(Mind storage activated. Preparing to depart.)
Johto RegionGoldenrod City
Goldenrod City stands as one of the pillars of the Pokémon world's Johto region—a metropolis famed for its thriving economy and cutting-edge technology. Situated in western Johto, it is the largest and most prosperous city in the region.
But rapid prosperity has its price.
The city is split cleanly in two.
On one side: gleaming marvels of modern science—a magnetic levitation train that tears across the land at 550 kilometers per hour, sprawling department stores packed with eager shoppers, roaring Pokémon stadiums that pulse with adrenaline, and sun-washed beaches where the wealthy bask without care.
On the other: the slums.
A place where poverty festers, crime flourishes, and survival itself is a daily gamble.
"No! Please! Don't kill me! I swear I'll never cause trouble in the black market again!"
The middle-aged man cowering in the alley had sharp, simian features and protruding ears. He trembled against the wall, staring at the young man before him—at the black uniform, and more importantly, at the black emblem stamped with a crimson R.
"Quiet. Pawniard—finish it."
Behind Senmu stood his Pokémon. Its arms were twin blades; another jagged edge lined its abdomen. Without hesitation, it raised its steel weapons.
A flash of silver cut through the dim alley.
The man's pleas stopped mid-sentence.
Senmu did not blink. He ignored the begging entirely. Blood streamed between the man's fingers as he clutched his throat, disbelief frozen in his eyes—then the light in them faded.
"Well done, Senmu. You're getting smoother by the day. It seems my judgment was right."
A second man stepped from the mouth of the alley. His uniform matched Senmu's, except for one detail—the emblem on his chest was silver.
Iwama.
Three months ago, he had found this same young man collapsed at the entrance of the underground black market he oversaw: ragged, gravely wounded, clutching a rust-flecked dagger sticky with blood, begging to be taken in.
"I owe everything to your guidance, Brother Iwama," Senmu replied calmly. "Without you, I wouldn't be standing here today."
"This fool didn't even own a single Pokémon, yet he dared stir trouble in a black market run by Team Rocket. I'd love to know where he found the courage."
"Lately, the Boss has been focused on investigating a Mythical Pokémon. We were ordered to keep a low profile. I suppose some people thought we'd disappeared."
Iwama glanced at the corpse with faint disdain."Perhaps it's time to remind them."
He turned to leave.
"Dispose of the body. No traces."
"It will be done."
As Iwama's footsteps faded, Senmu stood still for a moment.
When had he become this cold?
He hadn't always been like this.
Senmu was originally a transmigrator from another world—"Blue Star," as people here would call it. Back there, he lived an ordinary life, a fan of Pokémon anime and games. He had been playing Pokémon Emerald when everything went black.
When he opened his eyes, he thought he had entered a bright anime world—a paradise where ten-year-olds received Pokédexes and starter Pokémon in the Kanto region, traveling with friends, battling, eating good food, chasing dreams like Ash.
He was wrong.
On the very first day after transmigrating, he was cornered in the slums by a gang of thugs. Judging by scattered memories, they had likely beaten the body's original owner to death—creating the very opening through which he arrived.
"Kid, be smart. Hand it over!"
A brutal kick drove into his abdomen.
Through waves of pain, Senmu scrambled through fragmented memories and seized a short blade from a nearby trash heap. He held it beneath him, pretending to collapse.
"Boss… he might be dead. What if the League investigates?" one pock-faced underling muttered nervously.
"What's there to fear? Those pampered brats from the Pokémon League would never set foot in the slums. They'd be afraid the air might stain their clothes."
The thug crouched down, reaching to search Senmu's body—
—and met a pair of blood-red eyes.
The blade shot upward.
It pierced the man's throat cleanly.
Before the others could react, Senmu tore through a gap in their formation and ran.
"After him! What are you standing around for? The goods are still with him!"
The gang leader snarled and released a battered Poké Ball. In a burst of light, a Spearow shrieked into the air.
"Catch him! Fresh meat tonight if you do!"
At the promise of flesh, the Spearow screeched and dove, its sharp beak gleaming.
Senmu ran until his lungs burned like fire. Guided by inherited memories, he darted through twisting alleys, narrowly evading the Spearow's plunges.
At last, he reached the edge of the slums—the entrance to the underground black market.
There, he saw a man in black. A silver R gleamed on his chest.
Opportunity.
Without hesitation, Senmu staggered toward him and declared his desire to join Team Rocket.
The pursuing Spearow halted three meters away, unwilling to advance.
Because beside the black-clad man stood a Nidorino.
Its mere presence radiated threat.
"Kid, can't run anymore?" the gang leader began arrogantly—only to freeze when he recognized the silver insignia.
"Lord Iwama? This brat stole from me and disturbed you. Please, hand him over."
Moments ago bloodthirsty, now he bowed with forced humility.
Iwama hesitated. Recent developments were unfavorable. He preferred not to stir unnecessary trouble.
Senmu saw that hesitation.
Gritting his teeth, he drew out a small black pouch and opened it slowly.
Inside lay a half-translucent stone, dark as midnight.
The Nidorino stiffened instantly. Its eyes locked onto the stone with raw, instinctive hunger.
A Moon Stone.
"It wasn't stolen," Senmu rasped. "It was left to me by family. Guarantee my life—and it's yours."
Iwama's eyes narrowed. A faint smile touched his lips.
"And if I kill you—and silence them—wouldn't the stone still be mine?"
Senmu said nothing. He only stared back.
A long silence.
"How boring," Iwama muttered at last.
He took the Moon Stone, examined it carefully, then spoke coldly:
"You may go. I guarantee his life."
"But—"
"Get lost."
The gang leader swallowed his frustration. Even if he ruled this slum alley, before Team Rocket, he was nothing more than an insect—one that could be crushed with a flick of the hand.
Reluctantly, he withdrew, recalling his Spearow.
And thus, in the shadowed underbelly of Goldenrod City, Senmu's path began—not as a hero beneath bright stadium lights, but as a survivor who chose the darkness to stay alive.