...
The rain kept coming down, a steady, miserable drumming on the broken world outside.
Natsu, now clad in clothes that hung off his skeletal frame like a tent, and shoes that flopped around his feet like dead fish, emerged from the alley of his recent, violent triumph.
Half a loaf of bread, stolen from a thug, was shoved into his mouth, its dry crumbs barely registering. Perched precariously on his shoulder, his new partner, a Weedle, clung on for dear life.
The Weedle's beady little eyes were glued to the bread in Natsu's mouth, his throat working with silent, yearning gulps. But he didn't dare utter a damn sound. The sheer ferocity Natsu had unleashed just moments ago, that unquestionable, chilling command, had left the poor bug more than a little intimidated. He probably thought Natsu was some kind of deranged Pokémon god, capable of kicking the crap out of anyone, including his new, tiny self.
As if sensing the Weedle's internal struggle, Natsu pulled the bread from his mouth, tore off a piece, and offered it to the Weedle on his shoulder.
"Wee?" the Weedle chirped softly, blinking his tiny eyes as if to ask, "Is this for me? Are you really sharing the precious carbs?"
Natsu gently stroked the Weedle's back. The seemingly smooth carapace had a subtle, almost imperceptible fluff that tickled Natsu's fingertips.
The Weedle narrowed his eyes, clearly enjoying the unexpected affection.
"Eat up, you did a great job out there," Natsu mumbled around the rest of his bread. His stomach, finally getting some damn food, quieted its furious cramping, and a sliver of strength, a whisper of life, returned to his limbs. He felt less like a damp rag and more like… well, still a damp rag, but one that had eaten bread.
"Wee!" Hearing the compliment, the Weedle's eyes rolled with a joyful, almost comically happy expression. He deftly snagged the bread with the spikes on his tail, nibbling at it in tiny, deliberate bites. Natsu figured the little guy probably hadn't had anything better than old leaves in his whole miserable life.
Now, a Weedle is a Bug-type Pokémon, and technically, its kind can survive just by munching on leaves. But if that was his only diet, the Weedle's potential wouldn't be much higher than an ordinary Beedrill buzzing aimlessly in the godforsaken forests.
Of course, proper Pokéblocks and Pokémon food were the ideal choice, but Natsu didn't have that kind of cash. Not now. This pathetic piece of bread was the most valuable damn thing he possessed. It was a gourmet meal, a treasure beyond compare in his current shithole existence.
People always spouted that sentimental bullshit: "True love isn't about how much someone gives you when they're rich, but if they'll give you half their last piece of bread." Their first meeting hadn't exactly been a heartwarming Hallmark movie for the Weedle. It was more like a hostage negotiation. But at this moment, with that shared, stolen bread, the Weedle felt Natsu's genuine, desperate sincerity.
The Weedle, still nibbling his bread, gently rubbed his head against Natsu's neck, a gesture of quiet gratitude.
Pokémon are simple creatures, for all their immense power. Their minds aren't complicated. They knew who was good to them and who was a scumbag.
At least for now, this Weedle had conveniently forgotten how Natsu had just used him to rob some unfortunate bastards.
Who needs a conscience when you're getting free bread, right?
Feeling the cool, rough touch on his neck, Natsu allowed himself a small, rare smile. He crammed the rest of the bread into his mouth in one go, not a single goddamn crumb falling. He was adapting to this new, brutal reality with frightening speed. He'd gone from a nobody to a Pokémon Trainer in like, five minutes flat. What a promotion!
He pulled a handful of coins from his pocket—the loot "borrowed" from Scar and his two goons. A crumpled bill, a few pathetic coins. The total wasn't much, only 33. It was the most he had ever had since childhood. But for training Pokémon? It was less than a drop in the goddamn bucket. Like trying to fill an ocean with a thimble.
The streets were largely deserted in the rain. Natsu walked all the way out of the bustling, grimy city to a ramshackle house on the city's edge. The place was a monument to decay, piled high with debris, a gaping hole in the roof, and a paltry pile of dry straw in the corner. This was Natsu's "home"—shabby, messy, but better than being soaked to the bone. At least he wouldn't freeze his ass off tonight.
He managed to start a fire, a small, defiant flicker against the encroaching damp. Sitting quietly in front of the makeshift campfire, he let the flames coax a whisper of warmth back into his cold body and slowly, painfully, dry his meager clothes. The Weedle, on the other hand, was ecstatic. He crawled around, a tiny explorer in this new, fascinating world. He carefully, gingerly, edged closer to the fire, curious about the hot red thing. His tail got a bit too close and singed, and he pouted in grievance, a tiny, wounded sound, but he soon forgot about it. Typical.
He squirmed under a broken piece of roof, where rainwater had gathered in the cracks.
The Weedle stuck out his tongue and licked the cold rainwater, shivering. Then, as if a brilliant idea had struck his little bug brain, he dipped his tail into the cool puddle. The coolness soothed the faint burning pain, and he narrowed his eyes in pure, unadulterated comfort.
"Woo," the Weedle hummed contentedly.
Afterward, he scurried to a pile of stones, strutting like a brave conqueror who had just scaled Mount Everest. He then zipped back to Natsu's side, sniffed the straw on the ground, picked one up, and cautiously took a nibble. It clearly tasted like crap, because he promptly spit it out with a disgusted little shake. The Weedle, truly a newborn in this bizarre scenario, was a curious baby, investigating every single, pathetic detail of the shabby room.
Finally, tired, he found a comfortable spot in Natsu's arms, curled up, and quickly drifted off to sleep.
Looking down at the tired Weedle, Natsu smiled, a soft, helpless expression. He rolled up a piece of his ragged clothing and gently draped it over the Weedle.
The Weedle instinctively twisted his body, burying himself deeper into the warmth, a tiny, contented arc visible in his closed eyes. He probably dreamed of an endless supply of bread and not being burned by fire.
Natsu continued to watch the throbbing campfire, its flames flickering in his eyes, reflecting his tumultuous thoughts. He was thinking. Thinking about how to survive in this goddamn world. Thinking about how to leverage his unique, improbable advantages. Return to his old world? If an opportunity arose, he'd consider it. But if not, he wasn't wasting any extra energy chasing a fantasy. What's the point of dwelling on what might have been when you're stuck in a literal shithole?
Looking down at the quiet Weedle, sleeping peacefully in his arms, a favorite phrase of Pokémon fans from his past life echoed in his mind: "There are no trash Pokémon, only trash Trainers."
That's a good point, even if I'd started with one of the original starter, he mused. Of course, there were options. It might seem like a joke, but it proved there were too many possibilities for Pokémon.
A Weedle is a Pokémon with low Species Strength, low Ability, and pathetic combat power. He isn't even as good as his close relative, Caterpie. But it cannot be denied that a Weedle has a certain, albeit distant, growth limit.
A Weedle's final evolution, Beedrill, is also often considered a weaker Pokémon.
However, the Beedrill in the hands of Team Rocket Boss Giovanni is a typical example of a powerful Beedrill, capable of beating Elite Four members and Champions as a basic exercise.
Of course, that was achieved through the accumulation of countless resources.
Plus, Beedrill has a Mega Evolution, which means this Pokémon can reach an even higher potential.
Who knew a giant bee could be such a goddamn powerhouse?
But Pokémon are one thing, and Training is another. To train a Pokémon like a Weedle, with a relatively low starting point, to reach the same heights as other Pokémon requires significant resources and the most correct methods. Natsu currently lacked all of these. Well, not all of them; in terms of training methods, he had some ideas from his previous world. But now, his most significant limitation was resources—financial resources, money. The mere 33 coins in his pocket were enough to feed himself and the Weedle for only a few days, which was a huge problem. It wouldn't even buy a decent Pokeball, let alone a whole damn meal!
So, after thinking for a long time, he finally returned to the core question: how to acquire resources.
He had an easier option: let the Weedle grow freely. As soon as he evolved into a Beedrill, he would have a certain basic combat power. A Weedle has an extremely short growth cycle and is arguably one of the fastest evolving Pokémon of all. Then he could use the evolved Beedrill to find opportunities to catch Pokémon that were easier to cultivate and had a higher potential.
It would be a waste, though, to miss the two precious stages of Weedle and Kakuna.
More possibilities for a Pokémon? Perhaps Natsu could have easily made that pragmatic decision before, but now, watching the Weedle huddled in his arms, full of trust and dependence on him, he gave up on that idea. He wasn't going to screw over the only creature that seemed to trust him in this godforsaken world.
"We're both at the bottom of the food chain, little guy," Natsu murmured, stroking the Weedle lightly, "but I don't think we'll always be there. We're gonna kick some ass and climb out of this dump."
He made a decision: Find a way to make money! As a Trainer, what was the fastest way to make money in this world? As far as Natsu knew, it was through battle! But trying to defeat others with a newborn Weedle that had zero combat experience was simply fooling around. That's like bringing a spoon to a knife fight. So, he needed to adjust his strategy.
The idea was already forming in his mind, but it depended on the Weedle making progress.
The active thinking consumed a lot of energy, and as it gradually subsided, sleepiness set in. Holding the Weedle and leaning against the wall, Natsu quickly fell asleep, comforted by the campfire's warmth.
A rain, a broken house, a man, and a Pokémon.
The beginning of a goddamn story.
...
(End of this chapter)