Chapter 1: To Germinate
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Ken Mizuno.

That is his new name, his new identity.

He was a bright and precocious toddler growing up, as expected of someone with a second chance at life; yet he still always remembered to play the part of baby-genius perfectly as he could not afford to arouse any suspicions from the adults.

His parents absolutely adored showing him off left and right until, eventually, the neighbors got very good at making-up excuses. He only had a few night terrors (okay, maybe a little more than a few) where he wet the bed, but those were completely out of his control; he thought he had gotten over all of that and left it behind. All in all, Ken believed he was a pretty awesome kiddo.

He spent a lot of his early years collecting information from the environment around him, thinking and contemplating, but never for too long because his immature and undeveloped brain started hurting if he pushed it too much.

Like how it did now, for example, so he shook his head and immediately focused on what he should be doing, attempting to finish the task at hand when —

Splash!

He tried to step back quickly, but water still ended up seeping into his tiny shoes and, subsequently, his socks.

Now he has to walk around all day with wet marsh pads at the bottom of his feet.

'Ugh. This is the worst.'

"Dad, most people have hobbies that aren't related to their jobs. What are we doing here? And whyyy? Also, my socks are completely soaked through now." The young kid whined. He allowed himself to act his physical age every once in a while.

His new dad laughed wholeheartedly, easily putting up with his complaints. "Hahaha, Ken, I told you to watch out when counting them. This is why I wanted to get you proper boots, but your mom said you'd grow out of them too quickly and that it'd be a waste. No biggie, just take off your shoes and socks for now."

The little boy walked away from the small, artificial pond housing their catches of the day, followed the advice of his father, and stretched his toes.

"Most people aren't me."

'Uh oh. Here we go.'

"I love my work as a fisherman, and I love fishing as a hobby; it's quite relaxing and enjoyable. Most people only love one or the other. I'm really fortunate that I developed a passion for fishing under your grandfather, and I'm good and skilled enough to be able to make a living with it just like him. A lot of people would kill to be in my shoes." His dad rambled on and on about his favorite topic once again. He needed to put a stop to this before it was too late.

"That doesn't make sense, Dad. People would not keep hobbies that they don't love. That's literally what hobbies are - something you do in your free time because you love it." Ken could not help but be a smart-ass as his father set himself up for that one.

Ken's father slowly shook his head and clicked his tongue. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. You know what I'm getting at; you're a smart kid. What I mean is, you should have a job that you're happy with and fulfilling hobbies in life. Honestly, sometimes I think you're way too clever for a four-year-old."

'If I had a Pokébill every time I heard that phrase...'

"By the way, how many do we have now?" His dad inquired about his previously assigned task, breaking up his mental musings.

"Umm, we have 5 'karps, 2 goldeens, and a dozen or so baby remoraids. Isn't this enough, Dad? How many are we planning to catch? We can't eat ALL this fish."

'At least I can't. Nor do I want to.'

"Definitely not enough. It doesn't matter if we catch too many. I'll give some to the neighbors and freeze the extras as snacks for Flapper here." His father tilted his head towards his sky blue, amphibious pokemon.

The beefy creature was almost bigger than him on just its four legs and definitely so when standing on its hindquarters. The amphibian wore a wavy, purple pattern coupled with a remarkably large navy crest, indicating its gender, on its back.

The quagsire, keeping watch off to the side of the lake and closer to the tree line, croaked happily, sat up on his haunches, and wagged his slimy tail-flipper back and forth when his trainer made eye contact with him.

"I'm craving some nice broiled seaking or some spicy-fried poliwag legs and gizzards. And we're absolutely NOT leaving until you catch a real fish. Those pipsqueak remoraids don't count." Ken legitimately could not comprehend why his father demanded so much from a toddler. Maybe he should have toned down the whole child prodigy thing.

He mentally sighed and distanced himself from his father after grabbing the mini fishing rod and preparing the lure and bait.

'Why do they even make this in this size? It's not like children have the physical strength to reel any actual fish in. I blame consumerism.'

Ken physically sighed this time as he cast his line, demonstrating exceptional technique that his dad practically drilled into him by this point. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his father beaming at him as he performed the motion.

The boy allowed his mind to wander as he wondered if there was any other activity that was more boring than what he was currently doing now. He silently concluded no.

Burning brightly high above, the sun slid across the sky to its midafternoon height, refracting rays into the waters, shimmering and shining and sparkling like scattered gem fragments across the surface of the lake. A cooling breeze nudged the nearby trees and flora, the swaying movements having a certain rhythm to them, radiating the kind of calm and tranquility unique to nature.

A certain amount of time passed, during which Ken's father caught a few more "real fish", he himself caught some more "fake fish", and they both shared some salty jerky, before he internally admitted that this halcyon atmosphere was slowly growing on him.

At this period of introspection, there was an abrupt tug, a force greater than the ones before, on his line, startling him to the point where he very nearly dropped his rod into the pool of water by accident. Luckily, the child saved himself from that embarrassment and tried to alternate between yanking and reeling in his catch, but he was not very successful in his endeavor.

"Dad!"

His father instantly rushed over and commandeered the fishing device. "Give it here, son."

Ken looked on anxiously as the small fishing rod bent way too much for comfort and as his dad wrestled with the fish again and again, slowly but surely, bringing the load closer bit by bit, all the while moderating the tension in the line at just the right moments; it was more of an artform at this level of skill.

Finally, the tug-of-war battle between man and sea creature ended with one last hard and fast pull, as a monstrosity of a magikarp popped out of the water, landed with a heavy thud on the shoreline, and floundered about wildly and crazily.

"Oh shit! This bastard's gotta be at least a fifty-pounder, double the size of your average 'karp. He's a massive son-uva-bitch!" Exclaiming loudly and losing himself in the moment, it was at times like these when Ken's dad openly displayed his natural proficiency in his native tongue of the language of sailors.

Curious, the boy stepped closer to get a better look at the freakishly large fish. Thick orange-red scales encased the monster. It had mostly white fins, some yellow tough-looking ones, and two long barbels on its snout squirming about like fat earthworms, trying to get a better sense of its foreign environment.

He was stopped by a hand before he could advance too far. "Hold up, Ken. A 'karp that's lived to be this old has enough Energy capacity to pull off a real Tackle and Flail, so it's much more dangerous than your normies. Hell, it probably would've eaten enough and even grown to a 'dos if this was out in the ocean."

Shivering with a chill at that frightening revelation, the son kept his eyes lasered in on the magikarp, almost able to imagine it as its sea dragon counterpart, while his father carefully approached it from behind and then quickly punted it further inland with a powerful kick maneuver.

Then he whistled loudly, calling his quagsire over. The quadruped sprinted faster than a young ponyta on a racetrack.

"Flapper, give it a good ol' Mud Shot and follow it right up with a Body Slam!" His dad immediately ordered.

The trained pokemon gulped down mouthfuls of dirt around him before shooting globs of mud projectiles at a dizzying speed towards his target. Not even waiting for the hits to land, the Quagsire gave off a faint white glow as he concentrated his Energy into the already strong muscles and tough skin and lunged straight at the wild Magikarp.

The monster fish took hit after hit after hit. However, right after the last attack, it managed to somehow smack Flapper hard across the face, knocking the quagsire aside, with a desperate Flail, its tail and lower body still releasing a trace amount of Energy even now.

Mumbling, the adult trainer was personally shocked that the fish pokemon was still hanging on by this much. "Feisty little fucker, huh?"

He quickly recollected his composure and barked out a battle-ending order, "Burn 'em up, Flapper. Scald!"

The humongous magikarp never stood a chance, even with its partial type resistance. The quagsire tensed his bulky muscles, pulled from his reserves, and completely blasted the fish to kingdom come with an immense, steaming stream of boiling water that emanated shiny blue Energy.

Borderline dying and twitching in its last moments, the half-burned magikarp was transferred over to the shallow pool of water where the rest of its peers were. It slowly sank to the bottom of the temporary tank as the other fish in the enclosed space stilled their movements, either realizing that they will soon share the same fate or just becoming afraid due to the large size of their new compatriot.

"Damn Ken, you caught a monster of a fish. That big guy has both me and Flapper here working up a sweat."

"Haha, Dad, you and Flapper did all the work. I just stood over here, trying to not get Tackled - I barely participated at all." The toddler pushed for humility.

"It still counts, it still counts. It was your lucky touch that helped rope in the big guy. Wouldn't have managed to nab him without you, son. Be more proud of yourself, I know I am."

Ken could not stop the grin from slowly creeping onto his cute face, a face that was trying hard to avoid eye contact. His warm cheeks tinged with a slight shade of embarrassment as he fumbled with his tiny hands, not knowing where to put them.

His father couldn't help but pick up the adorable little boy as he simultaneously roughly ruffled his red hair and loudly laughed into the sky, spinning his son around and around, disorienting the both of them.

Flapper got caught up in the excitement as well and ran circles around them, singing cheerful croaks for all to hear.

After a few more sweet moments of simple joy, Ken's dad put him back down on the ground.

"Well, I think that's a pretty good note to end our day on. Go grab the cooler for me to put these in, will ya?"

His father added, "And then let's go home and get this big 'karp grilled and ready for dinner. I know your mom will appreciate it after her long weekend shift at the Center. She usually comes home exhausted and pooped after those."

"Yeah. That sounds like a good plan to me." Ken nodded.

As he walked to grab their supplies, he reflected on the events of the day, and he found himself really cherishing this father and son bonding time. He never really had this before, and he's already lived through one lifetime.

There was also a thought he never believed he would've had before today.

'Fishing is not too bad after all.'

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