The first thing she felt was a dull throb at the back of her skull.

  Not pain exactly—just enough discomfort to know something had gone wrong.

  A warm hand rested on her forehead, calloused fingers brushing her bangs aside. Then a second set of hands—softer, trembling slightly—cradled her face.

  "Rhea, sweetie? Can you hear me?"

  The voice was too high. Too gentle. And the name didn’t feel right.

  She opened her eyes.

  Light poured through stted wooden blinds, casting golden stripes across a rustic room. The bed beneath her felt too soft, like she was sinking into it. And above her were two faces—unfamiliar, but deeply emotional. A woman with wavy auburn hair and tear-streaked cheeks, and a man with broad shoulders and ash-blonde stubble on his chin.

  "She’s awake!" the woman cried. "Oh thank Arceus."

  Wait—what?

  Arceus?

  The man pressed a damp cloth to her forehead. “Easy now. You took a bad bump pying outside. Rhyhorn charged too close, and you slipped when Charizard tried to pull you away.”

  Rhyhorn.

  Charizard.

  Her heart stopped. Not skipped—stopped. Froze solid in her chest for half a second as the words bounced around in her head, struggling to make sense.

  “Wh—what did you say?” Her voice cracked. It was high. Too young. Like someone else’s vocal cords had hijacked hers.

  Her father—because that had to be who he was—smiled with practiced calm. “Rhyhorn and Charizard. You know, your mother’s team. They were just pying around with you, and things got a little too rough. You're okay now, sweetheart.”

  She sat up too fast and winced. The throb in her skull fred. A hand—her own—moved to press against the pain, and she paused.

  Her hand was small.

  So was her arm. Her legs, now visible under the bnket, looked like they belonged to a child.

  “What… the hell?” she whispered.

  The woman gasped softly. “Language…”

  “I need a mirror,” she muttered, pushing the bnket away.

  Her father tried to steady her. “Rhea, you need to rest—”

  But she was already swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. The world spun for a moment, the wooden floor snting sideways. She bit her lip and held her breath until it passed. Then she ran—more like stumbled—toward the attached bathroom.

  The face staring back at her was foreign.

  Big grey-blue eyes. Freckles. A thin face framed by messy chestnut hair. No wrinkles. No exhaustion. No adult sadness. No familiarity.

  She looked maybe nine. Ten, tops.

  And then it hit her. Like a dam breaking.

  The warmth of the bnkets. The softness of the mattress. The clean, nature-heavy scent of the room. The name “Arceus.” The fact that someone owned a Charizard. A Rhyhorn.

  Her hands gripped the sink like it could anchor her to reality.

  This isn’t Earth.

  This isn’t her apartment.

  This isn’t her adult body.

  This isn’t her old life.

  Fshes of that other life came crashing back in waves.

  A cubicle filled with sticky notes and blinking monitors. Coffee stains on a budget keyboard. Rain tapping against the window as she pulled reports no one read. Falling asleep to anime reruns. Pying Pokémon for comfort more than fun. Watching Ash Ketchum scream “Pikachu!” for the thousandth time. Daydreaming about what it would be like—not to win, but just be there. In that world. Just once.

  She gripped the edge of the sink harder.

  "I died…?"

  She didn’t remember dying, but maybe it was an accident. A stroke. Sleep gone wrong. She had stayed up too te again. Maybe her body just gave out. Or maybe none of that mattered.

  Because this was real. The mirror didn’t lie.

  Her name was Rhea, apparently. She was ten. And she was in the Pokémon world.

  She stumbled back into the bedroom.

  Her mother was holding a cup of Oran berry juice. The smell confirmed it: Oran berries. She could remember using them in battles. The stats were engraved in her head from all those nights grinding for EVs.

  “I… I think I need some air,” she whispered.

  Her parents exchanged a gnce but didn’t argue.

  Outside, the yard was warm with te spring sun. A rge stone fence bordered the property, and beyond it, open fields stretched toward a distant forest. The air smelled like grass and Pokémon musk. A distant growl made her turn—and there, lounging in the sun like a cat, was a full-grown Charizard. Wings folded, tail fme burning low.

  Not a plush. Not a 3D model. Real.

  Closer to the fence, a Rhyhorn grazed with its huge, armored head buried in the grass. It grunted softly as she passed, nuzzling her hand like it recognized her.

  Her knees gave out.

  She sat right there in the dirt, palms shaking, eyes wide.

  This was it.

  This was real.

  No game screen. No narrator. No tutorials.

  Just Rhea—whoever that was now—and a life reset.

  She stayed there until her father came to sit beside her, saying nothing. He didn’t press her, didn’t ask what was wrong.

  She gnced up at him and asked the question that had been cwing at her since she looked in the mirror.

  “…Do I have a birthday coming up?”

  He smiled. “In three weeks, yeah. Big ten.”

  Ten.

  That was it. The legal Trainer age.

  Three weeks until her actual journey could begin.

  She nodded, slowly.

  “I want to register for the Kalos League.”

  He blinked. “Already?”

  “I know what I’m doing.” She paused. “Mostly.”

  “Let’s talk to your mom about it.”

  That night, she couldn’t sleep. Not from nerves—she was already past that. It was anticipation. Her mind spun like a fan, clicking through pns.

  If this was Kalos, then Froakie, Fennekin, and Chespin would be the starters. She ran the numbers in her head. Froakie’s base Speed. Greninja’s type spread. The Protean ability—game-breaking, if it existed here. She’d seen it dominate competitive scenes.

  Fennekin had appeal—Psychic and Fire, solid Sp. Atk. Chespin was bulky, but Grass/Fighting had too many counters in Kalos.

  No. Froakie was the optimal choice.

  And she wouldn’t waste time being starry-eyed about it.

  She wasn’t here to chase dreams.

  She was here to make her mark—calcuted, precise, and one badge at a time.