The Poké Ball on the ground shook a few times before finally settling, signaling a successful capture.
Judging by the way it trembled, Gimmighoul was still a little relut. After all, their initial enter had been far from friendly.
Ogerpon ractically itg to smash Gimmighoul’s head in. If it had a helmet, it would have put it on by now.
"Bang."
The Poké Ball cracked open, and Gimmighoul emerged in a fsh of white light.
Landing on the ground, Gimmighoul g Natsume.
"Gim."
What do I o do? Or rather, what’s my role on this farm? What tasks am I expected to handle?
Gimmighoul asked directly.
"Work? Not really."
"What, are you some kind of workaholic?"
Natsume looked at Gimmighoul in mild surprise.
Most of the Pokémon on the farm were carefree and pyful.
In short—simple, sweet, and a little naive.
Aside from Gardevimmighoul was the first oo proactively ask for work.
Gardevoir had her reasons—she cked a sense of security and wao prove her worth, to show that she had a meaningful p the farm.
Even if she wasn’t irrepceable, she wao at least be helpful to Natsume.
But Gimmighoul…
"Gim?"
No work? You mean you don’t expeything from me?
Like battling, or something else?
Hearing Natsume’s response, Gimmighoul was the one who looked surprised.
In its uanding, humans captured Pokémon for only a few possible reasons:
Oo have them fight—pushing them into endless battles t honor and status to their Trainer.
Two, to put them to work—like those Caterpie farms where people caught Caterpie to harvest their silk.
So naturally, Gimmighoul assumed Natsume had a simir reason for capturing it.
Even though… it had no idea what exactly it could do.
Gimmighoul was well aware of its own shortings.
Produ work? Fet it.
It couldn’t produything. On the trary, it needed Natsume to collect s for it.
As for battle?
It wasn’t pletely useless, but it was weak.
Aside from being a bit sturdier than average, it had no real advantages.
Surely, Natsume didn’t capture it just to use it as a pung bag… right?
Because if that was the case…
Then Gimmighoul had no choice but to accept its fate.
It couldn’t fight back. It couldn’t run away.
What else could it do?
Die dramatically on the spot?
"Of course not."
"This is a Pokémon farm, not a Pokémon factory."
"We don’t do that here."
Natsume couldn’t help but chuckle at Gimmighoul’s assumption.
It was such a cssic impression of humans.
Many Pokémon who had never ied with humans before teo have these exact stereotypes.
And holy? It made sense.
It was just like how many students' perceptions of society were entirely shaped by what they heard from others.
Which ofteo misuandings.
Even after graduating, many people still carried those misceptions.
It was simply a matter of perspective—people’s views were shaped by their experiences, or ck thereof.
For those who had always lived in peace, peace was something taken franted.
For those who had grown up in war, life-ah struggles were just part of everyday reality.
"Gim?"
You serious?
Gimmighoul eyed Natsume suspiciously, clearly not vihat a human could be so kied.
Its eyes still held the cautious distrust ong Ghost-type Pokémon.
If Natsume weren’t actively suppressing his aura, Gimmighoul would probably already be ging to his arm, begging for head pats like a loyal pet.
"You’ll see for yourself."
Natsume didn’t bother expining further.
Words were meaningless in this situation.
No amount of eloquent speech could pare to real experiences.
No matter how beautifully something was described, it could never replicate the emotional impact of seeing it firsthand.
Once Gimmighoul saw the farm for itself, its opinion would naturally ge.
Natsume didn’t expect Gimmighoul to immediately fit in et along with the other Pokémon.
That was unrealistic.
Even on the farm, there were still Pokémon who preferred solitude.
F everyoo i in the same way would be arrogant and unreasonable.
On the way baatsume introduced Gimmighoul to the farm’s yout and the different groups living there.
Trailing behind him, Gimmighoul half-listened, half-drifted in its own thoughts.
The cheerful atmosphere and warm sunlight felt unfamiliar.
Something about this pce didn’t seem suited fhost-type like itself.
Previously, Gimmighoul had insisted on living in the warehouse—dark, isoted, and rarely disturbed.
A perfect habitat for an "edgy" Ghost Pokémon.
But Natsume refused.
Spending too much time in darkness could lead to a darkened heart.
He didn’t expect Gimmighoul to bee some radiant, cheerful optimist.
But at the very least, it shouldn’t turn into a brooding recluse filled with nothing but ivity.
"From now on, you’re a senior now, so take good care of the newers, alright?"
Hisuian Zorua recalled what Natsume had told it earlier.
Wait, does this mean… I’m a senior now?
Still thinking of itself as a child, Zorua suddenly felt a strange sense of responsibility.
But at the same time, it was… exg.
I’m a senior!
"Zor."
Call me senior.
Z Natsume before scooting over to Gimmighoul and whispering.
"Gim!"
Senior!
Gimmighoul immediately plied.
Hearing the word "senior" sent a pleasant shiver through Zorua’s body.
Eveer than one of Natsume’s massages.
"Zor."
Again.
"Gim."
Senior.
And so, with every enthusiastic "senior," Hisuian Zradually lost itself.
It pletely fot about the responsibilities Natsume had given it.
Well… not pletely.
At the very least, it made sure to expin the farm’s food properly.
First and foremost—the supreme ruler of the farm, the undisputed stro, the uable Lord Natsume.
This was the guy who could single-handedly pin dookémon on the farm.
Then, sed-in-and—Persian, the true boss cat.
Usume, Persiahe role of enforcer, keeping order among the Pokémon.
But overall, the cat wasn’t too bad.
As Zorua tinued expining, Natsume, walking ahead, posted a request orainer forums to buy Gimmighoul s.
Evolution would happen naturally wheime was right.
At that moment, Natsume’s real focus was elsewhere—the petition he had signed up for.
"Registration firmed, huh?"
Seeing the official message asking him to finalize his team details, Natsume decided that once he got back, he’d pick his roster for the uping tour.
Gcell
