Chapter 7: The Ghosts of the Past

Section 7: The Ghosts of the Past

Still standing before this colossal building, my eyes scan every detail of the Pokémon League. I'm trying to understand. To piece together the puzzle. If what's written in the archives is true, then this place… is a cemetery.

The very foundations on which Kanto's greatest trainers battle might be soaked in the blood of rebels and their Pokémon.

Damian breaks the silence.

"Well, I'm heading out. Viridian Forest awaits."

I turn my head toward him. He adjusts his backpack and flashes a confident smile.

"It's a necessary step if we want to progress. They say it's a paradise for Bug-type trainers."

I don't reply right away. He's not wrong. But right now, my mind is elsewhere.

He raises an eyebrow. "You look lost in thought. Be careful not to think too much, or you'll end up losing yourself."

A slight smirk. He turns around and starts walking toward the route's exit.

"See you next time."

I watch him disappear over the hill leading to Viridian Forest without saying a word.

Alone again, I take a deep breath before retracing my steps. There's still too much I don't know. Too many shadows in this story. I return to the library.

The scent of old paper and dust welcomes me back. This time, I search for more precise records. The history of the city, its economy, its politics, its internal conflicts.

I sit in front of a pile of documents. Some are incomplete, others seem to have been deliberately altered. But the pieces I can assemble paint a chilling picture.

In the 1960s, the mayor of Viridian City was a man of inequality and authoritarianism. His obsession? Exploiting Pokémon to the point of exhaustion.

Machop, Machoke, and Machamp worked tirelessly to construct buildings without rest. Electabuzz and Raichu provided electricity, deprived of any break. All to sustain a city that appeared prosperous on the surface but was built on suffering.

But another side of the story catches my attention.

At that time, Viridian City was deeply religious. The people believed in a god… but not just any god. A Pokémon god, mentioned in some texts but never clearly named.

They saw the injustices.

They saw their Pokémon suffer.

So they decided to build a church. A massive cathedral, dedicated to their deity. It was meant to stand on the exact spot where the Pokémon League is today.

But everything fell apart.

On December 31, 1965, just as the church's construction was nearly complete, the mayor ordered an immediate halt. He wanted something else. A symbol of power. Of domination.

He wanted a Pokémon League.

On January 1, 1966, a revolt broke out. Citizens and Pokémon rose against this decision.

And the very next day, they were gone.

No trace. No explanation. As if everyone who had opposed the project had simply… vanished.

I run a hand over my face. This story… What is this? A silent massacre? A grand-scale manipulation?

But it's not over. Another archive chills my blood even more.

A year after their collective disappearance, on January 1, 1967, the Pokémon League was officially inaugurated.

And on that same day…

The mayor was found dead.

Disintegrated.

No explanation. No culprit. Just a body reduced to nothing.

Rumor has it that it was the wrath of the Pokémon god.

A shiver runs down my spine. Is this just an urban legend? Or is there some truth to it?

I want to know more. But at the same time… a part of me hesitates.

I continue searching through the archives. One detail catches my attention.

After the disappearance of the pro-church citizens, a letter was found in the mayor's office. Another in his former home.

They claimed that these people had indeed been buried.

And next to those letters… a shovel.

A shovel that still exists in Viridian City to this day.

I slowly close the document.

My gaze remains fixed on those words.

Buried.

I could find that shovel. I could search for proof.

But… am I ready to know?

A sense of unease settles in me.

I carefully close the files and put them back.

Then, without a sound, I leave the library.