"Yo… I'm back…"
Inside a cramped little room, a pale, haggard-looking but handsome young man turned on his webcam.
"Oh? Damn, you're early today!"
"Something's off, guys… The streamer looks rough. Based on my extensive experience, I'd say this is clearly the result of overexertion last night."
"That fast already?! Being handsome really does mean you can do whatever you want… First day meeting IRL and you're already booking a couple's hotel with a king-size bed?!"
"Ahem… please elaborate on the 'overexertion.'"
Seeing the familiar usernames flooding his chat, Peter's exhausted eyes finally regained a hint of warmth.
"Stop it already… Brothers, I got scammed out of my money and my body!" he said, grief written all over his face.
Peter was a Pokémon game streamer. Last night was a Festival, and he'd ended his stream early to meet his online girlfriend of three years in real life for the first time.
Naturally, all the longtime viewers were dying to know how things went.
They just hadn't expected this.
"HOLY— This is huge news, boys! Spread it!"
"Hold on, I'm waking up my entire dorm—no, screw it, I'm going to the broadcast station to wake up the whole campus!"
"Have some humanity, man, it's only 8 a.m.!"
Peter: "??? Hey, why is nobody comforting me?!"
"Comfort you? You lost money, sure—but getting scammed out of your body? I go out on the street begging for that and nobody even looks at me."
"Streamer, we strongly recommend downloading the National Anti-Fraud App. I really don't want your next stream to be coming from a prison."
"Cough—uh, Peter, could you go into detail about how exactly you were 'scammed'? For educational purposes. So we can avoid it next time."
"Who are you kidding? You don't want to avoid it—you're carrying a lantern hoping it happens to you. But yeah, Peter, go on… I'm asking for a friend."
"This kind of thing screams serial offender. Peter, you'd better go get checked at a hospital. Don't catch something nasty."
Seeing that last message, Peter froze.
"…It can't be that bad, right?"
"My buddy went down this road once… ended real bad. Messed him up so badly I'm basically counting my own days now… sigh."
"WHAT THE HELL?! That's some insane information!"
"Mom come pick me up, there's a manchild here!"
Peter fell silent.
Because of his lack of dating experience, he was still a pure-hearted rookie. For three whole years, he'd been attentive, obedient, and caring to a fault. Even though they'd never met in person, he'd already picked out names for their future kids.
Yesterday, the moment they met, she kept forcing drinks on him. After he lost consciousness, he vaguely remembered being stripped bare and tossed around like a plucked chicken.
Unfortunately, he was too drunk to feel anything. Too drunk to remember anything.
All he knew was that he woke up with a sore waist and aching back.
And on the bed… there were faint, plum-blossom-like stains.
On his phone, there was only a single message:
"Let's never meet again."
Then—blocked everywhere.
Money gone. Person gone.
The more he thought about it, the worse it felt.
Just to be safe, Peter dragged his exhausted body to a small clinic.
The moment he entered the examination room, he went straight to the point.
"Doctor, I'd like to do a fertility check."
The doctor didn't even look up. "Go downstairs and get an imaging scan first."
"Oh. Uh… how much for the scan?"
"Two hundred and fifty."
Seeing that the doctor had zero intention of actually examining him, Peter could only walk back out.
That's how it is these days—whether you're sick or not, you scan first.
After a while, Peter returned with the results, asking nervously:
"Doctor… is there anything wrong?"
The doctor glanced at him. "You… you're a virgin. Why are you checking this?"
"…Huh?!"
Peter froze.
Wait—then last night shouldn't have…?
It hit him belatedly.
Those plum-blossom stains on the bed… kinda smelled like tomato sauce.
"…Phew."
Peter let out a long breath. "Then, uh… could you check if there's anything else wrong with me?"
The doctor pondered for a moment, then nodded.
"Yes. Your condition… is very rare."
"What?! What condition? How much will it cost?"
Peter forced a bitter smile.
He'd spent almost all his savings last night. He only had a few hundred left. He'd thought the check would be cheap.
Turns out… there really was a problem.
"This is what we call poverty induced illness," the doctor said, pointing at the chest area on the scan.
"You see this? Classic case of Conscience hypertrophy. We recommend surgical removal."
"…What?"
Peter stared. "Then when you said it was rare, you meant…?"
The doctor sighed deeply, full of emotion. "A conscience this enlarged… is something I've never seen in my entire career."
Peter: "..."
"If I don't remove it, will there be problems?"
"Nothing major. Just things like getting extorted after helping old ladies cross the street, losing all your money in business, or getting scammed out of both money and dignity in relationships."
"—!"
Peter's eye twitched violently.
Those last few words stabbed him right in the soul.
"…If I remove it," he asked cautiously, "will it actually help?"
"Of course! Just recently, an old man had his removed. Afterward, he immediately extorted our hospital, claimed we cut off an extra piece, didn't pay a cent for surgery, and even walked away with hundreds of thousands."
Peter: "?????"
The effect was that immediate?!
Seeing Peter hesitate, the doctor quickly intensified his persuasion. Soon, several other doctors entered the room.
Before Peter fully realized what was happening, he was half-pushed, half-dragged onto the operating table.
Watching the doctor pull out a gleaming surgical knife, Peter asked nervously:
"Uh… doctor… what's the success rate of this surgery?"
"Very high! Look at us—we're all lively and kicking, aren't we?"
"…Oh. That's good."
Peter relaxed for half a second—
Then froze, eyes widening.
"Wait… you mean… all of you doctors have had yours removed?"
Doctor removes conscience → immoral doctor?!
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
A chill ran down Peter's spine.
At some point, the ice-cold scalpel was already pressing against his lower back!
This wasn't a conscience-removal surgery at all—
They were going for his kidney!!!
Without hesitation, Peter sprang up from the operating table, kicked several doctors away, and leapt straight out of the open window!
The movement was smooth and flawless.
Before disappearing, he even waved back cheerfully.
"See ya later!"
The lead surgeon froze. "Hey! This is the 18th floor!"
Peter looked down.
The dizzying height made his vision blur.
"WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY THAT EARLIER?!"
But his voice was already swallowed by the howling wind.
Boom.
Everything went dark.
-----
"Hey! You lazy bum, wake up!"
A sweet voice rang out beside Peter's ear.
Groggily, he opened his eyes and blurted out instinctively:
"You're the one with an Conscience hypertrophy! Your whole family's enlarged!"
The pink-haired, pink-eyed girl in front of him frowned.
"Peter, what are you talking about? Conscience hypertrophy? Me?"
She subconsciously glanced down at her… exceptional assets.
The fact that she couldn't even see her own toes made her pause.
Could it be…?
Was Peter looking her for being too big?
"Milky, hit him!"
"Milk-moo!"
Beside the girl, a pink-and-black Miltank raised its hoof and brought it crashing down.
"…Huh?"
Peter barely had time to react before the hoof landed squarely on his handsome face.
"Ow—DAMN IT! That hurts!"
"Hmph! That's what you get for talking nonsense. Get up and get to work already! Or the Miltank are going to be mad!"
The girl crossed her arms, speaking with absolute authority.
Peter froze.
Only then did he realize—
This wasn't the hospital room.
And before he could think further, reality hit him.
This wasn't a dream.
Six years ago, on the day he jumped, he had already crossed over into this world.
The Pokémon world he'd always dreamed of.
And the milk-white-skinned girl standing before him was none other than—
Whitney,
the Gym Leader of Goldenrod City in the Johto region.