The next month seemed to pass in a blur for Arin. He threw himself into learning, not just about Fuchsia City but about the wider world-Kanto's history, the customs of Johto, the wild landscapes of Sinnoh, and even the distant islands of Alola. He read whatever he could get his hands on, asked questions of travelers passing through, and listened to stories from the shop's regulars. Every day brought something new, and every night he felt a little more grounded in this world.
He also kept up his routine at the shop, helping Mrs. Varma with chores, restocking shelves, and making sure the place was spotless. Though business was slow, he found satisfaction in small things-organizing the Pokéblock jars, learning the quirks of the regulars, and watching the way Mrs. Varma's Pokémon interacted with her and with each other. He even managed to save a little from odd jobs, always slipping his modest earnings into an envelope marked "rent" and leaving it on Mrs. Varma's desk.
But as he paid closer attention to daily life, Arin noticed something odd. Despite the advanced technology around him-Poké Balls that could digitize living creatures, computers that managed vast Pokémon storage networks-there was a strange absence of something he'd taken for granted in his old life: social media.
People here communicated easily enough. Most had access to video and audio calling, and it wasn't unusual to see someone chatting with a friend or family member on a compact, phone-like device. Some people even used group calls for family updates or business meetings. But there were no apps or platforms for sharing photos, posting updates, or creating groups for interests and events. No one scrolled through feeds, posted about their day, or followed the lives of distant acquaintances. Instead, people relied on calls, face-to-face meetings, or the occasional public bulletin for news. The idea of sharing moments with a wide audience simply hadn't caught on.
Arin wondered why. Maybe it was because people here had Pokémon for companionship and adventure, making digital connection less appealing. Perhaps the culture just didn't value sharing every moment online, or maybe the technology had simply evolved in a different direction. He noticed that people spent more time outdoors, with their Pokémon or with friends, than glued to screens. Even the kids who visited the shop seemed more interested in showing off a new catch than in taking a photo of it. Whatever the reason, Arin saw a gap-a space waiting to be filled.
He started to pay attention to the little things. He watched how people made plans, how they invited friends to events, and how news spread in the city. Most of it happened through word of mouth, or via quick calls on their devices. There were company-run channels for official announcements, but nothing that let ordinary people share their lives, post photos, or connect with others beyond their immediate circle.
The more he thought about it, the more determined he became. If he could create even a simple social app-something that let people post updates, share photos, or find friends-he might be able to build a source of passive income. And he'd realized, after weeks of scraping by, that passive income was the only way he'd ever afford to become a real Pokémon trainer. The costs of travel, supplies, and registration were just too high for someone living hand-to-mouth.
He knew it wouldn't be easy. The software here was unfamiliar, and he'd have to learn the region's coding languages from scratch. It might take months just to build a basic prototype, let alone something polished or popular. But the idea of creating something new, something that could change how people interacted, filled him with cautious excitement.
Arin put together a plan: first, he'd find a temporary job to cover his living expenses. Then, in his spare time, he'd start learning the local programming languages and development tools, even if it meant long nights and slow progress. He accepted that it would take months-at least a couple-to build even a simple app. But he had to try. The alternative-remaining a shop assistant forever-wasn't an option.
He began researching technology in earnest. He borrowed books from the reading room about Kanto's computer systems, the history of communication devices, and the basics of digital security. He even found a few technical manuals on programming, though the terminology was different from what he remembered. Still, the logic behind coding was familiar, and Arin was confident he could adapt if he put in the work.
He also started paying attention to the business side of things. He watched how vendors advertised their goods, how word of mouth spread through the market, and how even the smallest change in routine could ripple through the neighborhood. He realized that, in a world where most people were focused on their Pokémon, a well-made app could catch on quickly-if it was useful, fun, or made life easier.
One evening, after closing up the shop, Arin approached Mrs. Varma. He explained his plan honestly: he wanted to look for a temporary job elsewhere, so he could save up and start working on his own project. He admitted that he needed to learn more about local coding and business practices, and that he couldn't keep relying on her generosity forever.
Mrs. Varma listened in silence, arms folded, her expression unreadable. For a moment, Arin worried he'd overstepped. But then she nodded. "You're smart to think ahead," she said. "I'll ask around. Maybe one of my old contacts has something for you. But don't forget-if things get rough, you've still got a roof here."
Relief and gratitude washed over him. He thanked her, feeling a new weight lift from his shoulders. For the first time since arriving in this world, Arin felt like he was steering his own future. The world might not need another shop assistant-but maybe, just maybe, it needed a way to connect. And Arin was determined to be the one to build it.
That night, as he lay in bed with the city's lights twinkling beyond the attic window, Arin's mind raced with ideas. He pictured a simple app-maybe just a way for people to post photos of their Pokémon, or to find friends with similar interests. He imagined trainers sharing stories from their journeys, or families keeping in touch across regions. The possibilities seemed endless, and for the first time in weeks, he felt a thrill of hope for the future.
He knew the path ahead would be difficult. There would be setbacks, confusion, and long nights spent poring over unfamiliar code. But Arin was used to hard work. He'd survived in this world by being adaptable, by learning quickly, and by never giving up. He was ready to take the next step-one line of code, one connection at a time.
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