...
The next day, a bright, obnoxious sun stabbed through the hole in the roof, rudely waking Natsu from his slumber.
He woke up feeling surprisingly decent, his spirit much better, and not a single ache or sniffle from yesterday's downpour. No cold, no fever, no pathetic shivering. This is a good fucking start, he thought, almost daring to hope.
"Woooo."
The Weedle, who'd apparently been up for a while, proudly dragged a mess of branches from God-knows-where to Natsu's feet. After the rain had given the green leaves a good wash, they actually smelled… fresh. The Weedle nudged Natsu's trousers with his head, a clear invitation: Here, dumbass, eat your greens.
Next to the branches, a few pieces of chewed leaf debris lay scattered. The little bastard had already had his breakfast.
Natsu cracked a smile. "Thank you." He picked up a branch, tore off a few pieces, and, under the Weedle's hopeful, beady little eyes, he shoved them into his mouth.
He chewed. The bitter fragrance spread through his mouth, a shocking jolt to his taste buds, and a cruel reminder to his empty stomach. It was like eating disappointment.
The Weedle squinted his eyes, head held high, waiting for Natsu's compliments. He probably thought he was a damn gourmet chef.
Natsu didn't let him down. After a heroic swallow, he rubbed the Weedle's back with a genuine smile. "Thank you, Weedle, it's delicious." He lied through his teeth, but hey, it made the little guy happy.
Natsu had given the Weedle food yesterday, and in return, the Weedle had gone hunting for food early this morning. These leaves were apparently "fresh and delicious" from his perspective. So, the Weedle had purposely left some for Natsu. Good things to share, the little guy seemed to imply.
Though these leaves tasted like regret in Natsu's mouth, it was a good start. The Weedle had truly embraced Natsu's presence and shared food that was precious to him. And Natsu was kind enough not to debunk this, not to tell the Weedle that human and Pokémon food are not the same. No need to burst the little guy's bubble.
In his opinion, getting along with a pure-hearted Pokémon was infinitely better than dealing with the back-stabbing, office politicking snakes from his previous life. At least with a Weedle, what you saw was what you got.
"New day, new beginning, Weedle, we're going to work our asses off," Natsu declared, standing up and patting the dust and straw from his clothes.
"Woohoo!" the Weedle chirped, nodding his head enthusiastically.
Natsu put the Weedle on his shoulder. They walked out of the broken house and headed towards the center of Saffron City. The sun was shining bright, mocking him with its warmth.
But Natsu's mood quickly soured.
"Sorry, sir, after review, you do not meet the minimum standards of a Pokémon Alliance Trainer. Please contribute more to the alliance and become a registered Trainer as soon as possible."
This was not Natsu's first visit to the Pokémon Alliance building. His weirdly dressed, homeless-chic self had been turned down by a staff member with a smile as fake as a three-dollar bill. After confirming his identity and carefully observing his clothes and appearance, the staffer's answer was always the same goddamn line: Not up to standard. Need to contribute more to the League. The standard was even stiffer than some of the stuck-up snobs he used to deal with on the phone back in his old life.
"So what does 'meet the standard' actually mean?" Natsu pressed, still clinging to a sliver of desperate hope.
But the impatient bastards in line behind him couldn't take it anymore.
"Are you serious? Dressed like a beggar, with a worthless Weedle from the street, and you're trying to apply to become a registered Pokémon League Trainer? Did you hit your head, or are you just plain stupid?"
Natsu turned his head. Behind him stood a "social elite" in a black suit with hair slicked back like a wet dog, glaring at him with pure contempt. Beside him was a spoiled brat, thirteen or fourteen years old, idly tossing a Poké Ball in his hand.
Looking at Natsu's cold, unwavering gaze, the man's disdain grew even stronger. "What the hell are you staring at, hobo?"
Natsu stood still, expressionless, and simply stepped aside. The man sneered, patted the chair in disgust, pulled out a pristine handkerchief, placed it on the chair, and then pulled his precious child down to sit.
"Hello, sir, my child is applying to become a Trainer. Here are his two Pokémon, a Mankey and a Machop. This is my bank statement for the past five years. This is my donation certificate in his name. And the most important one, ten years of Pokémon reserves, and a few less important ones." The man practically vomited a pile of meticulously prepared documents from his briefcase.
Some semblance of an expression—a faint hint of interest, perhaps even a smidge of respect—finally appeared on the staff member's face. "Please wait a moment," he said, sounding far more agreeable than he had to Natsu.
Natsu's expression remained unchanged, but the Weedle on his shoulder felt the pent-up anger radiating from him, the sheer disgust for this corrupted League system. The Weedle rubbed Natsu's neck lightly, offering silent comfort.
Natsu let out a slow breath and said quietly, "I'm fine." He turned to leave.
Behind him, he could still faintly hear the man's smug voice: "Stinky boy, you'll be a Trainer now. I'll send you to Pokémon school tomorrow. Watch and study hard, or you'll grow up to be the same kind of pathetic loser we just saw."
Natsu exited the Trainer building. The warm sun shone down, but its rays couldn't penetrate the cold, hard knot in his heart.
Two Pokémon were the foundation, a hefty bank balance proof of financial strength, a donation a "contribution" to the League, and ten years of Pokémon reserves the right to receive a starter Pokémon.
A slightly sarcastic smile twisted his lips. "It's another 'Fuck Ass' world," he muttered.
"Wow?" The Weedle tilted his head, his small eyes puzzled, clearly not grasping Natsu's profound, bitter meaning.
"It's okay, buddy. Although I didn't have much hope to begin with, reality just slapped me in the face with a brick."
He started walking. The alliance's system was even more realistic, more brutally capitalistic, than he had ever imagined. His trip to the trainer building had really just been a long shot, a desperate gamble. After all, gaining Pokémon Alliance-certified Trainer status would have made his life a hell of a lot easier. At the very least, Pokémon Centers would be free to use, and there would be free lodging.
It could only be said that the final result was not entirely unexpected. Just a confirmation of how screwed he was.
He went to a grocery store, spending 20 coins on some food. Most of it was stuff that could be easily stored and would fill his stomach—mostly stale bread. Unpalatable, sure, but it would get him and the Weedle through two or three days. And what he had to do was find a profitable job in those two or three days.
To avoid wasting any more precious time, Natsu endured the distress of parting with his meager cash and took a bus back to his remote, dilapidated residence in the suburbs. Seeing only a few coins left in his pocket, he briefly considered finding those scarred men again, maybe "borrowing" a little more.
"Forget it. Don't waste time." Time was not only crucial for him now but even more so for the Weedle, with his incredibly short developmental period.
He walked straight to a small wood behind his residence. For the safety of Saffron City's residents, the Saffron City Gym cooperated with several divisions of the city to regularly clean the surrounding forest. So, it was relatively safe, no rogue Ursaring lurking to rip his face off.
Once in the woods, he placed the Weedle on the ground. Stepping on the soft, rustling pile of leaves, the Weedle seemed to find it all new and exciting, writhing around happily.
Looking at the Weedle, who was trying to get his mouth to bite his own tail, Natsu's smile gradually faded, replaced by a serious expression.
"Weedle, I'm going to train you for three days. Our survival, finding a decent job after three days—it all depends on this."
Hearing Natsu's voice turn serious, the Weedle stopped his playful antics and looked up at him, a little confused.
Natsu squatted down and said solemnly, "It's going to be very tiring, very hard, and you might want to give up at any time. But I'll train with you. So you have to be serious, okay?"
The Weedle nodded subconsciously, as if understanding the weight of the moment.
"Very well. So now, see that tree?" Natsu pointed to a sturdy oak. "We're going to run back and forth from here to that tree. Basic goal: twenty back and forth! Let's go, you little bastard!"
...
(End of this chapter)