Pokemon: Ambertwo [Pokemon Fanfic/Isekai]

Stephen's hand was gentle but firm on my shoulder as he guided me through the door, past a worn lab coat hanging like a ghost on the wall. The house smelled of curry and clean laundry—so different from the artificial sterility of Fuji's apartment that my steps faltered.

A display case mounted above the fireplace caught my eye: eight badges gleaming under glass, arranged with care. Below them, Ash had spread cards—Pokemon Cards?—across the coffee table in a matching pattern, Poliwag waddling between the neat rows with surprising care.

"Sit," Stephen said from the kitchen doorway. I could hear Delia moving in the garden outside, the soft snip of shears punctuating the evening quiet. "Are you hungry? We have leftover curry."

My first instinct was to refuse politely. But my stomach had other ideas, reminding me that my last meal had been that sad bowl of soggy cereal this morning. Fuji hadn't exactly prioritized lunch during his dramatic family reunion planning.

Stephen chuckled as he heard my stomach growl.

Without a proper response from me, he shuffled to the fridge to pull two containers from the fridge—curry in one, perfectly packed rice in the other. As he leaned in, a Pokeball swung free from his shirt collar, hanging from a worn chain around his neck.

Steam still fogged the lids, suggesting dinner had only recently ended. As he assembled the plate, rich spices filled the air with the kind of homemade comfort that Fuji's apartment had never known.

"It might need reheating, It's been in the fridge for a bit," Stephen said, studying my face with genuine concern. "Delia says the curry needs to be properly hot to bring out the flavors. Unless you prefer it this way?"

I shrugged, watching as he placed the plate in the microwave.

Through the kitchen window, I could see Delia's shadow stretching across her garden beds, growing longer as the sun sank lower.

As the plate rotated slowly behind the glass, my eyes drifted to those badges gleaming above the fireplace. The question slipped out before I could stop it: "Were you a trainer?"

Stephen's hand briefly touched something under his shirt collar before dropping away. "A lifetime ago," he said quietly, something haunted crossing his face.

"What happened?" The question slipped out before I could stop myself.

His eyes lifted to the badge display's reflection in the kitchen window. For a moment, something raw and grief-stricken crossed his face. Then he shook his head, shoulders slumping slightly. "I wasn't a good enough trainer back then. But I think now I…"

His voice trailed off into nothing, leaving only the steady hum of the microwave to fill the kitchen's sudden silence.

The microwave dinged. Stephen set the steaming plate in front of me, then rolled his sleeves back up, returning to the sink where soap suds climbed toward his elbows as he tackled what looked like a particularly stubborn pot.

The curry was surprisingly good—far better than I'd expected. Something about restaurants in Pallet Town tugged at my memory, but the thought dissolved before I could grasp it.

What remained was simply this: each bite carried layers of flavor that spoke of careful preparation, of someone taking the time to toast spices and slow-cook onions until they practically melted.

When I finished, Stephen dried his hands and reached into a high cabinet. "Here," he said, offering me the cookie with a gentle smile. "You look like you could use something sweet."

"Hey!" A young voice made me jump. Ash stood in the kitchen doorway, Poliwag peering around his legs. "That's not fair! Mom said I couldn't have any cookies tonight! Why does she get them!"

"Ash," Stephen started, but Ash was already moving closer, curiosity overtaking his initial protest. "Ash, that's because you and Poliwag tracked mud into—let her—"

"Who are you anyway?" Ash demanded, turning to me. "Why're you eating our cookies?"

"Poli pol!" Poliwag added, waddling over to investigate the cookie crumbs.

I looked down at the cookie, then at Ash's frown, then back at the cookie. I carefully broke it in half—not quite even, giving him the slightly bigger piece.

"Here," I said, holding out half. I internally struggled with myself, wanting to take my hand back and eat it all. Dr. Fuji didn't really have many sweets in his apartment. But I was an adult. "Want… to share?"

Ash's eyes widened, anger forgotten in the face of cookie diplomacy. He glanced at Stephen, who hesitated, eyes flickering to where Delia worked in the garden before giving a small, almost conspiratorial nod.

"Thanks!" Ash dropped into the chair next to me, cookie already halfway to his mouth. "I'm Ash, and that's Poliwag. He's not officially mine yet 'cause I'm not old enough, but he will be. What's your name?"

The cookie turned to dust in my mouth. Such a simple question—the kind you're supposed to answer without thinking. But my name... was it the one from college? From my previous life? The identity Fuji had tried to force on me? Or something new entirely?

Through the window, I could see Delia's shadow growing longer across her flowerbeds. The evening light caught her garden shears, making them flash like warning signals as she worked.

"She's had a long day, Ash," Stephen cut in smoothly, saving me from drowning in my own thoughts. "Why don't you tell her about that new move you've been teaching Poliwag instead?"

"Oh man, you should see what Poliwag can do!" Ash practically vibrated with excitement, previous cookie crimes forgotten. "We've been practicing Water Gun for weeks! Well, mostly inside 'cause of the rain, which is why we're in trouble, but—" He bounced up from his chair. "Can I show her, Dad? Please? Just a tiny demonstration?"

"Outside only," Stephen said firmly, though I caught the hint of a smile. "And aim away from your mother's flowers."

"Yes! Come on!" Ash was already heading for the door, Poliwag bouncing excitedly at his heels. He turned back when he reached the door, practically vibrating with eagerness. "You coming?"

"Sure," I said as I followed them out, cookie crumbs still sticking to my fingers like tiny breadcrumbs marking my path.

Delia straightened from her flower beds as we passed, her hands stilling on her shears. The metal caught the dying light, flashing orange-red like a warning. Her eyes followed us, carrying the weight of questions I couldn't answer.

Ash charged ahead to a worn patch of grass beyond the garden, Poliwag bouncing at his heels. Behind us, Stephen paused beside Delia, their voices dropping too low to hear.

The worn patch of grass beyond the flower beds told its own story: muddy spots and small pools marking endless attempts at mastering Water Gun, still visible even in the failing light.

"Okay, Poliwag!" Ash threw his arms wide with childish drama.

Poliwag was already bouncing forward, too excited to wait for actual commands. The Water Gun burst out in an enthusiastic but uncontrolled spray, sending both of us scrambling backward, laughing.

"See? I told you he was strong!" Ash bounced in place, rain-soaked but grinning. "Dad's been helping us practice aim, but Poliwag gets too excited sometimes. Right, buddy?"

"Poli!" The Pokemon nodded enthusiastically, sending water droplets flying.

"How long have you been training together?" I asked while chuckling. Strange to think this was the same Ash who would someday face down legendary Pokemon without flinching.

"Three whole months!" He dropped down beside Poliwag, scratching under its chin. "Since the river incident. Poliwag tried to save me, and Dad caught him after." His voice held that peculiar pride kids get when telling stories about their own near-disasters. "Now we train here where it's safe. Plus, Dad says it's good practice—Poliwag's gonna be my official starter once I'm old enough!"

"I'm gonna be the greatest Pokemon Master ever!" Ash declared between Water Gun attempts, fist pumped toward the orange sky. "Once I'm old enough, me and Poliwag will travel everywhere and I'll catch 'em all!"

"Poli pol!" Poliwag bounced proudly, agreeing with Ash.

Behind us, I heard Stephen and Delia talking in low voices. Their words were lost to the evening breeze, probably discussing me.

I focused instead on Ash's increasingly chaotic "special moves" demonstration, each attempt ending in more splashing and laughter.

"I'm gonna be the greatest Pokemon Master ever!" Ash declared between Water Gun attempts, fist pumped toward the orange sky. "Once I'm old enough, me and Poliwag will travel everywhere and catch 'em all!"

The sunset painted everything in deepening shades of orange, turning water droplets into tiny prisms as they caught the light. Looking at this soaking wet kid with impossible dreams, I couldn't help but smile.

Someday he really would become the Pokemon Master and inspire countless trainers. And his journey would go on to inspire hundreds of millions of fans. But right now, he was just Ash, practicing in his backyard with his future starter—Poliwag?—completely unaware of his own destiny.

"Time to come in!" Stephen's voice cut through the twilight. "Before you both catch colds."

Ash made a token protest, but Poliwag was already waddling toward the house, leaving tiny wet footprints on the stepping stones. I followed, suddenly aware of how my dress clung damply to my skin.

Inside, the kitchen lights cast warm pools across water-spotted floors. Stephen appeared with an armful of towels, tossing one to Ash before holding another out to me. "Did you have fun?"

I nodded, carefully patting my face dry. The towel smelled of sunshine and fresh air—so different from the artificial lavender Fuji insisted on.

"Ash, shower time," Stephen said, collecting the wet towels. "And don't forget to dry Poliwag properly this time."

"But Dad he's a water—"

"No buts. You know the rules about wet Pokemon in bed."

Ash thundered up the stairs, Poliwag bouncing after him with surprising grace for something shaped like a beach ball with legs. Their footsteps echoed through the ceiling, followed by the familiar sounds of a shower starting up.

I sank into one of the kitchen chairs while Stephen rinsed my curry plate. Everything about this kitchen spoke of a life well-lived—worn wooden table, mismatched dishes in the drying rack, a calendar covered in Ash's messy handwriting tracking Poliwag's training progress. The kind of collected history Fuji's hastily set up apartment tried to manufacture.

Stephen dried his hands on a dishtowel, then absently adjusted the chain around his neck. Silence stretched between us, punctuated by Ash's muffled singing from upstairs and the soft clink of Delia putting away her garden tools outside.

"So," he said finally. His voice carried the careful tone of someone who'd spent years helping raise a child, knowing when to push and when to wait. "Do you... remember anything? About before?"

'What a loaded question.'

Above us, Ash was belting out what sounded like the Pokemon theme song, completely off-key and completely happy. Through the window, Delia's shadow moved across the garden one last time, checking her work.

"Delia had told me some things," Stephen continued carefully when I didn't answer. "About how Amber died, her previous daughter died. About how Fuji became... obsessed." He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes studying the worn linoleum. "I never thought he'd actually come back. Not like this… not with a… you." His gaze flickered to me, then away, as if avoiding the word 'clone' might make the situation less surreal.

I traced a scratch in the kitchen table's surface, following its path through the wood. How could I explain that Fuji's obsession hadn't ended with bringing back Amber? That every detail of my existence now had to match some perfect memory he carried?

"Is there anything you need?" Stephen asked quietly. "To feel more comfortable here?"

The question caught me off guard. I stared at the scratch on the table, finger frozen, about to turn a corner along its path.

A couple weeks ago, in my dorm room, I would've just said time—more time to play Pokémon games. But now that I was in one, trapped between Fuji's perfect surfaces and rigid scripts... I wasn't sure what I needed anymore.

"I don't know," I muttered.

Stephen just nodded, as if uncertainty was the most natural response in the world. Above us, Ash's muffled voice had switched from singing to what sounded like a passionate discussion with Poliwag about proper towel usage.

He pushed away from the counter. "You'll stay in the guest room tonight. It's small, but..." He opened a cabinet, a smile warming his voice. "And since Ash isn't here to claim his share—want another cookie?"

I nodded, surprised by how much I wanted that simple comfort after tasting just a bit of it. In my past life, I'd always kept a secret stash of sweets in my dorm desk. Some things didn't change, even if everything else had.

He handed the cookie to me, then glanced at my mud-spattered dress with amusement. "You should probably wash up once Ash is done. Don't want to go to bed like a Mudkip, right?" He chuckled at his own joke. "Just... let us know if you need anything, okay?"

I nodded, slowly nibbling on the satisfyingly sweet sweet.