Pokemon: My Strange Pokemons

The momentum of Ethan's latest video exceeded all expectations.

By noon—24 hours after its upload—the video's total views had surpassed 1 million!

The staggering growth propelled the video into the platform's Top 10 Trending, and its high-quality content created a self-sustaining cycle of popularity.

Ethan's subscriber count also broke through the 100,000 milestone.

However, he didn't bother making any celebratory promises—no face reveals or embarrassing cosplay flags. He quietly shelved the significant milestone and acted like nothing had happened.

Because for Ethan, something far more important demanded his attention—Eevee's first-ever training session.

Ethan stood tall and serious at their newly set-up training grounds, with Eevee sitting expectantly at his feet.

"Starting today, every afternoon for the next month is training time," Ethan declared, his voice firm. "No whining allowed. I'm a cold, unfeeling training machine during this period. Got it?"

He had seen firsthand how rigorous professional trainers like Rosa and their Pokémon, like her Snivy, approached training. Both trainer and Pokémon transformed into completely different versions of themselves, focused and relentless.

Ethan understood that to achieve peak results, he couldn't afford to go easy—either on Eevee or himself.

This wasn't just a warning for Eevee; it was a vow Ethan made to himself.

"Vee!"

Eevee puffed out her chest with excitement, her tail wagging eagerly.

Ethan nodded in approval. He'd often heard Eevees were difficult to train due to their gentle and docile nature, but this little one seemed like an exception.

Perhaps her enthusiasm stemmed from her tough past as a stray, where she had to fend off bullies among the wild Pokémon. Maybe she was eager to grow stronger to avoid such situations in the future.

Ethan thought his theory was plausible—but he'd never guess Eevee's real motivation.

As Eevee surveyed the familiar training grounds, a wave of nostalgia flickered in her eyes.

This was where she had spent a full year of her past life training alongside Ethan.

Back then, her timid nature made it difficult for her to adapt to the intense sessions. She wasted precious months at the beginning, her growth painfully slow.

Her lackluster progress had hindered Ethan's carefully crafted training plans. In battles, her sluggish improvement often fell short of his strategic demands.

Because of her shortcomings, Ethan had failed to get into his dream university.

Eevee clenched her jaw. Not this time!

She remembered how Ethan used to make similar speeches before training back then. Yet whenever she whined or begged, his resolve would waver, and he'd cut her training short.

This time, she vowed to live up to his expectations.

"Vee!"

Her cry brimmed with determination, and Ethan smiled.

"Good, Eevee. Keep up that energy," he said, still maintaining his stern expression. "First up: balance and evasion training."

"This will strengthen your coordination and reflexes, which are critical at every stage of battle."

Ethan had clear goals. After nearly a year in this world, he had dedicated all his spare time to studying the art of being a trainer—outside of creating content for his channel.

It didn't take long for Ethan to realize that excelling as a trainer in this world was far more challenging than in any game.

There were no experience bars to track Pokémon levels.

Training and nurturing Pokémon was a complex, multifaceted process that dwarfed anything he'd experienced in the games.

Moves weren't learned naturally at set levels, nor were there TMs or HMs to instantly teach new skills. Every technique had to be painstakingly developed by both the Pokémon and the trainer.

And most importantly, Pokémon were sentient beings, not cold, lifeless data sets.

This was a living, breathing Pokémon world, and adapting to its challenges had taken Ethan considerable time and effort.

By combining his knowledge from both worlds, Ethan had finally begun to develop his own unique training system.

After all, with no cheat codes, he could only rely on hard work.

Ethan's first piece of equipment was an advanced compact Pokémon training machine designed for balance and evasion drills. Manufactured by Silph Co., the machine covered a space of over ten square meters.

Its transparent exterior revealed a variety of training obstacles inside, resembling a virtual obstacle course.

Each obstacle could be adjusted for difficulty, making it suitable even for young Pokémon like Eevee who had only recently outgrown her infant stage.

The machine also connected to the internet, allowing trainers to upload their Pokémon's performance scores and compare them with other users worldwide.

Not only did this provide a benchmark, but it also gave trainers and their Pokémon additional motivation to push harder.

Ethan decided to let Eevee run through the course at its lowest difficulty setting to establish her baseline.

After adjusting the settings, he grabbed a camera—not for a vlog, but to document Eevee's growth every step of the way.

The first obstacle was a treadmill-like device that shot foam "cannonballs" from all four directions.

The goal was simple: avoid getting hit as much as possible within five minutes.

The treadmill's speed, the cannonballs' velocity, and their firing frequency determined the challenge's difficulty.

To avoid discouraging Eevee on her first attempt, Ethan set everything to the minimum.

With a hum, the machine powered on, and Eevee hopped onto the treadmill.

The cannons remained idle at first, giving her time to adjust to the pace of the treadmill.

Soon, the first foam projectile launched, followed by another from a different direction.

Though the density was low, the cannonballs came from all angles. In theory, even a Pokémon with exceptional vision couldn't dodge attacks from behind without relying on sound.

And that wasn't all—Eevee had to stay in constant motion, visually track incoming projectiles, and occasionally jump or duck to evade tricky shots.

This multi-tasking demanded intense focus and coordination.

To Ethan's surprise, Eevee performed exceptionally well for her first try.

When the five minutes ended, the screen displayed her score: 25 hits.

Though this wouldn't rank highly on the global leaderboard, it was remarkable for a young Eevee attempting the course for the first time.

To put things into perspective, Rosa's Snivy—a month ahead in training—had only managed a score of 15 at the same stage.

Eevee's potential was undeniably promising.

"Vee..."

Feigning exhaustion, Eevee panted theatrically, casting a cautious glance at Ethan. When she noticed he was lost in thought, she sighed in relief.

Her act had worked—he hadn't noticed anything unusual about her performance.

Perfect. The last thing I need is him suspecting I've done this before.

(End of Chapter)