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

  The brief battle just nolunged him into deep despair.

  Sure, the tactiatsume used were teically things that had been taught in school, but experieng them firsthand was a whole different level of frustration.

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

  Strictly speaking, every underharategy had been thhly researched, with termeasures meticulously developed over the years.

  But remembering all of them? Impossible.

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

  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 mencholy.

  Natsume, oher hand, fully empathized.

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

  He thought his past-life experieh strategy games might not make him an uable champion but would at least let him domihe rookie se.

  Then he opened a textbook full of plex tactics, ay hit him like a brick wall.

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

  How could they possibly pare to the collective iy of aire world dedicated to Pokémon training for decades?

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

  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 reination, plex 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 pn was for it to bee an imperable wall and, after evolving into a Corviknight, domihe battlefield with powerful attacks like Brave Bird.

  Unfortunately, the dream was cut short when his priorities shifted from being a Pokémon traio running a farm.

  Life took him down a pletely different path, and now the idea of returning to professional traini 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 wao say the usual ies: "That was su exhirating 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 fort him.

  “Don’t worry, Master Natsume. I’m fine.”

  Fu Gu spped his cheeks and forced a smile, though it didirely 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 affe today.

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

  Many trainers enjoyed sharing their experiences online for various reasons—whether to icle their journeys, brag about their aplishments, or offer advice to newers.

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

  If a trainer’s at suddenly went silent, especially after a post about expl 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 expnation, Natsume thought for a moment befreeing.

  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 produeeded online marketing these days.

  "Thank you so much, Master Natsume!"

  Fu Gu left with a spring in his step, happily clutg 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 tth, Fu Gu hesitated.

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

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

  Why should he suffer alone? Sharing the pain was the least he could dht?

  Not that it mattered much—his forum at 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 ing up his chores.

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

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

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

  “Caw! Caw! Caw! Natsume! The egg yht back—it’s glowing! Is it going to explode?!”

  “What?!”

  Natsume’s eyes widened as he bolted inside.

  “Meow.”

  Persian g Corvisquire with a withering look. Fool. It’s hatg.

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

  Gcell