"Grrrk—CRACK!"
A shrill, teeth-grinding screech—like nails dragged across a chalkboard before metal snapped—drilled straight into Logan Moore's ears.
Still lost in sleep, Logan's brows twisted into a deep frown.
The soundproofing in this crappy rental was awful, sure, but this was way too close. It felt like someone was crouched beside his pillow chewing on rebar.
"Which idiot construction crew… this early in the morning… are you trying to kill me…"
Muttering through a haze of morning rage, Logan forced his lead-heavy eyelids open.
Dim morning light, dusty and gray, slipped through the torn curtain and fell directly on the shadow by his bed.
One glance—and Logan's groggy brain snapped awake. Ice shot up his spine and into his skull.
There was no construction worker.
Standing there was a round-headed little creature just over half a meter tall, with deep blue fur and a cream-colored belly.
It stood upright. Its bear-like ears bounced up and down in rhythm with its chewing cheeks.
And in its tiny three-clawed paws, it clutched half of a mangled metal object.
Logan's Two-dollar "ultra-loud alarm clock," bought from a street stall just last night.
Right now, the creature bit into the remaining metal casing like it was a wafer biscuit—crunch. The gears and battery inside were exposed. It tilted its head back and swallowed with obvious relish.
"OH HELL—SPIT IT OUT!!"
Logan shrieked. He launched off the bed like he'd been electrocuted, slamming his back into the cold, flaking plaster wall.
"Munch?" (You're awake? Hungry…)
Hearing the commotion, the little guy stopped eating.
It turned its head. Its eyes—mostly white with tiny pupils—radiated a kind of pure, transparent stupidity paired with absolute innocence.
A strip of red copper wire still dangled from the corner of its mouth, like a kid caught sneaking snacks without wiping their face.
"Th-this… this is a Munchlax?!"
Logan's pupils shrank.
As a hardcore anime nerd, of course he recognized it.
But the tangible presence, the fluffy fur dusted with tiny specks, the distinct animal scent in the air—none of that could be reproduced by any hologram or figurine.
Just as Logan tried to force a materialist explanation onto reality, a sudden, hammer-blow pain exploded deep inside his brain.
"Hiss—!!"
He clutched his head, agony tearing through him like countless ants gnawing his nerves.
Inside his mind, two torrents of memories collided, fused, and rearranged.
Five full minutes passed before the suffocating pain finally ebbed away.
Logan gasped for breath, sweat soaking his sleep shirt.
When he looked at the Munchlax again, his expression had changed.
The fear was gone. In its place was something tangled—resignation, heartache, and responsibility.
"So the whole world setting changed… but my job didn't. I just got extra memories."
Rubbing his temple, Logan sorted through the information now flooding his mind.
He'd jumped from a normal modern society into a parallel world where human civilization was deeply intertwined with extraordinary creatures—Pokemon.
On morning rush-hour streets, Cyclizar carried office workers weaving through traffic instead of electric scooters.
At distant construction sites, there were no roaring cranes—only muscular Conkeldurr swinging concrete pillars to rebuild shattered walls.
At the intersection downstairs, assisting traffic police wasn't a police dog but a fierce Mabosstiff. Anyone thinking of running a red light would think twice about those fangs.
Even in the neighborhood clinic window, a Comfey emitted soft pink healing waves to soothe crying infants.
This was reality now.
And he, Logan Moore, in this magical-realist world, was still a bottom-tier nobody on the brink of bankruptcy.
Just upgraded from a generic streamer to a "Pokemon appraisal streamer."
As for the little ancestor currently eating alarm clocks…
He'd originally been a Snorlax plush Logan picked up beside a trash pile on a stormy night.
When the world rewrote itself, the toy had become a real Pokemon.
A glutton. A Munchlax.
Not just a species name—
A walking, breathing death-warrant of a grocery bill.
According to the League Pokédex, this thing ate food equal to its own body weight every single day.
Even when he'd been dirt poor before, Logan stuck to the rule of "if you pick it up, it's family." He lived on plain buns and pickled vegetables so he could buy expired milk and discount Pokéblocks for the little guy.
And the result?
Logan looked at his Munchlax, chest tightening.
Other trainers' Munchlax were round like balls, fat rippling when they waddled.
His?
Loose fur hung off a gaunt frame. Sunken eye sockets. Skinny like a monkey in an oversized hoodie.
It wasn't abused thin.
It was starved thin by this poor household.
"Munch…"
The Munchlax seemed to sense Logan's sinking mood.
Its simple mind assumed eating the alarm clock had made its trainer angry—or that Logan was fed up with how much it ate.
Panicking, it hid the remaining half of the clock behind its butt.
Then after a moment's hesitation, it reached one tiny paw into the thick fur under its arm and rummaged around.
A second later—
Like presenting treasure, it pulled out two squashed, white steamed buns, completely flattened and speckled with stray blue fur.
Its secret stash from yesterday. It hadn't been able to bring itself to eat them.
It carefully held out the slightly larger bun to Logan, keeping the smaller one for itself.
Its big mouth split into a sheepish, ingratiating grin.
It pointed at Logan, then at the bun.
—Don't be mad. I won't eat the alarm clock.
—There's good food here. One for you, one for me.
In that instant, Logan felt his heart clenched by an invisible hand.
Orphan in his past life. Orphan again in this one.
Across both lifetimes, the only bond he'd ever truly had was this clumsy, greedy, loyal little creature.
"Idiot…"
His nose stung.
He didn't take the bun. Instead, he reached out and ruffled the Munchlax's soft head fur hard.
"I'm not hungry. You eat both."
He pushed the larger bun back gently, forcing warmth into his voice. "Go on. Stop hiding them. They're already going stale."
The Munchlax froze, beady little eyeswide with disbelief.
But under Logan's firm encouragement, instinct beat restraint.
"Ah-woo!"
Its mouth opened like a bottomless abyss. Both buns slid straight down without chewing.
Not even a burp.
Watching it finish, Logan sighed and grabbed his phone from the bedside.
The screen was cracked but usable. The moment he unlocked it, news notifications popped up, further rewriting his worldview:
[Morning Report: West District sewer system collapse suspected to be caused by a Grimer cluster blockage. Sanitation union dispatches Muk for negotiation…]
[Crackdown: Illegal blast fishing ring using Voltorb dismantled. Officer Jenny arrests all suspects!]
[Police Alert: Ditto fraud surge! Criminal group transforms Ditto into "Hermès" limited handbags for sale. Victims discover purchases revert to original form after returning home. Stay vigilant…]
[Entertainment: Jynx Emotional Counseling Center opens today. Experts urge: Do not develop feelings beyond friendship toward your Pokemon!]
[Shocking: East Sea fishermen catch giant Magikarp. Experts claim trace Dragon-type lineage—possible Gyarados pre-evolution?]
…
Logan swiped away the absurd headlines with a bitter smile and opened he opened the messaging app on his Rotom Phone.
Pinned at the top wasn't any hot girl.
Just his landlady's icy rent reminders—
And a string of voice messages from Carmen, operations manager at his streaming guild.