Reborn in Pokemon With Dragon System

Part 1: Lilia's Point of View

It was impossible.

Unreal.

Unnatural.

I had stood beside many gifted children in my career. Psychic prodigies. Aura-blessed heirs. Even the occasional wild-born child who bonded with Pokémon instinctively from the cradle. I had trained diplomats' children and coached future Gym leaders in matters of decorum.

But never—never—had I encountered something like this.

John Silver, barely two years old, sat cross-legged on Lady Aelira's lap, eyes calm, voice steady, casually translating the full, nuanced meaning of a Rare-rank Clefable's chatter like he was reciting the alphabet.

No stumbling.

No aura projection.

No psychic prompting.

Just... understanding.

It wasn't mimicry. He wasn't guessing from tone or movement. He knew what she said.

I studied him with silent intensity, letting my psychic senses scan not his aura, but the behavior—the focus. His heartbeat was elevated, but not erratic. His posture was relaxed. There was no sign of external aid.

This is real.

He understood Pokémon.

Naturally.

Instinctively.

Like it was normal.

I dared to glance at Lady Aelira. She wasn't reacting outwardly—of course she wasn't. She was the matriarch of the Silver name. She could sit before a Dragonite's roar and not flinch. But I knew that look.

Stillness that only meant one thing: her mind was racing.

I looked back to John.

He was watching Clefable now, listening to her babble about flowers and clouds and how her favorite rock had a funny face once. His expression was half-bored, half-entertained.

A child's demeanor.

But I knew better.

That boy was listening.

Processing.

He had the spiritual depth of someone far older than his body allowed.

And yet... there was something so soft about him. His eyes held wonder, not cold calculation. He still whined when Lady Aelira stopped brushing his hair. Still blushed when we cooed over his yawns. He didn't want to be special.

He just wanted to be loved.

And he was.

So deeply, already.

I had no doubt Mistress Yua would burn the world if anything happened to her son.

And now, I was certain...

So would her mother.

I stood quietly in the corner, hands clasped before me, watching the three generations unfold before my eyes. The laughter. The whispers. The truths.

This family had changed the course of regions in the past. The Silvers had been quiet in recent years, focused on internal matters, avoiding politics.

But if John's existence became public...

If word of his dual energies—of his ability—spread...

I felt it in my spine.

The world would wake up.

And not all of it would be kind.

Part 2: Aelira's Point of View

He was too cute.

It was almost insulting.

The way his little head tilted when he was listening too hard.

The way he crossed his arms and insisted he was "handsome, not cute" like a grumpy plush doll.

The way he whined—soft and instinctive—when I stopped brushing his hair for just a few seconds...

He was adorable in a way that transcended age or bloodline.

And he was mine.

My grandson.

Aelira Silver's grandson.

And yet...

This child was not just a boy.

He was something more.

Something rare.

Something ancient.

When I first heard of his existence, I had assumed Yua was exaggerating. Of course she would. All new mothers did. That maternal pride that blinds you to reason—it's powerful. It can make every babble sound like wisdom, every toddle look like strategy.

But I knew better.

So I sent Lilia.

Not to spy. To assess.

To observe with a trained eye.

And now? Now I was holding this little boy—this "Litleo," as I'd begun to think of him—and he had just spoken with Clefable. Not reacted. Not mimicked. Conversationally responded.

Fluent.

Effortless.

Real.

I couldn't remember the last time I had been truly caught off guard. Not in years. But here I was. Humbled by a toddler.

And yet, despite the awe building in my chest, another part of me stirred deeper. Older. Quieter.

The Matriarch.

The strategist.

The one who had watched alliances fracture, who had negotiated peace treaties and called bluffs from League Champions.

This is power.

And power—no matter how innocent—attracts danger.

If a wandering scout from the League caught wind of a Silver child with dual energies...

If one of the Old Houses, the ones we'd distanced ourselves from, suspected we were hiding a prodigy...

If even the wrong Professor made the wrong report...

John would never know peace.

I looked at him again—nestled in my lap, the ends of his silken hair catching the sunlight. He didn't even realize what he was. Not really.

He didn't know how rare dual-energy children were.

He didn't know what it meant to feel the pulse of the forest and the hum of psychic static inside the same fragile frame.

But I did.

And I knew this couldn't be treated lightly.

No... we couldn't afford complacency anymore.

It was time to prepare.

Time to reinforce every perimeter, lock down every channel, silence every whisper.

And it was time to contact her.

My sister.

She would understand. She would act. Even if we hadn't spoken in years.

Because what we needed now—was strength.

I gently stroked John's hair again, letting him drift while the gears turned in my mind.

You won't face this world unguarded, little one.

Not while I'm still breathing.

Part 3: John's Point of View

Everything had finally started to calm down.

No more shocking revelations, no sudden aura scans, and—thankfully—no more personal lectures disguised as family pride.

I was nestled comfortably in Grandma Aelira's lap, head resting against her chest as she absently stroked my hair again. I'd stopped fighting it hours ago. Resistance was futile.

Across the room, Mama tilted her head slightly and looked at her mother with one raised eyebrow.

"Wait," she said slowly, "you still haven't told me—why weren't you the one who received us?"

Aelira blinked.

Mama continued, frowning. "Usually, you're at the gates before the jet even lands. You basically knock the pilot over trying to get on board first. You've never missed an arrival—especially not mine."

And that's when something changed.

Aelira's eyes widened just slightly, her lips parting in surprise as something clearly clicked behind her gaze. She looked down at me. Then up at Yua. Then at Clefable—

"Oh! That's right!" she exclaimed.

And then, without any further warning, she stood up.

With me still in her arms.

I made a noise—something between a startled squeak and a sigh of existential resignation—as my body bounced gently in her grip. My head thunked softly against her shoulder, and my limbs went limp like a discarded plush toy.

Because of course I was being carried again.

Of course I was.

I am cursed, I thought bleakly. Cursed to be a plushie forever.

Clefable suddenly twirled in a little dance around us, throwing her arms into the air and giggling like she was made of candy and sparkles.

"Clafable! Claflebleblafa!"

(I remember now too! It's a fun, super-duper secret! Yay!)

Mama blinked. "Secret?"

"Yes," Aelira said as she adjusted me like a prized decorative pillow. "A very special project. One I absolutely must show you both right this instant."

Lilia stepped forward, formal as ever. "Shall I prepare the path, Lady Silver?"

"No need," Aelira said briskly. "We're going now."

And just like that, we were moving.

Mama followed close behind, her boots tapping lightly on the marble floor.

Lilia trailed silently at her side, always three steps behind.

And me?

Yeah. I was still being carried like a snuggly royal accessory.

I let my head fall against Grandma's shoulder again, staring sideways as the hallways passed in blurs of polished stone, silver-framed paintings, and expensive-looking vases.

Behind us, Clefable bounced along like a sugar-fueled parade float.

"Clafa! Clafable~!"

(Ooooh I hope he likes it I hope he loves it I hope he doesn't melt!)

...I didn't even know what she was talking about anymore.

I sighed internally, resigned to my fate.

Maybe this is just my life now.

Maybe I really am doomed to be everyone's emotional support plush.

But as Grandma's hand shifted slightly to pat my back with quiet affection...

...I realized something else.

A part of me?

Didn't really mind.