Pokémon: Raising Abandoned Pokémon into Legends

Rio’s voice echoed around Mewtwo. Mewtwo, mid-sip of its beer, froze in place. The four words—"there is none"—repeated in its mind like a cursed mantra, blanking out everything else. Only one thought remained: He’s mocking me.

Mewtwo’s eyes turned red. "You dare mock me?!"

CRACK— The beer bottle in Mewtwo’s hand shattered first. It couldn’t accept that after all that mental turmoil—nearly breaking its own brain—the answer it received was simply "there is none." What else could that be but mockery? And Mewtwo would not tolerate being mocked. Whoever dared to mock it would die.

The shattered beer’s liquid froze midair, shaping into water arrows aimed at Rio.

"Roaar~" Charizard immediately stepped beside Rio, purple flames swirling in its mouth as a warning.

Rio, however, had expected this reaction. He spoke calmly: "I’m not mocking you. That’s the truth. Life has no inherent meaning—it only has meaning if you give it one. It’s like a blank piece of paper. Only by writing on it can others know whether it’s a diary, a poster, or something else entirely."

Mewtwo’s fury paused. After hearing that explanation, it quickly calmed down and fell into thought. Rio continued: "Take this conversation we’re having—do you think buying beer for it had meaning?"

Mewtwo stared at Rio and slowly shook its head: "I don’t see any meaning. Even without the beer, you’d still sit and talk with me."

"But I think it has meaning—because drinking makes me happy. It lets me enjoy my food more, it releases dopamine—the hormone of pleasure—and that makes me feel the joy of being alive." Rio took a sip of beer, tossed a couple of peanuts into his mouth, and let out a satisfied cry:

"Ah—that hits the spot!"

Watching Rio’s look of pure enjoyment, Mewtwo was stunned. It turned its gaze to the beer arrows frozen in midair.

Rio continued: "Did you sense my joy just now? That’s the meaning I found in buying it. In short—it’s not about what you think. It’s about what I think. It’s the same with life—it has no inherent meaning; you write the meaning yourself."

Mewtwo seemed to ponder this. Gradually, the beer arrows no longer pointed at Rio—they began to converge toward Mewtwo.

"Go on—give it a taste."

Without a word, Mewtwo used Psychic to guide the beer into its mouth. The moment it touched its tongue, Mewtwo’s first reaction was that it was bitter and astringent—disgusting. It immediately stuck out its tongue, its face scrunching up.

"It’s bitter and awful—how can you possibly say this makes you happy?" its voice echoed in Rio’s mind.

"Everyone feels that way the first time. Beer is something you have to savor. To you, it’s bitter—but to me, right now, it’s sweet," Rio laughed, taking another sip.

"Sweet?" Mewtwo couldn’t believe it. It stared at Rio’s expression, which showed no sign of deception. Then it looked back at the remaining golden liquid suspended in the air. How could something that tasted so bitter to it be sweet to Rio? Were they even drinking the same thing? Or was Rio’s sense of taste broken?

"If you don’t believe me, drink more. It’s not just bitter or sweet—there’s also spiciness and sourness. It holds a hundred different flavors, just like life itself. It has countless possibilities—it all depends on how you choose to experience it."

Hearing about a hundred different flavors, Mewtwo was even more incredulous. It looked at the golden liquid with surprise, then at Rio, who kept taking sip after sip. With a "try again" attitude, Mewtwo guided more beer into its mouth—and immediately its face scrunched up again, ready to spit it out.

"Don’t spit—swallow it. Better yet, down it in one go. That’s the only way to get to the good part," Rio’s voice urged.

Mewtwo forced itself to swallow the awful liquid.

"There—that’s more like it," Rio praised, giving Mewtwo a thumbs-up.

Mewtwo shot him a glare, still convinced he was messing with it. Or maybe all humans had broken taste buds. There was no way it could believe this stuff would ever taste good. It was disgusting. Unless its own taste buds were broken?

"Hm?" Just then, Mewtwo noticed Charizard drooling beside it, looking intensely curious.

"Here—you try some too." Mewtwo, with a misery loves company attitude, used Psychic to open a beer bottle and float it toward Charizard.

Charizard looked at the beer, then at Rio. It had seen Rio drink a few times before but had never been curious—just assumed it was an ordinary beverage. But watching Mewtwo’s reaction made it intensely curious. Why was there such a huge difference in their responses?

Still, though it was curious, it wanted Rio’s permission first.

"Go ahead—drink up," Rio said with a smile. With Rio’s approval, Charizard quickly downed the beer. Moments later, its expression scrunched up just like Mewtwo’s. It wanted to spit it out but felt too awkward, so it forced itself to swallow.

Mewtwo saw its reaction and knew it had found a kindred spirit—Charizard found it just as awful.

"How does it taste?" Mewtwo still asked.

Charizard instinctively shook its head—then immediately changed to a nod. Its body said "bad," but as Rio’s Pokémon, it felt it shouldn’t embarrass its trainer.

"What do you mean by shaking and nodding? Can you taste both bitterness and sweetness at the same time? Be honest with me," Mewtwo said, a little exasperated.

Charizard looked at Rio. Rio shrugged with a smile: "It’s fine—tell the truth. It’s okay to say it’s not good."

Hearing that, Charizard let out a low growl: "Roaar~" — It’s bad, Mewtwo. I feel the same way you do.

Mewtwo nodded in satisfaction. At least I’m not the only one who finds it awful.

"See? It’s not just me. Your Pokémon agrees with me," Mewtwo said, fixing Rio with a sharp stare.

"Like I said—beer grows on you. Most people react that way the first time. I did too. It just needs a little time," Rio said unconcernedly, taking another sip. Then he pulled out an ancient Poké Ball from his bag.

"Here—let me introduce you to someone who enjoys it as much as I do."

From the moment he started drinking, Gengar’s voice had been ringing in his head, demanding to be let out so it could have some beer too.