"I understand," the old director nodded and agreed to help Reiji complete the remaining parts of his identity file.

But then he changed the subject and warned, "I'll patch the documents for you, but if you go out and cause trouble, the orphanage won't take responsibility. Lately, there have been too many forgers using orphanage names for fake IDs. I've already reported it to Officer Jenny."

"I understand," Reiji nodded and accepted the condition. Then, he pulled out 500,000 Pokédollars from his pocket and pushed the stack across the stone table to the old director.

"Director, this money is for the children. Use it to buy them necessities, maybe even hire a teacher to teach them about Pokémon. When they grow up, maybe they'll have a better future."

The old director looked at the money on the table, then at the kids playing on the grass.

Life at the orphanage was tight. Even the gate and the roof were still in disrepair. The kids hadn't had new clothes in ages—whatever the older ones outgrew, the younger ones wore, patch after patch.

To keep the orphanage running and meet the kids' basic needs, he had already burned through all his savings. It was only thanks to a cut from the fake ID racket run by the old tavern geezer—using the orphanage's address—that he could keep things going.

The tavern old man had also asked him to care for his grandson and paid a small living stipend for it, but that stingy bastard was barely willing to part with a coin.

Add to that a few donations from kind-hearted folks and the occasional city subsidy, and he'd managed to scrape by until now.

Truthfully, he really needed this money. The children needed it. The orphanage needed it.

"Reiji—let me call you that—the kids really need this. I'll thank you on their behalf." The old director stood up with the support of his cane and gratefully accepted the money.

Reiji said nothing. At least the director knew how to express thanks. On the surface, at least, there didn't seem to be any problem.

This was money Reiji willingly gave. No matter what the old man did with it, Reiji wouldn't question his motives.

A donation is just that—a gesture of goodwill. Once given, whatever happens afterward isn't his concern.

How the money might change the lives of these kids was a matter for the orphanage.

That's the attitude a donor should have. Reiji wouldn't lash out just because the money wasn't spent exactly how he envisioned.

If someone's worried about that, then it's simple: don't donate.

It reminded him of a news story from his previous life—a girl, funded through school by a sponsor, who later married a rich man. The sponsor was upset, thinking she should've studied for a career, not just to become a trophy wife.

In the end, the sponsor regretted it. But really, that girl had made the best choice she could. It was the fastest way to break free from her class. If Nurse Joy or Officer Jenny wanted to marry Reiji, he wouldn't hesitate to be a stay-at-home husband either.

But clearly, that wasn't happening. He'd wandered around the Pokémon Center plenty, and Joy had never once looked his way. No shot with her or Jenny.

Sometimes, you just shouldn't overthink things. If your heart is open and it makes you happy, that's enough.

And if you're going to worry too much? Then best not to act at all. Just sit back and enjoy the show.

"Director, I saw some of the kids' clothes were worn out, so I also bought them a bunch of new ones. You can hand them out."

As he spoke, Reiji pulled out a pile of supplies from his bag—100 sets of clothes, 20 Pokémon plushies, 20 pounds of books, and a large box of candy and snacks—and stacked it all in the pavilion.

"Wha—Reiji, you bought all this?" The old director sat stunned, staring at the mini mountain of clothes, toys, candy, and books. He didn't know what to say.

"I got them from the secondhand market. Didn't cost much," Reiji said. "Start with the clothes. One outfit per kid. And everyone gets a toy. Candy should be stored and given out slowly, or they'll get cavities. The books—you can use those to teach them about Pokémon."

The old director looked at everything and felt the weight of the 500,000 Pokédollars in his pocket. He'd never met a young person so generous. This was simply too much.

"Director, go ahead and start handing things out. The kids are already eyeing them," Reiji reminded him, seeing the old man still frozen in place.

"Alright, Reiji, I'll get started." The old man picked up a packaged set of clothes and called out to the crowd, "Kids, these clothes are from Reiji! Come pick a set you like, and don't forget to say thank you to your Big Brother Reiji!"

"Got it, Director! Hurry and pass them out!" A little girl tugged impatiently at his shirt. They hadn't worn anything new in so long—she couldn't wait.

"Okay, okay! Line up, everyone. One by one!" The old director rapped a few rowdy boys with his cane, sending them to the back of the line. "Girls first."

Reiji sat off to the side, watching these muddy, grass-streaked kids walk up, one after another, beaming with joy as they thanked him. He smiled and nodded at each of them.

This was what he meant earlier—for a sponsor, it's the happiness in your heart that matters. Whatever happens later? Let it go.

Donors and recipients are separate beings. It's best when both walk away with nothing but good feelings.

Of course, there was one exception—Skinny, the kid who clearly had it out for him. That brat kept giving him sideways looks, clearly unimpressed.

Muttering silently to himself, "A fraud is still a fraud. No matter how much he gives, it's still a lie. The younger kids just don't know any better. I'll expose him soon enough."

Reiji noticed and sighed inwardly. Figures this brat would be the prickly type. I'll deal with him later.

If the old man brought it up, Reiji would just shrug and say, "You know what your grandson's like. I'm not interested in mentoring a brat like him."

After the clothes were handed out, they moved on to the toys. There weren't quite enough, so the girls got first pick. Some of the boys didn't care much for plushies anyway.

Finally, the books were carried to the classroom by the boys, and the director would give lessons when he had time.

As for the candy—he kept that for himself. He'd store it in a secure room so the kids couldn't sneak any. With hundreds of bags, it would last several months.

The kids soon came out in their new clothes, laughing and chasing each other on the lawn. It felt like New Year's—it reminded Reiji of his own childhood.

The director looked at him with a conflicted expression, clearly wanting to talk about the 500,000 again. He probably felt guilty and wanted to return some. He hadn't expected Reiji to also bring so many things.

Seeing the hesitation, Reiji waved it off and turned his gaze toward a little girl running toward him. He had no idea what she was going to say.

"Big Brother Reiji, are you a Pokémon Trainer too?"

"You're a clever one," he chuckled. "How'd you guess?"

He gently wiped the dirt off her rosy cheeks and picked a leaf from her collar.

"Big Brother Reiji, can your Poliwhirl play with us?"

"Sure. Poliwhirl, go. You too, Pelipper," Reiji said, sending both Pokémon out to play with the kids. Then he released Butterfree, Slowpoke, and Krabby as well.

The others he kept in their Poké Balls—Spinarak was poisonous, Rhyhorn was too heavy, Farfetch'd was too aggressive, and Magikarp... well, useless.

"Butterfree, Slowpoke, Krabby—go join the kids. Just be gentle," he said. He wanted the Pokémon to experience what it was like to be around human children.

"Whoa, Big Brother Reiji has so many Pokémon!"

"He has six! Poliwhirl, Pelipper, Krabby..."

"And Butterfree, Slowpoke—they're all so cute!"

"Yobo, yobo," Poliwhirl muttered as a swarm of kids clung to him like a jungle gym.

"Beri, beri," Pelipper opened its mouth wide. One bold child even climbed inside and started playing hide-and-seek in its beak.

"Kacha," Krabby slowly crawled forward with a little girl riding on its back. It didn't dare move too much, afraid of hurting her.

"Fuyiyi," Butterfree smartly stayed airborne, playfully leading the kids on a merry chase.

"Yadong," Slowpoke's dopey demeanor made it a favorite. Its sluggish movements sent the kids into fits of giggles. Every so often, a daring kid would poke its squishy belly, marveling at how dumb it was.

As he watched the children's laughter and squeals, Reiji thought back to what he told Officer Jenny a few days ago. Maybe it wasn't a lie after all.

To this world, he really was just like them—an orphan.

He never quite fit in, never fully felt like he belonged.

Maybe it was because he knew this place was based on an anime. Or maybe it was because no one here remembered him. He had no family. No one truly knew who he was.

Even with his Pokémon by his side, people are social creatures. We need friends. Family. Love...

And while he had his partners, he could still feel it—a barrier between himself and this world.

It wasn't just him. His Pokémon were the same. Because of him, they were wary of the people and things around them.

He could regulate his emotions. He was a grown adult. But his Pokémon couldn't.

They mirrored his mindset. As their Trainer, his thoughts shaped theirs, even unconsciously.

He knew it wasn't healthy. But he couldn't change it—at least not yet.

Maybe one day, when he found someone he could trust, things would change.

But for now, all he could do was let it happen naturally.

Still, he could begin with these kids.

By entering human society, by seeing its warmth, its chaos, its complexity—his Pokémon could begin to grow.

They would learn to adapt. To battle. To understand what it meant to live in a world of humans and Pokémon.

And maybe, just maybe, they'd find a place for themselves.

And it could all start here—with these bright, innocent children.

[End of Chapter]

[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]

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