The ascent over the Vine Wall was less of a climb and more of a tactical airlift. I whistled, and Fearow—still looking smug from his evolution—scooped me up by the harness. Beside me, Gary's Pidgeotto did the same, its wings beating with a rhythmic, disciplined grace that screamed "Oak-trained."
We dropped silently into the heart of the Garden. It was a cathedral of green, where the air was thick with the scent of sweet nectar and damp earth. Everywhere I looked, the foliage moved. Bulbasaurs played in the sun-dappled clearings, and Ivysaurs moved like sturdy guardians through the underbrush.
We hunkered down behind a massive ferns, our breathing synchronized.
"Okay," I whispered, my eyes darting across the colony. "Strategy time. We could probably snag one from the outskirts secretly, but the high-potential seeds are in the center. Look at the one near that massive Venusaur. Its energy core is practically vibrating."
Gary hissed-whispered back, his face inches from mine. "Which makes them a much more dangerous game, Regina. You're looking at a localized god and its royal guard. One wrong move and we're fertilizer."
"Not like you don't want a partner with a Champion-tier ceiling," I shot back, my gaze fixed on a particularly sturdy female Bulbasaur near the center.
Gary grew quiet. The logic of the "Royal Starter" was undeniable. For a trainer aiming for the Indigo Plateau, passing up a high-potential Bulbasaur was like a dragon passing up a mountain of gold.
Suddenly, the air pressure changed.
The Great Venusaur—a mountain of bark and blossom—didn't even turn its head. It just flexed. A volley of **Razor Leaves** sliced through the air like spinning saw blades, homing in on our position with terrifying accuracy.
"GO!" I yelled.
Fearow and Pidgeotto reacted instantly, snagging our collars and hauling us upward just as the leaves shredded the fern we'd been hiding behind. We dangled in the air, looking down into the narrowed, ancient eyes of the Master of the Garden.
"SORRY!" I screamed, waving my arms frantically. "Sorry, Great Venusaur! We actually want a favor! Please don't kill me! I'm far too beautiful to die and I haven't even seen the Johto region yet!"
Gary, dangling from his Pidgeotto's talons, groaned. "And people call *me* narcissistic. Have some dignity, Regina."
The Venusaur paused, its vines retracting slightly. It seemed amused, or perhaps just baffled by the sheer audacity of two humans dropping from the sky to plead for their lives.
The Diplomacy of the Stomach
The Venusaur stopped. His massive, prehistoric eyes tracked us as we hovered. He let out a huff that smelled like fresh rain and ancient soil.
"We want one of your spawn!" I called out, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The Venusaur's eyes narrowed, his vines lashing out like whips, cracking the air. He was angry. To him, we were poachers.
"Wait!" Gary shouted, taking the lead. He knew how to talk to 'Old Money'—even the botanical kind. "We aren't here to steal. We offer a trade! Something your forest can't provide!"
Gary signaled his Pidgeotto to land a safe distance away. He reached into his high-end tactical bag and pulled out a container of Grade-S 'King-Premium' Pokémon Supplements. This stuff wasn't just food; it was a blend of rare berries from the Sinnoh highlands and processed nutrients that cost more than my first skateboard.
He popped the lid. The aroma hit the air—sweet, spicy, and hyper-concentrated. The Bulbasaur near us stopped in their tracks, their little bulbs twitching.
Food. The natural currency of the wild.
The Venusaur sniffed the offering. Then, it ate.
For the next three days, the Mysterious Garden went from a sanctuary to a five-star restaurant. Gary and I spent every waking hour (and a horrifying amount of Pokedollars) feeding the entire valley. I watched my bank account balance plummet in real-time on my HUD. Every time a group of Bulbasaurs finished a bowl, I felt a piece of my soul—and my future rent—wither away.
"Pokemon are simple creatures, right?" Gary remarked on the second evening, watching a line of Ivysaurs wait for their turn at the 'buffet.' "Need nothing but nature and a bit of sunshine."
"Tell that to my bank account, Gary," I grumbled, dumping another bag of G-Pro Elite Kibble into a trough. "I'm pretty sure I'm officially a pauper now. I might have to live in a cave in Pewter City after this."
Gary checked his own balance on his high-end Holo-caster and sighed. It was the first time I'd seen him look genuinely stressed about money. Even as the grandson of Professor Oak, he was clearly playing by a different set of rules.
"A Royal Starter usually costs ten times this in black market and fifty times this in League fees and political connections," Gary said quietly, his eyes following the Bulbasaur he'd been eyeing. "I could have just asked Grandpa for one. He has three in the lab right now waiting for the next batch of Pallet Town kids."
"So why didn't you?" I asked.
Gary's jaw tightened. "Because I don't want to be 'The Professor's Grandson.' My dad did it his way. My grandpa built his legacy from the dirt up. If I take a 'handout' starter, I'm just a legacy act. I want to be Gary Oak. Just Gary. I want to prove I can find, bond with, and raise a King without a single favor from the Oak name."
I looked at him, seeing the human beneath the spiked hair and the ego. "Well," I smirked, "spending your life savings on salad for a giant toad is certainly a 'self-made' way to do it."
### The Choice of the Seeds
By the third day, the Venusaur didn't just tolerate us; it seemed to enjoy our presence. It would settle its massive bulk near our camp, watching us bicker over tent poles and cooking duties with a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated in our chests. It saw us—not as intruders, but as a pair of young, fiercely ambitious predators who cared enough to feed the flock before asking for a prize.
I had used the System to scan the colony, but I didn't need the HUD to see the connection. Gary was bonding with a male Bulbasaur who I had pointed to in secret but well even without that I guess he would have chosen that one, they had something like a bond, like they were meant, destiny kind of thing you know. It had a **Calm** nature—a sturdy, thoughtful creature that matched Gary's analytical mind, psudo champion, overgrow ability and a male.
Mine, however, was a firebrand.
**[Data Scan: Bulbasaur]**
* **Gender:** Female
* **Class:** Pseudo-Champion
* **Nature:** Modest (+Sp. Atk, -Atk)
* **Ability:** Overgrow
* **Trait:** Battle Enthusiast (Gains EXP faster in high-stakes fights)
She was perfect. A specialized special attacker who wanted to fight as much as I did. Every time I looked at her, she'd puff out her chest and let out a tiny, defiant *"Bulba!"* as if challenging me to keep up.
At the end of the third day, the Great Venusaur stood up, its flower petals glowing with solar energy. It let out a resonant, deep cry, summoning the colony. It looked at Gary and me, then at the two Bulbasaurs standing by our boots.
It didn't use vines or force. It simply asked them if they wanted to go.
My female Bulbasaur didn't hesitate. She raised a vine, tapping my shin with a firm, proprietary thwack. Gary's male partner did the same, nodding with a solemn, 'Calm' dignity.
The Venusaur chuckled again, its massive head dipping in a nod of approval. It could see the fire in us. It knew that in the world beyond the wall, these two 'Seeds' wouldn't just grow; they would rule.
As we prepared to leave, Gary looked at his empty wallet, then at his new partner.
"Worth it?" I asked, kicking my skateboard.
Gary smirked, the old confidence returning, but this time it felt earned. "Three million Pokedollars in food and three days of manual labor? For a self-made Royal Seed? Regina, it's the best bargain I've ever made."
"Good," I said, looking at my own bank account: **42 Pokedollars.** "Because you're buying dinner in Vermilion. I'm literally broke."
Gary laughed, a real, unscripted sound. "Deal. But only if you don't tell anyone I actually like the 'simple' life."
We whistled for our flyers, the "Royal Seeds" tucked safely into their balls, and rose above the vines. The Garden vanished behind us, a secret kept in green, but the weight on my belt felt like a million pounds of pure, unadulterated potential.