Chapter Text
Rain slicked the cobblestone street of Nimbasa’s western district, the glow of neon spilling out from cafés and Poké Centers, mixing with the soft buzz of Rotom-powered billboards. Cars hummed quietly past, and for a second, it didn’t feel like a “fantasy world” at all. It felt like home—except for the Emolga gliding between lampposts and the Trubbish rummaging through bins with beady eyes.
Oh, and the one known as Mateo Cruz, sixteen, clutching his umbrella and blinking up at the drizzle, still hadn’t quite gotten used to any of this. Not the fact that Pokémon were everywhere. Not the fact that the Poké Mart (Apperantly) had a drive-thru. And definitely not the fact that everyone treated being a “Trainer” like having a driver’s license—normal, expected, essential.
He wasn’t from here. Not even from this world.
But nobody knew that. Not his adoptive Paldean family, the Salazars—warm, talkative, and deeply sentimental—or the teachers at Nimbasa Technical Academy who kept trying to convince him to join their “Trainer Prep” program.
And He’d gotten good at pretending.
Good at nodding when people mentioned Gym Challenges, even though the thought of fighting professionally trained Pokémon still felt… impossible, a mountain in itself even, now he wasn't a coward, he would very much like to fight in a Pokemon Battle, something that many children and Pokemon fans wanted to do. But one wrong move and he's out in a Pokemon battle.
The Salazars thought he was from Alola, though he didn't find any correlation to that, or maybe even from Paldea like them since It explained his accent, his lack (somewhat) of ID, his occasional staring when someone mentioned “Galar politics” or “PokéCorp expansions.”
They’d met and subsequently adopted him almost on sight when the authorities found him wandering near Route 4, dazed, wearing a soaked school uniform and holding nothing but a strange smartphone that didn’t connect to any network in Unova.
And that was it, he got adopted into the family, though he still considered himself to be only "Mateo Cruz" and not "Mateo Salazar Cruz" at times, mostly because of his attachment to home.
He fondled the PokeBall in his hand and had his mind occupied with the events of the day, a school day, relatively....normal, a quiz that caught his class off-guard, a sudden announcement of a upcoming Battle tomorrow, and the lower grade students getting their first Pokemon.
“Mateo, cariño!”
As a voice—Mrs. Salazar’s voice called from their apartment doorway, warm as a Chesto Berry pie. “You’re soaked again. Did you forget your raincoat?”
“I… I thought it wouldn’t rain today,” he mumbled, stepping inside, closing the umbrella with an awkward clatter. He nearly stepped on his adoptive little sisters Smolive but narrowly avoided the sleeping Pokemon.
She sighed but smiled, wiping his cheeks with a towel. “Weather changes fast here, you’ll learn. Go on—get dry before dinner.”
He nodded, retreating to his small room at the end of the hall decorated with the uplifting words- "Unflinching Towards the future" written in Paldean, it was one of the things his adopted older brother said with full Confidence during a local tournament.
He won that by the way.
And In the inside? It wasn’t fancy—just a low bed, a desk with scattered Pokédex notes, a few posters of trainers and their Pokémon, most notably of his new Adopted dad, who was a Prodigy trainer back in his youth standing Triumphantly with his Paldean Quagsire—Clodsire if he remembered—at his side doing a salute. Or at least, trying to...
But there, nestled on the windowsill, were his two best friends: a Swadloon and a Joltik.
The Swadloon looked perpetually unimpressed, cocooned in its leaf wrap, watching the rain with drooping eyes, witnessing a race between Droplets on the window, while the Joltik, bright yellow and the size of a coin purse, buzzed happily when it saw him, tiny legs skittering across his wrist as he lifted it up.
“Hey, guys.” Mateo smiled faintly. “You hungry?”
Joltik chirped and flicked its forelegs; Swadloon yawned, unimpressed, then slowly uncurled to reveal the bundle of berries Mateo had left earlier, Pecha, Oran, and Sitrus.
He sat on the floor with them, listening to the rain with his Pokemon....a wild Reality.
Back home—back in the other world—he’d never have believed something like this could exist. Fiction of course there, real here.
The Pokémon weren’t “monsters”; they were citizens, companions, coworkers. He’d seen Machoke helping construction crews, Gardevoir nurses in the Pokémon Center, Growlithe patrols with city officers. The whole world felt like a mirror of reality, tilted just enough to shimmer with wonder.
Still, it was hard.
Mostly about the fact that he's here now, away from his actual home, but then again, the Salazars were kind enough to take him in.
Oh, and theSchool lessons, most are about type matchups and energy theory confused him. Pokéballs, somehow both simple and incredibly complex, still felt like magic. He didn’t have a partner team, just his two companions who’d stuck with him since the day he woke up lost in the tall grass outside Castelia.
He remembered that day clearly: the fear, the wet grass against his legs, the confusion of the sky—blue but too big, clouds moving too fast..
Well technically the clouds move fast a lot of times.
And then, the sound of soft rustling and a curious Swadloon staring up at him from the underbrush, head tilted. When he’d tried to stand, his knees gave out, and it had simply crawled over, draping part of its leaf-cape on his shoulder like a blanket.
Then came Joltik, crackling from a rock, climbing his sleeve without hesitation. That tiny spark had grounded him—literally and emotionally.
And They’d followed him ever since.
He didn’t want to fight battles or chase badges. That was for a more ..confident future of his, should it happen.
He just wanted to live. Eat street food, study enough to pass, maybe get a small job one day. But sometimes, walking through the city and watching kids his age confidently throw Pokéballs and command their partners, he felt it—that tiny ache in his chest.
That maybe, deep down, he was supposed to do something.....not that he would do anything, maybe if an event that forces him to get involved happens?
Whatever. He wanted to think that maybe he was here because of Arceus, like the Protagonists of Legends Arceus.
That this world hadn’t pulled him here by accident.
And when he laid in bed that night, the window cracked open to let the hum of Nimbasa’s nightlife seep in, Joltik curled against his chest, Swadloon breathing softly by the pillow, he wondered if the stars above this world were the same ones above hisold one.
Maybe. Maybe not.
Joltik was still curled against his chest, purring faintly. Swadloon tucked closer, rustling softly. The Rain outside hit the roof, stray raindrops hit against the window like the quiet applause of a distant audience.
Tomorrow would be another ordinary day.
Or at least, he hoped it would be.