As Akira sliced through the weathered tape of the box, a puff of stale dust escaped like a sigh from the past.
Let's see how accurate this so-called "system" really is, he thought, brushing aside a curled newspaper from a decade ago. His expectations were modest at best—he'd been half-convinced it would point him to a broken Pokégear or some sentimental trinket like a dusty old badge case.
What he didn't expect… was the glow.
A soft, ethereal blue light shimmered up from within, pulsing faintly under a blanket of packing straw. Carefully, he reached in—and his hand closed around something warm, crystalline, and humming with restrained power.
It was beautiful.
Encased in a translucent shell was a jagged hunk of dark-gray ore, veined with pulses of color that flickered like the northern lights. The moment his fingers brushed it, a strange tension crackled in the air—as though the stone itself was holding its breath.
"…It's really this thing?"
His voice came out half-awe, half-disbelief.
---
Of all the "legendary items" the system could have hinted at, he never would've guessed this. A raw Tera Orb core, genuine Terastal crystal ore from beneath Paldea's crust. It wasn't just rare.
It was practically mythical.
In the Pokémon world, Terastallization stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Mega Evolution, Z-Moves, and Dynamax.
Not just gimmicks—these were battle-changing phenomena. And Terastallization? It let a Pokémon change its type mid-battle, flipping matchups on their heads.
Dragon to Fairy. Fire to Water. Ground to Flying. The kind of thing that gave even seasoned veterans headaches.
And it wasn't just for show. That new type granted STAB, which means Same Type Attack Bonuso, that is on top of their regular moveset.
Tactically speaking? A Tera Orb was a license to rewrite battle physics.
He turned the crystal over in his palm, watching flecks of energy ripple along its surface like liquid starlight. For a Trainer? This was power.
For a broke Trainer who'd just sunk nearly all his savings into a dusty farmhouse?
This was salvation.
He could sell it.
That thought hit him fast, hard, and logical.
Sell it to someone like Geeta—Top Champion of Paldea—who undoubtedly had access to the right labs, the right engineers, the right everything. She would probably pay a small fortune.
It was an easy win. No contest.
And then,
[I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING—NO. YOU. CAN'T. SELL IT!!]
[This can supercharge your team! You'll be unstoppable! You'll be COOL!][Please don't sell it! I swear I'll be useful when you're planting carrots! Or cabbages! Or whatever it is farmers plant!]
[This is the one request I'll ever make in my whole existence. Pinky—no—monkey promise!! Please!!]
Akira blinked, deadpan.
"…You realize you're acting like a weirdly emotional mankey, right?"
[Please don't turn me into an pokemon metaphor. I have feelings.]
He sighed, holding the crystal up to the light. It glimmered, almost innocently.
"…Keeping it isn't off the table," he said, giving the rock a little toss and catching it again.
"But if I do, you'd better show up when I actually need something. No more vanishing into software limbo, understood?"
[Deal!! Absolutely! I'll even help you till the soil! I can calculate optimal potato density!]
"Oh, now we are talking."
He cracked a wicked smile.
There was something oddly comforting about the feeling of blackmailing the system . It reminded him of a Chatot he'd once seen—loud, a little clueless, but undeniably entertaining.
Maybe this wouldn't be the worst arrangement.
Later that afternoon, after all the furniture had been aired out under the sun, Akira bumped fists with Swampert's massive hand and smiled. "You were a total powerhouse today. Go ahead and rest up, we're eating well tonight, you can have all your favourites."
Swampert rumbled approvingly, then tapped its own Poké Ball with a thick finger and vanished in a pulse of red light.
Akira exhaled, surveying the organized chaos across the yard.
Boxes lay open, their contents scattered like breadcrumbs through time. Worn-out cushions, books warped by humidity, a couple of board games missing most of their pieces. A vintage photo album sat near the steps, its pages faded but lovingly arranged.
He'd gather the photos and bring them to the couple's grave tomorrow. It was the least he could do.
There were also a few seed packetsun, they were marked, yellowing with age. He rubbed one between his fingers. They crumbled like old paper. Unusable.
Too much time had passed.
But even if the seeds were dead, this land wasn't. And now, with the Tera Orb core in hand, his team's future felt more alive than ever.
A new beginning was sprouting right beneath his feet.
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