Pokémon StoryWeaver
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Chapter 0832: N and Mewtwo(Two-in-One)
🕑 Added 2025-09-17 00:00:07 +0000 UTCJohto Region, Mount Quena.
Mist curled through the air, rivers ran crystal-clear, and a vast forest embraced the lake, its surface as smooth as glass.
On treetops, Pidgey’s bright songs echoed. A Pikachu picked up a fallen Oran Berry, ears twitching at the rustle in the bushes, and scampered deeper into the woods, berry tucked in its mouth.
A tall, green-haired young man in a white shirt emerged from the underbrush.
Beneath his cap, his gentle gaze and waist-length green hair were striking; a Rubik’s cube swung from his belt.
“We’re here, Zekrom.”
N spoke quietly to the empty air.
“This is where the legendary Mewtwo is said to reside—Mount Quena.”
Space rippled, and Zekrom appeared at N’s side, black-gold armor gleaming, crimson eyes cold and sharp.
『Why risk so much just to see Mewtwo?』
Zekrom gazed into the swirling mountaintop mist and continued, 『I can sense something dangerous here… Even if I battle alongside you, I may not be able to protect you this time.』
“We aren’t here to battle Mewtwo.”
N straightened, looking up through the clouds, shirt tails fluttering in the breeze, something bright flickering in his eyes.
“We’re here to seek…the answer to the relationship between people and Pokémon.”
Mewtwo was a legendary Pokémon created by humans, yet it always insisted it was ‘human.’
N, on the other hand, was the offspring of humans and Pokémon—at one time, he even believed himself to be ‘Pokémon.’
Both had lost their way more than once. Fortunately, the encounters between different lives had changed the course of their destinies.
『I’ll keep watch around us.』
Zekrom’s red eyes grew colder, his black-gold armor gleaming, then he vanished once more.
“Thank you, Zekrom.”
N sincerely thanked him, steeling himself, and began climbing step by step toward the sky-touching summit of Mount Quena.
At the mountaintop, the perfectly clear “Clarity Lake” shimmered with little ripples.
On the lakeshore stood a thriving, sparkling ancient tree, surrounded by Bidoof, Pikachu, Pidgey, and other Pokémon.
Near the trunk, a white, human-like Pokémon slowly turned its head, revealing a face filled with quiet authority.
It sensed a warm, but nearly indescribable pulse.
Mewtwo was there, waiting quietly for N’s arrival.
Mount Quena was rugged, the weather unpredictable, its remoteness making it a perfect, natural sanctuary and habitat.
A few months back, rumors of dangerous Pokémon at Mount Quena led to the mountain’s closure.
Some Trainers, tempted by the challenge, had tried their luck—only to get lost in the thick mist, most never returning.
N was unfazed. It was as if there were no sheer cliffs beneath his feet—he just let his instincts carry him through the fog.
Gradually, the clouds lifted, the summit came into view, and the scenery opened up into an idyllic paradise: lush woods, rippling lake, vibrant with life.
N took a long, deep breath. He saw a somewhat familiar Pokémon and blinked in surprise.
“You’re… Ash’s Pikachu.”
“No…” N muttered to himself, “It feels the same, but something about it is different.”
“Pikachu~” Pikachu grinned, hunkering down before darting toward an especially radiant old tree.
N’s gaze followed, eyes widening in disbelief.
Suddenly, the air grew heavy and tense, aura boiling, atmosphere thick with power.
A stern and imposing white, humanoid Pokémon descended, standing quietly before N.
N could barely breathe. He whispered, “Mewtwo…”
『Who are you?』 Mewtwo gazed at him, not speaking aloud—his telepathy pressed down like a weight.
“I am… N.” the green-haired young man answered.
『Why do I sense both human and Pokémon within you?』
Mewtwo’s brow furrowed as he scrutinized the green-haired youth, pausing as his gaze flickered, startled.
『I see now.』 He intoned deeply, 『You and I—are the same.』
N’s face broke into a genuine, boyish smile.
“I’m really happy I could meet you, Mewtwo,” N said softly, lowering his lashes. “It means…I’m not truly alone on this journey.”
Mewtwo stared into N, and through him, back into the echoes of his own past.
And in so many ways, that past resonated with his own.
『You want to free Pokémon from the fate of being Pokémon.』 Mewtwo challenged. 『Why?』
“Because… I think the Poké Ball is a form of human oppression.” N spoke quickly. “As long as Poké Balls exist, people and Pokémon can never be equal. Pokémon get exploited, but it’s taken for granted—captured and then abandoned, or just treated as some collection or a string of data, simply because people used a Poké Ball and caught them!”
Mewtwo was silent, memories flashing through his mind.
Just like N, this ‘Rebel Mewtwo’ had tried to free all Pokémon, even inventing a way to capture Pokémon already owned—a “Dusk Ball.”
But Mewtwo also understood, as N would, that such ideals would always end in failure. Still, he replied evenly: 『And then?』
“And then…” N lifted his bright eyes. “I met a Trainer.”
Memories of that fateful encounter—the conversation on the Ferris wheel, those words like a living painting—flashed through his mind.
N’s eyes glimmered. “He told me—a Poké Ball is a promise…a bond between partners, a vow to fight for each other.”
Mewtwo’s face was unreadable, but he listened quietly as N spoke.
“There are Pokémon enslaved by people, but there are also Pokémon who are happy to be caught. There are humans who look down on others, and there are Trainers who treat Pokémon as family. It isn’t the Poké Ball that’s wrong, but the arrogance and prejudice inside the human heart. My ideals aren’t just about fighting the Poké Ball—they’re about the bias deep within us—"
“Pokémon aren’t battle tools. They’re living, breathing individuals. The connection between humans and Pokémon isn’t the Poké Ball, it’s—”
N paused, staring into Mewtwo’s eyes, his voice trembling. “It’s the bond between us.”
Mewtwo’s gaze flickered.
N spread his arms wide, green hair streaming beneath his cap, his eyes shining with conviction:
“That Trainer taught me: it’s not your origin that makes you who you are, but how you live your life.”
“So I made up my mind—to fight for a better world, until people don’t see Pokémon as tools, or code, or a collection, but as…”
N spoke slowly: "Partners, friends, comrades-in-arms… family."
Mewtwo was silent for a long time before speaking softly:
“I came from another world. Half a year ago, I slipped into this reality by accident… And after returning, to answer the question ‘who am I really,’ I started a war.”
“A war?”
“That’s right—a war between humans and Pokémon.” Formerly Armored Mewtwo, now the rebel Mewtwo, looked up at the sky. “In the end, I lost, and with a group of clone Pokémon, arrived in this world.”
“So… that Pikachu?”
“A clone,” Mewtwo smiled. “But it has a mind of its own. It’s its own life.”
N stared at Mewtwo’s smile, momentarily stunned.
“It’s not your origin that makes you who you are, but how you live your life…”
Mewtwo gazed skyward, quietly chewing the words. “There are wise souls among humans too—Trainers who truly love their Pokémon.”
“You’re right, N.” Mewtwo lowered his head, eyes deep, and slowly extended a hand. “What we really need to fight isn’t the Poké Ball… but human arrogance, and prejudice.”
Faced with Mewtwo’s outstretched hand, N’s expression softened. He stepped forward and reached out his own.
Their hands met in a firm, silent grasp. Eyes locked—N and Mewtwo shared a silent communion.
They felt an ineffable strength.
This strength was intangible, but in the world of Pokémon, it was as real as anything.
Because Pokémon aren’t just lines of code… Show them real trust, and they’ll always respond to your hopes.
May 6th. On the summit of Mount Quena, N and Mewtwo met across the vast reaches of time and space, like travelers fated to cross paths.
The bushes rustled.
N and Mewtwo both turned toward the sound.
A dark-skinned young man burst from the bushes, holding up a Rotom Phone, eyes blazing with excitement:
“Found it—one of the mythical legendary Pokémon—!”
“Wait… Not Mew, but some guy called Mewtwo?”
The young man whipped out a minimized Poké Ball, pressed its button to expand, and hurled it full-force:
“Gotcha, faker! Poké Ball—go!!”
Mewtwo’s face stayed cool, but a vein throbbed at his temple at the word “faker.”
“Zekrom.”
N’s eyes lost their usual brightness. He lowered the brim of his cap, voice raw:
“Please… Use Fusion Bolt.”
BOOM!!
Over the lake, the sky turned dark; storm clouds boiled, thunder raged, wild and furious.
Far above, Zekrom’s engine screamed in overdrive, crimson eyes blazing. He gripped lightning like a javelin, hurled it, and it struck the Poké Ball dead on—obliterating it in a flash of blinding light.
Thunder boomed in the air—the young man let out a scream as the shockwave swept him away!
The serene majesty of Mount Quena was shattered.
N’s eyes were dull, lips pale, shoulders trembling beneath the shadow of his cap.
“It’s because… there are Trainers like that… that I…”
A gentle hand landed on N’s shoulder.
He flinched, looking up to find Mewtwo beside him.
Mewtwo used Confusion to lift the young man’s body, dipped him into Clarity Lake to heal his wounds, and set him at the foot of the mountain.
“I erased his memories. He’ll never want to become a Trainer again.”
Mewtwo’s voice was calm. “Just as you said, N—we aren’t fighting individuals… It’s arrogance, and prejudice, we have to overcome.”
The light returned to N’s eyes. He gazed at Mewtwo in awe and gratitude.
“The prejudice that Pokémon should always stay in Poké Balls; the arrogance that anything can be caught with a Poké Ball. N…”
Mewtwo’s eyes shone, voice gentle. “You can’t stop here.”
N’s eyes regained their color. His green hair and white shirt fluttered in the wind once more.
When he looked again, Mewtwo and the clone Pokémon were lifting away into the sky, rising, vanishing from sight.
Because of that reckless young man, Mewtwo could no longer stay at Mount Quena, and would have to seek a new sanctuary.
Left alone on the wide, empty hills, N felt a strange emptiness deep within—an aching sorrow brought him to tears.
……
Unova Region, Nimbasa City.
A handsome, black-haired young man in a shirt stood at the Ferris wheel ticket booth, asking the attendant:
“Excuse me, has a green-haired guy—about my height—been by recently?”
The girl at the counter, who used to ship this “pair” back in the day, beamed:
“Of course, he comes to ride the Ferris wheel almost every day… but it seems he’s been out of town these last few days…”
She opened a drawer. “He left a letter for you. Said to hand it over if anyone came looking for him.”
Natsume took the letter, thanked her, and went to sit on a bench beside the vending machine. He opened it gently and began to read.
[Dear Sir/Madam,
Hello!
First, please accept my apologies—I don’t know who you are.
But if you’ve found your way to the Nimbasa City Ferris wheel, you are surely a friend of mine.
I have very few friends, and even fewer who know I come to Nimbasa City—only Zinzolin and Natsume-sensei.
So, this letter is for Natsume-sensei. If you’re not him, please return the letter to the attendant, and I’ll be deeply grateful.
Sensei, how are you these days? I heard you entered the World Tournament, and I wish you great success.
Maybe you don’t care… My Zoroark evolved. It’s still afraid of people, but much better than before.
Team Plasma’s got a lot of new rookies now. Their ideas aren’t always pure, but Team Plasma needs people.
I’m still myself, yet something has changed. Didn’t lose any weight, eyesight’s the same—what is it? Maybe it’s my worldview.
Once, I believed the world was purely black or white, and that Ideals and Truth could never coexist.
Now I can hear so many more voices… even the mismatched, disharmonious, and ugly ones.
Ferris wheel tickets have gone up. Everything changes so quietly—who can say if it’s good or bad? But I hold fast to one thing.
My journey goes on, and my next stop is searching for Mewtwo. Wish me luck, haha.
Always your student,
N.
P.S. Two Ferris wheel tickets included. My treat this time.]
Natsume unfolded the two Ferris wheel tickets, gave one to the attendant, and with hands in his pockets, boarded the Ferris wheel.
At the top, he looked at the empty seat across from him—it almost felt like N was still there. He pictured N resting his chin on his hand, gazing softly out the window:
“The beauty of a Ferris wheel comes from that perfect circle… mechanics… a living, moving formula…”
Then Natsume noticed Sylveon sitting across from him, paw waving. “Sylveon?”
“It’s nothing.” Natsume pulled out a ribbon-wrapped box and smiled. “I’ve got a gift for you.”
“Sylveon?” Sylveon blinked baby-blue eyes, opened the box with a ribbon, and her eyes went wide.
Inside, a pink and a purple bow—custom designs by Valerie and Fantina, both absolutely beautiful.
“Sylveon…”
These… are even prettier than the bows in that wardrobe…
Sylveon spaced out a little, then sat up tall and proud, turning her head in a huff:
“Sylveon! o(′^｀)o”
I—I totally don’t like them. Take them back!
“Nope. You’re definitely wearing a bow today,” Natsume said. “Here, let me help you!”
“Sylveon! (〃＞皿＜)”
Above Nimbasa City, the green-haired young man bowed his head, riding Zekrom through the skies.
His gaze landed on his beloved Ferris wheel. Suddenly, he paused—then a true and rare smile broke across his face.
“Sensei…”
N’s eyes blazed with resolve. “My journey’s far from over.”
