July 22, early morning. Clear skies; not a cloud in sight.
Lucas got up early, feeling refreshed to greet the new day.
Today was the soft launch of the farm's new milk subscription service.
For Lucas, the trust of the nine customers who chose to subscribe to Moomoo Fresh Milk without him leveraging his name had to be honored and carried forward.
At the ranch area—
After yesterday afternoon's high-intensity exercise, the Miltank were still groggy. Their eyelids drooped and yawns came one after another.
With Oranguru's help, the drowsy Miltank were led to a newly built room on the ranch's edge.
Inside was a refined rectangular machine made of the best food-grade materials, with five milking stations—just enough to milk five Miltank at once.
It was the automatic milker Lucas had custom-ordered from a manufacturer in Levincia City.
Thankfully, Lucas had already let the Miltank try it out beforehand, and they weren't bothered at all by the cup-like attachments.
If anything, despite their grogginess, they were a bit expectant.
With their nutrition intake, every morning they suffered engorgement.
If they knew how to operate the machine, they wouldn't even need Lucas—they'd relieve the pressure themselves.
As the machine hummed softly, Moomoo Fresh Milk was drawn out, funneled through clean tubing that was sanitized after every use, and collected in the machine's dust-proof cooled milk tank.
Finally, the bottling function filled the prepared glass bottles, sealed them, and stamped the date.
Technology really does free up labor.
If Lucas did all this manually, he'd have to get up at four or five in the morning at least.
Customers had ordered only forty bottles—about 750 ml each—so the rest stayed chilled in the machine's reservoir, awaiting use for dairy products.
Once the five Miltank were done, they let out a satisfied low and stepped aside.
Then the long-waiting Poliwrath and Politoed team, assisted by the machine's self-clean cycle, used Bubble Beam to wash everything down.
After cleaning, two Skiddo took their place at the milker. With the cups attached, a small batch of goat milk was collected the same way.
By the time Lucas and Oranguru brought the day's goods outside the milking room, a line of proud Corviknight waited under Dragonite's lead.
Yesterday, Lucas had asked through Third Scar for nine Corviknight, led by Dragonite, to deliver fresh Moomoo milk and goat milk to nine households across Los Platos Town.
Beside each Corviknight sat a black basket that matched their glossy armor.
The baskets were custom-fit to the bottles, with grooves to lock them in and prevent collisions and breakage in flight.
After Lucas loaded each Corviknight with the appropriate bottles for their destination, they gripped the stiff, special-material baskets and took off in order, flying toward their targets.
Their posture was like Corviknight carrying air taxis across Galar's skies.
It was already 6:40 a.m.
"Drago~"
Dragonite waved regretfully to Lucas in farewell. With a heavy task today, it couldn't indulge in their daily hug—only after the job was done.
As Dragonite's orange silhouette vanished into the horizon, Lucas placed a hand over his chest. He felt a rare flutter of nerves today.
But he believed his trained Dragonite and Corviknight, who had passed his tests, would complete this first delivery flawlessly.
High in the blue, Dragonite beat its small wings lightly, winds curling at its sides as if guarding a monarch.
Its gaze dropped below. Beyond the nine Corviknight flying in a V-formation, Dragonite's attention scanned the outskirts for a pink silhouette.
According to Lucas, Corviknight, as highly intelligent avians, were born for delivery and aerial transport.
Their steel talons could hold cargo steady—up to several hundred pounds over hundreds of kilometers.
Corviknight were also masters at memorizing routes—once they'd been somewhere, they almost never forgot.
But in Paldea, Corviknight taxis and delivery services never took off—because another evolutionary line occupied that niche:
Tinkatink, Tinkatuff, and Tinkaton.
Especially Tinkaton: from the ground, it could smash rocks skyward and nail Corviknight in midair.
Wild populations across Paldea made Corviknight unusable for taxis or delivery. That was the real reason.
Even at high altitude, Dragonite's eyesight rivaled any bird's. Today, its job was to check for that species' presence in the area around the town.
Lady Luck seemed kind today—no terrifying pink figures for Corviknight appeared nearby.
But Dragonite didn't dare relax.
Why? It vaguely remembered, during airborne naps, seeing pink hammer-wielders in forests or ruins.
When the nine Corviknight crossed into town and split off toward their destinations, Dragonite flapped, traced their lingering currents in the air, and, guided by the wind, followed the route of the one it worried about most.
…
Los Platos Town, 145 People's Road.
Unlike pigeonhole-like apartment blocks, the families here had lived in town for generations.
They'd bought land at the best rates and lived in a neighborhood of detached houses built under a former mayor's plan.
Naruto, 29, male, salaryman.
Like most ordinary people's growth track—or perhaps a blessing living up to his name—Naruto had a normal yet lucky, happy childhood.
After entering the workforce, he met his now-wife Hinata, fell in love, married, and inherited this detached house from his parents. With no mortgage pressure, they had their five-year-old daughter, Himawari.
But lately, his lucky buff seemed to have expired. His devoted stay-at-home wife developed resentment for reasons unknown. After his repeated prodding, she voiced her dissatisfaction.
Their five-year-old Himawari was smaller and slighter than other girls at school—looking underdeveloped. Teachers had visited several times, suspecting child neglect.
Hinata asked other moms and found some were paying big money to order the freshest Moomoo milk from the neighboring Mesagoza equivalent, shipped by cold chain.
They loudly touted the huge nutritional gap between truly fresh Moomoo milk and bottles that had sat for days.
Like the last straw on a camel, Hinata—already anxious—voiced vague complaints to her husband coming home from work.
Why could their family not even afford fresh Moomoo milk for their child's nutrition, buying only who-knows-how-old supermarket stock?
Hinata knew she was being unreasonable and burdening her hardworking husband; guilty, she wept and said she should get a job at a ranch on the outskirts to help.
Naruto fell silent—feeling powerless.
Himawari was growing; a bottle a day was essential. Supermarket Moomoo milk was about 500 League credits, but ordering from the next city with delivery would be at least 1000 per bottle.
Nearly double monthly expenses. For a one-income household, it was heavy pressure. He couldn't bear to send his wife—who ran the home and shuttled their child—to work as well.
Until a few days ago, on the way home, he met a familiar-looking young man handing out flyers with a white-haired primate Pokémon by his side.
Though he'd once dreamed of being a trainer, that dream had faded. His starter, a Fuecoco, had become his wife's kitchen helper.
Only in rare free time did he crack a beer and nostalgically watch old battle tapes of trainers' heated Pokémon matches.
He was sure he'd seen that young man somewhere, but work-fatigue rusted his brain after hours. He couldn't recall, just stood there.
By the time he came to, the young man was smiling, offering him a flyer.
Oddly, though the young man was doing what most would call gig work—handing out flyers—his smile was so dazzling it stung. Naruto took the flyer as if burned and fled.
That confidence—it was a sun too bright for the current him to face.
Back home, he realized he was still clutching the flyer. On a whim, he didn't toss it, but opened it to read.
The tagline made him pause in surprise.
It was an ad for a milk subscription: fresh, same-day-morning Moomoo milk delivered, at a price he could bear.
Maybe he wanted to roll the dice. He sent his address and order to the address on the flyer.
Time passed, and the appointment window arrived.
Naruto got up early for once. His wife and daughter still slept.
In the dark living room, he paced anxiously around the table, stepping lightly so as not to wake them.
At 6:55 a.m., right on time, came knocking at the door.
Naruto sprang like a drowning man to a lifeline, scrambled to the entry, and gently opened the door with an expectant smile. "Good morning—"
He looked at the visitor and froze.
He saw—an affable Dragonite and a valiant Corviknight with three claw marks across its chest!
In Dragonite's hands, the black basket held the two bottles of Moomoo milk he'd ordered!
One for his wife Hinata, who kept house and cared for their child; one for their growing daughter Himawari.
As a former would-be trainer turned salaryman, Naruto still recognized many Pokémon—besides the white-furred orangutan he'd seen with that young man.
Before him stood the epitome of power and rarity: the Dragon-type Dragonite—
And Corviknight, clad in black armor that flashed a soul-piercing gleam in the sun, perfectly hitting Naruto's buried aesthetic weak point.
Both were strong—and cool. They were exactly the kind of Pokémon he'd dreamed of as a young trainer.
Good lord—had the times left him behind?
People were using Dragonite and Corviknight—absolute studs in looks and power—to deliver Moomoo milk now?!