Reborn in Pokemon With Dragon System

John's Point of View

The hallway we walked through was different.

Not just in design—though, sure, the architecture here was just as extravagant as the rest of the estate—but in atmosphere. It felt like something was waiting. Something planned.

Grandma walked ahead with purpose, Clefable floating behind her in an orbit of pure excitement, humming whatever passed for a song in her pink head.

The door we approached was taller than the others, with silver-inlaid etching that sparkled under the chandelier's light. Crescent moons at the handles, a soft floral scent in the air—everything felt prepared.

I was still in her arms when we stopped. Then, with gentle care, she set me down.

And the doors opened.

My ears were hit with the sound before my eyes could even adjust to the light.

"SURPRISE!!"

I staggered.

Bright lights, flowing banners, dozens of voices—cheering, clapping, laughing. The sudden shift from elegant hallway to full-blown celebration hall threw me for a second. Like someone had used a Teleport attack to drop me in the middle of someone else's party.

Except...

It wasn't someone else's.

It was mine.

Happy birthday banners in shimmering silver.

A massive cake decorated with vine and star icing that smelled like warm berry-cream.

A table filled with presents—elegant boxes tied with velvet ribbons, Pokémon-patterned wrapping paper, and neatly written name tags.

Dozens of people.

Dozens of Pokémon.

All eyes on me.

Every instinct in me screamed: retreat.

Because I didn't know a single person in this room.

Not one.

Well, okay—not entirely true.

I saw a few staff members I remembered from the jet. The co-pilot was near the back. She locked eyes with me immediately.

And oh no.

Her eyes were shining with the same energy that Butterfree had right before glomping me midair on the plane.

She looked like she wanted to gobble me up with cuddles and kisses.

Send help.

Clefable bounced into the room like the floor was a trampoline, twirling toward the cake and throwing her arms in the air.

"Clafable! Clafa blafa!"

(Happy birthday!! You look like a star!!)

The rest of the people in the room cheered again. Some clapped. Some bowed slightly. A few called out "Master John!" while others just said "Happy birthday!" or "He's adorable!" or, more simply, "John."

I didn't know who any of them were.

But the room was warm.

And strangely... welcoming.

No cold formal energy. No stiff stares. Just... celebration.

Still, I couldn't help feeling a little overwhelmed.

I stayed rooted where I was, staring wide-eyed at the crowd.

This is all... for me?

Grandma stepped forward and placed her hand on my shoulder.

Mama appeared at my side just a moment later. She looked just as stunned as I was.

"I didn't plan this," she whispered. "I didn't know..."

She looked over at her mother—my grandmother. "You did all this?"

Aelira gave the faintest smile. "It's his first day home. Of course I did."

Mama's hand went over her heart. She was clearly holding back tears.

I didn't know what to say.

I wanted to say something. But instead I just looked around again, taking in the Pokémon now stepping out from between their trainers or handlers.

A Luxray.

A Gardevoir.

A Blissey.

A Noivern.

And then—

My eyes locked onto him.

Infernape.

Standing near one of the back tables, looking cool, confident, and battle-worn. There was fire in his eyes and on his head. He wasn't paying attention to me. Not yet.

But I felt something in my chest stir.

A grin tugged at the edge of my lips.

I'm gonna catch one of you someday.

And I'll turn you into Joyboy—the Warrior of Liberation.

I didn't say it out loud, of course.

Instead, I looked up at Mama. "So, uh... what now?"

She blinked, then laughed softly and crouched beside me. "Now, baby? Now you enjoy your birthday."

A moment passed before Clefable practically tackled me with a hug. "Clafa blafa~!!"

(Let's eat cake and throw ribbon confetti and play pin the tail on the Drampa!)

I blinked at her.

"...That's a real game?"

She nodded.

I sighed.

Then smiled.

And as I stood there, surrounded by people I didn't know, with Pokémon I hadn't met, and a celebration I hadn't expected...

I realized something.

Maybe I really am cursed to be everyone's plushie.

I looked up at the co-pilot, who was now inching forward like a Luxio in tall grass.

Yep. Cursed.

But deep down?

Yeah. I didn't really mind.

The shock was fading. My heartbeat was finally slowing down. I'd survived the ambush party, the co-pilot's predatory snuggle aura, and Clefable trying to teach the Blissey how to spin in midair with streamers.

And now...

I was ready to join the party.

Kind of.

Before I could enjoy anything, I needed to do something important first.

Get to know these people.

Because these weren't just strangers in fancy suits or grinning staff members—I was in the middle of my family. My new, powerful, terrifyingly elegant family.

And I didn't recognize a single one of them.

Names, titles, relationships... nothing. I needed to build a map. Fast.

So, I wandered.

Handshakes. Tiny nods. The occasional "Hello, I'm John" said in the most innocent voice I could muster. A few people bowed. Most smiled politely. Some pinched my cheek.

I met a man with glasses who spoke about estate accounting. A tall woman who worked with Pokémon recovery. A cousin who introduced herself with a bow and instantly offered me a puff pastry the size of my head.

It wasn't bad...

But it was exhausting.

Especially the ones who clearly didn't like me.

There were a few—just a few—whose smiles didn't reach their eyes. Who bowed, but only barely. Whose posture was stiff, judging.

I mean, I'm a two-year-old. What the hell is wrong with you?

Still, I kept it together. Took a deep breath. Bit into the snack I'd been given—a flaky pastry stuffed with warm berries—and nearly choked trying to hold in a laugh.

Clefable had just whispered something to a passing Ambipom. I didn't hear it all, but it ended in something like "bouncy tail berries" and the Ambipom looked mortified.

I tried so hard not to laugh.

And then it happened.

Both Clefable and the Ambipom turned their heads toward me... slowly.

Like two Espurrs sensing prey.

Clefable's smile widened.

The Roselia next to them tilted her head. "Rosé? Roselia lia lia~?"

(You have very soft-looking hair. May I play with it?)

I froze mid-bite.

Oh no.

Nope.

Retreat plan: activate.

I looked around for an escape route—

"Excuse me, young master."

Saved.

I turned to see a servant in a crisp black uniform bowing gently. I recognized him—he'd served drinks earlier.

"Some family members have requested to offer you formal congratulations on your second birthday," he said calmly.

"...Formal congratulations?" I asked, blinking. "Is that a thing?"

He smiled. "In the Silver estate, it certainly can be."

Clefable looked ready to lunge. The Roselia lifted one vine.

I did not need convincing.

"Lead the way," I said, brushing imaginary crumbs off my tux.

We began to walk.

As we moved through the crowd, I noticed we were heading toward the back of the hall. Where the older guests had gathered—elegant people, sharp-eyed, with silver or graying hair. They weren't stiff or cold, just... measured. Calm in a way that said they'd seen more than they'd ever need to say out loud.

And near them, standing beside a long table with a clear space behind him, was—

Infernape.

Still there.

Still standing like the center of a battlefield.

Cool. Confident. Coiled strength behind glowing fire.

He wasn't watching me. Not yet. But he hadn't moved, either.

The servant led me closer, and I felt it again—that buzz in my chest. That deep hum of recognition.

But not here. Not now.

I reminded myself, firmly:

You've never seen one in this life. You've never watched an Infernape fight. You've only seen Pokémon through picture books, cartoons, and simplified educational shows.

You know nothing about this Pokémon.

So I kept my expression curious.

A little cautious.

Who is that? I thought. And who's his partner?

My eyes drifted toward the nearby chairs.

There were five people at the table next to Infernape.

Some older—silver hair, regal posture, sharp eyes that spoke of command.

Others younger—though not young. Probably in their forties, maybe fifties. But still poised, observant, dressed in clean formal wear with understated signs of status.

Not one of them looked surprised to see me.

They were waiting.

I adjusted my tiny tux jacket and reminded myself—again—not to act like I knew what I was doing.

Because the real game?

Was just beginning.