Dust motes danced in the weak light filtering through a simple square window, illuminating a sparse cabin interior. Woodsmoke, faint and cold from the night before, lingered in the air.
Beep. Beep.
The insistent, mechanical sound pierced the quiet, dragging him from the depths of sleep. A dull throb started behind his temples. 'Not again...'
With a grunt that scraped his throat raw, the boy on the narrow bed shoved aside the thin, rough quilt. It pooled forgotten on the floorboards as he sat up, blinking against the light now cutting a sharp rectangle onto the opposite wall. Nothing else occupied the space beyond the bed, a rough-hewn table, a single wooden cabinet, and a bare bulb hanging from a wire overhead.
He forced his lips into a semblance of a smile, the practiced cheer hollow even to his own ears. "Today," he announced to the empty room, his voice raspy, "is another day full of hope~"
The words hung there, tasting like ash. Hope? He felt a familiar wave of helplessness wash over him, twisting his expression into something closer to a grimace. Just say the line. Get through it. It was a ritual, nothing more. A pathetic attempt to stave off the crushing weight of reality.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool wood rough against his bare feet. Opening the cabin door felt like pushing against lead, but the sudden warmth of the morning sun on his face was real. It eased the tension in his brow, just a fraction. He closed his eyes, absorbing the heat.
Another day, the thought echoed in his mind, weary and resigned. Another day trapped in this world...
He had been Li Xiu. An ordinary office drone swallowed by the relentless grind of modern life. No vices to speak of – no smoking, no drinking, no nightlife beyond the forced smiles of company dinners. His existence had been a flat line of monotony, punctuated only by the vibrant escape of video games. He hadn't fit in, not really. Just another cog.
He remembered the surge of excitement, a rare spark, when the new Pokémon game was announced. The frantic clicking to place the order, the agonizing crawl of the days waiting for the courier notification. Finally. It had arrived. He'd pictured it: rushing home after work, tearing open the package, losing himself in that digital world...
But work had called. Overtime. Again. Can after can of cheap "Green Bull" energy drink fueled him, blurring the hours until three in the morning struck like a hammer blow. Then... darkness. He recalled the cold, terrifying crawl as life seeped out of him, the utter impotence of screaming into a void where no one answered. The sheer, overwhelming fear.
His last conscious thought, a desperate, almost delirious wish: 'Maybe... maybe next life... the Pokémon world... wouldn't that be nice?'
Reality, it turned out, possessed a cruelly ironic sense of humor. A dying man's fleeting fantasy, plucked from the ether and made manifest. 'Simply lovely, indeed.'
When awareness returned, it wasn't to the pearly gates or the fires below. It was here. In this unfamiliar cabin, in this unfamiliar body.
Gone were his family, his friends, the suffocating but familiar rhythm of his old life. Even his own reflection was alien.
'This body...' His name had been Ka Xiu, an orphan. The fragmented memories that came with the flesh painted a grim picture – a harsh orphanage, a desperate escape that leeched the boy's last reserves of strength. Ka Xiu had collapsed in this forest, found near death, given this menial job as a form of charity. Li Xiu had slipped into the vacant shell sometime during that darkness.
Now, he was simply Xiu. A forest ranger in the Fuchsia City Wilderness Area. That was his identity. His cage.
The man who'd "rescued" Ka Xiu – and by extension, him – was Bao Ba, the owner of this wilderness park. A gruff old man whose smile revealed prominent, almost predatory, gold teeth. A man Xiu felt instinctively wary of.
Li Xiu... No. He forced the name down. 'I am Xiu now.' This past month had been... an adjustment period. A buffer against the sheer shock. Standing in the doorway, bathed in the indifferent morning sun, Xiu mentally sorted through the disjointed fragments of the last thirty days.
A long sigh escaped him, carrying the weight of his resignation. Alas... Acceptance wasn't a choice; it was a necessity. He took a step forward, out of the shadow of the cabin and into the light. It felt symbolic, somehow. His first real step into the world of Pokémon.
He knelt by the stream that ran near the cabin, the water biting cold against his skin as he splashed his face. The reflection that stared back was clear enough. Handsome, yes, in a youthful way. Straight nose, thin lips, brown eyes that seemed too large for the gaunt face. But it was a fragile sort of handsomeness, softened by youth and underscored by the body's thinness. He could see, with a sinking feeling, how this appearance might have attracted the wrong kind of attention back at the orphanage, adding another layer to Ka Xiu's miserable existence. 'Trouble.'
Shaking the thought away – no point dwelling on it – Xiu returned to the cabin. Work awaited. Bao Ba's charity wouldn't last forever. Survival in this world, like any other, demanded money. And money demanded labor.
Forest ranger. It sounded respectable enough, but his specific role was less glamorous: garbage collector. Picking up the trash left behind by careless visitors. It was, realistically, the only job this body, in its current state, could probably handle.
The Wilderness Area drew crowds daily. Two types, mainly: sightseers paying 500 Poké Dollars for entry, and aspiring Pokémon catchers shelling out 2,000, a fee that included ten Safari Balls. Extra balls cost 100 each, capped at thirty per person, with unused ones mandatorily returned. Revenue flowed from these visitors, and the inevitable consequence was litter. His job.
Simple, but not easy. Trash in the river meant wading into the current. Trash snagged high in branches meant climbing. He had to follow the garbage, wherever it ended up.
Honestly, the baseline physical resilience of people here was startling. His old self – the "dead otaku," as the crude as it is – would have collapsed after an hour. Yet this thin, almost frail body managed.
He'd see Pokémon constantly during his rounds. Many, accustomed to the park staff, wouldn't even flinch if he walked close. But contact was forbidden. 'Strict rules. Keep your distance.'
His designated zone was deep within the park, thankfully. Fewer tourists meant less trash. He could usually clear it by midday. The rest of the shift was technically work time, but as long as the garbage was gone, no one bothered him. Time he could call his own. Relatively speaking.
He dragged the surprisingly heavy garbage sack to the designated pickup point along the tour bus route. When the electric vehicle hummed to a stop, he didn't bother waiting for it to fully halt. A quick leap landed him on the small, flat platform on the rear rack. Holding the sack balanced with one hand, he rode back towards the South Gate, the wind whipping past him. Riding inside with the tourists while clutching a bag of their refuse felt... inappropriate. Degrading, even.
As the bus slowed near the gate complex, Xiu hopped off cleanly, not sparing the vehicle or its occupants a second glance. He headed straight for the utilitarian staff building nearby.
First, the recycling depot to dump the trash. Then, the staff cafeteria – a quick, functional meal combining breakfast and lunch. He packed an extra portion – dinner – wrapping it carefully before starting the long trek back to his cabin.
Only now, on the return journey, did he allow himself to truly observe.
Near the gate, human activity dominated; Pokémon were scarce, wary. Further in, the landscape opened into a wide plain, the grass brushing against his calves. Herds of Tauros thundered across the expanse, kicking up dust, primal energy made manifest.
Beyond the plain rose low hills draped in taller grass. Here, families of Nidoran♀ and Nidoran♂ resided, watchful and territorial. He glimpsed the imposing forms of their evolved states – Nidoqueen and Nidoking – patrolling the edges of their domain, low growls rumbling warnings if he strayed too close.
Rattata were ubiquitous, a constant rustling presence in the undergrowth. He must have passed hundreds, their beady eyes watching him before they darted away.
Occasionally, a flash of fiery mane and powerful legs – a Rapidash galloping with breathtaking grace – would draw gasps even from jaded staff members. A fleeting moment of wild beauty.
Where the plains met the forest's edge, strange, bulb-headed creatures wandered. Oddish, sometimes alone, sometimes in small, shuffling groups, oblivious to his passage.
The forest itself pulsed with life. The air grew thick, damp, buzzing with unseen things. Here, the "experience babies," as trainers cynically called them, were most common: Caterpie inching along leaves, Weedle hanging precariously from branches. And flitting through the dappled sunlight, their more impressive, fully evolved forms – the delicate Butterfree and the menacing Beedrill.
This was his world now. Vast, dangerous, and filled with creatures beyond his wildest childhood dreams. And his place in it? Picking up their trainers' trash.
He sighed again, the sound lost in the rustling leaves. One step at a time.