Chapter 6: Chapter 6: Treading the Abyss
The rough gravel under my boots shifted, the small rocks tumbling away, falling into the void below. My heart pounded in my chest as I glanced down, the abyss glaring back at me—a yawning chasm that threatened to swallow me whole if I made a single misstep. I cursed under my breath, pulling back from the cliff's edge, reminding myself of the unforgiving reality of this world.
My breaths came heavy, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer tension coiled tight in my chest. I wasn't in my old world anymore, that much was painfully clear. Here, mistakes had consequences, and death lurked just out of sight, waiting for a chance to strike. I wasn't going to let it have me. Not yet.
I crouched low, yanking my Pokédex from the sleek black sling bag strapped across my shoulder. The device whirred to life, screen flickering with an array of data as I scrolled through Bulbasaur's stats, then Pidgey's. Bulbasaur's condition was worse than I'd expected, and Pidgey—brave and loyal as he was—had his limits too. Neither of them was ready for the kind of battle I was contemplating.
"Think, Punit. Think," I muttered to myself, eyes narrowing at the shimmering lake far below. From up here, it looked peaceful, serene even, but I wasn't fooled. The tranquility was a thin veil, barely hiding the dangers beneath the surface—dangers like Gyarados.
A shudder ran through me at the thought. Facing a Gyarados without a solid plan would be suicide. I couldn't afford to rush in, not without thinking it through. My lips pressed into a hard line as I flipped the Pokédex shut and slid it back into my bag.
I stood, letting my gaze sweep over the cliffside. The rocks were jagged, the path treacherous, but I caught sight of a narrow, winding trail that snaked its way down toward the lake. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than leaping blindly into the unknown.
"There it is," I whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. If this was a game, then I'd play it my way—calculated, careful, and always a step ahead.
The descent was slow, each step measured as I navigated the narrow path, my focus honed to a razor's edge. The sun, once high and bright, dipped lower, casting long, ominous shadows across the landscape. The warmth of the afternoon faded, replaced by the cool bite of evening. Sweat beaded on my forehead, but I didn't stop. I couldn't afford to.
Every so often, the path would narrow further, forcing me to stop, to find stable footing before continuing. My frustration grew with each delay, the darkening sky only adding to the urgency gnawing at my insides. I wasn't built for waiting, for taking things slow, but here, I had no choice. The world didn't care about my impatience.
"Of course, nothing's easy in this damn world," I growled as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a dim canvas of purples and blues. I could smell the lake now—fresh, cool water, a welcome relief after the grueling descent.
Finally, after what felt like hours, I reached the lake's edge. The ground was soft underfoot, a stark contrast to the hard, unforgiving rock I'd just traversed. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, but my relief was short-lived.
There was someone here.
My eyes narrowed as I caught sight of a figure sitting by the water, a fishing rod in hand. The faint splashing of water reached my ears, mixing with the quiet murmur of the lake. I approached cautiously, keeping my steps light, my body tense, ready to spring into action if necessary.
As I drew closer, the figure's features became clearer. Orange hair, tied back in a ponytail, a casual stance that spoke of someone familiar with the area. The girl's attention was focused on the water, seemingly unaware of my presence.
Misty.
Her name flickered through my mind, accompanied by memories that weren't entirely my own. She was one of the best Water-type Trainers in the region, and by the looks of it, she was enjoying a rare moment of peace.
I watched her for a moment, weighing my options. Approaching her could be risky—she wasn't the type to let her guard down easily. But if I was going to catch a Magikarp, or anything else worth my time, I'd need her help.
Steeling myself, I took a step closer.
"Hey, what are you staring at, kid?" Misty's voice cut through the stillness, sharp and direct. She didn't bother looking up at first, but when she did, her blue eyes met mine with a carefree smile that didn't match the subtle challenge in her tone.
I straightened, meeting her gaze with a smirk. "I'm not a kid," I retorted, my voice firm, carrying the weight of experiences far beyond my apparent age. Her eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity sparking in their depths.
Misty's grin widened, and she finally set her fishing rod aside, standing to face me fully. "You sure about that?" she teased, crossing her arms as she studied me.
I took another step forward, unphased by her scrutiny. "I've seen plenty of beautiful things," I replied smoothly, letting the words hang in the air just long enough to make my point. My voice was confident, almost cocky—something I'd picked up from my previous life, no doubt.
For a moment, Misty just stared at me, her expression unreadable. Then, she shrugged, her smile never wavering. "Alright, not a kid," she conceded, though her tone was still playful.
I took that as a small victory and didn't let my guard down. This was still a game, and I needed to play it right.
When Misty offered me a bottle of water, our hands brushed lightly. The contact was brief, but it sent a shiver up my spine—an unsettling reminder of the strange, disorienting blend of my past and present identities. I took a sip, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat, and introduced myself.
"Punit Setia," I said, extending a hand. "New Pokémon Trainer."
Misty took it, her grip firm but not overly so. There was a slight shift in her expression, her playful demeanor giving way to something more serious. She didn't let go immediately, holding my gaze as if searching for something.
When she finally released my hand, I quickly explained my predicament, outlining my plan to catch Magikarp. I spoke with confidence, keeping my voice steady, avoiding any hints of uncertainty.
Misty listened quietly, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she weighed my words. "You want my fishing rod?" she repeated, her tone skeptical. "And you'll pay for it?"
I nodded, already reaching into my bag for the Pokédollars. The money was meaningless to me—just another tool at my disposal.
Misty hesitated for a moment, then shrugged again, her mischievous grin returning. "Fine, but pay up first."
I handed over the money without flinching, keeping my mind focused on the task ahead. I couldn't afford distractions—not now.
We sat side by side, the tension between us easing slightly as the minutes ticked by. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of the lake water and the occasional splash of a Pokémon beneath the surface. The waiting gnawed at me, my patience wearing thin. I wasn't used to this. I was used to having everything I wanted, exactly when I wanted it.
But this world didn't care about what I was used to.
Finally, Misty broke the silence, her voice low, almost contemplative. "You're not like the other kids I've met."
I glanced at her, my expression guarded. "What makes you say that?" I asked, keeping my tone careful, neutral.
She shrugged, not looking at me this time. "You're too serious. Too intense."
I smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Maybe I've seen more than the average ten-year-old," I replied, my voice tinged with a darkness I hadn't intended to reveal.
Misty didn't respond immediately, and the silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I turned back to the water, my grip tightening on the fishing rod. Just as I was about to reel in the line for what felt like the hundredth time, there was a sudden, strong tug.
My heart skipped a beat. The line went taut, the rod straining under the weight of whatever was on the other end. Misty's eyes widened as she watched me struggle, the playful banter forgotten.
"Finally," I muttered, adrenaline surging through me as I braced myself, every muscle in my body coiled tight with anticipation.
The tension in the air was almost unbearable as I pulled, the line resisting, whatever was hooked fighting with all its might. The rod shook violently in my hands, the strain pushing me to my limits. My mind raced, calculating, planning, ready for whatever came next.
And then, with a final, desperate pull, the catch breached the surface.
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