Chapter 7: Five Years in the Wild

Time had a strange way of passing in the wilderness.

For Alex, five years had slipped by like water through his fingers.

At first, he had counted the days carefully, marking time by the shift of the seasons. The harsh cold of winter, the scorching heat of summer, the steady rhythm of survival. But eventually, the passage of time blurred into routine.

Hunt. Eat. Hide. Train. Sleep.

A cycle he repeated every single day.

But something still felt wrong.

The strangest part of these five years wasn't that he had been forced to live as a Froakie.

It was that he had seen no other Pokémon.

Not once.

The first year, he had expected to run into one at any moment. A Caterpie crawling along a branch, a Pidgey perched on a treetop, a Magikarp splashing in the shallows.

But as time dragged on, the realization crept in like an unshakable sickness—

He was alone.

At first, he told himself he just wasn't looking hard enough. Maybe he was in an isolated area. Maybe he was missing the signs.

But as months turned to years, he could no longer deny the truth.

This world had animals—deer, rabbits, insects, fish.

But no Pokémon.

And that terrified him more than anything.

If this was the Pokémon world, then why weren't there any Pokémon?

And if this wasn't the Pokémon world… then where the hell was he?

If there was one thing keeping him from believing he was just an ordinary frog, it was the power.

It had taken him years to understand it, but by now, he had given it a name—

PP.

Pokémon Power.

It wasn't flashy like the moves from the games. He couldn't shoot Water Guns or form clones with Double Team. But he had something.

Something real.

Stealth.

Not just hiding behind bushes or blending into shadows. He could become the environment.

His presence could fade. His body could meld into the world around him, making him nothing more than a ripple in the air. Animals wouldn't even notice him unless he moved.

But it wasn't just invisibility.

It was something deeper.

When he focused, when he sank into that strange warmth in his body, he could feel everything around him. The shift in the wind. The pulse of water in the streams. The vibrations in the earth when something large moved.

It had made him into a perfect hunter.

Small fish, rodents, insects—he could take them down with frightening efficiency.

But no matter how much he trained, no techniques came to him.

No Water Gun. No Quick Attack. No Bubble Beam.

Nothing.

And that scared him.

He had played enough Pokémon games to know how leveling worked. Pokémon grew stronger by fighting, by training, by gaining experience. But what if…

What if he didn't have levels?

What if he was just stuck like this forever?

What if this power—his "PP"—was all he would ever have?

It had been a terrifying thought in the beginning, a crushing weight that gnawed at him with every failed attempt at something greater.

But eventually, he had pushed the fear aside.

Because it didn't matter anymore.

He had a life here. He wasn't starving. He wasn't dead. He had shelter, food, and skills that made him better than any animal in this world.

Even without Pokémon moves, he was stronger than he had ever been before.

His jumps were precise, his grip powerful. His webbed fingers could snatch fish from the water in an instant, his legs could propel him high into the trees, and his senses were razor-sharp.

But there was one thing that still held onto his pride, something that refused to fade even after five long years—

The Hawk.

The first time he had seen it, it had terrified him.

The massive bird with golden-brown feathers, larger than any hawk should have been. It soared across the sky with a graceful, effortless power that made every other creature in the forest shrink in comparison.

At first, Alex had assumed it was a Fearow. But that didn't make sense.

This thing wasn't a Pokémon.

It was a hawk.

An actual, real-world hawk.

And it was big.

Too big.

It was the only creature in this world that made him feel small.

It had sent him running for shelter the first time he saw it, his body overcome with the same primal terror every other animal in the forest felt when it soared overhead.

But that was five years ago.

Now, when he saw it?

He felt something different.

Rage.

Spite.

Determination.

The hawk was the strongest thing in this world. It hunted without fear. It dominated the skies. It had scared him the first time they met, and he would never forgive it for that.

It was the closest thing he had to a rival.

Even if it didn't know he existed.

His short-term goal was clear—

Get stronger.

He had spent five years training his stealth, perfecting his hunting skills. But it wasn't enough.

He needed more.

He needed to prove to himself that he wasn't just some weak little frog hiding from the world.

He needed to beat that hawk.

Somehow.

Some day.

And so, as he crouched by the edge of the stream, his mind was already planning.

His PP had grown stronger, his control over it more refined. But there was still so much he didn't understand.

Why had it come so naturally to him?

Why did it feel so familiar yet so foreign at the same time?

And most importantly—

What was stopping him from going even further?

As he watched the water ripple in the morning light, the questions remained.

He didn't have the answers.

Not yet.

But he would find them.

And when he did…

That hawk would regret the day it made him feel weak.