When Mewtwo finally broke free from its prison, Ryuuske, inside the safe room, let out a pained scream. Clutching his left arm, his legs gave way as he collapsed to his knees.
Pain—bone-deep, soul-rending pain. A torment a hundred, a thousand times worse than the searing agony of scorched lungs from inhaling burning air. His brain's protective mechanisms seemed to fail; despite the unbearable suffering, his consciousness remained cruelly clear.
His vision blurred as he stared at his left arm. The tattoo-like markings writhed violently, creeping slowly but inexorably toward his shoulder.
This was the price of controlling an incomplete Mewtwo. Until its genetic adjustments were finalized, once removed from the nutrient fluid, the Mewtwo cells implanted in Ryuuske's body would rapidly activate and begin consuming him from within.
Just days ago, he had been an ordinary office worker, someone who had never experienced severe illness—whose worst pains were minor bumps and scrapes. But this? This was like countless blades carving into his flesh and soul, an agony he could not endure.
He wanted to grit his teeth like a man, to endure silently—but his body betrayed him. Tears streamed uncontrollably, and his throat tore itself raw with hoarse, ragged cries.
"Ryuuske!"
Professor Oak immediately knelt beside him, steadying his trembling form. Though his mind was fogged with pain, Ryuuske forced himself to shake his head. He had no choice now—either endure this torment or die. And if he chose the former, perhaps he could grasp the power he so desperately desired.
"Hold on, Ryuuske! It'll be over soon!"
Blaine shouted as he released all five of his Pokémon, plus the Lapras borrowed from the Cerulean Gym Leader. With all six fighting together, they momentarily held back the onslaught of Team Rocket's hundred-strong Pokémon forces in the narrow corridor, even showing signs of pushing forward.
Team Rocket's members, spurred by the blaring alarms, seemed to realize something was wrong. Panic flashed across their faces as they frantically ordered their Pokémon to attack. Some even pulled out syringes and injected their Pokémon with a strange substance.
"That's a stimulant Team Rocket developed—forces evolution in the short term, granting greater power at the cost of severe side effects. Injected Pokémon often go berserk, and their lifespans are drastically shortened. Normally, they'd never use it on their own trained Pokémon—only on captured wild ones. They're desperate now."
Even through the haze of pain, Ryuuske heard Blaine's explanation. Though his mind struggled to process thoughts, he couldn't help but reflect—this was humanity, wasn't it? Even an organization as cruel as Team Rocket, one that experimented on humans and Pokémon alike, had moments of tenderness toward the creatures they raised. No matter how brutal, even the most violent hearts held bonds and emotions.
Ryuuske understood. In his past life, he had loved dogs. He'd always been kind to strays—but if another dog had bitten his own pet? He wouldn't have hesitated to grab a stick and beat the attacker to death.
Humans were like that—cruel yet gentle, selfish yet capable of boundless compassion. A contradiction.
As Blaine had said, the injected Pokémon underwent rapid, forced evolution. Their attacks grew fiercer, but even from a distance, Ryuuske could sense their madness. They had become frenzied monsters, lost to reason.
Then—suddenly—the pain in his arm began to fade. Still excruciating, but no longer unbearable. He could sense something approaching rapidly, an urgency echoing through their shared consciousness.
Mewtwo.
Realizing Ryuuske's suffering, Mewtwo had abandoned all restraint. With its monstrous psychic power, it had blasted a straight path through the research facility, racing toward the safe room.
The left wall of the safe room—constructed from what Blaine had proudly called "the world's strongest metal"—began to warp. Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface.
"Get back!"
Blaine immediately recalled his Charizard, positioning it as a shield. A second later, the metal wall exploded inward as a massive hole was torn open—and there, floating silently, was the legendary Pokémon, gripping a spoon-like weapon as large as its own body.
The closer Mewtwo came, the weaker the pain in Ryuuske's arm grew, as though its presence suppressed the cellular erosion. Gasping, he released his grip on his left arm, his mind clearing. Sweat drenched his restraint suit, stinging his eyes like saltwater.
"Blaine… didn't you say no Pokémon could break through that metal in a short time?"
Now that salvation was at hand, Ryuuske managed a weak joke.
"Ahaha… Well, when they tested it, they probably didn't account for a Pokémon as strong as Mewtwo."
Blaine scratched his bald head sheepishly. Mewtwo's arrival had eased his tension—had they died here, he would have accepted it as his own fault. But dragging Professor Oak and Ryuuske down with him? That would have haunted him forever.
This was Ryuuske's first true, up-close look at Mewtwo. Just as he remembered—towering at roughly two meters, its body a fusion of pure white and deep violet. In the realm of their shared consciousness, no words were needed.
They understood each other perfectly, as though they had known one another for lifetimes. There was no strangeness, no hesitation—because between them, there were no barriers.
Ryuuske gave a slight nod. Mewtwo returned the gesture before floating forward, landing in front of him. Gripping the massive spoon—the "impossible substance" that had effortlessly torn through metal—it turned toward the Team Rocket forces, assuming a battle stance.
"Ryuuske, these are all the techniques Mewtwo has mastered. You're not a trainer yet, so you lack experience—but with Mewtwo's power, you don't need strategy. Just command it to attack!"
Blaine's meaning was simple: Let Mewtwo bulldoze through everything. No need for tactics.
As he spoke, Blaine pulled out a stack of papers and handed them over. Ryuuske skimmed the contents—lists of Mewtwo's abilities. Clearly, Blaine had prepared for this.
But Ryuuske barely glanced at them before tossing the papers aside. Instead, he reached out mentally:
[Mewtwo, what techniques do you know?]
Instantly, knowledge flooded his mind. Mewtwo had imprinted its entire arsenal directly into his consciousness—no words, no notes, no images needed. In that moment of psychic connection, Ryuuske understood.
[How do you know so many moves?]
The sheer number of techniques Mewtwo possessed stunned him. He knew reality wasn't like the games—Pokémon weren't limited to four moves. But this? This was beyond anything he'd imagined. The list Blaine had given him roughly matched what he remembered from the games—Mewtwo's natural learnset. But the real Mewtwo? It knew not only its innate abilities but nearly every TM and HM move as well.
This wasn't a world where Pokémon could learn moves by scanning discs. Here, mastering new techniques required rigorous training. Even elite trainers wouldn't waste time teaching their Pokémon every possible move—only the most essential ones.
[I don't know. The moment I decided to help you, these techniques appeared in my mind. But they don't feel like mine—using them isn't natural.]
Mewtwo's telepathic voice had grown smoother, no longer halting. Its violet eyes remained locked onto the enemies ahead.
[No matter. Mewtwo, use them one by one—let me see what they can do!]
Ryuuske found it bizarre. Was this some kind of cheat from being a transmigrator? But in his eyes, Mewtwo itself was already the greatest advantage he could ask for. Even if the pain in his arm warned of severe side effects, Mewtwo was his lifeline.
He had no idea how Pokémon moves would look in reality. So he decided to use Team Rocket as test subjects.
Though their mental exchange seemed lengthy, in reality, only an instant had passed. Slowly, Ryuuske raised his left hand—and Mewtwo mirrored him, retracting its spoon. Drawing from the knowledge now embedded in his mind, Ryuuske didn't need to memorize anything. Since he didn't know the effects, he'd start with the strongest.
"Mewtwo—Psystrike!"
As the command left his lips, Mewtwo's eyes blazed violet. Its three-fingered hand clenched—and an invisible, indescribable force erupted forth, a wave of psychic energy that was neither particle nor wave but something beyond.
The moment it touched the Team Rocket members and their Pokémon, they froze—like statues. Though their bodies remained standing, the light in their eyes vanished. Their minds, their souls—shattered in an instant.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Bodies collapsed to the ground. The chaotic noise of battle—flames roaring, water crashing—ceased. Silence fell. The fallen humans and Pokémon still breathed, their hearts still beat—but Ryuuske knew they were already dead. Their consciousness had been erased.
Lowering his hand slowly, Ryuuske's breath grew ragged. A wild, intoxicating rush of power—mingled with a faint, creeping fear—flooded his veins.
This was power. The kind unattainable in his old, mundane life. Though it wasn't his own strength but Mewtwo's, to a trainer, their Pokémon's power was their power.
In that moment, Ryuuske felt like a god.
Mortal lives were fragile before him—snuffed out with a single command. That raised hand was the gesture of a supreme being, wielding the divine authority of life and death.
"To grant life, or to take it away."
To be continued…