Austin, a die-hard Pokémon fan, is disenchanted with the series' direction post-Sinnoh. After a typical late-night binge-watch, he drifts off to sleep, only to wake up in an unimaginable reality: he is Ash Ketchum, and today is the morning his legen...
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They called him Seymour the Crazy. Behind his back, of course. But he heard them. He always heard them. Pewter City had no shortage of skeptics and dismissive grins whenever he passed by. It was easier for people to laugh and label him a madman than to confront the truth.
Team Rocket.
The very name twisted knots in his stomach. If they truly had their sights set on Mt. Moon, the Clefairy tribe was in grave danger. They'd sell them off to the highest bidder like mere commodities—cute faces with price tags. The thought made his blood simmer.
But funds... the curse of all his ventures. He had barely enough to keep his research afloat, let alone hire a proper mercenary trainer. The type that rented their skills because they couldn't quite make it to the big leagues, those who hovered around the seventh-grade Pokémon ranges. Reliable, maybe, but far too expensive. With every coin counted and most of his grants exhausted, he needed a cheaper, more grassroots solution.
Standing outside the Pewter City Pokémon League, he could feel every bead of sweat gathering on his brow. The sign he held up felt heavier than it was, like it bore the weight of his desperation. He scribbled out a rhyme, something that might appeal to wandering trainers looking for a quick job: "Hiring for a trek to Mt. Moon's heart, will pay 2000, who's ready to start?"
The money was all he had to offer.
Two thousand Pokédollars wasn't much for the trek he had in mind, and certainly not for the risk. As the hours ticked by, most trainers simply glanced his way before hurrying on. They knew, as he did, that Mt. Moon was an untamed labyrinth of danger. Some stopped to inquire, eyes gleaming with thoughts of easy cash. But their interest always fizzled when he mentioned his plans.
His heart sank a little more with each dismissive reply. He was after the secret Clefairy tribe, the guardians of the secret hidden in the heart of Mt. Moon. Those who truly understood the rhythms of the moonlight...
He'd almost given up, slumping back on a bench with his shoulders weighed down, when a shadow stopped in front of him. He looked up. A young trainer, his face mostly hidden under the hood of his jacket. The black windbreaker with its red inner lining and the patches on the sleeves looked... lived-in. There was a quiet sense of familiarity about him, not in his face, but in his aura. A vagabond who felt at home in the chaos of the road.
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