Arin woke to the scent of something frying and the gentle clatter of pans from below. For a moment, he lay still, nerves fluttering in his stomach. Today, Mrs. Varma would see if he'd managed to fix the radio. He'd replayed each step in his mind before falling asleep, hoping he hadn't missed anything.
He dressed quickly in the clean, if oversized, clothes she'd given him, then made his way downstairs. The shop was already alive with quiet activity. Mrs. Varma was behind the counter, setting out jars and checking her battered ledger. She glanced up as he entered, her gaze unreadable.
"Morning," she said, sliding a plate of toast and eggs toward him. "Eat first. Then we'll see if you're as handy as you say."
Arin nodded, grateful for the food and the moment to steady his nerves. He ate quickly, then fetched the radio from where he'd left it the night before. Mrs. Varma watched as he set it on the counter, her arms folded.
He took a breath and turned the dial. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, with a faint crackle, the radio came to life, filling the shop with the distant sound of music and a cheerful announcer's voice.
Mrs. Varma's eyebrows shot up. She leaned in, adjusting the volume and flipping through stations. "Well, I'll be damned," she muttered, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Didn't think you'd manage it."
Arin felt a wave of relief and pride. "It just needed a little cleaning and a few connections tightened," he said, trying to sound casual.
She gave him a long, appraising look. "Maybe you're more useful than you look. I'll keep my word-you can have a go at the computer when there's time. But don't get cocky. There's always more work to do."
He nodded, hiding his excitement. "Thank you."
The morning passed in a blur of chores. Arin swept floors, restocked shelves, and helped carry crates from the back. Mrs. Varma set him to work sorting Pokéblock jars by color and flavor, explaining which ones were for Flying-types, which for Water-types, and so on. He listened carefully, committing the information to memory.
Customers trickled in and out. Some were trainers, others families from nearby blocks. A few brought Pokémon with them: a young girl with a Pidgey perched on her shoulder, a tired man with a Machop lugging groceries, an elderly woman whose Skitty purred atop her shopping basket.
Arin's "Observe" skill flickered to life as he focused on each Pokémon, the golden text appearing just for him:
| Pidgey ♂ |
| Type: Normal/Flying |
| Ability: Keen Eye |
| Level: 8 |
| IV Total: 61 |
| Moves: Tackle, Sand Attack |
| Optimal Diet: Oran Berries, Sunflower Seeds |
| Machop ♂ |
| Type: Fighting |
| Ability: Guts |
| Level: 12 |
| IV Total: 94 |
| Moves: Low Kick, Leer |
| Optimal Diet: Protein Bread, Iron Beans |
He kept his reactions hidden, but each glimpse gave him a better sense of what was normal in this world. Most Pokémon were healthy but unremarkable. He wondered what it would be like to find one truly exceptional.
By midday, the shop was bustling. Mrs. Varma had him run errands to the back room, fetch supplies from the storeroom, and even handle a few small sales at the counter. He watched her work, noting how she kept a close eye on every transaction and greeted regulars by name. Despite her gruffness, there was a respect between her and the community that Arin admired.
During a lull, Mrs. Varma called him over. "You did well with the radio. It's still working, and the customers like having music. About that computer… I'll let you take a look, but don't expect miracles. It's been dead for years."
Arin's heart leapt. He followed her to the back room, where the old computer sat beneath a layer of dust. He examined it carefully, noting the differences from the machines he remembered. The ports were odd, the casing unfamiliar, but the logic was still there-power, data, connections. He didn't try to turn it on yet; instead, he made a mental list of what he'd need: a compatible power cable, maybe a new fuse, and definitely some time alone to tinker.
The afternoon passed quickly. Arin returned to the front, helping customers and learning the rhythm of the shop. He even managed to chat with a girl his own age who came in to buy Pokéblocks for her Pidgeotto. She told him about a festival coming up in the city, and for a moment, Arin felt almost like a normal kid.
As dusk approached, Mrs. Varma handed him a broom and gestured to the front step. "Sweep outside. And keep an eye out for trouble."
Arin did as he was told, enjoying the cool air and the fading sunlight. The street was quieter now, the day's chaos replaced by the gentle murmur of neighbors chatting and the distant laughter of children playing with their Pokémon. He watched a Growlithe chase a ball, its trainer cheering it on, and felt a pang of longing. Someday, he promised himself, he'd have a partner like that.
When he finished, Mrs. Varma locked up the shop and handed him another simple meal. "You did good today," she said, her tone softer than usual. "Keep it up."
They sat together for a while as Arin ate, the shop quiet and peaceful. As he finished, he hesitated, then asked, "Mrs. Varma, is there a library in Fuchsia City?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Library? Not like the ones in Saffron or Celadon. There's a reading room near the old Safari Zone, though. Some books, city records, even old maps. Why?"
Arin tried to sound casual. "I want to learn more about this place. About Pokémon, the city, history… everything."
Mrs. Varma considered him for a moment, then nodded. "That's not a bad idea. Tomorrow the shop's closed-I'm visiting my sister in Saffron, and I'm not about to leave a nine-year-old in charge of my livelihood. You'll have the day to yourself. Just don't get into trouble."
Relief and excitement bubbled up in Arin's chest. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll be careful."
She gave him a rare, approving smile. "Good. Maybe you'll find something useful. Fuchsia's got a long memory, if you know where to look."
That night, Arin lay in his attic room, staring at the ceiling. The ache in his muscles was a quiet reminder that he'd earned his rest, and for once, he felt a sense of purpose settling in his chest. Tomorrow, he'd have his first real day off-a chance to explore, to learn, and maybe to find a clue about the pendant around his neck or the world he'd landed in.
As he drifted off, the radio played softly in the shop below, its music mingling with the city's distant hum. The world outside was still uncertain and rough, but tonight, he felt a little stronger, a little more at home. With a contented sigh, Arin let himself drift into sleep, ready to meet whatever tomorrow would bring.
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