Pokemon Scientist

People often call him the GOAT of chess, a title earned through his unparalleled achievements and mastery of the game.

From 2013 to 2023, he remained undefeated as World Champion, an unyielding force in the chess world. His dominance was absolute, his consistency unmatched.

No one knows the exact methods he uses to train, nor can anyone fully understand how his mind works. One thing is clear, though—if people were to witness how their chess GOAT was being thoroughly beaten black and blue daily, they would be horrified.

This is how the GOAT trains to maintain his champion status: by losing exactly 9,999 times and probably loading up to reach 10,000 right now.

Tiny raindrops pattered against the gray city streets. The sky was overcast, casting a dull, muted glow over the world. Amidst the drizzle, a boy in a plain school uniform stood up, his expression calm, his voice unwavering.

"Checkmate."

The GOAT sitting across from him froze, staring at the board in disbelief.

"I can still—"

Allen merely shook his head, interrupting whatever the man wanted to say. "There's no point in struggling anymore."

Silence.

How humiliating. It left him at a loss for words.

With a resigned sigh, the man let the chess piece slip from his fingers, clattering onto the board. He had lost. Again.

Allen, sensing the weight of his opponent's disappointment, offered a small, reassuring smile.

"You don't have to be so hard on yourself, GOAT."

The man blinked. "???"

Irritated, he reorganized the pieces on the board and said with a hint of competitiveness, "Fine, let's have another game."

With that, their chess match resumed.

In the middle of the match, Allen lowered his head, allowing everything that had just transpired to replay in his mind.

The knight's sudden leap across the board, the calculated advance of the bishops—every move echoed in his thoughts. Every detail remained, untouched by time. And it wasn't just the game.

Everything.

He could even recall every person who had walked past them during the game.

A couple strolled by, the young man animatedly gesturing and speaking with great enthusiasm, while the woman remained focused on her phone, a thin smile playing on her lips as she scrolled. He had been duped. No doubt about it.

Allen also remembered a girl passing by with her golden retriever before they had a tug-of-war in front of the Spud Man truck not far away.

He vividly recalled the dog's barks, whimpers, and howls in what seemed like a classic battle of wills: a girl versus a dog whose motto was clearly, Why fetch when you can feast?

It was difficult, but difficult didn't mean impossible—at least for Allen, who didn't miss even the slightest detail. As long as the picture entered his eyes, it was settled.

Photographic memory.

A gift he had possessed since birth. One he kept secret.

To him, recalling something was as effortless as pulling an image from the flowing river of time, preserving it for later. Of course, he couldn't analyze every detail in real time—it was exhausting. But with just a glance, he could store everything, retrieving it whenever he needed.

At first, he had assumed he was simply smart. But over time, he realized it was more than intelligence. It was something deeper. Something relentless.

A gift that made him exceptional. A burden that, at times, felt crushing.

He had learned to filter through the flood of memories, to control the overwhelming tide. And eventually, he came to embrace it.

It gave him an edge.

In school, he excelled with ease. He remembered every lesson, every equation, every word spoken in class. No one could beat him in debates or quizzes. He was a walking encyclopedia, a vault of knowledge.

Even now, as he played, he let his mind drift back to their last game.

"The white queen on d1 moves to h5. The black bishop on f8 moves to e7. The white rook on a1 moves to a4. The black knight on g8 moves to f6. The white pawn on e2 moves to e4..."

He recited each move, step by step, flawlessly retracing their battle.

Across from him, the champion listened, unmoving.

By move sixteen, realization struck. Despite capturing the boy's queen, he had still lost control of the game. The GOAT exhaled, shaking his head in quiet astonishment.

Allen merely smiled.

Time passed.

And he continued to grow.

Allen had officially leveled up into a devastatingly handsome nineteen-year-old college student—brains, looks, and an acceptance letter to the prestigious Harvard Joint Degree Program in Law and Civil & Environmental Engineering.

Basically, he was the main character.

Like any other college student, he enjoyed hanging out at local cafés, chatting with friends, and diving into subjects that made his nerdy heart sing.

College life was smooth sailing—until everything changed on one fateful evening during the reading period, a night his GPA would never forget.

One of his blockmates, out of nowhere, asked him a simple question: "Have you ever heard of Smogon University?"

Though the name suggests a sketchy, get-your-degree-in-four-months-for-an-absurdly-inflated-price kind of institution, it turns out that Smogon University is actually an online community devoted to competitive Pokémon battling.

"Heh, what is it? Pokémon? Do you think I'm a kid?" Allen sneered, mocking his friend.

However, he didn't expect that what had begun as a casual mention would soon turn into an obsession he couldn't control.

People thought they knew all there was to know about Pokémon.

You catch these cute yet strange little critters which can eventually become very large critters, and you use attacks based on whatever your opponent's weaknesses are.

Most of these tactics are pretty obvious: water beats fire, fire beats grass, and so on. Its supersedes tic-tac-toe in intellectual sophistication—but just barely.

Within a few hours of being introduced to Smogon University, Allen was already knee-deep in the nitty-gritty of Pokémon battle strategies.

It was, in a frightening way, impressive just how much there was on this site.

The Strategy Pokédex was -The Art of War- for Pokémon, ten times over.

There was even a newsletter featuring Sports Illustrated-style tournament coverage and strategic analyses by "Cloud_69_Chaser," who appeared to be the Bobby Fischer of Pokémon.

Some "students" at Smogon had even gotten together to write a free online Pokémon-battling simulator.

The "Shoddy Battle" let you pick whatever Pokémon you wanted, assign them various stat values and items, and jump straight into battling. And oh, sweet Lord, this was the trap.

Free. Online. Strategy game.

Offering something like that to a computer science concentrator and strategy game junkie is like offering a recovering methhead a free eight-ball.

It's like they know you're trying to improve yourself, but they're just begging you to fall off the wagon.

Every day, Allen stayed up embarrassingly late, scrawling notes to himself in pursuit of crafting the perfect team.

The choices were endless, agonizing, and thrilling: Should he lead with Infernape or Celebi? Should he go for a weather-based team or not?

It's weird, really, when you consider that the more obvious and pressing question—"Why am I taking notes on Pokémon at two in the morning?"—never occurred to him.

Obsession is truly, really scary.

When he finished crafting his team, he logged onto the Smogon server with all the excitement of a doe-eyed debutante.

He had done his background reading, his team was perfect, and he was going to be the king of Pokémon by the end of the night.

And the result?

He proceeded to get completely destroyed in his first battle.

The match was over in three minutes, and he hadn't even put a dent in any of his opponent's Pokémon.

He started another game, and he lost even quicker. To add insult to injury, this time he fell victim to a Clefairy, one of the pinkest, most cuddly, most harmless looking Pokémon.

And yet, despite this brutal initiation, he was more hooked than ever.

Although it's essentially chess on steroids with sound effects and bright colors, the game is sustained by an affable community of gamers who still love those silly little Pokémon games.

For him, it is as much a source of pride and equally thrilling to take an exam at Harvard as it is to fight a great battle at Smogon.

What started as a PvP-only addiction soon spiraled even further out of control, expanding into anime, manga, games, forums, and more.

It went so far that he found himself reading and watching National Geographic—not for real wildlife facts, but to compare actual animals to Pokémon.

You know, just to figure out which one would win in a battle between a real-life lion and an Arcanine.

Soon he turned to social media.

He created accounts on YouTube, Twitter, Instagram, Reddit, and Twitch, pouring out his thoughts on Pokémon and providing in-depth analysis of competitive play.

Fueled growing obsession, his consistent uploads and engaging delivery began to attract fellow Pokémon enthusiasts.

His Twitch account, for example, gained millions of followers just to watch him tackle a wide range of speedrunning challenge, nuzlocke, anime-style battling, shiny hunting, and more.

Each video and post chronicled his journey, and as he and his fellow Pokémon athletes and truth-seekers immersed themselves further, their passion for Pokémon.

Ultimately, the collective might of a bunch of Pokéaficionados far outweighs that of one eager little Harvard student pulling an all-nighter just to see how well his shiny new Pokémon team does.

And yes, definitely—you should not follow his example, as he clearly doesn't know how to balance gaming and studying.

Tragic. Heartbreaking. A betrayal worthy of its own sad anime montage.

In a world where family expectations crush childhood dreams, "unforeseen parental intervention" struck, tearing Allen asunder from his cherished Pokémon—a victim of the Great Parental Expectations Scheme of the century.

His Pokémon privileges were revoked and exchanged for an extended subscription to Harvard Homework Deluxe™. No refunds.

This left him to wander the halls of academia, Pokéball-less and forlorn. Thanks to this, he somehow managed to graduate.

A true underdog story. Allen continued to grow, and now… he has entered his final evolution: Adulthood.

Allen left the sterile environment and made his way to his office.

As he approached the door, the nameplate clearly displayed his title: Senior Partner, Healthcare Consultant — Allen Buffet, JD, MPH, MMSc.

It looked like an ordinary office door, nothing out of the ordinary. But the moment it was opened, anyone who stepped inside would feel as if they'd entered an entirely different world.

To the left, shelves were packed with an eclectic mix—comics, animal encyclopedias, colorful wilderness survival guides, and an extensive collection of National Geographic magazines.

To the right, a vibrant array of research papers, medical journals, clinical case studies, and hefty textbooks dominated the space and cabinets.

And at the heart of it all stood the crown jewel of the room: a towering, two-meter-tall life-size Mewtwo statue, encased in a sleek glass tank.

Tiny air bubbles danced to the surface, catching the light in a mesmerizing display. The tank's shimmering LED lights enhanced the illusion, making it feel as if Mewtwo was truly suspended in stasis.

In front of the tank sat a large mahogany desk paired with a leather chair.

Allen sank into it, the familiar creak of the leather offering a fleeting sense of comfort. He took a deep breath, letting himself relax for just a moment.

On the desk, a framed photo caught his eye—a young child grinning alongside a middle-aged man and a pregnant woman, all smiling warmly.

Allen stared at the picture for a moment before letting out a long sigh. Guilt gnawed at him—especially when it came to his parents.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his phone, logged into his bank account, and sent $10,000 to his parents. After a brief pause, he transferred another $5,000 to his little sister.

Only after doing that did he finally feel a sense of relief.

Putting his phone away, that's when he noticed it.

Sitting innocently beside the frame was a small, rectangular device—compact, sleek, and drenched in nostalgia.

He picked it up, flipping open its clamshell design to reveal two screens—one on top, one below—framed by a set of well-worn buttons that practically begged to be pressed.

The screen flickered to life, and within seconds, a familiar orchestral melody filled the room—a glorious mix of triumphant brass, rhythmic bass, drums, and piano. Without thinking, his fingers moved on their own, pressing buttons furiously as he dove headfirst into the virtual world.

Time blurred. Reality faded.

Just as his Electrode was about to unleash Self-Destruct, a faint sizzling sound reached his ears, accompanied by the unmistakable smell of burning plastic.

Allen blinked.

Smoke curled from his beloved console.

And then it hit him.

His console wasn't just overheating—it was actually self-destructing.

"OH SHIT. ELECTRODE!!!"

Pure panic surged through him as he instinctively flung the device away. In a desperate bid for survival, he attempted to leap over the desk like an action hero making a grand escape.

There was just one tiny problem—he was no longer a spry teenager.

What should have been a smooth, parkour-esque maneuver turned into an absolute catastrophe. His foot snagged on the desk, sending him flailing mid-air like a malfunctioning ragdoll. Arms pinwheeling, he barely had time to process his impending doom before—CRASH!

He slammed directly into his most prized possession.

The Mewtwo tank wobbled.

Allen froze.

The glass case swayed dangerously, Mewtwo inside looking just as unimpressed as ever. It rocked forward, then backward, building up momentum like a ticking time bomb.

Allen's soul left his body.

In his final moments of clarity, he saw Mewtwo's menacing figure growing larger and larger in his vision, looming over him like a vengeful deity.

"Oh, fuck me, Mewtwo."