I found myself at the edge of a sprawling park, staring at a wooden sign that pointed toward "Celadon Gym Outer Gardens." Ditto shifted against my neck, its weight familiar now after our morning's city walk.

The gardens spread out before us, though they looked more like a public park than an actual garden. A patchwork of dirt and grass stretched across the grounds, with morning light catching the dew that still clung to the few spots untrampled by feet and attacks.

A battle between two young trainers caught my attention—a Doduo facing off against a Bellsprout on worn dirt. The Doduo actually had a clear advantage whenever it attacked—its attacks super effective when they connected—but its heads seemed more interested in arguing with each other than listening to commands.

Its trainer shouted "Focus!" which, ironically, only made both heads turn to stare at him instead of dodging the incoming Vine Whip.

The Doduo trainer seemed ready to tear his hair out.

I settled against a tree trunk, oddly captivated. Ditto's weight shifted, stretching slightly as if also trying to get a better view. The battle meandered on, punctuated by moments of accidental competence—the Doduo managed a super effective peck, ending the battle and knocking out the Bellsprout.

The boy punched the air in victory while his opponent trudged over, counting out crumpled bills with the particular slowness of someone hoping the money might multiply if they took long enough.

I stood and found myself drifting between battles after that, unable to just glance and move on.

A Pidgey and Spearow whose battle climbed into the air. Two trainers coached their Pokemon through a practice match, stopping occasionally to discuss technique. An intense face-off between a Muk and a Poliwhirl that drew a small crowd.

The sun climbed higher and then began to fall. My stomach growled—and we briefly stopped for lunch. Ditto stayed quiet through it all, but I felt its subtle reactions—a slight tightening when attacks came too close, a gentle relaxation during the lulls between matches.

"Looking for a battle?"

The voice pulled me out of my battle-watching trance. A boy who couldn't have been more than ten years old stood before me, all elbows and knees and boundless confidence. His blue cap sat crooked on his head, and a Pokeball bounced between his hands with the kind of nervous energy that suggested he hadn't quite mastered the casual spinning trick he was attempting.

"Of course!" The words burst out the moment we locked eyes. It felt natural, automatic—like muscle memory from a thousand battles fought through pixels and button presses.

Ditto, who had been contentedly draped around my neck like a living scarf, perked up at my enthusiasm. Before I could second-guess myself, it had already slid down to the ground, bouncing slightly with an eagerness that made me wonder if it had been hoping for this.

The boy's face lit up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills, smoothing them against his leg with the careful attention of someone counting their life savings. "Cool! Three hundred pokedollars?"

I flinched at the number before remembering that pokedollars were closer to yen than dollars—this was more like three bucks than three hundred. Still, I frowned as I instinctively reached for pockets where I would have had some change, but remembered I was wearing a dress when I just felt smooth fabric.

The boy's smile turned sharp at my hesitation. "Unless you're scaaaared?" He drew out the last word like stretching taffy, sweet with mockery.

Fifteen years of Pokemon experience bristled at his tone. I'd bred perfect IVs, chained shinies, climbed to Master rank—and now a tiny kid... well, technically I was about the same age as him now, but that wasn't the point. I looked down at Ditto, who met my gaze with unwavering confidence.

This wasn't a game. I had no idea if Ditto's transformations worked the same way—if most stats and moves were copied. But, looking at its eager wobble, I felt something settle in my chest. Dr. Fuji had trusted this Ditto to guard his most precious creation, Ambertwo. If it was good enough for the scientist who created Mewtwo, it was good enough for a street battle.

'I've been playing Pokemon for longer than you’ve been alive' I thought, a familiar competitive spark igniting. ‘There’s no way I can lose to a brat like you.’

"Deal," I said, forcing steel into my voice. I only had to figure out the money situation if we lost.

"Sweet!" The boy backed up, creating space for our impromptu arena. A few nearby trainers paused their own activities, scenting the possibility of entertainment.

"Name's Joey," he called out, flicking his Pokeball open with a flourish that would have been impressive if he hadn't nearly dropped it. "Try not to cry when you lose!"

The ball flew up, a flash of red light materializing into a Rattata. It hissed with quiet ferocity.

I squared my shoulders, channeling confidence I didn't quite feel in a Ditto. "I could say the same to you."

Joey’s grin widened. Without warning, he thrust his arm forward. "Go! Rattata! Tackle!"

"What the—Hey! When did we start?" I shouted, watching Ditto barely slide to the side as Rattata barreled past. My heart hammered against my ribs—not from fear, but from indignation. No countdown, no proper start, just straight into attacks.

Joey’s grin turned smug. "You said you were ready, didn't you? Rattata! Keep going! Keep up the pressure!"

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

'Right,' I thought, watching Rattata wheel around for another pass. 'One of those people.' The kind who thought rules were for other people and basic courtesy was optional. The kind who'd cut in line at a coffee shop and then complain about the service. The kind who desperately needed someone to knock them down a peg or two, preferably in front of an audience.

"Ditto, dodge and transform!"

Ditto weaved away from another tackle, but instead of transforming, it turned its face toward me with an expression that could only be described as confusion. The sight was so unexpected that for a moment, I forgot we were in the middle of a battle.

"Ditto, transform!" I tried again, my voice climbing an octave higher than I'd have preferred.

Joey's laughter cut through the air, sharp and mean in that particular way only pre-teens could manage. "Haha! A Pokemon that doesn't even know how to fight? What kind of weird blob did you catch? Rattata! Finish this loser up!"

"Ditto! Come on!" The words came out more desperate than I'd intended. "Transform into Rattata and fight back!"

And then—like that moment when you finally explain something the right way to someone who's been struggling—understanding flickered across Ditto's amorphous features. Its body shimmered, stretched, and suddenly there were two Rattata on the field.

Joey's mouth fell open, his previous bravado vanishing in an instant. "What the—What did—?" The words tumbled out in a shocked stutter. Even his Rattata took a step back, whiskers twitching in confusion.

I caught fragments of whispers from our impromptu audience: "Did you see—" "What kind of—" “I think I read about it in—”

I paused, the sudden attention prickling against my skin. A half-remembered theory floated through my mind—something about Ditto being failed clones of Mew—and I had to physically stop myself from slapping my forehead. Here I was, Clone-Amber, technically-daughter of the man who created Mewtwo, casually revealing what might be another of his classified experiments in a public park. If there was a guidebook for "How to Not Draw Attention to Your Secret Identity," I was probably breaking every chapter.

'Too late to worry about that now.' I turned back to face my opponent, who was staring at Ditto with the wide-eyed fascination of someone who'd just watched their understanding of Pokemon get turned inside out.

"Tail Whip!" I called out, immediately tense about my choice. It was pure muscle memory—fifteen years of Pokemon battles where status moves were the foundation of any decent strategy. In the games, it had been simple math: lower defense, increase damage output throughout the battle, victory. But now, watching Ditto face down a very real Rattata with very real teeth, I found myself questioning years of virtual combat experience. Would Ditto even be able to use the attack if it hadn't seen it? And would a tail swish actually make physical attacks hurt more here? Or had I just commanded my shapeshifting Pokemon to perform the equivalent of an intimidating dance move?

Ditto spun with a fluid grace that caught me off-guard. Joey’s Rattata tracked the motion, whiskers twitching rapidly, and when it settled back into its fighting stance, its movements carried a new hesitation.

'Huh,' I thought, watching the subtle shift in the Rattata's body language. 'So that's what a status move looks like in real life.'

"Ha!" Joey's voice cracked with false bravado. "Wasting time with fancy twirls? Rattata! Keep tackling! Full force! You can’t lose to a copy!"

"Perfect! Ditto, dodge and counter with Tackle!"

Ditto sidestepped the charging Rattata with the same fluid grace it had shown in its tail movement. It made me wonder if Dr. Fuji had spent some time combat-training it.

The original Rattata overextended, its eagerness working against it, and Ditto's counter-attack landed with precise timing. The impact sent Joey's Pokemon tumbling back, its previous confidence visibly shaken.

I felt my confidence growing. This wasn't just button inputs and damage calculations—Ditto wasn't just copying Rattata's form, it was moving with a precision that spoke of experience. Each dodge was efficient, each attack perfectly timed.

"Stop running away!" Joey's voice cracked. "Quick Attack! Don't let it dodge!"

His Rattata blurred forward—faster than eyes could track. Pure instinct made me shout, "Copy it! Meet it head-on!"

The collision came with a sharp crack. Joey's Rattata went sprawling, while Ditto's form briefly rippled at the impact before stabilizing.

Joey's composure cracked entirely. "Keep attacking! Don't stop until you hit it!"

His Rattata launched into a frenzy of attacks, each wilder than the last. But Ditto moved like water, each dodge flowing into the next, letting Joey's Pokemon exhaust itself against empty air. It was the difference between button-mashing and actual technique—and Ditto had years of the latter programmed into whatever Dr. Fuji had done to it.

"Stop! Moving!" Joey's commands devolved into frustrated shouts, each one making his Rattata's attacks wilder. The poor Pokemon's movements were becoming ragged, each lunge leaving it more exposed than the last.

I watched the rhythm of their desperation, waiting. One particularly aggressive tackle left Joey's Rattata off-balance, its tail swinging wide to compensate. "Now, Ditto! Quick Attack!"

The counter was devastating in its simplicity—a clean strike that sent Joey's Rattata tumbling across the grass. When it struggled up, its legs trembled with exhaustion.

"Come on!" Joey's voice cracked. "You can't lose to some—some weird copy!"

I almost felt bad for them. Almost. "One more time, Ditto!"

The final Quick Attack landed with surgical precision. Joey's Rattata slid to a stop at his feet, managed one defiant attempt to stand, and then collapsed with the classic swirls in its eyes that I'd only ever seen in the anime.

The scattered applause from our audience felt wrong somehow—too much attention for what was supposed to be a simple amateur battle. Probably because of Ditto.

Joey stared at his fallen Rattata for a long moment, his earlier swagger evaporating like morning dew. For a second, he looked exactly like what he was—a kid. Then his face scrunched up, bottom lip quivering dangerously.

'Oh no,' I thought, panic rising. I'd prepared for Pokemon battles and type matchups, but dealing with a crying child hadn't been part of any game guide I'd ever read.

But Joey surprised me. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and recalled his Rattata with shaking hands. Then, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled bills, holding them out with the stiff formality of someone trying very hard to pretend this didn't hurt.

"Fair's fair," he mumbled, gaze fixed somewhere around my left shoulder. "You won."

I stared at the bills, my earlier triumph mixing with an unexpected twinge of guilt. This wasn't some NPC handing over programmed currency—this was probably the kid's entire allowance. But... I was broke too.

"Thanks," I said quietly, accepting the money. "It was a good battle." The words felt a bit inadequate, but they were true enough.

I tucked the crumpled bills into my dress pocket, trying not to think too hard about winning my first real Pokemon currency through what basically amounted to hustling a kid. Joey had already trudged away, shoulders slumped but head high.

Ditto slithered back up to my neck, humming with what felt like both satisfaction and concern. "Nice work," I whispered, giving it a quick pat while scanning the dispersing crowd. Most had already turned away, but a few were still muttering among themselves, shooting curious glances in our direction.