Julian didn't want money. Money in this village was fleeting, easily stolen by the next person with a stronger Pokemon. He wanted infrastructure.
He negotiated a deal: He would provide the silk nets for the Miller's expansion in exchange for a dedicated shed, a steady supply of high-calcium supplements, and access to the "Library"—a dusty collection of old journals left by a traveling researcher who had died of Jungle Fever decades ago.
Hacking the Larva
Back in his new shed, Julian looked at his Caterpie. The bug was exhausted. The stress-training had worked, but it was unsustainable. If he kept pushing like this, the evolution into Metapod would produce a weak, stunted Butterfree.
"In the games, you just gain experience," Julian muttered, sketching a diagram of the Caterpie's anatomy on a scrap of parchment. "But here, you're a biological engine. You need the right fuel and the right stimuli."
Julian realized that a Caterpie's growth was limited by its respiratory system. They breathed through spiracles—tiny holes along their sides. In this world's high-oxygen environment (compared to Earth), their size was limited by how much oxygen could diffuse to their internal organs.
He began a three-part "Smart" training regimen:
Enriched Atmosphere: He sealed the cracks in his shed with silk and burned specific herbs that increased the oxygen density in the small space. It was a makeshift hyperbaric chamber.
The 'Silk-Core' Exercise: Instead of just pricking the glands, he taught the Caterpie to "pulse" its silk. He tied a small weight to a thread and made the bug reel it in using only its internal musculature. This didn't just produce silk; it built the internal "pump" that would eventually power its wings.
Chemical Synthesis: He used his knowledge of basic chemistry to refine the berries. By fermenting the Pecha berries and mixing them with crushed calcium-rich shells, he created a "growth slurry" that bypassed the slow digestion of raw leaves.
Results of the Regimen
After five days, the changes were startling.
The Caterpie—whom he had named Vellum—was no longer a bright, soft green. Its skin had darkened to a deep, waxy forest emerald. It was heavier, denser. When it moved, the thwip-thwip of its feet sounded more like the rhythmic striking of a drum.
Subject: "Vellum" (Caterpie)
Status: Over-clocked.
Current Weight: 14kg (Standard: 2.9kg)
Observation: The subject shows signs of "Pre-Evolutionary Hypertrophy."
The Harsh Encounter
Julian's progress didn't go unnoticed. The village Elder, a man named Silas who owned an aging Pidgeotto, didn't like "Snatchers" getting ideas above their station.
Silas entered the shed one evening, the smell of expensive tobacco preceding him. "You're changing things, boy. People are talking about 'the smart orphan' instead of the Miller. That's a dangerous shift in the ecosystem."
Julian didn't look up from his notes. "The ecosystem is already broken, Silas. You're just the only one who likes the current balance because you're at the top of it."
Silas whistled. His Pidgeotto, a bird with a five-foot wingspan and talons stained with the blood of a dozen Rattata, swooped down from the rafters, pinning Julian against the wall. The bird's beak was inches from Julian's eye.
"A bird eats a bug, Julian," Silas said softly. "That's the only law that matters here. Don't let your little 'experiments' make you forget your place."
As Silas turned to leave, Vellum let out a low, vibrating hiss from the shadows. The Pidgeotto flinched—an instinctive reaction. Predators didn't usually flinch at Caterpie.
Julian wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead as the bird retreated. He looked at Vellum. The bug's skin was beginning to crack at the neck, revealing a glimpse of something hard and metallic underneath.
"He's right about one thing, Vellum," Julian whispered. "A bird eats a bug. So we're going to make sure that when he tries to eat you, he chokes."