Pokémon : Play at home

Tracey chuckled lightly at Ayan's expression, mistaking the eye-roll for reluctance.

"You don't have to decide now. Just… follow me for a tour. If you feel comfortable, we'll go from there. By the way, I didn't get your name." 

"Ayan Tori." 

"Ayan? What a strange name. I presume you aren't from around here." Tracey asked. Aya could only shake his head and didn't want to elaborate more. He didn't want to lie too much and sometime being mysterious also helps. Besides Ayan had made up his mind. 

Professor Oak's lab.

The epicenter of so many stories, dreams, and memories. To stand inside it—to exist within it—was something even his most vivid childhood fantasies hadn't fully captured. And now? He was about to walk right through its doors.

"You can lead the way." Ayan said, suppressing his excited emotions, which Tracey noticed as indifference. But he was happy. He finally was going to contribute Professor Oak with something. Thus he was very enthusiastic, and thus went to singing praises of Professor Oak and how famous he was. 

This man was a yapper. 

They took a short gravel path that curved through a flower-dotted garden. Rows of berry trees swayed gently on either side, and wind chimes rang from the porch of the house next door. The world here felt so alive, so rich in detail—not like a digital rendering at all.

The moment they reached the wide double doors of the lab, Tracey tapped a small intercom.

"Professor? It's me. I'm coming in—with a guest."

A mechanical buzz sounded, and the doors slid open. Ayan stepped in and nearly forgot to breathe.

The main chamber of Professor Oak's lab was enormous—far bigger than it looked from the outside. Floor-to-ceiling monitors, rows of Poké Ball storage cabinets, floating holographic displays of regional maps and Pokémon migration data—it was like stepping inside a futuristic research facility merged with a Pokémon museum. A few aides bustled about in white coats, and machines hummed softly in the background.

"Holy crap…" Ayan whispered before he could stop himself.

"Right? Gets me every time."

They passed a workstation where a Clefairy was assisting in organizing Poké Balls into color-coded racks, and a young intern gently argued with a Tauros who kept trying to eat the office ferns. The Pokémon world of the game was much mor inclusive than their world was, for sure. 

Everything was familiar and yet breathtakingly new. Tracey led him toward the back of the room, through a short corridor, and into another chamber. It was quieter here—more like a private study than a lab. Books lined the walls, stacked high in carved wooden shelves. Several framed pictures hung on the walls, many featuring a younger Oak with notable figures—Agatha, Surge, even a young Giovanni. Ayan's eyebrow lifted a bit when he saw Giovanni. 

Then, from behind a shelf of field journals, came the voice.

"Well, well. You don't look like a Rattata infestation."

Ayan turned and saw him.

Professor Oak.

Older than he'd imagined—his hair thinner, his cheeks a touch more weathered—but the presence was unmistakable. He stood holding a mug that read "World's Best Professor," a pen tucked behind his ear and glasses balanced on the tip of his nose.

"Tracey tells me you're… interesting," Oak said, smiling.

Ayan, despite his thousands of hours of watching, reading, and playing anything Pokémon-related, suddenly felt like a toddler meeting Santa Claus.

"Y-Yes, Professor," he said, mentally slapping himself for stammering. "I am Ayan Tori, nice to meet you Professor, I have heard a lot about you." 

"Hey, you didn't tell me that you knew Professor." Tracey felt offended when he heard Ayan. 

"You never asked." Ayan shrugged. This made Professor Oak laugh out loud. 

"Hahaha. I am glad that you know of me. I'm an old man with too many questions and not enough time. Let's see if you really are as strange as he says." 

He held up his left wrist and focused. The Game Boy symbol flared to life—just a soft, pulsing light. Then, with a sensation like falling and flying all at once, the world shifted. Gone.

Back in his bedroom. High-rises. The hum of nighttime traffic. He immediately focused again. The shift reversed.

Whump.

He stood again in Professor Oak's study. Oak's mug hit the table with a soft clink. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. Tracey's mouth had dropped open.

"Teleportation…" Oak whispered. "But not like anything I've seen before. That wasn't a psychic-type move. There was no aura. No light distortion. Just—" he snapped his fingers, "—gone."

"I'm not a Pokémon," Ayan said quickly, raising both hands. "Just a regular human."

"You just… vanished. No energy spike. Not even the machines picked anything up." Tracey finally closed his mouth. Oak was already moving, scribbling notes on a nearby tablet. 

"Fascinating. And you say this is tied to that symbol on your wrist?" Ayan nodded and showed the Game Boy tattoo. Oak gently took his arm, inspecting it under a magnifier. He didn't touch it, merely scanned and studied. He trusted Oak a lot. 

"It's not ink," he muttered. "It's embedded beneath the skin, yet there's no scar tissue. No signs of dermal trauma. This is… this is beyond even our best tech. I've been studying Pokémon phenomena for over five decades," he said slowly.

"This is something new."

"What does it mean?" Tracey looked at Oak and Ayan. 

"It means… Ayan may not be the first anomaly—but he's the first with stability, awareness, and control. If you're willing… I'd like to run a few more tests. Nothing invasive. Just scans, energy readings. I'd also like you to document everything you see, every time you teleport." Oak said. 

"Of course, it wouldn't be done without any incentive. I don't see any Poke balls with you, and from the looks of your eyes on the Pokémon around you haven't caught any. How about I provide you with a starter Pokémon and thus with it you can go on an adventure just like the others, while we would occasionally meet and work together to understand the reason behind your ability to teleport."