Jake's brain blue-screened.
Those words, that interface, that style—damn, wasn't this the exact pokémon status screen from the games?
[Template: Garchomp]
[Current Form: Gible]
Garchomp!
Gible!
Land-shark! Can't learn Dragon Dance! Base 102 Speed!
Countless terms exploded in his head, then were forcibly strung together.
There's a certain pokémon.
It's a physical attacker with a mega-evolution that cranks its Attack sky-high at the cost of 10 Speed.
Dual-typed: one grants great coverage and reliable power, but is walled by one immunity; the other has a Move that boosts both Speed and offense—yet it can't learn that dance.
Four-times weak to Ice—proof of a true powerhouse. In its base form it battled for Ash in the Sinnoh League and bled against Darkrai. Its Japanese name has five syllables ending in 'su.' That pokémon is…!
(Yes…! Heracross: "You called?")
Wrong.
It's Lord Garchomp, hands on hips!
Capulius Caesar felt a whirl of emotions.
He had transmigrated into this world's 'Little Earth Dragon,' a despised inferior breed.
Yet he'd awakened the template of the pokémon world's very own 'Land-Shark' pseudo-legendary—Garchomp!
What was this—cosmic convergence?
"Awooo…"
A faint breath squeaked out of the tiny earth dragon's throat.
System? Golden Finger? Daddy, is that you?~"
Jake screamed inwardly, so excited he almost forgot to breathe.
He stared fixedly at the translucent panel.
The Little Earth Dragon devoured every line.
[True Name: Capulius Caesar]
[Rank: 1]
[Form: Gible]
[Type: Dragon/Ground]
[Abilities: Sand Veil (inactive: boosts evasion in Sandstorm); Rough Skin (inactive: injures foes on contact)]
[Base Stats (Current / Max Potential):]
(Note: these are base stats)
[HP: 58/108]
[Attack: 70/130]
[Defense: 45/95]
[Sp. Atk: 40/80]
[Sp. Def: 45/85]
[Speed: 42/102]
[Total: 300/600]
[Move Pool: Tackle (unlearned), Sand Attack (unlearned)]
[EXP: 0/100]
Clean, concise, everything at a glance.
Jake's gaze locked on the one thing he knew—and loved—most: base stats!
Right now they were pitiful: 58 HP, 70 Attack, 45 in both defenses, snail-like 42 Speed. In-game, this loser couldn't even beat the starter route bird.
But that wasn't what he saw.
He saw the 'max potential' numbers!
108 HP, 130 Attack, 95 in both defenses, and that crucial 102 Speed tier!
A grand total of 600!
"Do you even know what 600 base stats means? Do you know the weight of a pseudo-legendary?!"
Jake laughed and roared inside.
This was a pseudo-legendary!
In the pokémon world, only the true gods and mythicals stand above them; each one is an absolute daddy of competitive play!
(Sure, they still lose to 550s, ahem.)
Bloodline supremacy? Little Earth Dragons are trash?
Screw that!
I'm Garchomp!
Next, the abilities.
Sand Veil and Rough Skin.
The corners of Jake's mouth shot upward.
Sand Veil is basically blank without a Sandstorm team—but who knows what weather exists here? If Sandstorm exists, it's god-tier.
Back in the days of perma-sand, Garchomp with Leftovers was a stalling king—
And the other one, Rough Skin!
That's the real gem—an anti-contact terror!
He instantly recalled the classic "helmet-shark" build: give it a Rocky Helmet, pair it with Rough Skin, and any physical attacker that dares touch him shaves off a huge chunk of its own HP. How many times had he stalled out key sweepers with that trick?
Now that solid second-tier ability was coded into his DNA… though marked 'inactive,' once unlocked he'd be a walking Rocky Helmet!
Further down, the Move pool.
Tackle and Sand Attack.
Two basic Elementary Moves, still gray and 'unlearned.'
Tackle—bland physical damage.
Sand Attack—a luck-based accuracy drop (status) that in hard-mode early game can swing fights.
Acceptable start!
"Sss—"
Unable to contain himself, he opened wide, desperate to prove this wasn't a dream. Mimicking a land-shark's bite, he chomped hard on his stubby forearm.
"Awoo!"
Pain flared!
A rich taste of blood filled his mouth.
It hurt!
But damn, it felt good!
The translucent panel didn't flicker; it hovered silently, mocking his earlier doubt.
Not a dream, awoo!
It's all real!
One second he'd been in Hell waiting to die, the next he'd been yanked into Heaven and given a VIP seat.
Every last scrap of Jake's negativity was washed away in that instant, replaced by volcanic excitement and something called ambition.
He lifted his head and took another look at the huge, dark, freezing cave.
Before, it had felt like the tomb that would bury him.
Now, where was the tomb?
This was clearly the starter town—the map for grinding levels!
Those distant, half-seen titans, those proud Silver Dragons and Red Dragons, were no longer invincible gods; they were future bosses, measuring sticks for his own power.
And those hatchling earth-dragons—pathetic, dusty grey things—were still fighting to the death over scraps of meat. Caesar's gaze changed.
What had been pity and sorrow became cold indifference… and a hint of hunger.
Sorry, we're all earth-dragons, but from today we're not the same.
He even glanced at the name on his status panel.
[Caesar].
It was probably this body's inborn true name, utterly ordinary in this world, even a bit old-fashioned.
To Jake, though, the name bled raw dominance.
Caesar!
With that name and the power of Garchomp, he would stamp the world's so-called bloodline theory underfoot and crush it to dust!
He would let those lofty Gold and Silver Dragons know what a real Dragon was!
Grrr…
A fierce cramp in his gut dragged Caesar back from his daydream.
Energy was draining fast; if he didn't eat soon, he'd become history's first pseudo-legendary to starve to death.
Hunger doused him like a bucket of cold water.
Meal by meal, level by level—that was the only way.
Right now he was Rank 1, a total weakling who hadn't even mastered the basic Moves Tackle and Sand Attack.
He couldn't even snatch food from the blood-eyed kin beside him, let alone challenge the high-Rank Dragon Clan.
He had to find food, refill his energy, then learn a Move!
Caesar's eyes locked again on the black lizard that had slipped through a crack and mocked him earlier.
The palm-sized creature was on a nearby rock, licking moss off the wall.
To the old Jake it had been an uncatchable blur.
To the new Caesar it was a walking string of numbers.
[EXP: 5].
The information floated unbidden on his panel.
A pitiful amount, but the only safe, reachable "wild mob" in sight.
Caesar crouched, short claws gripping stone, mimicking a cheetah about to pounce.
His mind raced.
Charge straight in? No.
He'd already failed once; this body was too clumsy and slow.
The lizard was quick—one twitch and it would vanish back into the crack.
He had to score on the first strike.
How?
His gaze slid to the two gray slots in his Move pool.
[Tackle] [Sand Attack].
How to unlock them?
Did he need to level up, like in a game? He couldn't yet.
Or… did he have to practise?
A bold idea formed.
He edged back behind a larger rock, out of the lizard's sight.
Then he lowered his head to the ground.
Dust and fine grit covered it.
"Sand Attack…"
He lifted his bleeding claw and, recalling how pokémon used the Move, flung a pawful at the dirt.
Whoosh—
A puff of dust rose… then flopped straight back down.
Fail.
Sand Attack stayed gray on the panel.
Caesar wasn't discouraged.
Again!
He focused, recalling Little Earth Dragon's Move from the anime, gathered every trace of strength into his foreclaw.
This time he didn't just "throw"; he tried to drive a force.
"Get—up—!"
Whoof!
The result was totally different.
A fistful of sand shot forward on an invisible thrust, travelling half a metre—a real mini-sandstream!
A crisp ding rang in his head.
[Move 'Sand Attack' mastered!]
On the panel, the words Sand Attack turned from gray to white.
Done!
Elated, Caesar barely kept himself from jumping.
The prey was still there.
Now—hunt time.
He turned back to the unsuspecting black lizard, confidence absolute.
Let's farm!