The golden glow faded slowly, like a cheap magic trick at a kid's birthday party—but somehow, this one felt real.
David's eyes locked onto the spinning wheel's pointer as it ticked to a stop on a golden tile that shimmered like it was blessed by the gods… or at least dipped in glitter by an overenthusiastic party planner.
He stared. Then squinted. Then leaned in like an old man checking his mail.
Four big, bold letters flashed up on the golden grid. His mouth opened slightly. His brain froze.
The system voice chimed in with the emotional tone of a weather report:
[C-level lottery successful.][Congratulations to the host for obtaining: S-level reward – Reminder System.]
David blinked. "Wait… what?"
[Reminder System: Allows the user to detect the location of treasures and Rare Pokémon within a certain range. Also provides detailed attribute information for Pokémon and Pokémon eggs.]
That was all. Just two sentences. But those two sentences hit David like a freight train full of good luck and caffeine.
He shot up from the bed so fast the mattress squeaked like a rubber duck in distress. His legs nearly kicked the wall. His arms flailed like he was trying to take flight.
"Let's GOOOO!" he yelled, pumping both fists like a guy who just won free nuggets for life.
His eyes were glowing. His pupils practically shaped themselves into dollar signs. You could roast marshmallows over the heat of his excitement. He stared at the system screen like it was the love of his life.
This was not just some junk item like a bottle of lukewarm water or sportswear from a 1997 garage sale. This was the real deal.
S-tier.
In a C-tier pool.
That was like opening a box of cereal and finding a gold brick instead of a plastic whistle.
The odds of that happening? Close to zero. About the same as waking up to find a talking alpaca at his bedside asking him for life advice.
And yet… here he was.
David paced in the tiny room, muttering under his breath. "Okay… okay… the reminder system has treasure hunting and Pokémon stat-reading... This is insane. This is broken. This is basically cheat codes wrapped in digital glitter."
He paused dramatically. "I can scan Pokémon eggs. I can see hidden attributes. I can literally sense treasure like some kind of discount pirate!"
This was next-level stuff. Back in his previous life—when he was just another player mashing buttons and yelling at lag—this kind of feature didn't unlock until after you beat the Champion, rolled credits, and spent another 40 hours grinding.
And now?
He had it.
Right now.
Without even brushing his teeth.
David looked at the system screen again, a proud smirk spreading across his face. "Well well well… Looks like I'm basically the Champion now."
He paused.
"…Okay, maybe Champion adjacent."
He flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in disbelief, arms spread wide.
"God bless the C-tier prize pool," he whispered.
And for once, the system didn't sass him back.
As any sane person—or nerd with a Pokédex app—knows, the Pokémon world is full of weird creatures ranging from harmless bugs to gods who shoot lasers from their eyeballs.
On one end of the scale, you've got Caterpies—basically walking green noodles with eyes. On the other, you've got Legendary Pokémon who could sneeze and accidentally level a continent.
They're all technically "Pokémon," sure. But let's be real: putting a Caterpie in a fight with, say, Rayquaza, is like sending a squirrel to slap a tornado. It's just not happening.
This is where a little thing called Species Strength comes in.
Species Strength is like the base stats for each Pokémon species. It's the reason why a Magikarp flopping around uselessly is totally normal, and why a Garchomp could break the sound barrier while trying to catch a sandwich.
But even among the same species, not all Pokémon are built the same. Some are born tough. Some are born dumb. Some are born with the potential to become absolute monsters on the battlefield—and some just sit there and blink.
To measure all this genetic chaos, players came up with something called Individual Values. Basically: it's Pokémon DNA lottery.
Now, thanks to his magical gacha prize, David had just scored a tool that let him see these hidden values.
It was called the [Reminder System]. And David, still in his boxers, was standing like a conquering hero in the middle of his tiny bedroom, chest puffed out and grinning like he'd just won a lifetime supply of nachos.
"With this, I could catch a Weedle," he said, pointing dramatically toward the window like he expected a wild Pokémon to fly in. "And not just any Weedle. The chosen Weedle. The LeBron James of Weedles!"
He cackled, practically vibrating with excitement. The depression from his earlier string of garbage gacha draws was completely gone—buried under the mountain of joy that came with finally pulling something good.
"Fifty-plus 'Thanks for Participating' prizes, all worth it!" he declared to no one, striking a heroic pose that nearly knocked over a chair.
Moments ago, he'd been on the brink of losing it—one more overalls reward or bottle of water, and he might've jumped out the window yelling, "I choose death!"
But now?
Now he had power.
Now he had purpose.
Now… he had a UI overlay that let him judge wild Pokémon like a supermarket produce aisle.
David stared at the glowing system screen, basking in its usefulness. "Who needs a Legendary Arceus when I've got a personalized treasure-hunting, stat-checking super scanner?"
Right on cue, the system chimed ominously:
[Host's wish detected. Activating SSS-level reward filter: All-Slate Arceus—initiating closure process...]
David froze mid-strut. "Wait—what? No no no, I was joking!"
He waved his arms like a guy trying to stop a toaster from exploding.
"HEY! Come on! Don't punish me for having taste! Reopen it! I wasn't being serious!"
The system stayed silent.
"I don't care if it's one in a trillion!" David shouted, stomping his foot. "If I want a god, I want a god! Bring it back, you petty data gremlin!"
And yet, the system remained stubbornly unbothered.
David stood there in the middle of the room, fists clenched, yelling at an invisible UI like a man arguing with his microwave.
And deep down, he knew one thing:
Even if it was just a joke… he really wanted that Arceus.
***
After a few seconds of dramatic spinning and overthinking, the pointer on the prize wheel finally slowed down. It ticked left… ticked right… then, with one last anticlimactic click, it stopped.
And then it happened.
A golden glow burst out from the wheel, not quite as blinding as the last time, but still bright enough to make David yelp and slap his own forehead in surprise.
[Ding! Congratulations! You've won an S-level item: Dreepy Pokémon Egg +1!]
David froze.
His mouth opened wide enough to catch flies, and then—"I've hit the Jackpot!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, launching off the bed so fast he nearly smacked into the ceiling fan.
He landed awkwardly on the mattress, bounced once, and lay there stunned, eyes wide, mouth still twitching. But this time, his face didn't beam with pure joy. No, no. This wasn't joy.
This was fear.
"System," he whispered, blinking nervously, "are you sure there's no hidden price on this? No secret 'thank you for participating in your own funeral' clause?"
He stood up slowly, hands shaking like he was defusing a bomb. "I just got another S-tier item. Again. That's two jackpots. Back-to-back. This kind of luck? It's suspicious! Illegal, even!"
He started pacing, muttering like a conspiracy theorist who just discovered that pigeons might actually be government drones. "I once had a fortune teller tell me I was gonna live to a thousand. Said I had 'immortal energy.' If I just lost a year of my life for this egg, I swear I will haunt this system from beyond the grave."
The system, true to its soulless nature, said absolutely nothing.
Which made David even more paranoid.
"You hear that silence?" he hissed. "That's guilt! That's the silence of a system that just sold my lifespan on the black market!"
Had the system been human, it would've probably filed a restraining order by now. But David wasn't done ranting. "If you ever start deducting years off my life in exchange for lottery prizes, you better throw in a spa membership too!"
The glowing light finally faded, and something landed with a soft thud in front of him. David cautiously approached the thing like it might explode.
Sitting there on the floor was a shiny, golden-enameled Pokémon egg. It looked like it belonged in a luxury jewelry store, right next to the "Do Not Touch Unless You're a Millionaire" sign. The egg was decorated with elegant green patterns and subtle golden trim. It practically screamed, I am expensive and might sue you if you look at me wrong.
David crouched down in awe. "Whoa… this thing looks more valuable than my entire existence."
He activated his [Hint System] and a flurry of information popped up in front of him.
[Pokémon: Dreepy (Dragon/Ghost Type)]Gender: MaleLevel: 0 (egg stage)Ability: Eternal Pure Body(Immune to stat drops from opposing moves or abilities.)Nature: Timid (+Speed, -Attack)IVs: 31 across the board — HP, Attack, Special Attack, Defense, Special Defense, Speed.Potential: Champion-Level.Evaluation: This Dreepy egg has extremely high potential and a strong connection to the outside world. It's absorbing your love… and probably your life energy.
David blinked. Then blinked again.
"...6V?" he whispered. "Champion potential?"
He fell backwards like he'd just seen a ghost. Which, ironically, he kind of had, since Dreepy is a Ghost-type.
He clutched the egg gently, like a precious artifact from some lost temple. "This… this is a pseudo-legendary. A Quasi-God. A baby murder missile in the making."
His voice cracked. "My first Pokémon… is a future battlefield demon with the stats of a calculator on steroids…"
He looked down at the egg again, brushing his hand over its shiny shell. It felt cold to the touch—hard and cool like polished stone, but with a hint of a pulse, like something inside was aware. When his fingers brushed the golden patterns, a faint dark shimmer pulsed back at him.
It was Dreepy's way of saying, Yo. I see you.
David trembled with joy. "He moved. He actually moved."
He sat cross-legged on the floor, cradling the egg like a nervous new parent. "Okay, okay, we're good. We're gonna take it slow, little guy. No sudden hatching, no haunting dreams, and definitely no ghostly voices calling me 'father' at 3 AM."
But even as he said that, David's brain was in overdrive.
What kind of monster will this Dreepy become? How long will it take to hatch? Will it like me? Should I start reading parenting books for ghost lizards?!
David looked up at the ceiling and shouted, "I HAVE A PSEUDO-LEGENDARY IN MY BEDROOM!"
Somewhere, a neighbor banged angrily on the wall.
David didn't care.
His heart was still thumping like a drum solo at a rock concert. Because no matter what chaos had happened before…
His very first Pokémon… was a champion-grade, six-IV, future death machine.
And life, for once, didn't feel like a scam.
***
David had spent way too much time daydreaming about what his first Pokémon would be.
He wasn't expecting greatness. In fact, he had already emotionally prepared himself to start from rock bottom. His mental list of possibilities was grim: a twitchy Weedle with anger issues, a Magikarp with commitment problems, a Rattata that steals snacks, or a Pidgey that poops on his head mid-sentence.
Basically, he expected a Pokémon that screamed, "Yes, this guy is poor and unlucky."
And even after getting that 300,000 Alliance coin lifeline from Melissa (his teacher, personal nemesis, and unexpected sugar sponsor), his expectations didn't rise much. That kind of money was barely enough to upgrade from "garbage-tier companion" to "slightly-less-garbage-tier companion." A slightly fancier Rattata, maybe. With a hat.
But what he got instead?
A Pseudo Legendary.
A baby Dreepy. With champion-level potential. A Ghost-Dragon missile of doom wrapped in an adorable haunted eggshell. It was like ordering tap water and receiving a gold-plated milkshake blessed by a unicorn.
David stared at the glowing egg like it might sprout legs and run away if he blinked. "This can't be real. This shouldn't be real."
He knew how much this kind of Pokémon was worth—hundreds of millions of Alliance coins, easy. The kind of money that made rich collectors foam at the mouth and try to outbid each other until someone offered a mansion as collateral.
Of course, that was just fantasy talk.
Because in reality, no one in their right mind would auction off a Pokémon like this. You don't sell future champions. You train them, bond with them, raise them to win tournaments and flex on everyone who doubted you.
Still, the idea danced in David's head for a brief moment.
Then he shook it off, slapped himself lightly on the cheek, and whispered, "Nope. Not selling. He's my little ghost son now."
And just like that, David—who thought he'd be stuck with a bug that couldn't win a staring contest—was now the proud father of a potential champion.
His life had officially stopped making sense.