Whitney wore a white short-sleeved cardigan with red stripes on top, paired with simple solid-color casual shorts. Black-and-purple striped mid-calf cotton socks matched her chunky athletic sneakers in the sa color sche as her outfit, giving her a lively, energetic look from head to toe.
Because she'd grown up drinking MooMoo Milk since childhood, her skin was exceptionally fair. If you stood close enough, you could even catch a faint, sweet milky scent.
As mories related to Whitney surfaced in his mind, Peter's gaze softened with familiarity.
…
In this world, his na was also Peter.
When he first crossed over, he was twelve years old.
Not long after his birth, Peter's parents passed away, and he was sent to an orphanage. From a very young age, he'd admired powerful Pokémon Trainers more than anything, dreaming of one day standing among the strongest in the world.
Because of that dream, his younger self had secretly run away from the orphanage and begun what he proudly called his "growth plan."
Unlike children from normal families, orphans who didn't pay taxes weren't eligible to receive one of the three starter Pokémon from a Pokémon Professor.
So if Peter wanted even the smallest chance of becoming a Trainer, the most realistic path was becoming a Bug Catcher.
After all, weak Bug-type Pokémon were among the very few species that could realistically be captured bare-handed.
But once he truly began learning about what it ant to be a Trainer, reality crushed him.
Because being a Trainer was absurdly expensive.
A single standard Poké Ball cost 500, and a can of basic Pokémon food cost 1,000—and that was only enough to feed a small Pokémon for one week.
That didn't even include dical fees after battles, training equipnt, nutritional supplents, or specialized tools.
For the first ti, Peter realized just how distant his dream truly was.
Whenever he recalled the hardships of his forr self, Peter couldn't help but sigh.
No wonder Bug Catchers in his past-life gas were always blocking the road and demanding money…
Even so, the boy hadn't given up. Instead, he chose his own way of earning money.
Because of his age, he couldn't take any formal jobs. So he began begging in Goldenrod City, the most prosperous city in the Johto region.
In the Pokémon world, people seed to suffer from a widespread illness known as "Conscience hypertrophy." Even as a beggar, Peter could eat his fill—and sotis even save up a decent amount of money.
When he was twelve, Peter squatted on a familiar street near the city outskirts. Scattered coins lay inside his battered bowl.
One by one, he placed the coins and bills on the ground, counting them with trembling hands, excitent flooding his face.
Three thousand.
That was the price of six Poké Balls.
Which ant—at the bare minimum—he finally had a chance to beco a qualified Trainer.
Perhaps he was too excited.
Right there on the spot, he fainted.
And the soul inside his body quietly changed into that of soone from Earth…
It was also on that very day that Peter t the girl standing before him now.
"Um… could you help find my way ho, please?"
Whitney clasped her hands together and bowed slightly, looking at Peter with pleading eyes that shimred with unshed tears.
Because of her… overwhelming natural endownts, the girl gave Peter an intense sense of pressure.
Against all logic, he agreed.
By the ti they set out, it was already dark. Whitney's ho was a large ranch on the outskirts of Goldenrod City, and there were no streetlights along the way.
They didn't finally reach her house until well past midnight.
And just like that, Peter and Whitney t.
Afterward, Peter inherited the will of his forr self—begging to accumulate capital on one hand, and gathering information about this world on the other.
Yet, subconsciously, he always set his bowl down at the sa intersection where they'd first t.
And Whitney—sohow—got lost seven or eight days every month, always needing Peter to escort her ho.
Over the years, the two gradually beca close friends.
Whitney's goal was to beco a powerful Normal-type Trainer, leading her beloved Miltank to the very top.
Peter, who harbored similar dreams, couldn't help but envy her.
After all, with such a massive ranch, Whitney was practically one of the wealthiest young heiresses in Goldenrod City—if not all of Johto.
Still, for the sake of his fragile pride, Peter never once asked her for help.
Day after day, year after year, he continued begging.
Occasionally, he'd take on odd jobs from familiar locals to earn extra cash, steadily building toward his dream.
When Peter was fifteen, Whitney suddenly ca to him in tears.
She cried often in daily life—but this was the first ti he'd ever seen her cry like that.
Heartbroken. Wailing.
Even her Miltank drooped its ears, looking utterly dejected.
After comforting her for a long ti, Peter finally learned the reason.
Her grandfather—the forr Gym Leader of Goldenrod Gym, Howard—had passed away.
From that day on, she, like Peter, was alone.
"Peter… can you co help at the ranch?" she sobbed.
"I really can't manage everything by myself…"
The familiar scene replayed in his mind countless tis.
Peter had lost track of how many tis Whitney had invited him before.
In the past, he'd always thought of it as charity between friends and refused.
But this ti…
He nodded slowly.
Her tear-streaked face left him no room to say no.
Whitney stopped crying, relief spreading across her face.
"I'll pay you a salary! I'm not exploiting you for free…"
She'd learned that phrase from Peter.
From that day on, Peter beca a proud Miltank Ranch Manager.
Although he was curious about milking and other hands-on tasks, his lack of experience ant he mostly handled miscellaneous duties.
His daily work included adding fodder and Berries, mixing Pokémon food, and regulating the Miltank's schedules.
Only Whitney's personal Miltank would occasionally be "sweet-talked" by Peter into letting him practice milking.
Whitney paid him 5,000 a month.
Busy. Fulfilling. Far more than he'd ever earned before.
With food and housing included, Peter managed to save up a considerable sum—just waiting to set off on his journey once he turned eighteen.
"Hurry up! Why are you spacing out again… honestly…"
Whitney dragged Peter out of bed, then tossed a set of clothes at him.
"Five minutes! Any longer and I'm docking your pay!"
"Alright, alright…"
Peter responded absentmindedly, his gaze landing on the girl in front of him—and freezing.
Bathed in morning light, she seed to glow.
Compared to the heavily made-up, costically altered woman who'd scamd him in his past life…
She wasn't even in the sa universe.
Even after seeing her every day for years, Peter still couldn't help sneaking a few extra glances.
"Why are you staring at ?" Whitney paused, then realized sothing.
She put her hands on her hips and winked playfully.
"Did my cuteness totally srize you?"
The simple movent was… dangerously distracting.
"…."
Peter lowered his head and jumped out of bed without answering.
Whitney pouted.
There were nearly 50 Miltank on the ranch.
Whitney usually worked until mid-afternoon before finding ti to practice battling.
Peter's workload was lighter by comparison.
Aside from preparing food, he mostly just checked on the Miltank's condition.
He lifted hay with a pitchfork and filled the feeding trough, then mixed in juice brewed from various Berries.
Step by step, Peter followed the formula he'd developed from books.
Not only did the Miltank love it—Whitney did too.
Sotis, he couldn't help wondering…
Could this girl actually be a Miltank in disguise?
Their tastes and appearances were eerily similar—almost defying age limits.
If Peter were given a multiple-choice question…
ABCD wouldn't be nearly enough.
Using professional terminology from his past life, this would be called—
Ahem.
"Baby face with—"
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