Bartholomew Buttonsworth, a mild-mannered accountant by day, believed himself to be a Pokémon trainer of unparalleled skill. His apartment, once a model of neat organization, was now a chaotic landscape of discarded tax forms repurposed as Poké Balls, half-eaten tuna sandwiches serving as "rare candies," and a collection of meticulously crafted cardboard Pokémon, each painstakingly labeled with nonsensical type combinations (e.g., "Psychic-Toast," "Fire-Velcro").

His descent into this fantastical delusion began subtly. A particularly stressful audit triggered a bizarre episode where he swore he'd battled a "Fiery-Spreadsheet" Pokémon, defeating it with a well-placed stapler. His colleagues, initially amused, grew concerned as his pronouncements became increasingly erratic. He'd shout "Gotta catch 'em all!" during board meetings, attempting to subdue his fellow accountants with a net fashioned from a discarded office chair.

His obsession intensified. He started wearing a Pikachu onesie to work, claiming it enhanced his "Pokémon-sensing abilities." He'd spend hours "training" his cardboard creations, engaging in elaborate battles with imaginary opponents, narrating the fights with dramatic flair. His apartment became a testament to his delusion, a shrine to his self-proclaimed mastery of the Pokémon world. Empty coffee cups formed a crater-like landscape, representing the "Mount Cinder" training grounds. His collection of rubber bands served as the "Master Ball," capable of capturing any Pokémon, even the elusive "Tax-Auditing" Pokémon.

The final straw came during a company picnic. Bartholomew, convinced a rogue "Spreadsheet-Salamander" was lurking in the potato salad, launched himself into the buffet table, scattering food and causing widespread chaos. He was subsequently hospitalized, his Pokémon-fueled delusion finally recognized as a serious mental health issue. The once-orderly Bartholomew Buttonsworth was gone, replaced by a man lost in a world of his own making. His colleagues, though saddened, could only shake their heads and whisper, "Bye bye, Bartholomew." The once-meticulous accountant was now a patient, his world reduced to the confines of a padded room, his imaginary Pokémon battles fading into the quiet hum of the hospital.