The rented room was barely a room.
Four metal walls. One flickering light. A table bolted to the floor. A sink that coughed rusty water. The air was thick with a chemical bite—cheap disinfectant mixed with crushed berries, salt-mineral flakes, and something sharp enough to sting the eyes.
Enzo had been "cooking" for thirty-six hours.
No sleep.
No breaks.
Just hands grinding, stirring, pressing, timing—again and again—until his fingers shook and his thoughts started to smear at the edges.
On the table, a pile of failures sat like evidence: cracked blocks, burnt mash, cubes that smelled wrong, cubes that crumbled too easily, cubes that would attract nothing but insects.
He wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his wrist and stared at the latest batch.
His vision swam.
Then the System flickered.
Not the usual cold scan.
Not mission text.
Something… different.
Like an invisible chef had leaned over his shoulder and decided he was tired of watching amateurs ruin ingredients.
[ ALERT ]
Temperature unstable.
Reduce heat by 12%. Now.
Enzo froze.
"…What?"
Another line snapped in.
[ TIMING WINDOW ]
Add spicy berry concentrate: 3 seconds.
3… 2… 1…
Enzo moved on instinct—hands obeying before his brain fully caught up. He poured the concentrate. The mixture hissed, turning darker, richer, the scent shifting from sour to sharp.
[ BINDING ]
Add mineral flakes. Stir counter-clockwise.
Compress. Hold.
Enzo's jaw tightened.
It wasn't explaining.
It was commanding.
And it was right.
The mash stopped separating. The texture changed. It became dense, tight, like it wanted to stay together. Enzo pressed it into the mold, palms aching, and held until his arms trembled.
[ FINISHING ]
Cool rapidly. Seal for 6 minutes.
He did it.
Six minutes passed like a dare.
When he peeled the foil away, the block underneath wasn't dull or crumbly.
It glowed faintly—red, like heat trapped inside a perfect cube.
The System approved it with a single, clinical line.
Medium-Grade Pokéblock for Flying Types
Enzo stared.
Medium-grade.
Most people could only make low-grade blocks—cheap, inconsistent, barely good enough to lure the desperate. Medium-grade took skill, proper tools, experience… the kind of experience nobody on Trial Island had time to develop.
And he had made it in a rented room with a rusty sink and a borrowed mold.
Because the System had guided his hands like it owned them.
Enzo swallowed.
Enzo's fingers clenched around the cube.
Then, from inside his pouch, a different warmth pulsed.
The Koffing's ball.
Not fever-hot.
Alive-hot.
Enzo's breath hitched.
The button clicked under his thumb.
Light flashed.
Purple gas poured out and formed into a familiar sphere.
Koffing hovered in the air—perfectly intact, vents clean, grin wide and stupid as ever.
It spun once, as if showing off its recovery, then drifted closer like it had missed him.
The bond tether tightened in Enzo's chest—thin, unpleasant, undeniable.
Koffing burbled happily.
Enzo didn't smile.
He glanced at the timer instead.
[ TIME REMAINING: 18 HOURS ]
Eighteen.
That wasn't a hunt.
That was a sprint.
He slid the Medium-Grade Pokéblocks into a sealed pouch carefully, like they were grenades with a smell.
Then he stood.
His legs felt heavy.
His mind felt sharp anyway.
"Let's Move," Enzo said.
Koffing bobbed beside him, obedient and dangerous.
And Enzo left the room behind without looking back.
The northeast climb was all wind and stone.
The air got colder the higher he went, and the jungle thinned into broken rock, sharp ledges, and narrow paths that forced you to watch every step or bleed for it.
A wrong footing here didn't mean bruises.
It meant falling.
He wasn't alone.
Other recruits were on the mountain too—small figures in grey moving between boulders, clustered in groups like they were afraid to breathe without witnesses.
Enzo saw them first.
They saw him second.
The moment they noticed the Koffing floating at his shoulder, something changed.
Heads turned.
Whispers sparked.
A boy tugged his friend's sleeve and pointed.
Someone mouthed two words like a curse.
"Mad Bomber."
They made space for him.
Not respect.
Not approval.
Fear.
A group of four that had been blocking a narrow pass shifted aside without being asked. One of them actually backed up fast enough to stumble, eyes locked on Koffing like it might explode just because it was happy.
Enzo walked through their silence as if it belonged to him.
He didn't slow.
He didn't speak.
He just climbed.
The wind sharpened near the top, whipping his uniform, biting his ears. Rocks rose like teeth from the ground. The path narrowed into a ridge, then widened into a plateau littered with metal.
Not Rocket Metal.
Foreign metal.
Bent beams. Torn panels. Strange alloy plates half-buried in stone. Pieces of a transport craft that didn't belong to Kanto.
A crash site.
A dump.
A graveyard of stolen cargo.
Enzo's gaze swept the wreckage and then moved upward—to the cliffside where nests clung in jagged pockets, tucked between rock and twisted metal.
He saw them.
Black feathers.
Small bodies.
Sharp eyes that watched everything.
Rookidee.
Not just one.
A flock.
They hopped along the ledges, wings flicking, beaks clicking, heads tilting in quick, intelligent motions. They weren't like Pidgey. They didn't look soft. They looked like they'd been built.
Enzo's hand tightened on the pouch of blocks.
Somewhere among them, the leader moved differently—bigger, steadier, a presence that made the others keep their distance.
Enzo could tell by instinct.
Eight guards clustered around the leader, Rookidee that snapped at any other bird that got too close, keeping the center clean like a living wall.
Enzo exhaled slowly.
Eighteen hours had become a lie.
If his plan took too long, it didn't matter what he was hunting.
He would die before the ball clicked.
He crouched behind a slab of wreckage and watched the flock.
His eyes narrowed.
"Alright," he murmured. "We do this the fast way."
Koffing drifted close, humming with excitement like it had been waiting for permission.
Enzo's gaze slid to it.
He hated that it loved this.
But he needed it.
He pulled a Medium-Grade Pokéblock for Flying Types from the pouch and broke it into smaller chunks.
The scent hit the air—sharp, hot, addictive.
The flock reacted immediately.
Heads snapped toward him.
Bodies shifted.
A few Rookidee hopped closer without realizing it, attention stolen by hunger and instinct.
Enzo held still.
Then he tossed the first chunk.
It arced through the wind and landed on stone with a soft tap.
A Rookidee darted in.
Then another.
Then three.
The "guards" didn't abandon the Alpha completely—but their formation loosened, pulled apart by the scent like a chain being pried open link by link.
Enzo's eyes hardened.
Time was collapsing.
He didn't have minutes to be elegant.
He had seconds to be alive.
He leaned toward Koffing.
"Go on," Enzo whispered, voice low and cruelly calm. "I know you want to."
Koffing's grin widened.
It vibrated.
It thrummed.
Enzo threw two more chunks—closer to the Alpha this time.
The guard rookidee shifted again, drawn by hunger, by unfamiliar food that promised power.
The Leader lowered its head and stepped forward.
Enzo's fingers tightened around Koffing.
"Now."
He hurled the Koffing into the middle of the flock—into the heart of the loosened formation, right where the wind funneled between wreckage and cliff like an invisible tunnel.
The eye of the hurricane.
Koffing bounced once, floated upright, and smiled like it was proud.
Rookidee converged.
Fast.
Instinctive.
Eight guards and the leader are all within range.
Enzo's voice cut through the wind.
"Now koffing!"
Smile for the camera.
Koffing's eyes rolled back.
Its body swelled.
Not like a move.
Like a pressure chamber reaching its limit.
"KOFFIIIIIIING!"
For a fraction of a second, the plateau inhaled.
Then—
SELF-DESTRUCT.
The explosion was obscene.
White force bloomed outward, bigger than the last time—wind and pressure turning into a single violent sphere that erased sound and light and movement all at once.
Feathers vaporized.
Metal screamed.
The wreckage shook like it wanted to lift off and flee.
Enzo threw himself behind a jagged rock shelf as the shockwave hammered into the plateau and ripped across the cliffside.
Heat washed over him.
Dust and ash and burnt feather fragments turned the air into a storm.
Then everything fell silent.
A silence so heavy it felt like the world was holding its breath.
Enzo stood, lungs burning, ears ringing, and looked out across the clearing.
Smoke crawled over stone.
Charred feathers drifted down like snow.
Burn marks spiderwebbed across the plateau, and the nests above were shattered, half-collapsed from the blast.
No flock.
No guards.
Only bodies.
Only ruin.
In the center of the blast zone, Koffing lay on the ground—blackened, deflated…
…and still grinning.
Even unconscious, the stupid bomb looked pleased with itself.
Enzo didn't hesitate.
He recalled it.
The ball snapped shut, warm and heavy in his hand.
He tightened his grip.
The System answered immediately.
[ SUBJECT STATUS: KOFFING ]
Condition: Recovered
Level: 9 ➝ 12
New Move Learned: —
Potential: RED ➝ LIGHT RED
Enzo stared at the last line for a heartbeat.
Light Red….
He exhaled through his nose and shook his head once.
"Doesn't matter," he muttered.
He forced himself to move.
Now.
Before the timer punished him for breathing.
He walked through ash and burnt feathers until he found the Alpha.
Not dead.
Injured.
Wings twisted, chest heaving, eyes half-open and furious even in pain.
It tried to snap at him, but its body didn't obey fast enough.
Enzo crouched.
He reached out and touched its feathers.
The System flared to life instantly.
[ POKÉMON PROFILE — ]Specimen: Rookidee (Alpha)Level: 14 Condition: InjuredPotential: GREEN (Excellent)
Enzo's chest loosened for the first time in days.
Green.
Finally.
He pulled out his first Great Ball, thumb steady.
"Stay down," he muttered.
He threw it.
The Great Ball struck the Alpha's body, opened, and swallowed it in a red beam.
One shake.
Two.
Click.
Enzo exhaled.
"Done."
He turned—
And heard it.
A small sound.
Not wind.
Not smoke.
A fragile crack.
Enzo froze.
He followed the noise uphill to what remained of the nesting ledge.
A nest, half-burnt, wedged between metal and rock.
Four eggs lay broken—shell fragments scattered like white teeth.
One egg remained intact.
It trembled.
A hairline fracture spread across it.
Then it cracked open.
A tiny beak pushed through.
A small, wet body wriggled free.
A newborn Rookidee—shaking, ugly with birth, eyes barely open.
Alive.
Enzo stared for half a second.
Then he moved in.
He touched it gently—just a fingertip against damp feathers.
The System answered immediately.
[ POKÉMON PROFILE — ]
Specimen: Rookidee (Newborn)
Potential: DEEP GREEN
Obs: "Survived blast due to abnormal bone density. High structural resilience. Tank-grade physiology."
Enzo's eyes narrowed.
Deep Green.
Not just excellent.
Exceptional inside excellent.
And nobody but the System could even name that difference.
His heartbeat sped up.
This wasn't part of the plan.
This was… luck.
Or the island trying to tempt him.
He pulled out his second Great Ball.
The baby chirped weakly.
Enzo threw the ball.
Light swallowed the newborn.
The Great Ball hit the ground.
One shake—two—three
"Done"
Then the System cut across his vision, sharp and centered.
[ VIRUS SYSTEM PROMPT ]
Compatible target detected.
Transmit VIRUS to Pokémon?
YES / NO
Enzo's breath caught.
It was offering him the same "cheat" again.
The same forbidden rewrite.
His mind flashed to Deep Red.
To what the virus had done in seconds.
To what it might do to Deep Green.
He didn't hesitate.
"Yes," Enzo said.
The Great Ball pulsed—blue, then violet.
The air around it shimmered like heat distortion.
For a heartbeat, Enzo felt the tether tug—thin, invasive—trying to anchor itself to something new.
The System stamped confirmation.
[ VIRUS TRANSMISSION: CONFIRMED ]
[ INJECTING… ]
[ … ]
[ INJECTION COMPLETE ]
The Great Ball shook again.
Then stilled.
Click.
The ball closed.
And Enzo's vision filled with one final update.
[ POKÉMON PROFILE — UPDATED ]
Specimen: Rookidee (VIRUS ACTIVE)
Potential: LIGHT BLUE
Obs: "Genetic structure optimized. Growth ceiling elevated."
Enzo went completely still.
Light Blue.
Prodigy.
Not Deep Green anymore.
It had jumped a tier.
The kind of jump that would make League professors stare at charts for hours and still argue.
Enzo swallowed.
Then—finally—something almost like relief touched his face.
A small, exhausted smile.
"A partner," he whispered.
A real one.
Not a bomb.
Something that could fly.
Something that could grow.
Something that could carry him out of the pit.
His eyes snapped to the corner of his vision.
[ TIME REMAINING: 00:02:11 ]
Two minutes.
He hadn't just won.
He'd won by a breath.
The timer bled down anyway.
00:01:10
00:00:32
00:00:08
Enzo's lungs held.
00:00:03
00:00:02
00:00:01
00:00:00
The System chimed.
Not gentle.
Not friendly.
Final.
[ MISSION COMPLETE ]
Rank: S
Status: SUCCESS
Enzo didn't even have time to feel it.
The next window slammed into his skull like a verdict.
[ REWARD ]
PSYCHIC AWAKENING INITIATED
Pain detonated behind his eyes.
Not like a headache.
Like someone had grabbed his brain with both hands and started tearing it open—then rebuilding it while he was still awake.
Forcing new connections.
Snapping old ones.
Breaking walls he didn't know existed.
Rewriting a shape inside his skull that had never asked for permission.
Enzo staggered.
He released Koffing—still fainted—more out of reflex than reason, as if seeing something in front of him would keep him grounded.
It didn't.
His vision split into double images. The plateau spun. The sky tilted at a wrong angle.
Warm liquid ran from his nose.
He wiped it and saw red on his fingers.
His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.
A sound tore out of him—half a breath, half a strangled scream.
He dropped to one knee.
Then both.
Cold rock bit into his palms.
His breath came in ragged bursts, shallow and uneven, like his lungs couldn't agree on a rhythm.
He tried to stay conscious.
He tried to hold the Great Balls on his belt like anchors.
He tried to hear the wind—anything but the screaming inside his skull.
He failed.
Enzo collapsed onto the mountain stone.
The world dimmed.
The last thing he saw before darkness took him was the edge of the plateau.