odds, I had emerged victorious.
Luck had been on my side—an extraordinary streak of fortune that no amount of strategy could have predicted. Three critical hits and seven flinches, I thought, shaking my head in disbelief. How did I even pull that off?
The crowd's reactions were as divided as my own emotions. Some cheered wildly, their voices blending into a cacophony of congratulations. Others weren't as kind.
"You bastard!" someone shouted from the stands. "You don't deserve this!"
"Do A Rematch!" another voice demanded, sharp and venomous. "This is a fluke!"
Their words stung, but I tried to brush them off. Not everyone would accept my victory, especially given the circumstances. Still, the mix of admiration and resentment made the moment surreal.
Amid the chaos, one figure caught my eye. She stood out like a beacon in the storm—a girl about my age, with striking white hair that shimmered under the stadium lights and piercing golden eyes that seemed to see straight through me.
I couldn't understand how I noticed her in the sea of people or how her voice reached me amidst the uproar. Yet, I could hear her clear as day, though she didn't shout.
"Congratulations.....," she said softly, her words calm and deliberate, cutting through the noise like a blade.
For a moment, everything else faded—the cheers, the anger, the weight of the championship. It was just me and her, locked in a strange, fleeting connection that I couldn't explain.
Who was she? And why did it feel like this moment, this encounter, was far more important than the victory I had just achieved?* I questioned myself.
After I blinked, she was gone. Like smoke dissipating in the wind, she had vanished without a trace. I rubbed my eyes, half-convinced it was some trick of the light or my imagination. But no matter where I looked, there was nothing. Just the bustling crowd, still buzzing with energy, their cheers and jeers blending into an overwhelming cacophony.
Before I could process what had just happened, a booming voice pulled me back to reality.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HERE IS YOUR BRAND-NEW WORLD CHAMPION—ALEEEEEX CARTEEERRR!!!!"
The presenter's words echoed across the stadium, drawing another wave of applause and celebration. He reached out for my hand, shaking it firmly as he smiled for the cameras. The lights flashed, capturing the moment for the world to see.
After a brief round of congratulations, the massive screen behind us flickered to life. The logo for the upcoming Gen 10 Pokémon game filled the screen, accompanied by an electrifying trailer that had the crowd erupting once more. The teaser promised a new region, New Pokémons, and adventures, set to release in just one month.
As the trailer ended and the excitement began to die down, the audience slowly started gathering their belongings, their energy winding down after the adrenaline-fueled event. I was just about to slip away from the stage, my mind still spinning from everything that had happened, when someone bumped into me, jolting me back to the moment.
"Hey, Alex! Where do you think you're going?"
I turned, rubbing the back of my head where it had been knocked. A journalist stood before me with brown hair and brown eyes her sharp eyes glinting with determination. She held a recorder in one hand and a notepad in the other, her expression a mix of annoyance and eagerness.
"You just won the championship, and you're trying to sneak off? Come on, the world wants to hear from its new champ!" she said, her tone half playful, half insistent.
She was my childhood friend, Sakura—someone who had shared my obsession with Pokémon since we were kids. Her sharp wit and unrelenting curiosity made her a natural journalist, and her presence here was both a comfort and a challenge.
"Hey, I'm tired, okay? Being the champion isn't exactly easy," I said with a smirk, trying to deflect her inevitable barrage of questions.
Sakura raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly grin. "Oh, sure. Big tough champion can't handle a little post-match interview? Come on, Alex, we as nerds want to know about you."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the chuckle that escaped. "Fine, but make it quick. I'm running with caffein and ım gonna run out of it soon."
Her grin widened as she held up her recorder, already in full journalist mode. "Alright, let's start with the big one. You burst onto the competitive scene just a year ago when Legends Z/A dropped. Before that, there's no record of you ever participating in formal tournaments—no local leagues, nothing. So, Alex Carter, where did you come from? And how the hell did you climb to the top so fast?"
Her question was one I'd been asked countless times, but coming from her, it felt different. I hesitated for a moment, the memories of countless hours spent mastering strategies and battling against friends and randoms on showdown and of course against her.
"Let's just say I've always had a knack for it," I replied, leaning into the playful banter. "And maybe I got tired of watching from the sidelines. Figured it was time to show the world what I could do."
Sakura narrowed her eyes, clearly not satisfied with my vague answer. "Uh-huh. A knack for it. That's what you're going with?"
"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" I shot back, shrugging. "Besides, you already know most of my story. We used to battle each other for hours on end, remember? You're part of the reason I got this good."
She scoffed, though there was a hint of pride in her expression. "Yeah, and you still owe me for all those times I let you win."
"Oh, sure," I said with a laugh. "Keep telling yourself that."
For a moment, it felt like old times—just the two of us, nerding out over Pokémon and trading jabs.
After what felt like an eternity of nerding out and deflecting her relentless questions, I finally managed to escape Sakura's grasp. It wasn't easy—she was as persistent as ever—but eventually, she let me go with a knowing smirk and a warning: "Don't think you're off the hook, Alex. I'll be back with more questions."
Riding my motor through the quiet streets, I let the cool evening air wash over me. The excitement of the day still lingered, but the silence of the night was a welcome reprieve. The city was alive with its usual hum—cars passing, distant chatter—but my thoughts were louder.
After a short ride, I arrived at my apartment complex. My flat was nothing fancy, just a small space I called my own, complete with a kitchen, a cozy living room, and a bedroom tucked in the corner. It wasn't much, but it was home.
I stood at the door for a moment, my hand resting on the doorknob. The stillness around me was almost deafening, a stark contrast to the roaring crowd I'd left behind. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"I'm home," I called out instinctively. It was a habit I'd carried since childhood, one I couldn't seem to shake. No matter where I was or how empty the space, those words always left my lips.
Of course, there was no one to answer. The only sound that greeted me was the soft padding of paws against the floor. My black cat, Meowt, appeared from the shadows, his emerald eyes glinting as he stretched lazily before trotting over to me.
"Hey, buddy," I said, crouching down to scratch behind his ears. He purred in response, rubbing against my leg before wandering off to his favorite spot on the couch.
The silence of the apartment settled around me, familiar and comforting in its own way. Dropping my bag by the door, I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and leaning against the counter. The day's events played over in my mind—the cheers, the criticism, the mysterious girl with golden eyes.
"Just another day in the life, huh, Meowt?" I muttered, glancing at the cat now curled up in a ball. He didn't respond, of course, but his quiet presence was enough.
I sighed, finishing my water and heading to the couch. Flopping down beside Meowt, I stared at the ceiling, the weight of the day finally catching up to me. Champion or not, life went on.
With those thoughts swirling in my mind, I found myself replaying the events of the day. The roar of the crowd, the tension of the final match, and, most of all, the image of that girl with white hair and golden eyes.
"Who was she?" I muttered to myself, staring at the ceiling. There was something about her—something I couldn't quite put my finger on. The way she seemed to cut through the chaos, the calmness in her voice amidst the storm of emotions.
And yet, it wasn't just curiosity that kept her in my thoughts. The more I tried to brush it off, the more my mind wandered back to her. "Wait… am I in love?" I asked myself, the absurdity of the thought making me smirk. "When did I get a thing for white-haired girls? What the hell, Alex?"
My musings were interrupted by a sharp nip on my hand. "Ow!" I yelped, looking down to see Meowht staring up at me with his usual unimpressed expression.
"Okay, okay, I get it. No daydreaming," I said, rubbing the spot where his teeth had sunk in. He let out a soft meow before curling up again, as if to remind me to keep my feet on the ground.
Shaking my head, I leaned back into the couch. "Thanks for keeping me grounded, buddy," I said, reaching out to scratch behind his ears again. He purred in response, his way of forgiving me for zoning out.
The exhaustion of the day finally began to weigh on me, my eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment. "Guess it's time to call it a night," I murmured, pulling a blanket over myself as I settled into the couch.
____________________________________
It was the middle of the night, and the room was cloaked in silence. The only sound was the faint hum of the city outside and the soft purring of Meowt, nestled at the foot of Alex's couch.
But then, a shadow crept into the room, silent and deliberate. The figure moved with an otherworldly grace, the dim moonlight catching on their features. Golden eyes glowed with an ethereal light, and white hair shimmered like threads of starlight. The figure was surreal, as if they didn't belong to this world.
The figure stopped at the side of the couch, gazing down at Alex. He was still deep in sleep, unaware of the presence that had invaded his home.
"It's time to keep your promise, Alex Carter," the figure said, her voice resonating with a holy tone that seemed to echo through the room despite its softness.
The figure's glowing eyes narrowed slightly, as if appraising him. "I will see you in the Fourth," they continued, cryptically. "But since you will be the foreign one, I suppose you'll need something to call your own."
Alex stirred slightly in his sleep, muttering something incoherent, but neither he nor Meowt woke. The girl knelt down, reaching out with a hand that seemed to glow faintly in the dark. Her fingers brushed gently against Alex's closed eyes.
For a moment, the room filled with a faint golden light, swirling like a small galaxy around Alex before vanishing into Alex's eyes. The figure stood back up, their expression unreadable.
"See you soon, young man," she said, her tone carrying a strange mix of authority and warmth.
And with that, her body began to disintegrate, turning into golden dust that floated into the air and vanished as though it had never been there.
____________________________________
The sun's bright rays streamed through the window, prying Alex from his sleep. Groggily, he tried to sit up, but his body felt unusually heavy and uncoordinated. After a few failed attempts, he finally managed to stand, though something felt… off.
He blinked a few times, his head spinning as he looked around the room. It wasn't his.
The furniture was rustic, almost cartoonishly simple, and the walls were painted in soft, pastel colors. There was an odd warmth to the place, a strange familiarity that he couldn't place.
"What the...?" Alex muttered, his voice catching as he glanced down at himself.
He froze. His arms looked smaller. His legs, too. He ran a hand through his hair and felt something... different. He scrambled toward a nearby mirror, and his reflection made his heart race.
The face staring back at him was not the one he remembered. His once light yellow hair was now jet black, darker than the night sky. His eyes, which had always been a sky blue, were now a deep, Scarlet Red, giving him an unfamiliar, almost mysterious aura.
He touched his face, his hand trembling. His features were softer, younger—like a teen's. His jawline was less defined, his cheeks rounder.
"This isn't me," he whispered, panic creeping into his voice.
He was shorter and his face seemed younger, more teenlike. His clothes were strange, simple yet vibrant, almost like something out of a game.
"What's going on?" he whispered, panic creeping into his voice.
The feeling of unease grew stronger as he moved toward the window. Something about this room—it was unknown yet familiar. Like a dream he couldn't quite remember.
He hesitated for a moment before throwing the window open. The warm breeze hit his face, and his eyes widened as he took in the scene outside.
Rolling hills stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with trees and winding paths. In the distance, a small town bustled with life. But it wasn't the scenery that stole his breath—it was the creatures.
Flying gracefully through the sky was a Pidgey, its small wings beating steadily as it soared past the window. And down below, near the base of the house, a tiny yellow creature with rosy cheeks played in the grass.
"Is that a Pidgey and a Pikachu?" Alex shouted, his voice cracking with disbelief.
He stumbled back from the window, his mind racing. This couldn't be real. This had to be a dream—or a hallucination.
"Am I in the pokemon? What's happening?!" he cried out, desperately searching for answers while his heart pounding in his chest.