Ever since I set foot in Paldea, I’ve been getting more than my fair share of awkward glances. At the tender age of 36, my admission to the prestigious Naranja Academy might have struck some as a little odd, as my classmates all appear to be in their early teens. As a result, I have been mostly isolated, sitting sad and alone in the corner of the lecture hall while desperately hoping somebody, anybody, would trade Friend Codes with me.

It’s not my fault, of course. I myself started my Pokemon adventure at the tender age of 10, all the way over in the Kanto region on the other side of the planet. I’d never even heard of Paldea back then, let alone some hoity toity academy — I was just some country bumpkin from Pallet Town, a suburb that boasts a population of 10 people and only two houses.

But my legend surely preceded me, as I had become champion of a dozen regions over the years, from Kanto to Johto and even Hisui, a historical realm that no longer exists. Sometimes I did it under a pseudonym to avoid suspicion, such as Large Marge or Smelly Pete, but those attempts at subterfuge were token at best. Put plainly, I ought to be a celebrity in the Pokemon world, not some loser who can’t even befriend a 13 year old.

It wasn’t the rejection that bothered me. I’m here strictly on business, eying another championship trophy to place on my mantle while I proceed in my mission to obtain every Pokemon known to man. What was proving problematic was that without anyone to talk to, I was absent of potential trading partners.

Pokemon trading was a sure fire way to expedite the collection procedure, as I would recklessly farm a small army of Eevees to offer as potential prizes to unsuspecting suckers. Those little critters sure were popular, but nowadays they were roaming around everywhere, so it was beyond me why people still thought they were valuable.

But now, I had more than 300 Eevee mouths to feed, and nobody in sight to foist them upon. Although my first instinct was to release all of them into the wild, undoubtedly destroying Paldea’s fragile ecosystem in the process, I had caught rumour of this new trend that had been going around called a “Surprise Trade”.

Allegedly, it allowed you to select any of your Pokemon to send out into the great unknown, connecting to a random trainer who will return one of their own. It sounded like a laugh, so I readied the first Eevee to make the dangerous journey across the digital channel.

Where he would end up, I had no idea. Hoenn, perhaps? Or even the glitzy cities of Unova? I couldn’t help but wonder, making me think that this should have been called a “Wonder Trade” instead. Ah well, I’m no marketing guru, just a humble student of Naranja.

Within seconds, my Rotom Phone began to vibrate madly. So soon? Probably a Facebook notification or something… but oh wait! The Surprise Trade had already been completed, and I had a brand new Pokemon lying in wait.

“Technology is incredible,” a homeless man from Pallet Town once proclaimed to me in 1998. He was just enthusiastic that he could store his items conveniently — if only he could see what technology offered now, his mind would have been well and truly blown.

I eagerly opened up the Poke Ball, and there it was before my meagre eyes: the legendary Regidrago, a draconic monster that I had only ever encountered once before. This was a few years back while I was spending time out in the frigid plains of the Crown Tundra. There, an eccentric fellow named Peony had sent me out on a series of quests for mythical monsters, equipped only with the crude illustrations and vague clues he had scraped together. Normally I would ignore such a request, but my thirst for Pokedex completion pushed me onward. Plus, the dude was hot and lonely, just my kind of man.

But something about this Regidrago was different. It had a slightly different hue, and was clutching a Master Ball in its grasp. A rare Pokemon with a rare item? This was a rare moment of happiness, and I was grateful to receive my newfound friend.

“Welcome to the team,” I started, before stumbling on the pronunciation of its nickname. Frepo…? Freepk…? Frpkm…? Ah hell, its surname was “.net”, so I just settled on calling it Netty.

With Netty now by my side, I hastily shuffled the next Eevee off into the ether. Once again, I didn’t have to wait long, and once again, the bounty was more than I could have ever hoped for. This time, it was an enormous Skeledirge, the final form of Paldea’s fire starter, Fuecoco. Like Netty, it too was a shiny Pokemon, and it came brandishing an Ability Patch. My luck was finally turning around, now that I had… some strange letters with the suffix “.com” added to my roster.

One by one, the Eevees were jettisoned, and in turn, I would be the beneficiary of all these shiny Pokemon and their equally shiny items. A shiny Charmander here, a shiny Sunflora there. Each with unusual foreign names that ended with “.com”, “.net”, or something of that nature. I’d have to get used to it, because they were all too precious to treat with anything other than complete and utter reverence.

After a feverish session of no fewer than 50 Surprise Trades, I had an embarrassment of riches in my collection. Maybe now someone at Naranja would deign to sit next to me in class, hmm? There was only one way to find out. I summoned a Flying Taxi, beaming with excitement as I pictured the adulation I would receive once I returned to school — no longer just some middle-aged weirdo… at last, I was a middle-aged weirdo with shinies!

“Welcome to the Paldea International Taxi Service, a subdivision of Meta,” the cabbie said with a complete lack of enthusiasm. “Anything to declare?”

Anything to declare? Well, a lot to declare, in fact, including my newfound mastery of the Surprise Trade. Like any good magician or aspiring streaker, I figured it was better to show than to tell, so with a flourish I unveiled my swarth of wonderful traded Pokemon.

A strange look crossed the cabbie’s face, completely unlike the one I had been expecting. Oh no! Was he jealous? I hadn’t factored in the possibility that the common man would come to see me as some kind of elitist, but whatever emotion he was feeling, it most certainly was not jubilation.

After a few tense moments, he hurriedly pulled me into the taxi and took off. But it wasn’t in the direction of Naranja, or indeed even within the near vicinity of Paldea. Instead, I was absconded towards an unfamiliar destination in parts unknown. There, my Pokemon were wrested from my grasp and I was placed in handcuffs as I waited in a dimly lit room. It felt like hours until someone entered; in this case, a stern-looking man in a police officer’s uniform.

“We have reason to believe that you may be in possession of illegal fauna,” he snarled, leaning in so close I could smell the aroma of coffee and cigarettes on his breath. What the hell was he talking about? I didn’t even know what an illegal fauna was. Did he mean an illegal Swanna? Or had he caught wind of the cocaine I kept in my back pocket for good luck (and even better times)?

“I plead the fifth!” I begged, not familiar with its meaning but recalling its usage from an episode of Law & Order.

“We’ve got you dead to rights, son,” he continued. “With so many illicit Pokemon on your person, you must be the kingpin of Paldea. You’re going away for a long, long time…”

I was distraught. I was anguished. But most of all, I was a little confused.

“If this is a Paldean crime, then why didn’t you charge me in Paldea?” I asked sadly.

“Oh that?” he muttered. “Well, it’s simple. As a weird coincidence, there isn’t a single police officer in all of Paldea… So you can appreciate how difficult it’s been to manage this Surprise Trade smuggling ring.

“But enough questions, Large Marge. I guess this time you really should have thought twice about trying to catch ’em all…”

And that has roughly been my experience with the Surprise Trade functionality of Pokemon Scarlet & Violet on the Nintendo Switch, which is flooded with hacked trades from scurrilous websites trying to hawk their ill-gotten wares.

Please fix this, Game Freak, the games are already broken enough as it is. Sincerely, your friend Tony, aka ANTHONY, aka Large Marge, aka Smelly Pete, aka Dr. Catlove, aka Prisoner 24601.