A month had passed since Arin woke up in this new world, and he'd settled into a rhythm that felt almost like a real life. Each morning, the familiar creak of the attic floorboards and the scent of breakfast drifting up from below reminded him he had a place to belong, even if the shop itself hadn't changed: jars of Pokéblocks on the shelves, vegetables in crates, and a faded sign outside that rarely drew more than a handful of customers.
But for Arin, everything was different now.
He'd gotten to know Fuchsia's streets and people. The winding lanes and flowerbeds no longer seemed daunting. He recognized the regulars, knew which berries the local Pokémon liked, and could sweep the shop floor without thinking. And yet, the biggest mystery in his new life remained Mrs. Varma. She was both a puzzle and a pillar-someone he could rely on, even if she rarely showed her softer side.
It took weeks of quiet observation-catching snippets of conversation, glimpsing old photos behind the counter, and listening when she shared a rare story-for Arin to piece together her past. Mrs. Varma hadn't always been a shopkeeper. In her youth, she'd been a Gym Trainer in Hoenn, traveling with her Hitmontop, a lively Plusle and Minun, and, most impressively, her ace: a huge, battle-hardened Swampert. There had also been a fierce Beedrill, but it had passed away six years ago. Sometimes, Arin would see her pause by a faded Poké Ball on the shelf, her expression softening for just a moment.
He admired her deeply. The way she moved and the respect her Pokémon gave her spoke of a strength that didn't need words. But she never bragged. When asked, she'd just grunt and change the subject. It was clear she'd chosen this quieter life, far from the noise and spotlight of Gym battles.
One thing soon became clear: the shop didn't really need another worker. Business was slow, the neighborhood was struggling, and most days passed with only a trickle of customers. There were afternoons when Arin swept the same patch of floor twice just to keep busy. He realized Mrs. Varma kept him on not out of necessity, but out of kindness. Her tough exterior hid a generous heart-she never let him go hungry, and the attic, though small, was always warm and safe.
Gratitude settled deep in Arin's chest, along with a sense of debt. He knew chores and a smile weren't enough to repay her. He wanted to offer something real. Every night, as he lay in bed listening to the city's distant sounds, he promised himself he'd pay her back one day-not just with words, but with action.
That determination led him to search for odd jobs around Fuchsia. He checked notice boards and asked around the market, hoping to find work that would let him earn a little money to give Mrs. Varma as rent. He knew working as her assistant was more a kindness than a necessity; the shop's slow pace didn't justify a second employee. He wanted to contribute directly, to show her that her kindness hadn't gone unnoticed.
Finding work wasn't easy. Most jobs went to adults or older teens, and the better-paying ones were reserved for those with connections or their own Pokémon. Arin tried everything: running errands for market vendors, helping unload deliveries, even offering to clean stalls at the Pokémon Center. Sometimes he'd get a few coins for carrying groceries or sweeping a stoop, but it was never much. Still, every little bit helped.
As the weeks went by, Arin's practical side couldn't ignore the truth: money and Pokémon training were inseparable in this world. He might look like a child, but he was old enough inside to see reality for what it was. Without some kind of steady income-ideally, something passive-he'd never be able to afford travel, supplies, or even the basic fees to register as a trainer. The dream of catching rare Pokémon, traveling the region, and challenging gyms would remain out of reach unless he found a way to support himself.
He started paying attention to more than just odd jobs. He watched how businesses operated, listened to the market vendors haggle, and picked up on gossip about who in town had side hustles or rental properties. He even asked Mrs. Varma, in a roundabout way, how she'd managed to buy and keep her shop. She just snorted and said, "You save, you plan, and you never trust a deal that sounds too good."
Arin quietly promised himself he'd find a long-term solution. Maybe he'd invent something, spot a gap in the market, or find a small investment that could grow. He didn't know what the answer was yet, but he was determined to figure it out. Only then could he hope to become a real Pokémon trainer-someone who could travel, battle, and stand on his own two feet.
On slow afternoons, he'd help Mrs. Varma in the back, learning more about Pokéblock recipes and how to care for her Pokémon. Hitmontop, with its spinning moves and sharp eyes, watched him with a mix of suspicion and amusement. Plusle and Minun, when out of their Poké Balls, were bundles of energy, zipping around the shop and occasionally sparking the radio to life. Swampert, the gentle giant, rarely appeared inside, but Arin sometimes spotted it resting in the shaded alley behind the building.
It was during one of these rare appearances that Arin witnessed Swampert's true power. One afternoon, a dispute broke out between two delivery men outside the shop, and a pair of wild Mankey began to circle, agitated by the commotion. Mrs. Varma stepped out, calm and commanding, and released her ace. The ground seemed to tremble as Swampert emerged-a towering, battle-scarred titan, its blue hide marked by old victories. Arin's "Observe" skill flickered to life, and the information appeared in his mind:
Swampert ♂
Type: Water/Ground
Level: 52
Ability: Torrent
IV Total: 118
Moves: Earthquake, Ice Punch, Waterfall, Protect, Brick Break, Surf, Muddy Water, Hammer Arm, Avalanche, Rock Slide
He stared, awestruck. Swampert's power and endurance were leagues beyond any Pokémon he'd seen in Fuchsia. The Mankey scattered, and the delivery men settled their argument in a hurry.
That moment set a new standard in Arin's mind for what was possible. It was a living testament to Mrs. Varma's past and a reminder that true strength was earned, not given.
He found himself thinking back to the day he'd first met Mrs. Varma-when she'd been injured and he'd helped her. Only now did he realize: she hadn't brought Swampert with her that day. If her ace had been there, the thief wouldn't have stood a chance. Swampert's presence alone would have ended any trouble in an instant. The old lady's vulnerability then made her kindness to Arin feel even more meaningful.
Despite the slow business, Mrs. Varma never hinted that Arin should leave. She made sure he had food, a place to sleep, and even set aside a small allowance for him to buy secondhand clothes or a treat from the market. Arin knew she was giving more than she needed to, and it made his resolve to repay her even stronger.
He tried to show his gratitude in small ways: fixing the shop's old radio, helping organize her ledgers, and making sure the place was spotless. When he managed to save a little from odd jobs, he'd quietly leave it in an envelope on her desk, labeled "for rent." Mrs. Varma never mentioned it, but the envelope was always gone the next day, and sometimes he'd find a fresh pastry waiting for him at breakfast.
As the month drew to a close, Arin realized he'd found something rare in this world: a sense of belonging. The attic was still small, the shop still quiet, and the future still uncertain. But every day, with each small act of effort and gratitude, he was building a life that was truly his own-one he hoped would let him stand beside Mrs. Varma not as a burden, but as an equal.
And as he drifted off to sleep, Arin's mind was already working on new ideas-ways to earn, ways to grow, and ways to finally chase the dream that had brought him to this world in the first place.
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