Ascender Ash: I think Misty is enough for me.
Harem King Ash: That's what they all say at the start. Trust me, kid. You're going to meet more girls on your journey, and when they start falling for you, saying "no" gets harder than you think. Let me teach you the framework now so you're not scrambling later.
Ascender Ash: ...
He couldn't opt out. The Harem King lectured for the better part of half an hour. Ash retained maybe a third of it. Emotional strategy, he was discovering, was several orders of magnitude harder than Pokémon strategy.
The other members of the Chat Group stayed quiet during the lesson. Whether out of respect for the subject matter or amusement at Ash's suffering, none of them intervened.
When the Harem King finished, the rest surfaced.
Champion Ash: The harem stuff aside, his conversation techniques are legitimate. Whether you build a roster or stick with one person, the communication skills translate. They'll keep things healthy between you and Misty.
Harem King Ash: "Aside"?! What do you mean "aside"? There's nothing shameful about what I teach. Mutual affection is natural! I'm not like the rest of you, making girls cry. I'm a man who wants everyone to be happy!
Breeder Ash: Ignore about half of what he says. The other half is gold. More importantly, you've built up gacha pulls by now, right? You're about to walk into territory of legendary pokemon with god level power you should strengthen yourself while you can.
The tone in the group shifted. The romance tutorial was over. This was business.
Legendary Ash: Breeder's right. A Legendary carrying a god level power is a different class of threat. Even with your current power and a Mega-capable Mewtwo, you wouldn't last five minutes in a direct confrontation.
Nobody in the group understood that better than Legendary Ash. He'd faced a God level Legendary at his peak and had barely survived.
Ash's high-end firepower was impressive for his age, but it was weaker than what Legendary Ash had commanded during that fight. If a confrontation came, the only viable strategy was retreat.
Ascender Ash: It shouldn't come to that. I'm going to the Orange Islands to reunite Lugia Jr. with its family. They won't attack the person bringing their child home. And even if there's a misunderstanding, Lugia Jr. can explain.
Scientist Ash: You're being naive.
Scientist Ash: Plenty of Legendaries are rigid about perceived threats. Lugia is gentle by reputation. But that doesn't eliminate the possibility that Team Galactic has found a way to control it. In your world, you're the only human with God level power.
But humans don't compete through brute force. They compete through intellect. Given the right medium, a sufficiently brilliant scientist can build a device capable of controlling a Legendary. Even one at God Domain level.
The group went quiet.
Legendary Ash: He's not exaggerating. In our worlds, it's happened. Kyogre, god of the sea. Groudon, god of the earth. Dialga, god of time. All controlled by human-built technology using media connected to the Legendary in question. These aren't minor spirits. Dialga has existed since creation itself. Arceus split it off alongside Palkia to maintain the fabric of space-time. And human science found a way to put a leash on it.
The implications settled over Ash like cold water.
Dialga. A being that had existed since the birth of the universe, entrusted with authority over time by the Creator God. Alongside Palkia, who governed space, and Giratina, who ruled the Distortion World, they formed the highest tier of power below Arceus. If technology could reach them, then no Legendary was safe.
Kyogre and Groudon were ancient and powerful, but they weren't unique. They were the strongest of their respective species, elevated to divine level through dominance. Dialga and Palkia were singular. One of each. Created at the dawn of everything.
And someone had built a machine to control them.
Ascender Ash: If even Dialga can be controlled, then any Legendary...
Champion Ash: Slow down. Yes, there are precedents. No, it's not casual. Controlling a Legendary requires specific media tied to that Legendary, genius-level scientific expertise, and resources that only the largest organisations can assemble. It's not something a random lab can pull off. Don't assume every villain you meet has that capability.
Champion Ash: Controlling a Legendary requires a medium tied to that specific Legendary. To control Dialga, you need the Adamant Orb. For Palkia, the Lustrous Orb. Human technology doesn't overpower gods. It exploits their origins. Without the core artefact, the science is useless.
That tracked with everything Ash knew. The Adamant Orb and Lustrous Orb were bound to the Twin Gods of Time and Space, items that amplified their power and should, in theory, never leave their possession.
How the villainous organisations had obtained them was a question nobody in the group could answer.
Mewtwo's creation followed the same principle. Human science hadn't conjured a God level Pokémon from nothing. It had used Mew's genetic material as the foundation. Without that divine catalyst, the project would have produced nothing. And the result was unrepeatable. The laws of the world permitted one Mewtwo. The one Ash carried.
The lesson was simple. Human technology was formidable, but it didn't operate in a vacuum. It needed a god's power to challenge a god.
Only a god can contend with a god.
Ascender Ash: Understood. I'll be careful. Now, I'm going to do my gacha pulls.
Unlucky Ash: Go ahead. Let me watch.
Aura Hero Ash: Look who decided to show up. Didn't you used to go invisible every time the kid pulled?
Unlucky Ash: I've accepted my fate. My luck was terrible before he joined, and it's been terrible since. At this point I just want to see how far his luck goes. Maybe the universe gave him my share.
Breeder Ash: Your luck was bad before he existed. He didn't steal anything.
The group's mood lightened. Unlucky Ash's appearances during gacha sessions had become a running joke, the cosmic punchline to every pull.
Ash opened the gacha interface. He hadn't pulled since "Limit Break." The notification bar was waiting for him.
He tapped it and stared.
Thirteen pulls. A full thirteen, stacked up since the last session. The criteria for earning pulls had always been vague, tied to "firsts" and significant achievements. First breakthroughs, first victories against certain tiers, landmark moments.
He scrolled through the list. Defeating Giovanni's pseudo-God level Mewtwo. Defeating the true God level Mewtwo. Destroying two ancient ghost Pokémon. Reaching the Top 8 at the Indigo Plateau Conference. Top 4. Winning the Championship.
Kissing Misty counted as a pull?
He decided not to question it.
Thirteen pulls. No pulling one at a time and hoping for divine intervention.
All in.
Ascender Ash: Done. I'm back.
Champion Ash: Results? How many pulls? Any S-rank?
In the old days, S-rank rewards were borderline mythical. Then Ash had joined the group and started pulling them like they were common drops. Champion Ash had learned to just ask.
Ascender Ash: Thirteen pulls. Three S-ranks.
Silence.
Unlucky Ash: THREE?!
Unlucky Ash: Out of THIRTEEN?!
Unlucky Ash: The entire rest of this group has pulled maybe two S-ranks COMBINED across THOUSANDS of pulls. And you just hit three in a baker's dozen?!
Ascender Ash: I guess today was a good day?
Unlucky Ash: "A good day." He calls it "a good day." You've drained the gacha luck of every parallel universe simultaneously.
The collective pull history of the Chat Group, excluding Ash, numbered in the thousands. Total S-rank results across all members: two. Ash had matched that and added a third with thirteen attempts. The probability was so low it stopped being mathematics and became personal offense.