Pokémon: Farm Story

A few minutes later, Fu Gu squatted on the ground with a defeated expression, spraying potion on his Weepinbell.

The brief battle just now had plunged him into deep despair.

Sure, the tactics Natsume used were technically things that had been taught in school, but experiencing them firsthand was a whole different level of frustration.

Dirty tactics were despised for a reason: they were infuriating and often seemed impossible to counter.

Strictly speaking, every underhanded strategy had been thoroughly researched, with countermeasures meticulously developed over the years.

But remembering all of them? Impossible.

There were simply too many strategies, and just as many counters.

His brain couldn't keep up. Managing to memorize a handful of the basics already felt like an achievement.

With a heavy sigh, Fu Gu sank further into his melancholy.

Natsume, on the other hand, fully empathized.

When he first arrived in this world, Natsume had been brimming with confidence.

He thought his past-life experience with strategy games might not make him an unbeatable champion but would at least let him dominate the rookie scene.

Then he opened a textbook full of complex tactics, and reality hit him like a brick wall.

In hindsight, it made sense. The strategies he knew were merely the product of gaming communities, limited in scope and creativity.

How could they possibly compare to the collective ingenuity of an entire world dedicated to Pokémon training for decades?

A younger Natsume had been utterly demolished by his own overconfidence.

The harsh realities of this world hammered humility into him—figuratively and, sometimes, literally.

Natsume quickly realized that his brain wasn't cut out for intricate battle strategies.

Whether it was before or after his reincarnation, complex operations were never his forte.

So he decided: if finesse wasn't his game, then brute force would have to do.

When raising his Corvisquire, Natsume focused entirely on boosting its size and defense.

Simple. Direct. Effective.

The plan was for it to become an impenetrable wall and, after evolving into a Corviknight, dominate the battlefield with powerful attacks like Brave Bird.

Unfortunately, the dream was cut short when his priorities shifted from becoming a Pokémon trainer to running a farm.

Life took him down a completely different path, and now the idea of returning to professional training felt like a distant memory.

Still, Natsume didn't regret it. If anything, he'd found a new kind of fulfillment.

Fu Gu, meanwhile, struggled to put his feelings into words.

"Master Natsume… battling you was… uh…"

He wanted to say the usual niceties: "That was such an exhilarating fight!" or "I've learned so much from our battle!"

But he couldn't.

In truth, just holding back tears was a feat of emotional strength.

"It's okay," Natsume replied dryly, unsure how to comfort him.

"Don't worry, Master Natsume. I'm fine."

Fu Gu slapped his cheeks and forced a smile, though it didn't entirely mask his lingering frustration.

Defeat was a normal part of a trainer's life, after all.

Failure is the mother of success, right? Well, Fu Gu felt like he'd received more than his fair share of maternal affection today.

"Oh, by the way, Master Natsume," Fu Gu suddenly said, "I have this habit of documenting my travels on the forum."

Many trainers enjoyed sharing their experiences online for various reasons—whether to chronicle their journeys, brag about their accomplishments, or offer advice to newcomers.

It was also a subtle way of proving they were still alive.

If a trainer's account suddenly went silent, especially after a post about exploring the wilderness, it usually wasn't a good sign.

In the wild, going missing and dying were often one and the same, though the term "missing" gave families a small glimmer of hope.

After hearing Fu Gu's explanation, Natsume thought for a moment before agreeing.

His farm didn't have much to hide—aside from the occasional visit from Ogerpon or his secret psychic powers.

A little publicity wouldn't hurt.

The days of relying on "quality speaks for itself" were long gone. Even the best products needed online marketing these days.

"Thank you so much, Master Natsume!"

Fu Gu left with a spring in his step, happily clutching some energy cubes Natsume had casually handed him as a parting gift.

---

Walking down a rural path, Fu Gu began updating his forum log:

"Just visited a farm near Lianshan Town, run by a trainer named Natsume. Great guy! He even gave me some homemade pokéblocks—way better quality than the ones you find in stores."

When it came to strength, Fu Gu hesitated.

Thinking back to his utterly defeated Aipom and Weepinbell, he paused before typing:

"I'd recommend any rookie trainers challenge him. It's a… good learning experience."

Why should he suffer alone? Sharing the pain was the least he could do, right?

Not that it mattered much—his forum account barely had any followers. Most of the views were either his own or from bots.

Thinking about it only made him feel worse.

---

Back at the farm, Natsume was finally wrapping up his chores.

As he approached his house, he was greeted by a cacophony of panicked cries from inside.

Corvisquire, Minccino, and Buneary were all frantically shouting over one another.

Corvisquire flew out from the second floor in a rush, spotting Natsume and immediately squawking in alarm:

"Caw! Caw! Caw! Natsume! The egg you brought back—it's glowing! Is it going to explode?!"

"What?!"

Natsume's eyes widened as he bolted inside.

"Meow."

Persian glanced at Corvisquire with a withering look. Fool. It's hatching.

Then, with a flick of its tail, Persian followed Natsume inside.

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