Pokémon: Life Finds a Way

The version I was most excited about, though, was the Trainer-specific backpack. I had envisioned it ever since we had first discussed the potential for customizing the capsules. The backpack had multiple compartments that expanded on demand, allowing trainers to store not just their Poké Balls, but healing items, tools, and even snacks, all without the bulky inconvenience of traditional storage methods. The Pokémon League quickly caught wind of the idea, and soon enough, it was being marketed as an official item for trainers across regions. Every major league event had the backpack available for sale, and trainers were clamoring to get their hands on them.

To further bolster the product's security, I implemented a set of features that made reverse engineering nearly impossible. The capsules were encrypted, and each one was linked to an individual's ID. Without the proper credentials, it was impossible to open or modify the capsule's contents. Even the materials used in the capsule's construction had been carefully chosen to resist tampering.

But I wasn't done yet.

I had also created a private tracking system for the capsules, something that could monitor exactly what was being stored and where. While I wanted the technology to be accessible, I knew it was important to maintain control over it. The tracking system allowed me to monitor all transactions—ensuring that no one was misusing the capsules or, worse, trafficking illegal goods. The system would also notify me if anything suspicious was detected in a capsule's contents, providing an additional layer of security.

Once the system was complete, I reached out to the authorities to offer them access to a high-level scanning version of the tracker with limited capabilities. This would allow officials to monitor the capsules on a larger scale, helping to prevent the use of the capsules for illegal activity. It wasn't just about selling a product—it was about making sure the product was used responsibly.

I could already see the future unfolding before me. The PokéCapsule wasn't just going to change the way we carried our belongings—it was going to change the world. I could envision a society where these capsules were as commonplace as the Poké Balls trainers used. A world where anyone could carry a car in their pocket, or store an entire restaurant's worth of food in a single, compact capsule. The possibilities were endless, and I was just getting started.

But even as I marveled at the success we had achieved so far, I knew that we couldn't afford to get complacent. The road ahead was still long, and there were always new challenges lurking around the corner. 

One morning, though, everything shifted in a way I never expected. Grandpa John called me into his study, the weight of his gaze instantly telling me this wasn't just an ordinary meeting. The room, lined with books and old artifacts, felt charged with anticipation as he handed me a thick envelope with my name on it.

"I've been preparing something for you," he said, his voice calm but filled with purpose. "Something for your future."

Inside the envelope were official documents—papers for a newly created company. John explained that, under the Hammond Foundation, he had established a sister company where I was listed as the sole owner. The company would manufacture the PokéCapsules and manage all associated research and development. To my surprise, he had even quietly moved all the research division's experiments so far under this new entity and patented them under its name. None of the executives in the Hammond Foundation knew about this move—it was completely independent.

My jaw nearly dropped as he continued. "This company will be yours, Owen. Completely yours. No outside interference, no one to answer to but yourself. I wanted to ensure that you have the freedom to pursue your vision without the constraints that the Foundation sometimes imposes. It's a clean slate."

I stared at the papers, stunned. The enormity of what he had done settled over me slowly. This wasn't just a gift—it was a monumental responsibility. For all the faith he placed in me, for all the control he had handed over, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of gratitude and nerves.

"But why… why do this in secret?" I asked, my voice barely steady.

John smiled, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Because innovation thrives on independence, Owen. Sometimes, the best way to safeguard a dream is to ensure no one else can meddle with it."

"But Grandpa," I said, my voice trembling with both excitement and uncertainty, "I'm just a kid. How am I supposed to run a company?"

John chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. "You're right. You're not ready yet. That's why, until you come of age, I'll take care of everything. I'll manage the company, ensure it grows, and keep things running smoothly. When the time is right, it'll be waiting for you."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. I nodded, the overwhelming mix of gratitude and responsibility settling in my chest. "Thank you, Grandpa. I'll do my best."

"I know you will, Owen," he said, his smile unwavering. 

He leaned back, watching me closely. "The only thing missing now is a name. What will you call it?"

I thought about it for a long moment, turning the idea over in my mind. My thoughts drifted to the capsules, to the vision I had for them—to create something that was more than just practical, something ingenious. Slowly, I looked up at him and said, "Ingen. The company will be called Ingen."

John's smile widened, his approval evident. "Ingen. Fitting. It's simple, bold, and encapsulates everything you stand for. Well done."

The name felt right, like it carried the weight of both ambition and legacy. As I looked back down at the papers, the responsibility began to feel less daunting and more like an opportunity—a chance to make my mark not just as a Hammond, but as myself. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but with John's wisdom, Grace's unwavering support, and the drive I had inherited from my parents, I felt ready.

The PokéCapsule had started as a simple idea, but it had become so much more. It was a tool for progress, for convenience, and for change. And now, with Ingen, it would become a symbol of the Hammond family's legacy—one that would never fade into obscurity. This was just the beginning.