Rain had a way of making Cerulean City look honest.
The polished storefronts lost their shine beneath the gray sky.
Wealthy merchants hurried through the streets with their umbrellas lowered, and even the canals that made the city famous became little more than dark ribbons winding between stone bridges.
For a few hours, the rich and the poor walked beneath the same weather.
It was only an illusion.
Adrian kept his hands buried in the pockets of his faded jacket as he moved through the crowded streets.
The rain had soaked through the fabric long ago, but he barely noticed anymore.
Living in the eastern district taught a person not to complain about things they couldn’t change.
He slowed as laughter drifted from the plaza ahead.
A crowd had gathered outside the Cerulean Pokémon Center, surrounding a family dressed well enough to draw attention anywhere in the city.
A boy about Adrian’s age stood proudly at the center of it, holding a brand-new Poké Ball.
His parents smiled for photographs as relatives offered congratulations, and beside them stood a League official in a crisp navy uniform.
“…officially registered as a licensed trainer,” the man announced, before shaking the teenager’s hand.
Applause echoed through the square.
Adrian watched only long enough to understand what was happening, then kept walking.
Today wasn’t special because that boy had received his first Pokémon.
Hundreds of teenagers across Kanto would begin their journeys this week.
Some from professors, others from families wealthy enough to raise Pokémon long before their children reached the legal age to register as trainers.
The celebration simply reminded Adrian that his own fifteenth birthday had come and gone without ceremony.
No family had waited for him.
No professor had expected him.
No one even knew he existed beyond a landlord who collected rent and a grocer who occasionally extended him credit until the end of the week.
It was almost amusing.
Three years ago, when memories of another life returned without warning, he’d imagined countless possibilities.
Stories where reincarnation meant destiny, hidden talent, unimaginable fortune waiting just beyond the horizon.
Reality had proven far less generous.
He’d been reborn an orphan in the poorest district of Cerulean City.
No mysterious system had appeared before his eyes.
No legendary Pokémon had chosen him.
The only advantage he possessed was knowledge from a world where Pokémon existed as games and stories rather than flesh and blood.
Even that knowledge had limits.
This world wasn’t following a script.
People lived complicated lives.
Businesses rose and failed.
Trainers disappeared into the wilderness without anyone remembering their names.
Gym Leaders were public figures with responsibilities that stretched far beyond battling ambitious challengers.
It wasn’t a story.
It was simply another world.
Adrian crossed one of the smaller bridges leading away from the commercial district, and the streets gradually changed.
Fresh paint gave way to cracked brick.
Expensive cafés became repair shops and pawnbrokers.
By the time he reached the eastern neighborhoods, the number of League patrols had thinned noticeably.
Nobody said the poorer districts were dangerous.
They simply didn’t pretend they were safe.
He stopped beneath the awning of a small convenience store as another wave of rain swept across the street.
An elderly man struggled to close the rusted shutters over his shop windows, cursing quietly as one refused to slide into place.
Without thinking, Adrian stepped forward and grabbed the opposite side.
“It sticks near the middle,” the old man muttered.
“I noticed.”
Together they forced the metal shutter into place with a loud scrape.
The old man let out a tired sigh.
“Appreciate it.”
Adrian nodded once and continued on his way.
Acts of kindness weren’t uncommon in the eastern district.
People who had little often understood better than anyone what it meant to need help.
The alley he entered a few minutes later looked abandoned.
Water trickled through cracked pavement between overflowing dumpsters, while faded brick buildings blocked out what little daylight remained.
At the far end stood a narrow bar squeezed between two warehouses, its weathered wooden sign barely readable beneath years of neglect.
The Copper Mug.
It looked exactly like the sort of place someone would overlook.
Adrian reached for the handle and stepped inside.
The warmth struck him first.
The room smelled faintly of old wood, tobacco, and cooked stew.
Only a handful of customers occupied the scattered tables, speaking quietly over half-empty mugs.
None looked memorable, and Adrian suspected that was intentional.
The bartender glanced up from polishing a glass.
“What can I get you?”
Adrian approached the counter without hesitation.
Months of preparation had reduced this moment to memory rather than nerves.
“I heard this place helps people looking for better opportunities.”
The bartender’s hand stopped moving.
His expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes sharpened.
“Who told you that?”
“A traveler passing through Vermilion.”
“And what exactly did this traveler say?”
Adrian held the older man’s gaze.
“He said ambition matters more than background.”
Silence settled over the room.
One of the customers turned a page in his newspaper.
Somewhere deeper inside the building, glass clinked against glass.
The bartender finally set the cup down beneath the counter.
“Wait here.”
He disappeared through a door behind the shelves without another word.
Adrian remained standing.
He’d wondered more than once whether the information was genuine.
Rumors spread easily through dockworkers and smugglers, and trusting the wrong person could end with an arrest.
Or worse.
Less than five minutes later, another man emerged.
He wore an ordinary gray suit that wouldn’t have attracted attention anywhere in Kanto.
Average height.
Average face.
Average voice.
Everything about him encouraged people to forget he existed.
“Follow me.”
Adrian did.
The man led him through a storeroom lined with dusty crates before stopping beside what appeared to be an ordinary storage shelf.
With a practiced motion, he pressed against the wall beside it.
Hidden mechanisms clicked, and the shelf slid aside to reveal a concrete staircase descending into darkness.
Adrian followed without speaking.
The further they descended, the quieter the city became.
Eventually the stairs opened into a brightly lit corridor that looked as though it belonged beneath a government laboratory rather than an aging neighborhood tavern.
Clean white lights illuminated polished concrete floors.
Security cameras rotated silently overhead.
Several men and women stood guard along the hallway, dressed in black tactical gear, each with a Poké Ball clipped securely to their belt.
Not one of them looked surprised to see a teenager walking through the facility.
The man in the gray suit stopped before a heavy steel door.
“This is your last chance to leave,” he said calmly.
“Walk away now, and no one will stop you.
Stay, and your life belongs to Team Rocket.”
Adrian considered the words for only a moment.
“If I walk away, nothing changes.”
The man studied him carefully.
“You understand that our work isn’t glamorous.
You’ll be asked to fight.
You may be injured.
You may die.”
“I understand.”
“And if the League catches you?”
“They won’t care why I joined.”
For the first time, the man smiled.
“No,” he admitted quietly.
“They won’t.”
He reached into his pocket and produced a small black capsule, offering it to Adrian.
“Standard security protocol.”
Adrian accepted it.
He already knew what it was.
Every recruit was rendered unconscious before being transported to the organization’s primary training facilities.
Even volunteers weren’t allowed to know where those bases were located.
Trust was earned.
Secrets were protected.
Without another word, Adrian crushed the capsule in his hand.
A faint sweetness filled the air.
His vision blurred almost instantly as exhaustion swept through his body.
The steel corridor stretched unnaturally before his eyes, and the lights overhead faded into indistinct circles of white.
The last thing he heard before darkness claimed him was the man’s measured voice.
“Welcome to Team Rocket, Adrian.”
Then the world disappeared.