On a sunlit try road, an aged bus trundled slowly along the dusty path.

  In the nearby fields, curious Pooas occasionally poked their heads out, their twitg noses catg unfamiliar sts in the air, their attention drawn to this creaky, a bus that seemed to have traveled this road for decades.

  Overhead, Pidgeys spread their wings wide, basking in the sunlight.

  The vilgers w in the fields, notig the Pooas' behavior, briefly g the bus. However, they quickly lost i, as if a passing stranger was hardly worth their attention.

  Maybe a newer had arrived, but he didn’t have the time to care about such things now.

  With the harvest season in full swing, his focus was entirely on the crops.

  If there really were outsiders, news would spread quickly in this small town.

  After all, nothing much ever happened here.

  Ihe bus, a boy named Natsume gazed silently out the window, watg the sery pass by.

  If everythi as expected, this small town would be where he’d spend the several years of his life.

  A few months ago, Natsume uedly learhat he had ied a farm from an uncle he’d barely met.

  For Natsume, who had lived in this world for 18 years, it was a startling turn of events.

  His previous life as an overworked corporate drone was ohing, but even in this life, his family situation could hardly be called harmonious.

  If anything, he ractically alone in the world.

  An engineer father and a breeder mother had tragically passed away during their honeymoon, leaving Natsume to fend for himself.

  This kind of backstory would make him a top-tier antihero in any dystopian universe.

  “We’ve arrived,” came the creaking voice of the elderly driver as the bus screeched to a stop at a crossroads.

  Disembarking, Natsume looked around in slight bewilderment, clutg an incubator holding a Pokémon egg while a crossbody bag hung over his shoulder.

  He seemed pletely out of pce amidst the rustic sery.

  Just as Natsume was about to take out his phone, an elderly yet eic voice called out:

  “Are you Natsume?”

  Turning around, Natsume saw a lively old man with white hair standing at the crossroads.

  “Yes, that’s me. And you are?”

  The old man, apanied by a Mr. Mime, smiled warmly and replied, “I’m the mayor of this town. Your farm isn’t far from here. I’ll take you there.”

  After pulling out his phone and paring Natsume’s appearao a photo, the mayor firmed his identity with a cheerful grin.

  Natsume quickly stepped forward. “Thank you so much for the trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble at all,” the mayor waved dismissively, his friendly smile never faltering.

  “I’ve heard a bit about your situation. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you? Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything. Though the farm’s been abandoned for a while, it should still be livable.”

  The mayor chatted nonstop as they walked, his Mr. Mime occasionally chiming in with expressive gestures.

  Maybe it was just a trait of the elderly—ohey started talking, their desire to share stories became unstoppable.

  Whether it stemmed from years of experience enuine care for the younger geion, the mayor’s words were filled with advid aes.

  Natsume learned a lot along the articurly about the state of his ied farm.

  It had been ed for years due to his uncle’s failih. In its ter years, the farm had beeo grow wild, practically indistinguishable from the surrounding wilderness.

  “If anything,” the mayor remarked with a chuckle, “the wilderness might even look a bit better.”

  ‘Why does this feel like I’m heading into a detective novel?’ Natsume mused. ‘Then again, I’ve never heard of a certain pint-sized detective bringing misfortuo his retives.’

  Brushing off his wandering thoughts, Natsume refocused on the mayor’s words.

  “I must say, I’m surprised you’re willing to take on the farm,” the mayor said. “Young people these days all dream of being famous Pokémon Trainers, chasing adventure and glory. Even those with family businesses rarely stick around.”

  “I sidered being a Trai first, but in the end, I decided to take over the farm.”

  Natsume offered a small smile, choosing not to eborate further.

  Here’s the truth: being a Pokémon Trainer is expensive. Extremely expensive.

  The cost of Pokémon food, training facilities, medical care—it all adds up to an overwhelming expense.

  While Natsume had some savings, it wouldn’t st long if he pursued a Trainer’s path. And success was far from guaranteed.

  Being a strong Trainer required not just money but also exceptional Pokémon.

  Sure, people liked to say, “There are no bad Pokémon, only bad Trainers,” or point out how Giovanni’s Beedrill was incredibly powerful.

  But iy, under equal training and resources, a Dragonite would utterly dominate a Beedrill.

  Taking over the farm, oher hand, felt far more practical and reliable.

  Beyond that, the decision also reflected Natsume’s own personality.

  Ohe farm and running, he could enjoy a rexed life, maybe even travel the world.

  It didn’t sound so bad.

  And why was Natsume so fident he could restore the farm? He had his reasons.

  “We’re here,” the mayor said as they stopped at a fork in the road.

  Following the mayaze, Natsume saw…

  A desote ndscape rown with weeds and scattered with jagged rocks.

  Even the local Rattatas seemed to avoid the area.

  Though he’d braced himself for the worst, the sight still left Natsume momentarily stunned.

  “Don’t be disced,” the mayor said, trying to reassure him. “The inal yout is still intact, at least.”

  Beside him, Mr. Mime gestured enthusiastically, as if trying to stage a editomime to lighten the mood.

  To be ho, even the mayor felt a bit awkward.

  For a young man, this would be a tough sight to face—a se as disheartening as deg your love for a celebrity one day, only for them to annouheir e the .

  “It’s fine, Mayor. I came prepared for this,” Natsume replied, snapping out of his daze.

  While the situation was a bit ued, Natsume remained fident.

  “e on out, everyone.”

  With a tap on his Poké Balls, three brilliant beams of light erupted, and three figures emerged.