After the second time he played "Iron Man," Edward decided that was enough. He slowly packed up his things, his fingers still tingling from the strings of his makeshift guitar. The crowd protested with good-natured boos, wanting more, but he just smiled, raised his hands in a silent apology, and walked away. He was happy—happier than he'd expected—but the euphoria of the performance was already turning into a quiet fatigue, like the tide receding after a busy day.
Back at the park—the same spot where he had earlier sat to clear his mind—Edward looked for an empty bench under a tree and let himself drop onto it with a long sigh. Carefully, he counted the money he had collected: 654 Poké Dollars. He had no idea if that was a lot or a little in this world, but it felt like a decent amount for a start. He tucked the bills into his wallet with a bit of pride, his stomach growling loudly the moment he finished. Hunger was kicking in.
He leaned back on the bench, eyes fixed on the white clouds lazily drifting across the sky. It looked a lot like the sky back home. Almost the same. But he knew—deep down, he felt—it wasn't. For a moment, the faces of his parents flooded his mind, heavy with longing and uncertainty. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to push the images away. It wasn't the time for that. Not with an empty stomach.
He got up slowly, his body still slightly sore from the time spent playing. As he walked, he spotted a simple food truck parked near the entrance of the park. It looked promising. Maybe, besides killing his hunger, he could get some useful information.
On the way there, a flock of Cramorant flew overhead, making strange squawking noises. Edward flinched a little, still getting used to the fact that he really was in a world of Pokémon. It was all so surreal that sometimes it felt like a strange dream. But honestly? It still beat falling into a bloody nightmare like Tokyo Ghoul or Berserk. At least here, he could imagine a life with a Pokémon partner and a journey ahead. Not a bad idea.
Getting closer, he looked at the food truck more carefully. It was a white van, a bit worn with age, with a few tables and chairs scattered around it. No customers in sight. He approached the counter where the owner, a large man, was facing away, scrubbing the grill with focused movements.
"Excuse me, sir, could I see a menu?" he asked politely.
The man didn't respond. He kept scrubbing the grill as if Edward wasn't there. The boy frowned, about to repeat the question, when something floated toward him. A menu. It stopped in mid-air right in front of his face, making him take a startled step back. He almost fell over.
Looking a bit foolish, Edward stared at the menu for a few seconds until he heard a muffled giggle. He looked to the side and saw a Mime Jr. with pink skin and blue hair, its tiny hands covering its mouth, trying not to laugh out loud.
"Mime Jr., don't laugh at the customers," said the food truck owner, finally turning to face him. His voice was deep, but not exactly angry—more like a tired dad scolding a mischievous child.
The little Pokémon lowered its head, looking like a kid who'd just had their favorite toy taken away. Edward couldn't help but smile. Now that he saw the owner from the front, he could observe him better: a tall man, easily close to two meters, and clearly a bit cramped inside the van. He wore a white chef's hat that barely hid his shiny bald head. His thick mustache was a mix of black and white strands, but his most striking feature was his eyebrows—bushy, arched, almost alive.
Edward turned his gaze to the menu and took a while choosing, then made his decision.
"Chef, I'll have a double soy cheeseburger, a large order of fries, and a Soda Pop."
The man looked at him for a moment, then calmly replied, "That'll be 19.99. By the way, name's Mark."
Edward quickly pulled the money from his pocket and handed it over. Mime Jr. ran over excitedly, grabbed the bills, and bounced over to the register.
Mark nodded and turned back to the grill. The smell of burgers and fries began to fill the air, stirring Edward's hunger even more. The sizzle of the grease, the warm aroma of toasting bread... everything smelled absurdly more delicious than anything he'd ever eaten.
When the meal was ready, Mark placed it on a tray, and Mime Jr. used its psychic powers to float it over to Edward's table. The boy watched the scene with a mix of fascination and hunger.
From the first bite, Edward knew it was a moment he'd remember for a long time. Maybe it was the hunger, maybe the atmosphere, maybe Mark's quiet kindness and Mime Jr.'s playful charm—but that burger was, without a doubt, the best of his life.
As he devoured everything with enthusiasm, Mark watched him from the counter with a faint smile at the corner of his lips. Mime Jr., beside him, crossed his arms with a proud look, as if he'd helped cook the meal.
When he finished, Edward wiped his mouth with a napkin, taking a deep breath of satisfaction.
"Thanks for the food, Mark. That was the best cheeseburger I've ever had."
The man simply nodded, still wearing that subtle smile.
Edward hesitated for a moment, then approached the counter a bit awkwardly.
"Sir... can I ask you a question?"
Mark raised one of his expressive eyebrows and nodded silently.
"Would you know where I can find a place to spend the night? Something that won't cost a kidney, preferably."
The man looked at him for a moment, perhaps weighing the boy's sincerity.
"If you're a registered trainer, the Pokémon Center's just over there. If not... there's an inn called Snorlax's Retreat, about three blocks from the port. Last I heard, it's 120 Poké Dollars a night. Simple, clean, three meals included, and the owner's a kind old man."
Edward gave a wide, relieved smile.
"Thanks, chef. I'll head there now. And once again, thanks for the meal. I'll definitely be back for seconds."
Mark made a wave of his hand, as if to say "see you later," and went back to cleaning the grill. Mime Jr. waved enthusiastically, already giggling again.
With a full stomach and a slightly lighter heart, Edward continued on his way, his steps a little less heavy.