Reincarnated Into a Pokémon World and Can See Their Hidden Potential?!

The sun dipped low behind Celadon's skyline, casting a soft golden hue over the private training fields near the tournament complex. With only hours left before his match against Donovan, Ray trained in silence.

Charmeleon darted forward, launching a precision burst of flames against a moving target dummy. Dragonair circled from above, weaving through trees and performing complex aerial maneuvers. Ray stood at the center, focused—but his mind was clouded.

Donovan fights like he's already won. And I need to prove he hasn't.

Pidgeotto perched nearby, wings folded, but eyes always on Ray. Loyal. Fierce. Ready.

Ray turned. "Alright, Pidgeotto—your turn. Let's do—"

A rustle.

Then footsteps.

From the edge of the forest, three figures in dark hooded coats emerged. At first, Ray thought they might be spectators or late-night trainers, but their silence felt… off.

Then came the flash of Pokéballs.

"We don't have to do this," Ray warned, stepping back. "Who are you?"

The strangers didn't reply. Instead, they unleashed three Pokémon in sync—a Weavile, a Crobat, and a Drapion. All high-level, all aggressive.

"Pidgeotto, up!"

Before Ray could react further, the ambush began. Weavile lunged at him directly, claws glowing with icy energy.

Pidgeotto cried out and flew between them, taking the slash across its wing. Blood spattered the ground.

"Pidgeotto!" Ray yelled, falling to his knees beside his partner.

Dragonair and Charmeleon launched themselves forward, ready to fight, but the attackers whistled and recalled their Pokémon just as quickly. They vanished into the trees as silently as they came.

Sirens rang out seconds later.

From behind, Officer Jenny and several League agents arrived with Growlithes and Arcanines. Ray's parents came running too, panic etched across their faces.

"Ray!" his mother gasped, kneeling beside him. "Are you okay?"

"He's fine," his father said, checking Ray's arms. "Just scratched. But—Pidgeotto…"

The League medics arrived quickly and carried Pidgeotto away on a stretcher capsule, giving emergency treatment to stabilize the wing injury.

Officer Jenny knelt beside Ray, eyes sharp. "We're going to find them. Whoever did this—attacking a registered trainer outside of a match is a serious criminal offense."

"It won't stop me," Ray said through clenched teeth. "The match is tomorrow, right?"

A League rep nodded. "Yes. We… we can't delay it. The rules don't allow rescheduling."

Ray stood slowly. "Then I'll be there. Even if I have to fight with one hand tied behind my back."

His parents exchanged glances, both worried—but proud.

That night, across the city in a penthouse suite of the Verdant Crown Hotel, three shadows knelt before a fourth figure seated by the window. The room glowed with artificial warmth—chandeliers, luxury curtains, velvet furnishings—but the tension was icy.

"It is done," one said, bowing. "Pidgeotto won't be fighting tomorrow. The brat's team is broken."

The man by the window stood. A teenager, yes—but with eyes that held nothing youthful. Donovan Lux.

He smiled, a cruel upward curve of his lips.

"Good. No surprises. I can't afford missteps."

He walked toward them, hands behind his back.

"The organization has plans for me. I was chosen for a reason. I'm going to be Champion. Not someday—this year."

He turned to the skyline, looking down at the city like a king surveying his territory.

"And if I must break a few bones or wings to get there… so be it."