Chapter 229: The Purple Flower's Legacy
Xiu continued to delve into the founder's journal, piecing together the origins of the Bug-Type Gym. The narrative picked up with the boy anxiously awaiting the hatching of his Beedrill egg, while simultaneously guarding the transplanted purple flower.
Finally, one night, the egg in his arms stirred as a Weedle crawled out. Anyone else might have been startled, even disgusted, Xiu mused, but a boy raised in the forest, familiar with its creatures? He was probably ecstatic.
The Weedle was a sign of hope. Now, only the plant remained critical. The flowering season was imminent. In the final days, the boy, driven by focus, camped out by his secret patch, determined to harvest the blossoms at the perfect moment.
He had lied to his parents, claiming to be on a trip with his friends. They, despite their likely reservations, had supported him, his mother packing food and water. His father had even offered the family Butterfree for protection, but the boy, perhaps sensing the unique nature of his endeavor or out of guilt, had declined, setting off alone.
Camping in the Viridian Forest alone… what a crazy guy, Xiu acknowledged. But the boy's intuition, or perhaps just luck, proved correct.
On the third morning, as the first rays of sunlight touched the forest floor, the buds on the mysterious plant unfurled, revealing vibrant purple flowers, glistening with dew.
The boy, momentarily captivated by their beauty, was snapped back to reality by sounds of movement nearby – rustling in the undergrowth. Without hesitation, he snatched the freshly bloomed purple flowers and, with a decisiveness that belied his age, stuffed them directly into his Weedle's mouth. Then, abandoning the now-bare plant, he fled.
After some time, the boy managed to evade whatever creatures had been drawn by the plant's fleeting scent, eventually finding a safe place to rest. To his surprise, the Weedle, after consuming the flowers, had fallen into a deep, almost comatose sleep.
Unsure what to do, he waited. Later, cautiously returning to the site of the purple flower, he found only large, unfamiliar footprints in the soft earth. The insect-repelling powder must have worked, masking the scent until the last possible moment. Otherwise, he and his Weedle would have been overwhelmed.
He carried the still-sleeping Weedle home, only to find the village in a state of concern. Villagers pointed and whispered as he passed as a sense of dread filled him. Hurrying to his house, he found his father lying pale and haggard in bed, his mother beside him, her face etched with worry and grief. His earlier triumph over harvesting the flowers vanished, replaced by cold fear.
He learned the truth quickly enough. His father, while out gathering herbs, had encountered a valuable medicinal plant— but another man, a known ruffian from a rival village, had also coveted it.
So, a fight ensued. The family Butterfree, trying to protect his father, had been killed by the ruffian's powerful Arbok. His father, too, had been injured by the Arbok's venomous fangs, saved only by the timely arrival of other villagers who had been traveling with him.
His parents, seeing his distress, tried to console him, to not dwell on it and let go. The ruffian's Arbok was too strong, they said; that nothing could be done.
The boy listened silently, offering words of comfort, assuring them he was fine, that his trip with his friends had been uneventful. But beneath his calm exterior, a cold, hard resolve had formed. He hid it well, but the seed of vengeance was planted.
The journal then detailed a period of intense struggle. His father needed medicine. The Weedle, still comatose after consuming the purple flowers, required care. So, the boy shouldered the burden, venturing into the forest daily to find herbs for his father and whatever sustenance he could for his sleeping Pokémon.
The Weedle finally awoke after three days, emaciated but surprisingly energetic. The boy, prepared for this, fed it a special diet of herbs and berries he had gathered. The Weedle consumed everything offered, and within two days, it had not only regained its strength but had grown significantly larger than an ordinary Weedle, radiating an unusual vitality.
His parents, seeing his dedication, his early morning departures and late evening returns, said little, but offered what support they could, even contributing their own meager savings and hoarded medicinal herbs to his efforts. Even poor herbalist families have a few hidden treasures.
Seven days later, the Weedle evolved into a Kakuna, noticeably larger and denser than average. It hung from a beam in their small house, a silent, throbbing promise.
During this time, his father slowly recovered, though he remained bedridden— but another blow fell. A local bully, notorious in their village, seeing the family's weakened state – the father injured, their only Pokémon Butterfree dead – decided to seize their most fertile patch of farmland.
The boy's mother, fearing further conflict, had tried to keep it from him. But word reached him. Consumed by youthful rage and a burning sense of injustice, he confronted the bully, armed with nothing but his fists and righteous anger.
The outcome was predictable. A teenager, untrained in combat, against a grown man accustomed to violence, who also possessed a strong Rattata. The boy was beaten and humiliated.
Only the intervention of other villagers, and perhaps the bully's reluctance to permanently injure a child, saved him from a worse fate. He returned home battered and broken, crawling into bed, his spirit crushed.
His parents, however, didn't scold him and only lamented his impulsiveness. But seeing their weary, resigned faces, his earlier fury returned, stronger than before. "I will take back what is ours!" he vowed, struggling to sit up.
At that precise moment, the oversized Kakuna hanging from the beam began to glow with an intense light. It burst open, and a massive, powerful Beedrill emerged, its twin stingers gleaming, its aura radiating an almost palpable menace.
And here, Xiu thought, a wry smile touching his lips, is where the story turns into a typical 'cool protagonist' revenge fantasy. The journal described the boy, now armed with his Beedrill, embarking on a swift and brutal campaign.
He ambushed the bully that very night, his Beedrill making short work of the ruffian and his Rattata. Within a month, he had tracked down and dealt with the man who had injured his father and killed their Butterfree. His reputation as a skilled and ruthless Trainer grew. His family's fortunes improved. They eventually moved to a larger town.
The latter half of the journal detailed the establishment of the Bug-type Gym and the founder's ongoing research into the properties of the mysterious purple flower – its medicinal effects, its growth patterns, and its optimal cultivation. It even included an improved formula for the insect-repelling powder, designed to mask the flower's potent scent even after blooming.
There were other, more eclectic notes. A brief, almost incidental mention of encountering a Celebi in the Viridian Forest – a fleeting glimpse, nothing more. And more interestingly, descriptions of daily life a century ago.
It seemed people then had a different relationship with Pokémon. Less fear, perhaps, but also a more utilitarian view. Pokémon were integrated into some aspect of life, not just as companions or battle partners, but as work animals, sources of materials, and even food.
Xiu closed the journal, a thoughtful expression on his face. Unknown mountain boy stumbles upon a mystical power-up, avenges his family, rises to prominence. Could this guy be a transmigrator like me?.
Still, hidden within the somewhat melodramatic story were valuable insights, particularly regarding the purple flower and its effects. And that insect repellent formula… that could be very useful indeed.