The next three days fell into a rhythm.

  Jason woke early, ate breakfast in the Pokémon Center cafeteria (eggs, toast, that strange tangy fruit he was starting to enjoy), and headed to the training grounds with Sprigatito. They practiced until lunch, took a break during the hottest part of the afternoon, then trained again until dinner. Evenings were for recovery, planning, and the occasional social interaction with other trainers passing through.

  It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't exciting. But it was necessary, and Jason had never been someone who shied away from necessary work.

  "Leafage again," he called. "Tighter spread this time. You're wasting energy on leaves that miss."

  Sprigatito narrowed her eyes in concentration, and the next volley of glowing leaves flew in a more focused pattern, clustering around the target dummy's center mass.

  "Better. Much better."

  "Sprig!" She preened at the praise, her tail swishing proudly.

  They'd made real progress. Sprigatito's Leafage was more accurate now, her Scratch attacks more controlled. She'd even started developing what Jason's Pokédex identified as "Bite"—a Dark-type move that would give her coverage against Psychic and Ghost types. It wasn't fully formed yet, more instinct than technique, but the foundation was there.

  Day four, Jason noted mentally. We've been here four days. Time to start thinking about moving on.

  "Well, well. The mysterious trainer with the mystery Pokémon."

  Jason turned to find a young woman approaching the training field—maybe mid-twenties, with short-cropped auburn hair and a confident stride. A Mightyena walked beside her, its dark fur gleaming in the morning sun, and a Pokéball belt hung heavy at her waist.

  "Can I help you?" Jason asked, keeping his tone neutral.

  "Maybe. I'm Reina." She stopped at the field's edge, crossing her arms as she studied him with open curiosity. "I've heard about you. New trainer, weird Pokémon, showed up out of nowhere with no memory. The Center's been buzzing about it."

  Great. I'm gossip fodder.

  "That's mostly accurate," Jason admitted. "Though I wouldn't say Sprig is weird. Just... not local."

  "Sprigatito, right? Paldean Grass-type starter." Reina's eyes were sharp, assessing. "I did some research after I heard. They're rare as hell outside their home region. How'd you end up with one?"

  "Long story. Involves an Aether transport crash and a lot of confusion."

  "Mmm." Reina didn't seem entirely satisfied with that answer, but she didn't push. "I'm heading to Petalburg tomorrow. Gym challenge—Norman's my next badge. Thought I'd scope out the local talent before I left."

  "And?"

  She grinned, showing teeth. "And you're interesting. Raw as hell, but interesting. Your Pokémon's got good instincts, and you're not completely hopeless at directing her." She nodded toward the training dummy, peppered with leaf-marks. "That's better accuracy than most new trainers manage in their first week."

  "Thanks. I think."

  "It's a compliment. Take it." Reina's Mightyena yawned, displaying impressive fangs, and she absently scratched behind its ears. "Word of advice, trainer to trainer? Don't stay in Littleroot too long. It's comfortable, but comfortable doesn't make you stronger. Get out there, face some real challenges, learn what you're actually made of."

  Jason nodded slowly. "I was thinking of leaving soon. Oldale first, then Petalburg."

  "Good route. Take your time through the forest between here and Oldale—lots of good Pokémon if you know where to look. Ralts sometimes show up near the lake, if you're lucky." Reina pushed off from her leaning position. "Maybe I'll see you in Petalburg. Try not to embarrass yourself against Norman—he hits harder than most first-timers expect."

  She walked off without waiting for a response, Mightyena padding silently beside her. Jason watched her go, processing the encounter.

  Ralts near the lake. That's useful information.

  "What do you think, Sprig? Ready to hit the road soon?"

  "Sprigatito!" Her enthusiasm was unmistakable.

  "Yeah. Me too."

  That afternoon, Jason visited the local Pokémart.

  The store was smaller than he'd imagined—maybe half the size of a convenience store back home—but packed efficiently with everything a trainer might need. Pokéballs lined one wall, organized by type and price. Medical supplies occupied another section: Potions, Antidotes, Paralyze Heals, the various remedies for status conditions that battles could inflict. A third area held travel gear: compact tents, sleeping rolls, cooking equipment, rope, flashlights, and dozens of other items.

  The clerk behind the counter was a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a Meowth curled up on a cushion beside the register. He looked up as Jason entered, offering a professional smile.

  "Afternoon. Help you find anything?"

  "Just browsing for now. Planning a trip to Oldale, trying to figure out what I need."

  "First journey?" The clerk—his nametag read Hideki—nodded knowingly. "Let me guess. New trainer, not sure what's essential versus what's optional?"

  "That obvious?"

  "I've been doing this for fifteen years. I can spot a newbie from across the street." Hideki's tone was friendly rather than condescending. "Here's what I tell everyone: focus on the basics first. Potions, Pokéballs, food for you and your Pokémon. A good tent and sleeping roll if you're planning to camp. Everything else is luxury until you know what you actually need."

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  He came around the counter, gesturing for Jason to follow as he walked through the store.

  "Potions—start with basic ones. They're cheap and effective for minor injuries. Once you're facing stronger Pokémon, upgrade to Super Potions, but don't waste money on those now." He pointed to a shelf. "Antidotes are essential in the forests. Wurmple, Shroomish, a few others—Poison status is common and annoying. Paralyze Heal too, if you're going near any Electric-types."

  "What about Pokéballs?"

  "Standard balls are fine for most catches. Great Balls if you're targeting something specific and don't want to risk it escaping. Ultra Balls..." Hideki shrugged. "Expensive. Save those for when you really need them."

  Jason followed along, making mental notes. The clerk's advice was practical, grounded in experience rather than theory. Exactly what he needed.

  "Food," Hideki continued, moving to another section. "Pokémon food comes in different formulas—type-specific blends, age-appropriate mixes, that sort of thing. For a Grass-type like yours..." He glanced at Sprigatito, who was examining a display of berries with interest. "The standard Grass blend should work. Supplement with fresh berries when you can find them. For yourself, travel rations are efficient but boring. Up to you whether convenience or taste matters more."

  "Convenience. Definitely convenience."

  "Smart man." Hideki led him to the camping section. "Tent, sleeping roll, basic cookware. This set here—" he indicated a bundled package "—is what I recommend for new trainers. Compact, durable, not too expensive. Won't last forever, but it'll get you through your first few months."

  By the time Jason left the Pokémart, his pack was significantly heavier and his wallet was significantly lighter. But he had what he needed: ten standard Pokéballs, five Potions, three Antidotes, two Paralyze Heals, a week's worth of food for himself and Sprigatito, and the camping bundle Hideki had recommended.

  Only a few thousand Pokédollars left. Need to start earning soon.

  He'd looked into the job board system that Birch had mentioned. Trainers could take on various tasks—delivering packages, escorting travelers, dealing with problem Pokémon, gathering resources. The pay varied based on difficulty and danger, but even simple jobs could keep a trainer fed and supplied between gym challenges.

  Something to think about once we're on the road.

  Evening found Jason at a small café near the town's center, nursing a cup of coffee that tasted surprisingly similar to what he remembered from home.

  The café—Littleroot Brews, according to the sign—was cozy and warm, filled with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional cry of a Pokémon. A few other trainers occupied scattered tables, eating dinner or reviewing notes or simply resting after long days.

  Sprigatito was curled in his lap, dozing contentedly. She'd earned her rest—the morning's training had pushed both of them hard.

  Jason pulled out his phone, checking the battery. 38%. He'd found a charging solution, sort of—Pokémon Centers had universal charging stations that could adapt to almost any device, including his mysteriously-compatible smartphone. The technology didn't quite match anything from his world, but it worked, and that was what mattered.

  He scrolled through his music library, not playing anything, just looking. The song titles were little anchors to a life that felt increasingly distant. Diary of Jane. I Will Not Bow. The Sound of Silence. Atlas Falls.

  I wonder if anyone's looking for me, he thought. If my brother filed a missing persons report. If Nonna knows I'm gone.

  The thought brought the familiar ache, but it was duller now than it had been those first nights. Not gone—he didn't think it would ever be truly gone—but manageable. He was building a new life here, piece by piece, and the act of building left less room for mourning.

  "Mind if I sit?"

  Jason looked up to find Tommy hovering nearby, tray in hand, Zigzagoon at his heels.

  "Go ahead."

  The younger trainer slid into the seat across from him, setting down a plate piled high with food. "Last night in Littleroot for me. Heading to Dewford tomorrow—ferry leaves at dawn."

  "Dewford? That's your second gym?"

  "Yup. Brawly, Fighting-type specialist." Tommy made a face. "Zigzagoon's not great against Fighting-types, so I caught a Wingull yesterday for coverage. Flying beats Fighting, right?"

  "In theory. Execution's another matter."

  "Yeah, I know. I'll train on the ferry." Tommy dug into his food with the enthusiasm of a teenage boy who'd been active all day. "What about you? Still planning to stick around?"

  "Leaving tomorrow, actually. Oldale first, then Petalburg."

  "Cool, cool. Different directions, then." Tommy paused, chewing thoughtfully. "Hey, we should exchange contact info. Pokégear numbers, so we can keep in touch. Compare notes on gyms and stuff."

  Jason hesitated. He didn't have a Pokégear—the local equivalent of a smartphone—just his actual smartphone, which had no connectivity to this world's networks.

  "I don't have a Pokégear yet," he admitted. "Still figuring out the technology situation."

  "Oh, that's easy! The Pokémart sells basic models, or you can get a used one pretty cheap. They're essential for trainers—maps, communication, Pokédex integration, everything." Tommy pulled out his own device, a compact unit that looked like a cross between a smartphone and a walkie-talkie. "I can show you how to set one up if you want."

  "Tomorrow morning? Before you leave for the ferry?"

  "Sure! Meet at the Pokémart at six?"

  "It's a plan."

  They chatted for another hour, Tommy enthusiastically sharing his knowledge of gym strategies and travel routes while Jason listened and asked questions. The kid was inexperienced in battle, but his theoretical knowledge was impressive—he'd clearly done his research, studying trainer forums and strategy guides in preparation for his journey.

  Smart kid, Jason thought. He's done his research—knows more theory than most trainers twice his age. Wonder where he learned all that.

  But Tommy didn't act privileged. He was genuinely passionate, genuinely eager, and he treated Jason as an equal despite the age gap. It was... nice. Having someone to talk to who didn't have any expectations or preconceptions.

  When they finally parted ways, the café closing for the night, Jason felt something he hadn't expected: reluctance to say goodbye.

  "Hey, Tommy."

  The younger trainer turned back. "Yeah?"

  "Good luck in Dewford. And... thanks. For showing me around this week. It helped."

  Tommy's face split into a wide grin. "No problem! That's what fellow trainers do, right?" He gave an exaggerated salute. "See you on the circuit, Jason. Try not to fall too far behind!"

  He jogged off, Zigzagoon bounding beside him, and Jason watched him go with a small smile.

  One friend, he thought. That's a start.

  That night, Jason sat on his bed in the Pokémon Center room, Sprigatito curled beside him, and made a decision.

  He pulled out his phone, plugged in his headphones, and scrolled to a specific song. One he'd been avoiding since he arrived, because he knew—knew—it would break something open inside him.

  Open Hands by Josh Groban.

  He pressed play.

  The piano intro filled his ears, soft and almost melancholic, and Jason closed his eyes listening to one of his and his grandparents favorite songs. The lyrics washed over him. His throat tightened. His eyes burned.

  This is for you, Poppy, he thought. And for Nonna, and my brother, and everyone I left behind.

  He let himself feel it—really feel it—for the first time since waking up in that forest. The grief, the loss, the terrible unfairness of being ripped away from everything he'd known. The guilt of being unable to keep his promises. The fear that he'd never see any of them again.

  Sprigatito stirred against his side, making a soft, concerned sound. She pressed closer, her warmth seeping through his shirt, her presence a small anchor in the storm.

  It's okay, he wanted to tell her. I'm okay. I just... needed to do this.

  The song ended. Another began—something more upbeat, breaking the spell—and Jason reached over to pause the music. His face was wet. He hadn't noticed himself crying.

  Okay. That's done. That's processed.

  He wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked down at Sprigatito. She was watching him with those luminous red eyes, her expression somewhere between worried and understanding.

  "I'm alright, Sprig. Just... saying goodbye to some things." He stroked her fur, feeling the tension slowly leave his body. "Tomorrow we start something new. A real journey. You ready for that?"

  "Sprigatito." Quiet. Certain. Yes.

  "Good. Me too."

  He plugged his phone into the charging station, set it aside, and lay back on the bed. Sprigatito curled up on his chest, a warm weight that rose and fell with his breathing.

  Tomorrow, they'd leave Littleroot. Tomorrow, the real journey would begin.

  But tonight, he let himself rest.