The first sign of Littleroot Town was the lights.

  They appeared gradually as Jason and Hana crested a final hill—warm golden glows scattered across the darkening landscape like earthbound stars. Street lamps, porch lights, the soft illumination of windows where families were settling in for the evening. It was so normal, so achingly familiar despite everything, that Jason had to stop and stare.

  "First time seeing a Hoenn town?" Hana asked, a note of amusement in her voice.

  First time seeing any town in this world. First time confirming this is all real and not some elaborate hallucination.

  "Something like that," he managed.

  They descended the hill as the last light bled from the sky, the road widening and smoothing as it transitioned from rural path to proper street. Sprigatito pressed closer to Jason's legs, her earlier playfulness replaced by alert wariness as new sounds and smells washed over her.

  Littleroot Town was small—Jason knew that from the games—but "small" in video game terms and "small" in real-life terms were very different things. The town spread before him in a way the overhead sprites had never conveyed, with actual depth and dimension, actual space between the buildings that marked it as a living community rather than a handful of tiles on a screen.

  Houses lined the main road, modest but well-maintained structures with gardens and fences and all the ordinary trappings of suburban life. Most were dark now, their occupants presumably inside for dinner, but a few showed signs of activity—a woman calling her children in from the yard, a man walking a Poochyena on a leash, an elderly couple sitting on their porch and watching the evening settle.

  And everywhere, everywhere, there were Pokémon.

  Not just the Poochyena on the leash. A Taillow perched on a mailbox, preening its feathers. A Skitty lounging in a window, watching the world with half-lidded eyes. A Zigzagoon trotting down the sidewalk like it owned the place, utterly unbothered by the humans it passed.

  Jason had expected this. He'd known this was how the Pokémon world worked. But knowing and seeing were different things, and seeing made it real in a way that nothing else had.

  This is normal here. Pokémon everywhere, living alongside people, part of everyday life. This is just... how things are.

  A Wingull swooped overhead, its distinctive cry echoing through the evening air. Sprig's head snapped up to track it, her body tensing, but she relaxed when it passed without incident.

  "The Pokémon Center is near the town square," Hana said, nodding toward a larger building in the distance with a distinctive red roof. "They'll have beds available if you need a place to stay. Professor Birch's lab is just past it."

  "Professor Birch." Jason's heart rate picked up. Birch was the key—the regional professor, the person who handed out starter Pokémon and registered new trainers. If anyone could help him navigate this situation, it would be Birch. "Is he... approachable? For someone without an appointment?"

  Hana shrugged. "He's a field researcher. Spends more time in the wilderness than his lab. But when he's in town, he's usually happy to meet people. Especially—" She glanced at Sprigatito. "—people with unusual Pokémon."

  That made sense. A scientist who specialized in Pokémon would naturally be curious about a species from another region.

  They entered the town proper, passing from the outskirts into the more developed center. The buildings here were closer together, the streets better lit, the signs of commerce and community more apparent. A general store, closed for the evening. A small café with a few lingering customers visible through the windows. What looked like a school, dark and silent.

  People noticed them as they passed. Not with hostility, but with the casual curiosity of a small town where everyone knew everyone and strangers were unusual. Eyes lingered on Sprigatito especially—on her unfamiliar form, her Paldean features that no one here would recognize.

  Jason fought the urge to hunch his shoulders and avoid eye contact. He wasn't doing anything wrong. He was just a traveler, passing through. Nothing to see here.

  Except for the alien cat from another region. Nothing suspicious about that at all.

  "The Pokémon Center's just ahead," Hana said. "I need to resupply before I head out in the morning, so this is where I leave you." She paused, something flickering across her expression. "Will you be alright?"

  The question caught Jason off guard. He'd known Hana for only a few hours, but her quiet competence had been a comfort—a steady presence in a world that had gone completely sideways.

  "I think so," he said. "I'll talk to Professor Birch. Figure out my next steps." He managed a smile that felt almost genuine. "Thank you. For walking with me. For not treating me like I was crazy."

  "You might still be crazy," Hana said, but there was warmth underneath the words. "The amnesia, the mysterious transport, the Pokémon from across the world—it's a lot. But you seem..." She considered. "Genuine. Whatever's going on with you, I don't think you're lying about it."

  Small mercies.

  "I'll be training in the forests north of here for a few weeks," she continued. "Ranger certification requires field experience. If you're still in the area when I pass back through, look me up. I'd be curious to hear how your story develops."

  "I will." Jason meant it. Hana was the first person he'd properly met in this world, and while they weren't friends yet—not really—she'd offered kindness when she didn't have to. That meant something.

  Hana nodded, gave Sprigatito a small wave that the Grass-type returned with a curious chirp, and headed toward the Pokémon Center. Jason watched her go for a moment before turning his attention to the lab.

  Okay. Here goes nothing.

  Professor Birch's laboratory was larger than Jason had expected—a proper research facility rather than the quaint cottage the games had suggested. Two stories tall, with large windows and a distinctive architecture that marked it as something official, something institutional. A sign by the door confirmed what he already knew: Birch Pokémon Research Lab.

  The lights were on inside. Good sign.

  Jason climbed the front steps, Sprigatito at his heels, and hesitated with his hand raised to knock. What was he going to say? Hi, I'm from another dimension and I woke up in your forest and also I have a Pokémon from a region that's probably thousands of miles away, please help me?

  "Spriga?" Sprig was looking up at him, her head tilted in question.

  "Just... psyching myself up," he admitted. "This is a lot."

  She bumped her head against his ankle—a gesture that was becoming familiar, comforting in its repetition.

  Right. One step at a time. That's how you eat an elephant.

  He knocked.

  For a long moment, nothing happened. Then footsteps, heavy and quick, and the door swung open to reveal a man in his late thirties or early forties, broad-shouldered and tan with the weathered look of someone who spent most of his time outdoors. He was wearing a lab coat over what looked like hiking clothes, and his expression was harried but friendly.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Yes? Can I help—" Professor Birch's gaze dropped to Sprigatito, and his words cut off mid-sentence. His eyes went wide. "Is that—that's not—where did you—"

  He crouched down, completely ignoring Jason, his attention fixed on Sprigatito with the intensity of a scientist confronted with something unprecedented.

  "A Sprigatito," he breathed. "An actual Sprigatito. Here. In Hoenn." He looked up at Jason, his expression somewhere between delight and complete bewilderment. "Young man, where in the world did you find this Pokémon?"

  "It's... a long story," Jason said weakly.

  "Then you'd better come inside and tell it." Birch straightened, stepping back and gesturing them through the door. "Please. I have about a thousand questions."

  The inside of the lab was organized chaos—bookshelves crammed with texts and journals, tables covered in papers and equipment, computer screens displaying data that Jason couldn't begin to interpret. The walls were decorated with charts, maps, and what looked like field sketches of various Pokémon in their natural habitats.

  It felt lived in, in a way that Jason found oddly comforting. This wasn't a sterile corporate facility. This was a workspace for someone who genuinely loved what they did.

  Birch led them to a sitting area in one corner—a battered couch, a couple of armchairs, a coffee table covered in more papers—and gestured for Jason to sit. Sprigatito immediately jumped up onto the couch beside him, curling into a compact ball with her tail wrapped around her paws.

  Making herself at home. Good.

  "I'm Professor Birch, as I'm sure you've guessed." The professor settled into an armchair across from them, his eyes still flickering to Sprigatito every few seconds. "I study Pokémon habitats and behaviors, with a focus on the Hoenn region. And you are...?"

  "Jason Cahill." He took a breath. "And like I said, it's a long story. I'm not even sure where to start."

  "The beginning is usually traditional."

  "The beginning is the problem. I don't—" Jason hesitated, weighing how much to reveal. The full truth was impossible; no one would believe he was from another world, another dimension, where Pokémon were fictional creatures in a video game. But he could share enough to explain his situation without sounding completely insane.

  "I woke up in the forest earlier today," he said finally. "Maybe six or seven hours ago. I don't remember anything before that. No idea how I got there, no idea where I came from. Just... nothing." He gestured vaguely at his own head. "Amnesia, I guess. Complete blank."

  Birch's expression shifted from curiosity to concern. "That's... worrying. Have you seen a doctor? Head injuries can—"

  "No injuries that I can find. No bumps, no cuts on my head, no pain except for a headache when I first woke up." Jason shrugged helplessly. "I checked. Whatever happened to me, it wasn't physical trauma. At least, not the kind that leaves marks."

  The professor frowned, clearly troubled by this. "And the Sprigatito?"

  "I found her near a crashed transport. Some kind of vehicle with an Aether Foundation logo. No driver, no other passengers, just... wreckage and scattered cargo. She was hiding under one of the crates, terrified."

  "An Aether transport." Birch leaned forward, his scientific curiosity visibly warring with his concern. "That would explain how a Paldean Pokémon ended up in Hoenn. The Foundation does conservation relocations, moving Pokémon between regions for breeding programs and habitat restoration. If one of their transports crashed..."

  "The driver might have gone for help," Jason offered. "Or been injured and taken somewhere. I didn't look too hard—I was more focused on getting out of the forest and finding civilization."

  "Understandable." Birch was quiet for a moment, processing. "You said you don't remember anything. Do you have any identification? Documents? Anything that might tell us who you are or where you're from?"

  Jason had anticipated this question. He pulled out his wallet and handed it over, watching Birch flip through its contents with growing confusion.

  "I don't recognize this currency," the professor said slowly, examining one of the dollar bills. "Or this..." He squinted at Jason's driver's license. "Ohio? Is that a region?"

  "I don't know," Jason lied. "The name sounds familiar, but I can't... I don't remember."

  Birch studied the license for a long moment, then handed the wallet back with a sigh. "Whatever happened to you, it's beyond my expertise to diagnose. I'm a Pokémon researcher, not a medical doctor. But I can make some calls in the morning—there are specialists who deal with amnesia cases, and the League has resources for unusual situations."

  "I appreciate that." Jason tucked the wallet away, relieved that the professor hadn't pressed harder. "In the meantime, I was hoping... well. I found Sprig. She and I, we've been through this together. Whatever this is. I want to take care of her, if that's possible. Make it official."

  "You want to register as her trainer."

  "If that's how it works, yes."

  Birch's gaze moved to Sprigatito, who had been watching the conversation with alert interest. Her ears were perked forward, her red eyes moving between the two humans as if following their words.

  "Sprigatito," the professor said gently. "This man—Jason—he wants to be your trainer. To take responsibility for you, care for you, travel with you. Is that something you want?"

  Sprig looked at Birch. Then she looked at Jason—a long, considering look that felt like it weighed more than her small body should allow. Then she stood, padded across the couch cushion, and pressed herself firmly against Jason's side.

  "Spriga."

  It was, unmistakably, an answer.

  Something tight in Jason's chest loosened. He hadn't realized until that moment how afraid he'd been that she might say no. That she might decide the crash, the forest, the hours of walking—that all of it had just been circumstance, not connection.

  But she'd chosen him. Deliberately, consciously chosen him.

  I won't let you down, he thought, resting a hand on her warm fur. I promise.

  Birch smiled, the expression softening his weathered features. "Well. That's about as clear an answer as I've ever seen." He stood, moving toward one of the lab's many shelves. "I'll need to register you in the trainer database, which requires some paperwork. Given your... unique circumstances, we'll have to work around the missing documentation, but I can vouch for you personally. Professor's privilege."

  He returned with a small box, opening it to reveal a row of Pokéballs in various colors—red and white, blue and white, others Jason didn't immediately recognize.

  "Standard trainer kit," Birch explained. "Five Pokéballs to start, a Pokédex for identification and research, and a trainer card that serves as your official identification within the League system." He paused, a twinkle in his eye. "Any preference on Sprig's ball? Most trainers match the ball type to their Pokémon's personality or aesthetic."

  Jason looked at the options. His eyes landed on a ball that was white with a red stripe around the center—the colors inverted from the standard design.

  "That one," he said. "The Premier Ball."

  "Ah, a classic choice. Elegant." Birch plucked the ball from the box and handed it over. "You'll need to officially catch her, of course. Just a formality at this point, but the system requires it."

  Jason held the Premier Ball in his hand, feeling its weight, its smoothness, the faint warmth that suggested some kind of internal mechanism. He looked at Sprigatito, who was watching the ball with undisguised curiosity.

  "Ready, Sprig?"

  "Sprigatito!" She bumped her head against the ball, and there was a flash of red light—

  —and then she was gone, the ball rocking gently once, twice, three times before clicking still.

  Jason stared at the ball in his hand. At the creature—the partner—contained within. The reality of what he'd just done crashed over him like a wave.

  I'm a Pokémon trainer now. I have a Pokémon. This is actually happening.

  He pressed the release button, and Sprigatito materialized on the couch beside him, shaking herself slightly as if emerging from a brief nap.

  "Sprig?" She looked around, apparently checking that everything was still where it should be, then settled back against Jason's side with a satisfied chirp.

  "Congratulations," Birch said warmly. "You're officially a trainer." He began rummaging through more equipment. "Now, let's get you set up with the rest. Pokédex, trainer card, basic supplies..."

  An hour later, Jason sat on a bench outside the Pokémon Center, staring up at the stars.

  They were different here. Not dramatically—the constellations were similar enough that he couldn't pinpoint specific changes—but different in a way that he could feel rather than see. The light pollution was almost nonexistent, the sky a vast canvas of brilliant points that stretched from horizon to horizon.

  Sprigatito was asleep in his lap, exhausted from the day's events. The Premier Ball was clipped to his belt—his belt, which now had actual Pokéball clips built into it, because of course it did, because this was the Pokémon world and that was just how things worked here.

  His new Pokédex sat in his pocket, a slim device that had chirped happily when he'd pointed it at Sprigatito and rattled off information he already knew. His trainer card was tucked into his wallet beside his now-useless driver's license, a small rectangle of plastic that proclaimed him to be Jason Cahill, Trainer ID #847291, registered in Hoenn under Professor Birch's sponsorship.

  It was real. All of it. Inescapably, undeniably real.

  Jason pulled out his phone and plugged in his headphones. 54% battery—he'd have to figure out a charging solution eventually, but for now, he had time. He scrolled through his playlists, looking for something that matched his mood.

  He settled on Breaking Benjamin. "So Cold."

  Crowded streets are cleared away, one by one...

  The music washed over him, familiar and grounding, a thread connecting him to a world that suddenly felt impossibly far away. He thought about Nonna, about his brother, about the life he'd left behind without warning or choice. He thought about Poppy, about the promises he'd made, about the guilt that sat heavy in his chest.

  I'm sorry, he thought, though he didn't know who he was apologizing to. I didn't choose this. I don't know how to get back. I don't even know if getting back is possible.

  Sprigatito stirred in his lap, making a small sound of contentment. She was warm and soft and trusting, and she was his now—his responsibility, his partner, his friend.

  But I'm not alone. That's something. That's enough to start with.

  The song played on, and Jason watched the unfamiliar stars wheel overhead, and somewhere in the darkness, a future he couldn't imagine was waiting to unfold.