Akira Hayashi wasn't exactly ungrateful for the system.
He was just… emotionally delayed.
Like when someone shows up to your surprise party four hours late with store-brand soda and asks if there's any cake left.
"Too late, buddy. I've already swept the confetti, married the cake, and retired from birthdays."
The so-called "Golden Finger System" had chosen this exact moment, after he'd signed municipal deeds, hauled fence posts, and made emotional peace with his life, to reveal itself.
It blinked into existence with a fanfare best described as underwhelming.
While Akira mentally roasted the moment like it owed him rent, the shimmering interface stuttered. Its glowing prompt box twitched once. Then again. Then finally spat out something with all the energy of a dying Magnemite.
[System Analysis: Although Host's strength ranks among the weaker Champions, you are technically a bona fide Champion-level Trainer.
It seems… I've arrived rather late?]
Akira's eyebrow twitched.
"What do you mean 'among the weaker'?. Apologize this instant, dumbass!"
It wasn't the accusation that bothered him. It was the accuracy.
Sure, he knew he wasn't the strongest Champion out there. When Top Champion Geeta had battled with him she'd barely cracked a sweat, she hadn't used all moves in her arsenal.
But still. There were better ways to say it. Or not say it at all.
The system sputtered again. Then went dim. A soft line lingered in view:
[Self-Diagnosing… Please wait.]
Akira sighed and kept walking, boots crunching through dry grass. He circled the edge of his new farmland, mentally drafting where the barn might go, which slope could feed a rice terrace, where to train his Mimikyu to stop stealing the Scovillain seeds.
Occasionally, the system would flicker back to life, offering things like "User Potential: Above Average (With Proper Nutrition)" or "Calculating Weather Affinity Trait (Still Unsure About Your Sunglasses)."
He ignored most of it.
"System logic 101," he muttered. "You can't uninstall it. So just downgrade it to comedy sidekick."
Eventually, the system revived long enough to throw one more prompt at him:
[Binding complete. Although Host has already achieved the title of Champion, your potential for growth remains significant. How about setting out on a journey to other regions?]
Akira gave it a deadpan look, as if the system had just suggested he eat raw Torkoal.
"That's a beautiful suggestion. But allow me to politely decline."
The font pulsed once.
Then stilled.
[…]
Awkward silence.
If systems could sulk, this one was 100% pouting in Comic Sans.
Akira chuckled to himself and gave the air a condescending pat.
"Nice try. But I've lived the main character arc already. I'm here for my farmhand NPC arc now."
Compared to the aggressive quest-spamming interfaces he'd read about in webnovels, this one had all the menace of a tired Jigglypuff. It didn't seem to have command authority over his actions. It barely had formatting authority over its own font.
Good. That meant it wasn't here to drag him into any "save the world" nonsense.
Because he was done.
He'd survived the 996 grind back in his old world. He'd made it through overtime-induced ulcers, Lunar New Year "volunteer" shifts, and bosses who thought work-life balance meant "sleep under your desk." Then he'd somehow ended up here.
And he was not about to trade his second chance at peace for another trauma loop.
Instead, he reached for something better.
Something slower.
Something full of soil, sun, and Pokémon naps.
"♪ Whether it's in the soil, in the clouds~ or under a girl's skirt~ ♪"
He hummed an old folk tune with the casual swagger of someone who no longer gave a damn about social filters.
The birds chirped. A distant bell rang in Medali's square. Somewhere, a mischievous Lechonk squealed at a stolen tomato.
And Akira walked up to the only structure on his new property, a lovely three-story Western-style home, wood-paneled and ivy-kissed, with a sun porch large enough for lazy afternoons and spontaneous monologues.
His new life was waiting.
One Moomoo Milk at a time.
The mayor of Medali Village had been a sprightly man with a cane carved from Sudowoodo bark and a memory sharp enough to recite land deeds from fifty years ago.
Over herbal tea and dry crackers, he'd told Akira about the couple who once lived here.
A kind pair of elders who had spent their twilight years tending to crops, drinking morning Moomoo Milk under the eaves, and waving to travelers passing through the hilltop road. They had no children of their own, only a shared love for quiet days and soft sunrises.
When they passed, they left their estate to the village with a single clause in their will:
"If sold, the proceeds must go to the prosperity of Medali and its people. Let the land raise hands, feed bellies, and lift spirits."
Akira had read that line twice. Then once more.
He'd closed the file with a soft breath and signed the purchase deed the very next morning.
Now, standing at the gate of that same house, boots crunching against stone and soil, he finally let it sink in.
This place wasn't just real estate.It was a promise of his new leisurely life.
The house itself was an old Western-style farmhouse with ivy-strewn balconies and faded turquoise shutters, stood like a storybook forgotten in time. Worn, sure. But not broken.
Akira gave the interior a full walkthrough. The floorboards creaked in a friendly way, and the sunlight dappled golden squares onto scuffed floor tiles. There was a cozy kitchen with a clay stove, a pantry full of expired cans, and even a half-stocked bookshelf of mystery novels and farming manuals.
The third floor held the crown jewel: a sun-warmed terrace with a panoramic view of the valley. The breeze smelled faintly of Pecha blossoms.
"Yep. This is it."
Not just a roof over his head. A real home.
There was work to be done, no doubt. Dust blanketed every flat surface. A spider colony had taken over what used to be a piano room. And the guest bedroom was full of mystery boxes stacked like a Tetris level on hard mode.
Still, Akira was smiling.
"Well… some of this stuff definitely needs to go."
He clapped his hands together once, stretching out his back with a grunt. "Let's do some cleanup, then I'll swing by the village for bedding. Gonna sleep here tonight."
His wallet squeaked in protest just thinking about it. Most of his savings had been scraped together from a year of frugal living, had gone into buying the land.
The cozy inn in Medali he'd been staying at? Too pricey in the long term. This farmhouse was his new HQ now, moldy chair legs and all.
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[Author's Note]
The "system" in this story exists mainly to provide occasional comic relief and suggestions.
It won't be a dominant plot device.
Akira's real "cheat" is his strength as a Trainer and his deep understanding of Pokémon.
Hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
+50 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter
Update Schedule: 7 chapters/week + up to 3 bonus chapters
If you have any suggestions for the story or spot any corrections, feel free to let me know. Your feedback is always welcome!