In the early evening, there was already a chill in the air around Spikemuth, a town covered in chaotic graffiti.

Inside the tall fences, remnants of abandoned factories loomed in the center, with music and bright neon lights filling the air, catching the attention of most people.

In a narrow alley, some distance away from the fences, foul-smelling black water flowed from a pile of garbage onto the street. Among the pile of garbage lay a young man, covered in blood.

His black hair was barely visible, and his body looked somewhat muscular.

He frowned, struggling to open his eyes. But the flashing lights and the stench kept irritating his senses.

His name was Shiro. After being hit by a truck in his old world, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he found himself here.

'Where am I?' Shiro looked around, not realizing he had transmigrated. The smell of motor oil from the truck still lingered in his mind.

Who would think that waking up in an unfamiliar place meant transmigration? Shiro thought someone must have dragged him here while he was unconscious.

He checked for his phone and keys, but they were gone. His clothes were different too. He quickly realized that the person who dragged him here had also taken his clothes and money.

"Who does something like this..." Shiro muttered, wiping the sticky substance off his face, gently tapping his still aching head, and using the trash beneath him to push himself up.

But as soon as he tried to move, sharp pain shot through his arm, and his legs didn't cooperate. Shiro knew he'd been hit by a truck, so he expected this kind of pain.

Using sheer willpower, Shiro leaned against the pile of trash, unsteadily standing up and trembling as he walked toward the end of the alley.

He couldn't stay in such a filthy place any longer; the smell was enough to choke him. His top priority now was to find a police officer or ask a kind stranger for help.

'Once I get to the police station, they'll send me to the hospital. That should solve everything…' Shiro thought to himself.

Suddenly, the dizziness in his head deepened, forcing him to lean on a rusted metal roll-up door and stop to recover.

Unfamiliar scenes kept flashing in his mind, and the little creatures, both familiar and strange, made him doubt what he was seeing.

He had actually arrived in the world of Pokémon!

However, this wasn't a relaxing utopia—it was a harsh world where survival required constant struggle.

Here, his name was also Shiro. His father was a member of Team Yell, a respected team leader who was said to be up for a promotion soon. But just two days ago, news arrived that his father had died during a failed mission.

Once the news spread and was confirmed, a Team Yell underling led a group to his house, looting it and taking the Zigzagoon his father had left for him.

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Shiro, full of youthful defiance, wasn't satisfied with this and tried to find his father's old friends for help. But as soon as he stepped outside, the people who had stolen his Pokémon beat him up and threw him into the trash heap.

'Such bad luck... for both of us.' Shiro couldn't help but laugh as he processed the information.

However, for him, the chance to live again, and in the Pokémon world at that, was still incredibly valuable.

Just then, a few unkempt people walked down the street, sandwiched between the two abandoned factories.

They frequently glanced at Shiro, who was resting against the door by the roadside, and started to gossip:

"Isn't that Shiro?"

"I heard his dad died, his Pokémon got stolen, and he just got beat up..."

"Seriously? Aren't there two others who went through the same thing? They were all on the same team. But it's none of our business. Let's go, or we'll be late."

"Right, let's go. I wonder what Pokémon it is this time. If it's just one or two and someone else gets to it first, we're screwed…"

While speaking, the boys quickly ran off.

Shiro only glanced at them briefly, not paying much attention.

Those people were the lowest tier in Spikemuth, with neither official League status nor membership in Team Yell. They were often struggling to even get a meal, let alone own a Pokémon. They couldn't even touch a Poké Ball. He didn't have much information about people like them from his memories.

Now, Shiro needed to head home, following the path he remembered.

He aimed to get to a relatively safe and clean place, rest his body, and then figure out his next steps.

His father, being a member of Team Yell, likely left behind some money and a few Poké Balls.

These should serve as his rookie starter pack.

By now, the night was in full swing, and the neon lights in Spikemuth's sky flickered erratically, their colorful beams flashing wildly, as if trying to paint on the dark canvas of the night.

The loud rock music echoed from the central area.

It was the son of the Spikemuth Gym Leader, Piers, holding his regular concert.

As a member of Team Yell, one of their duties was to support the son of the Gym Leader.

It was said that Piers, worried about the decline of his hometown, came up with the idea of music to try to revitalize it. And now, he had indeed gained quite a following, though most of his fans were from Spikemuth itself.

Shiro walked west, passing through the dilapidated streets surrounded by warehouses and abandoned factories, until he reached a relatively tidy residential area.

It was a bit far from the concert in the central area, but it was peaceful. On both sides of the street were neatly arranged houses with white walls and red roofs.

Following the direction in his memories, Shiro headed toward one house, opened the unlocked courtyard gate, and walked in.

Inside, the house was eerily quiet. The heavy black wooden door was half-open.

At the same time, Shiro remembered that he hadn't felt his keys on him. Now, with the courtyard gate wide open and the house door also not closed, a bad feeling crept up on him.

It was very likely that the people who had beaten him up had also stolen his keys, and now they might be inside, ransacking his house.

If they hadn't left after robbing him, wouldn't he get beaten again?

Shiro stopped in the dark courtyard, staring at the silent door. He decided to approach slowly.

He first crept to the side of the wall next to the door, listening quietly for a while. When he heard nothing, he gently entered the house.

If those people were still inside, they would either be noisy or already asleep. If they were asleep, Shiro planned to sneak in and check.

The house had two floors.

The first floor was a mess. The cotton stuffing from the sofa had been pulled out and scattered across the floor, and everything from chairs to decorations had been destroyed or torn apart.

This made Shiro relax a little.

Since the burglars were so violent in dismantling the house, it was highly unlikely they had plans to stay. They were just there to steal things.

He cautiously climbed the stairs to the second floor, checking each room in disarray before finally confirming that no one was there.

However, Shiro's expected rookie starter pack was also gone.

After coming down and locking the door, he walked into the relatively clean bathroom.

He tidied his face and changed clothes, then lay down on the bed in a room on the second floor, which was messy with scattered blankets.

He quickly fell asleep, but in a half-awake state, he heard faint knocking on the door.