บท 15: Chapter 15: Cold Ambition

The wind whipped through my hair, carrying with it the distant sound of flapping wings. I watched as Team Rocket's balloon disappeared into the night sky, a faint speck against the moon. My lips curled, not in relief, but in triumph. The weak would have sighed, maybe even collapsed in gratitude. But I wasn't weak. Not anymore.

I glanced down at Bulbasaur, who was panting heavily beside me, the dim light of the moon reflecting off his exhausted, yet defiant eyes. Pidgey perched nearby, its wings twitching as if ready for another battle, despite the toll of the night. My hand reached for their Pokéballs. "You guys did well," I murmured, my voice low, not meant for praise, but for acknowledgment. With a quick flick of my wrist, they vanished into their respective spheres.

I could still feel the pulse of my abilities, a subtle hum beneath my skin. The power was there, always just a thought away. I rolled the Pokéballs in my hand, feeling their cold surface, the weight of the creatures inside. A smirk tugged at my lips as I pocketed them.

Leaning against a nearby tree, I tilted my head back to gaze at the stars. The cool night air bit at my skin, but it was calming, grounding. For the first time in weeks, there was a strange sense of... belonging. It crept up on me, uninvited, as I stood there, alone. "It's strange..." I muttered, more to myself than to anyone else. "But I think I'm starting to fit in."

The me from my previous life would've laughed at that—probably called it pathetic. But I wasn't him anymore. That man was dead, and this boy, this world... it was mine now. The thought settled like a stone in my chest, cold, heavy, but undeniably real.

A sharp sound broke the stillness—footsteps, deliberate and heavy. I didn't turn immediately. Instead, I let my eyes stay fixed on the stars for a beat longer before I straightened up. Officer Jenny stepped into the clearing, her sharp gaze scanning the aftermath of the battle. Her eyes landed on me, suspicion flickering in them.

"Too late to catch them, huh?" she asked, voice clipped, professional. There was an edge to her words, like she wasn't entirely convinced of what had just happened.

I shrugged, not even bothering to turn fully toward her. "Yeah, I took care of it," I said, the words falling out as though I'd rehearsed them a thousand times. In truth, I didn't care if she believed me. Team Rocket was gone, and I was still standing. That's all that mattered.

Jenny's brow furrowed, and she took a cautious step forward. "You... beat Team Rocket? Alone?" Her voice held a mixture of disbelief and curiosity, though her eyes never left me, assessing every movement, every breath.

I pulled out my Pokédex, flipping it open with a snap. The screen illuminated briefly, showing my details. "Punit Setia. Pokémon Trainer," I stated flatly, though the hint of pride in my tone was impossible to miss. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘥, the unspoken message rang clear.

Her gaze flickered to the device before returning to me, suspicion still lingering, but tempered now with something else—respect, maybe. I wasn't just another nameless trainer.

"Ash and his Pikachu are inside," I continued, jerking my chin toward the Pokémon Center in the distance. "He could use your help. Nurse Joy's with him." Jenny blinked, recognition dawning in her eyes. She gave a curt nod, then turned on her heel, heading in the direction I'd pointed. Her hand hovered near her own Pokéball, but she didn't look back at me.

I watched her go, my eyes tracking her until she disappeared into the building. The night swallowed the silence again, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. I stood there for a moment longer, scanning the area, taking in the scorch marks, the broken windows, the scattered debris from Team Rocket's failed attack. The destruction was satisfying, a testament to the power I held. But there was no attachment. This wasn't about saving anyone. It was about control—*my* control.

The automatic doors of the Pokémon Center slid open as I stepped inside. The sterile light made me squint as my eyes adjusted from the darkness outside. Ash, Misty, Nurse Joy, and Officer Jenny were huddled around Pikachu, who looked beaten but stable. Ash was talking animatedly, his usual overenthusiasm on full display, but I tuned him out. His story wasn't my concern.

"I'm going to find a place for the night," I said, my voice cutting through the noise. It was flat, final. I didn't wait for them to respond before I turned and walked back out into the night.

Ash's voice followed me, though. "Thanks for the help, Punit! I owe you one!" I barely acknowledged him, just a slight nod as I pushed the door open.

As I stepped out into the cold again, Misty's voice rang out, sharp, teasing. "You still owe me a bike, Ash. Better not forget it this time!"

A smirk tugged at my lips. Typical. I glanced over my shoulder one last time, my voice calm but firm. "Ash can deal with the paperwork. I'm not getting tangled up in that mess." Then I disappeared into the night.

The streets were eerily quiet as I wandered, searching for a place to crash. The town was small, and most places had locked up for the night. Frustration gnawed at me as I glanced at my watch—3 a.m. My patience was wearing thin.

Then, finally, a glimmer of hope at the end of the road—a rundown, dilapidated building with a flickering "Vacancy" sign. It looked like it could fall apart at any second, but it was open, and that was good enough.

"Better than nothing," I muttered as I pushed open the creaking door. The air inside was stale, thick with dust. Behind the counter, an old man sat slouched, looking as though he hadn't moved in years. A Machoke loomed behind him, its muscled arms crossed, eyes watching me closely.

"Need a room," I said, not bothering to soften my tone. The old man nodded, moving at a snail's pace as he grabbed a key from the board behind him.

"Room 205. No elevator," he rasped, not even looking up.

I slapped down the money without flinching, my eyes flicking to the Machoke. It stared back, unblinking, but I wasn't intimidated. I wasn't the kind of kid you messed with. Not anymore.

Upstairs, the room was as bad as I'd expected—small, musty, and barely clean. But it would do. I tossed my bag on the desk and released Bulbasaur and Pidgey for a moment before recalling them again. They deserved the rest, and so did I.

I collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling. The battle replayed in my mind, but there was no excitement, no rush of victory. Just a cold, stark realization.