"Well," a voice said behind me, "that's awkward."
I spun around.
The figure standing there was... not what I expected.
Where I'd imagined some cosmic entity of pure energy or maybe an elderly man with a long beard, I instead saw someone who looked like a tired office worker.
Mid-thirties, rumpled shirt, loosened tie, holding a clipboard that glowed faintly with golden light.
"You're not God," I said.
"I'm a god," he corrected, flipping through pages on the clipboard. "Well, technically a regional deity assigned to Earth Sector 7, Subsection J. You can call me... hmm, Steve works fine."
"Steve."
"Steve."
I blinked. "I'm dead."
"Very." Steve rechecked his clipboard, frowning. "And that's the awkward part. See, you weren't supposed to die today. That truck was meant for a guy named Tanaka Hiroshi. Total scumbag, embezzling from charities, the universe wanted him gone.
But there was some confusion with the traffic patterns, and you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
My brain, even in death, immediately started analyzing. "So you're saying I died because of a cosmic bureaucratic error."
"Essentially, yes." Steve looked genuinely apologetic. "Sorry about that. We're processing like ten thousand deaths per second across the sector. Mistakes happen."
I should have been angry or terrified. Instead, I felt a strange calm settling over me. "What happens now?"
"Well, normally I'd just reincarnate you back on Earth. Clean slate, new life, hope you do better than Tanaka would have." Steve paused, studying me. "But I noticed something interesting in your file."
He tapped the clipboard, and suddenly images floated in the air between us. Screenshots of my computer, my ROM hacks, my Nuzlocke runs, and forum posts where I'd helped other players optimize their teams.
"You're a Pokémon fan," Steve said, and something was knowing in his smile.
My heart, or whatever I had instead of a heart now, skipped. "I... yeah. I guess."
"Understatement of the century, kid. You've logged over eight thousand hours across every generation, completed forty-three Nuzlocke runs, built three custom ROM hacks, and written a hundred-page guide on competitive team building." Steve dismissed the images with a wave. "That's not a fan. That's devotion."
"It's just a game," I said automatically, but the words felt hollow.
"Is it?" Steve leaned against nothing, somehow making it look comfortable. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like the only thing that made you feel alive."
The observation hit harder than the truck.
"So here's my offer," Steve continued. "I screwed up. You died early. And I happen to have access to a very particular world that could use someone like you." He snapped his fingers.
The white void shifted, and suddenly I could see it. A world of forests and mountains and oceans, of cities built around Pokémon Centers, of trainers and gym leaders and legendary creatures soaring through the skies.
"No," I whispered. "That's not—"
"Real? It is. One of infinite parallel worlds in the multiverse, and this one happens to run on Pokémon logic." Steve grinned. "Interested?"
"Yes." The word left my mouth before I could think. "Absolutely yes."
"Thought so. But there are rules." Steve pulled out what looked like a cosmic slot machine from thin air. Three massive wheels, each one covered in glowing symbols.
"You don't just get dropped into paradise. You earn your perks. Spin the wheels, see what the universe grants you."
I approached the first wheel, my hand trembling. This was ridiculous. And yet...
What's the point of being the most intelligent person in a boring world when you could be average in an amazing one?
I grabbed the wheel and pulled.
The first wheel spun, symbols blurring into streams of light. Pokéballs, evolutionary stones, type symbols, stat charts. It slowed gradually, clicking past each icon until it stopped on an image that made my mouth go slack.
An eye, radiating silver light.
"Prism Eye," Steve announced, reading from his clipboard. "Passive ability. Allows you to see the hidden potential in any Pokémon: their variant forms, their genetic ceiling, their true nature. You'll perceive it as a silver glow. The stronger the potential, the brighter the glow."
"Like... IVs?" I asked, my mind already racing with implications. "Hidden Power types? Egg moves?"
"All of that and more. Think of it as seeing the genetic code beneath the surface." Steve gestured to the second wheel.
"But sight alone won't change anything. Spin again."
The second wheel was covered in DNA helixes, chromosomes, and complex molecular structures.
I pulled it hard, watching it blur through options I couldn't begin to identify. When it stopped, the symbol glowed green and gold.
A double helix.
"Genetic Optimization," Steve read. "Active ability, costs 500 Genetic Points. Allows you to rewrite a Pokémon's genetic structure to maximum potential. Perfect IVs, ideal nature, optimal ability. You're essentially giving them the genetic lottery jackpot."
"Five hundred points," I repeated. "How do I earn those?"
"We'll get to that. One more wheel."
The third wheel was different. Covered not in symbols but in sounds, languages, cries, and calls from every Pokémon species imaginable. I spun it, and the cacophony washed over me until it settled on a single, clear note.
A human silhouette and a Pokémon, connected by flowing light.
"Origin Tongue," Steve said softly. "Passive and active. You can understand and communicate with all Pokémon. Not just emotions or impressions. They can talk to you, and you can talk back."
I stared at the three abilities, my analytical mind already building strategies, combinations, and exploits. "This is... this is a Pokémon trainer's wet dream."
"It's a system," Steve corrected. "The Genetic Architect System, to be specific. And here's how you fuel it: you earn Genetic Points through three methods."
He held up one finger. "Pokémon Care. Grooming, feeding, healing, and bonding. Every act of genuine compassion generates points."
Second finger. "Battles. Winning fights, especially against strong opponents. Plus, every Pokémon that participates gains one EV point you can manually allocate to any stat."
Third finger. "Acts of Compassion. Helping wild Pokémon, resolving conflicts, making the world better."
"So it's not just about winning," I said slowly. "It's about... being a good trainer."
"Exactly. You min-max your team through care, not just grinding." Steve's expression turned serious. "There are other ways to earn GP. Catching new species, discovering rare locations, and completing major objectives. The system will guide you. But the core philosophy is this: strength through compassion."
I nodded, my mind already calculating optimal GP farming routes, efficient care routines, battle strategies that...
"Oh, and one more thing," Steve said, interrupting my thoughts. "You wanted to be Ash Ketchum, right? The main character with the messy hair and the Pikachu?"
"I mean... yeah?" That had been the fantasy. Being the protagonist, the chosen one, the...
Steve's grin turned mischievous.
"Oh!" Steve snapped his fingers as he'd just remembered something. "There's actually one more wheel. Almost forgot."
A fourth wheel materialized, this one was dark and ominous, covered in question marks and warning symbols.
"This one determines which Pokémon world you're going to," Steve explained. "Because there are infinite variants, you see. Some are closer to the games, some to the anime, some are... well, you'll see."
"That sounds ominous."
"Just spin the wheel, kid."
I grabbed it and pulled. The wheel spun faster than the others, symbols becoming a dark blur. When it finally stopped, a single word glowed in crimson letters:
EXTREME
"Oh boy," Steve muttered.
"What does that mean?" I demanded. "What's Extreme mode?"
"It means the world you're going to is... different. Someone else had the Genetic System before you. Please don't ask who, I can't tell you. But their actions changed things. The timeline is altered. Events won't match the anime or the manga or the games." Steve's expression turned cryptic.
"Some things will be familiar. Some will be completely new. The system will help you navigate, but don't expect to follow any script you've memorized."
"So I can't just rely on meta-knowledge."
"Exactly. You'll have to actually live in this world, not just play it." Steve began to fade, the white void dissolving around us.
"Oh, and one last thing. You're starting at eighteen. This world requires trainers to be legal adults before they begin their journey. You'll have time to adjust to your new body before things get crazy."
"Wait!" I reached out as Steve's form became translucent. "Who am I going to be? At least tell me that!"
His laughter echoed through the collapsing void. "You'll figure it out when you look in a mirror. Good luck. Try not to die again. I don't want to get in trouble again!"
The white space shattered like glass, and I fell through an infinite darkness that smelled of grass and morning dew.
The last thing I heard before consciousness faded was Steve's voice:
"Welcome to Extreme Mode, [*****]."
Then everything went black.