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Peter slowly sat up in the bed, his mind foggy with confusion.
The room was unfamiliar, yet strangely comforting.
It was adorned with posters of various Pokémon on the walls, each one vivid and full of life, as if they could leap out at any moment.
A shelf was crammed with Pokémon figurines and a collection of well-worn trading cards.
The bedspread was a colorful array of Pokémon characters, and on the desk laid several notebooks.
Peter rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
"Where am I? This looks like... no, it can't be," he thought, his mind racing.
The realization that he could see clearly without his glasses added to his bewilderment.
"I've never been able to see this clearly without my glasses. What's going on?"
He glanced around the room once more, noticing a Pikachu plush sitting on a chair, its electric tail curiously lifelike. The room felt like a shrine to those childhood memories, yet he couldn't recall ever being in a place like this.
"Is this some kind of dream?" Peter wondered.
Peter stared down at himself in disbelief, his hands tracing over a body sculpted like an athlete's.
His chest was broad and muscular, each peck firm and well-defined.
"This... this can't be real," he thought, feeling a shiver run down his spine as he touched the solid flesh.
Rushing to the mirror, he was met with a reflection that was both familiar and alien. The young man looking back at him was around 19, with a physique that spoke of years of rigorous training. His hair was spiky to an almost cartoonish degree, reminding Peter oddly of a style he had seen somewhere before.
On each of his cheeks, two Z-shaped cluster of freckles stood out, framing hazel eyes that looked back with a mix of fear and confusion.
As he let out a shriek, a woman's voice called from downstairs.
"Honey, is everything okay up there?!"
What do I do?
Who am I supposed to be here?
Peter thought frantically.
"I'm okay," he called back, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.
Why does that voice feel so familiar?
Is this some kind of lucid dream?
Peter wondered, his heart pounding in his chest.
Looking around the room once more, he tried to make sense of it all.
"This has to be a dream. A very, very vivid dream," Peter reassured himself, trying to calm his racing thoughts. "No way I just woke up in the body of a Pokémon-obsessed young adult. This has to be a lucid dream, right?"
"Honey, come down or you'll be late!" the woman's voice echoed again, more insistent this time.
Peter wiped the sweat from his forehead, his mind a whirlwind of confusion.
"What should I do?" he asked himself, the unfamiliarity of the situation making his heart race.
"I've never really had a proper conversation in a lucid dream. What kind of face should I even make?"
The absurdity of the situation dawned on him.
"I can't just go down and say, 'Hey, I'm actually Peter Asher, and I somehow turned into this when I woke up.' That would be ridiculous, right?" He chuckled nervously at the thought.
"This is a dream, so I should be able to say whatever I want," he reasoned, but a nagging doubt held him back. "Why am I hesitating? Is it because, even in my dreams, I don't want to be Peter Asher? I don't want to be myself..." He let out a small, sad laugh.
"That's pretty sad, lol."
Peter's hand trembled slightly as he opened the door, descending the stairs into a house that radiated a traditional Japanese aesthetic. The living room was cozy and warmly lit, with tatami mats on the floor and sliding shoji doors. An old TV from the 90s buzzed quietly in the background, displaying some news channel.
As he entered, his eyes fell on a woman of stunning beauty. She had mahogany hair that cascaded down her shoulders and amber eyes that sparkled with warmth.
She was placing a traditional Japanese breakfast on the table: steamed rice, miso soup, grilled fish, and pickled vegetables.
"Honey, you're finally up. Good morning," she said with a smile that made Peter's heart skip a beat.
Peter gulped, his mind racing.
"What should I say? Is she my mom, sister, or wife in this dream?" he wondered, feeling out of place.
"Honey, are you okay? You're spacing out. Is it because you're nervous about the exam today?" she asked with a hint of concern.
"Exam?" Peter thought, puzzled, but he nodded anyway, not wanting to arouse suspicion. He sat down and began eating, trying to act natural.
As he ate, Peter's thoughts were in turmoil. "This is so surreal. Am I really sitting here, eating a Japanese breakfast?"
The woman noticed his pause.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Embarrassed and feeling a pressing need to escape, Peter blurted out, "Where's the bathroom?"
The woman pointed to the left corner, and Peter rushed off, leaving her looking slightly confused.
In the bathroom, Peter leaned against the door, trying to catch his breath. "What is happening? Am I in some sort of hyper-realistic dream? And who is that woman? She called me 'honey'... but she feels more like a mother?"
Meanwhile, the woman, Delia, sat back at the table, looking at the empty chair.
"What's wrong with my baby today? Is he nervous about not passing the exam? No, Delia, what are you thinking? He's been working so hard for months. I'm sure he'll get his trainer license," she mused with a smile, feeling proud yet concerned.
"Hmm, his manners are improving, though. That's nice."
In the bathroom, Peter splashed water on his face, trying to make sense of it all. "Okay, Peter, calm down. Just go with it for now. Let's see where this dream takes you," he told himself, steeling his nerves to step back into the surreal world waiting outside.
As Peter hastily finished up in the bathroom, his stomach gurgled loudly, prompting an unexpected and urgent need.
"This is way too realistic for a lucid dream," he thought, feeling a mix of surprise and embarrassment. He quickly dealt with the situation, trying to focus on anything but the awkwardness of it all.
"Hurry up and get changed, you're going to be late," Delia called from outside, her voice laced with a hint of concern.
"Okay, okay," Peter replied, a nervous edge to his voice. A few minutes later, he stood in his room, staring at the clothes laid out for him. He dressed in the outfit, which was unmistakably similar to Ash Ketchum's from the first season of Pokémon: a short-sleeved blue jacket with white trim, a black undershirt, green fingerless gloves, light denim jeans, and white sneakers with black and red accents. Completing the look was a green and yellow backpack and a cap with a green brim and a central logo.
As he looked in the mirror, Peter couldn't help but comment, "Yo, I look exactly like Ash Ketchum."
A nostalgic smile formed on his lips.
.....
"Now what?"
"Honey, what's wrong?" Delia's voice brought him back to reality.
"Uh, where should I go?" Peter asked, his voice tinged with nervousness.
Delia, looking concerned, placed a hand on his forehead.
"You don't have a fever. Is everything okay?" she asked.
Peter nodded.
Delia seemed torn, wanting to keep him home but knowing today was important.
"He can't miss this day," she thought to herself.
She sighed and gave him directions, which Peter nodded to, still feeling out of place.
As he was about to leave, Delia coughed slightly.
Confused, Peter turned back to her.
"Aah... Bye," he said awkwardly.
"Oh, is that it? Since you're so big now, you can't give your mama a goodbye kiss?" Delia complained playfully.
Peter's eyes widened in realization.
She's my mom!
He hesitantly kissed Delia's forehead, an action that felt both foreign and familial, and quickly left.
As the door closed behind Peter, Delia stood there, her expression one of puzzlement. "Why does my son feel different today? He's never been shy, but today, it's like he's a completely different person. His reactions, his hesitation, even the way he looked at me was... off. Is it just exam nerves, or is something troubling him?" Delia's brows furrowed in concern.
"He's worked so hard for this day. I hope he's okay," she thought, her maternal instinct sensing that something wasn't quite right with her son.
....
Peter stepped out into the bustling city. The streets were alive with people moving quickly, some with pagers clipped to their belts, others holding onto bulky cell phones as they talked. The sound of cars honking filled the air as they moved through the crowded streets, their designs straight out of the 90s-boxy and full of color.
Somehow, Peter knew exactly where to go, as if his body had navigated these streets hundreds of times before.
He stopped when he spotted a newspaper clipping pinned to a city lamppost. The date caught his eye: 1996.
That year rang a bell in Peter's mind-it was the same year the first Pokémon game was released.
"Okay, so this lucid dream is about me waking up in Pokémon?" Peter thought to himself.
As he walked, Peter's gaze darted around in amazement.
The architecture, the fashion, the billboards advertising products from two decades ago - it was like stepping into a time capsule. He couldn't help but marvel at the authenticity of this dream.
Reaching a crosswalk, Peter stopped dead in his tracks.
Right there, managing the traffic, was a Machamp. It was as if the Pokémon had jumped right out of a game or a TV show. The Machamp, with its bluish-gray skin, red eyes, and imposing muscular physique, was directing cars with its four powerful arms, each one moving with purpose. It wore a golden belt, adding to its authoritative presence.
"Machamp!" the creature bellowed, holding up a sign that brought the cars to a stop.
Peter's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Where am I?"