The café Gardenia led them to buzzed with subdued energy, its warm interior filled with the mingling scents of roasted coffee and fresh pastries.
Potted plants near the entrance released occasional floral notes into the air, their blossoms swaying gently whenever the door opened.
He chose a seat by the window, back to the wall, sightlines clear, old instincts dictating his movements even in this unfamiliar world.
Gardenia sprawled in her chair, fingers drumming an absent rhythm on the wooden tabletop.
"So let me get this straight," she began, eyebrows raised, "you've never heard of the Pokémon League?"
A barely perceptible nod was his only response.
She whistled through her teeth.
"Man, you must be from seriously off the grid. Even kindergarteners know about the League."
Silence stretched between them until she broke it with a shrug, taking a long pull from her drink.
"Alright, basics then. The Pokémon League is the big leagues for trainers. Each region's got its Gym Leaders, that's me, who test challengers. Beat us, earn badges. Collect enough badges, you qualify to take on the Elite Four and," she leaned forward, eyes gleaming, "if you're really something special, the Champion himself."
"Champion."
The word resonated in the air between them, heavy with implication.
"Only the absolute strongest make it to the top," Gardenia continued. "Becoming Champion means you're the undisputed best in the region."
Jin-Woo reclined slightly in his chair, absorbing the information.
This world had its own carefully constructed hierarchy of power, its own systems for measuring strength.
Orderly.
Structured.
Predictable.
And utterly confining.
Gardenia studied him over the rim of her cup.
"From what I saw today, you've definitely got the skills. But here's the thing, raw power alone won't cut it in the League."
She tapped her temple.
"You need strategy. Adaptability. And most importantly," her mouth quirked into a smirk, "you actually need to know type matchups."
Her assessment wasn't incorrect.
He'd already observed this world's peculiar battle mechanics, the rock-paper-scissors of type advantages, the intricate dance of status effects and move properties.
Foreign concepts, but not insurmountable ones.
Adaptation had always been his forte.
"You've got options," Gardenia said, propping her chin on one hand.
"If you want to make waves, the League's one way to do it. Or," she gestured vaguely, "you can keep doing... whatever mysterious thing it is you normally do."
Their conversation hung suspended as sudden commotion erupted outside, shouted commands, the scuffle of hurried footsteps.
Café patrons turned toward the windows, murmurs rippling through the room.
Gardenia's chair scraped against the floor as she stood, frown deepening.
"Now what?"
Through the glass, figures in matching black uniforms swarmed the town square, their jackets emblazoned with a stylized crimson 'G'.
The way civilians recoiled told him everything he needed to know.
Fear.
Oppression.
Power.
"Team Galactic," Gardenia spat the name like a curse. "What the hell are they doing here?"
He filed the name away as Gardenia stormed outside, his own movement silent as shadow as he followed.
The scene unfolding in the square was textbook intimidation, a ring of grunts surrounding a cowering woman clutching a trembling Buneary to her chest.
"Hand it over," the lead grunt demanded, hand outstretched. "Now."
The woman shook her head violently.
"Please! She's my partner!"
The grunt's smile turned predatory.
"Don't worry, we'll take real good care of it."
Gardenia's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Hey!"
As the grunts turned, he moved.
One moment he stood observing, the next, he'd inserted himself between the woman and her harassers.
The lead grunt blinked in surprise.
"Who the hell—?"
No answer came.
Instead, he allowed the barest fraction of his presence to bleed into the air, the temperature dropped sharply, the very light seeming to dim around them.
The grunts shuddered, their bodies reacting to primordial danger signals their minds couldn't yet process.
The leader swallowed hard, false bravado cracking.
"Tch. Think you're tough?" A Poké Ball materialized in his shaking hand. "Let's see how you handle this!"
No movement.
No wasted breath.
"Beru."
The ground erupted beside him as the Ant King's massive form burst forth, chitinous armor glistening under the streetlights.
The grunts recoiled as one, their leader's Poké Ball slipping from suddenly numb fingers.
"That's, that's not a Pokémon!" one gasped.
Gardenia watched, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
"Leave." The single word hung in the air, final as a guillotine drop.
For one suspended moment, the grunt leader hesitated, pride warring with survival instinct.
Then Beru took a single, earth-shaking step forward.
The street emptied in seconds.
As the woman stammered her thanks, Gardenia let out a low whistle.
"Well. That was... something." Her gaze traveled slowly from the hulking ant warrior back to its master, smirk returning. "You're really not normal, are you?"
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken questions.
Gardenia chuckled, shaking her head.
"Alright, mystery man. You've got my full attention now." Her eyes sparkled with competitive fire. "The Pokémon League might not be ready for what you're bringing."
The ghost of a smile touched his lips.
Irrelevant.
He hadn't come to play by their rules.
He has his own rules.