Árātō paused, frowning- surely this was a real house he could go into? But his thoughts were inturrupted by a squawk behind him, Árātō looking down to see a child. He was holding one of the starters- a charmander, the same one he had.

He'd done a modicum of research before jumping in.

Árātō frowned, eyes narrowing. This was an open world game, with a million-thousand places to go, and... some upstart claimed he was in the way. Josh Devlin- He didn't understand why people felt the need to use surnames in a video game. It wasn't real, and it was clunky besides. He huffed, a bit. "The door's locked," He said, a bit brusque. "So if you'll excuse the trouble."

Maybe- and it burned to think it- maybe his mom was right, for once. Kids these days.

There was a muffled sound from inside, and the click of the lock- and the door swung open, a woman looking at them both. "Oh- Árātō! Josh Devlin- Come in, both of you! I'll get lunch started. Oh, it's been so long since I've seen you!"

Árātō stilled as Mom reached out, clasping one of his hands in her own, before she bustled off to the kitchen. He blinked, looking at his hand a momen, before almost warily heading into the house.

Árātō stepped into the house, pausing to look around- only for Josh Devlin to flop down onto the couch, and start chatting up Mom. She brought some strange food in- American shit, it looked like. He tried to not look disgusted, and only mostly succeeded.

But Mom and Josh mentioned his father being alive, which... Árātō pulled up the UI, swiping through to the quest description.

TUTORIAL 001 - PUMPED-UP KICKS

You're about to leave on your Pokemon Journey—but you have no goddamn shoes! Unless you want to run through the tall grass barefoot for the rest of the game, return to MOM'S HOUSE (marked on your minimap in the starting town) and say goodbye to the woman who's raised you all your life!

MOM likes to tell long, convoluted stories about what it was like raising you as a single parent and seems to offer new, alarming details about what happened to your father every time. She will only give the players the RUNNING SHOES when they have completed learning their in-game backstory.

This... wasn't a plot that exactly said a parent was alive and well and successful. This described a parent dead, or in jail, or something worse. And no one ever had mentioned any sort of racing-anything, in any of the threads he'd looked up.

Something wasn't right.

"Mom..." He said, low and cautious. "Is Josh's father... alive?"

Mom stilled, eyes freezing on the wall behind the couch, flickering as if in REM. "He- I-" She took in a quick, sharp gasp-

And then blinked, looking at Josh, and then Árātō. "Oh, it's been so long since I've seen you both-" She said, warmly.

Árātō frowned, and shook his head. "This is a waste of time. " He dismissed, starting to stalk through the house. She had to keep the shoes somewhere- it was only a matter of finding where.

Árātō moved through the house with a quiet, steady gait. He didn’t rush, or debase himself. It wasn’t out of concern for keeping up appearances for the npc, or the other player- Árātō didn’t consider them much at all. It was habit, decades of decorum, and the irritation of the thought of a further mess.

The house was, impossibly, maze-like. In hindsight, this made sense- Rooms for all her “children,” all the hundreds of million of players. In reality, though, it was something he wondered at. MyHouse style hallways folded in on themselves, rooms opening into the floorspace of other rooms.

He paused before one, a shiny nameplate reading “Ruby.” The other rooms seemed largely untouched- beds made, things put away- but this one was messy. Not enough to concern- but enough to be lived in. Someone… lived here.

He kept walking- finally finding the room with his name. Árātō expected his room to be like how it was in the Old Country, or perhaps how it was now, in the States. But this room was neither- It was peacefully laid out, with only a few touches in red and gold. Árātō walked forward almost cautiously, eyes narrowed as he skimmed over the room. He brushed his fingers over the silken blanket, one he knew instinctively has hand-woven.

It was the pattern and style of his home, his family. The game had pulled it out of him- How much of this world was simply amalgams of other players?

Árātō turned slightly at the sound of claws against the floor, turning to look at the little charmander. “What is it?” He asked, imperious but not with malice. “If you’re looking for something interesting, there’s certainly plenty around… I don’t know how helpful any of it is…”

Árātō heard the charmander. Understood him as well, even. He just didn’t answer- if he knew where the shoes were, well, wouldn’t he have them already? Not that it mattered- the creature scampered away, thankfully.

To the trainer. And then they both started babbling.

Árātō rolled his eyes. But he hardly had time to be concerned with them- Not when his own life was spread out before him, an amalgam of styles and cultures swirled together. Even on the things that weren’t vibrant- The wooden desk, the headboard- There were carvings and golden inlays of wide winged birds, swirling flowers. Patterns and designs he recognized from his memories of childhood.

There was then a pang of homesickness, and Árātō took a slow breath-

Only for the other guy to shout, about a stupid pair of shoes. Árātō forced himself to take another breath, this one more calming. “Where do you keep shoes in your house, Josh?” He said in return, not shouting, because they were indoors. It was a simple principle, yes? “Have you tried looking there?”

Case in point, he opened the closet door. Nothing on the shoe rack looked promising- It all looked very… American style… But- then, there, a box caught his eye. Not because it was a shoebox specifically, but because it glittered unnaturally, one corner of it seeming to pulse with a sparkle of light every few seconds.

How… quaint.