The group was enjoying a quiet breakfast in the dining hall, chatting casually, when the sudden clamor from outside the mansion froze the atmosphere. Forks and chopsticks paused midair, and everyone glanced curiously toward the entrance.
"What's going on out there?"
Professor Oak set down his bowl and chopsticks, sipping his matcha tea before asking.
"My apologies—it seems some outsider has forced their way into the courtyard. I'll go see what's happening. Please, everyone, continue eating."
Erika, dressed in a bright orange furisode kimono, frowned delicately. She rose with quiet grace, offering a polite bow of apology before moving to slip on her tabi socks and head toward the garden.
"Wait, Erika."
Logan's voice stopped her. She turned, pausing mid-step, wooden clogs in hand.
"I thought I heard my name in that shouting just now. I'll come with you to take a look."
Logan draped his Champion's robe over his shoulders, his tone calm but steady.
"…Very well. Then let's go together, Logan."
A soft smile touched Erika's elegant features. She was already imagining—once this matter was resolved—asking Logan to stroll with her through the courtyard's landscaped paths. Designed by a master, the gardens were serene and picturesque, perfect for a quiet walk together.
But before the thought could settle, her expression soured.
"Big brother! I'm done eating too—I'll come with you!"
Yellow had shoveled down the last of her breakfast, leaping up eagerly.
"If you want to come, then come," Logan said warmly. "But don't run around too much after eating, or you'll upset your stomach."
"I won't run!" Yellow beamed, trailing after him with quick little steps.
Erika sighed inwardly. Though she felt a twinge of annoyance, she couldn't possibly vent it on the innocent little girl. And so, with Logan and Yellow at her side, she walked toward the commotion.
Behind them, Planteena quietly set down her utensils, her long lashes lowering as she stole a glance at the trio's backs. Her expression shifted—something like yearning, but clouded with hesitation.
"If you wish to go, Planteena, then you should," said a calm, steady voice.
Planteena's head snapped up, startled. It was Cynthia, smiling faintly, her gaze warm and encouraging.
"I—" Planteena's lips tightened, ready to brush it off coldly. But under Cynthia's eyes—piercing, almost able to see through hearts—her stubborn mask wavered. She looked away, suddenly flustered.
"Do what your heart tells you," Cynthia advised gently. "Don't reject it before you even understand why."
Planteena's expression flickered. Finally, she muttered in feigned indifference, "…I'm not interested. But… I suppose I'll take a look."
Her head ducked, as though ashamed of showing softness. She rose quickly, striding out with stiff determination, as if afraid of being mocked.
"My apologies," her father, Lord Berlitz, said once she'd gone, bowing slightly. "Her stubbornness is my fault. I've failed to guide her properly."
Her mother looked equally troubled.
"She's just a child who hasn't yet experienced the world," Professor Oak soothed. "Time will temper her. Once she's traveled more, seen more, she'll grow."
"…I hope so." Berlitz gave a faint, resigned smile. "When she turns fifteen, our family tradition will demand she ascend Mt. Coronet to forge our crest—her rite as the Berlitz heir. I pray she'll have matured enough by then."
Meanwhile, outside, Logan heard the patter of hurried footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw Planteena catching up, slowing from a jog to a measured walk, now trailing them silently.
Logan chuckled lightly. "Didn't I just say? Don't run right after eating. I warned Yellow already, and that goes for you too, young lady."
"I wasn't running," Planteena replied flatly, face utterly blank.
Her demeanor wasn't cold so much as it was rigid, like porcelain set to uphold the perfect image of a noble heiress. She denied mistakes instinctively, never allowing even a crack in her façade.
"Hah. You're a stubborn one, aren't you?" Logan teased. "Don't chain yourself too tightly to your title, Planteena. Whatever life you've had, I'll tell you this—book knowledge and lived experience aren't the same. Theory doesn't always survive contact with reality."
Logan had handled even Caitlin's volatile moods with ease. Compared to that, Planteena's proud-yet-earnest airs were almost endearing.
As he studied her, Logan took note of her appearance: a delicate lace dress, shoulders veiled in sheer fabric, long dark-blue hair cascading smoothly with twin pink barrettes gleaming at her temples. Though close in age to Yellow, her aura was markedly different—poised, mature, almost scholarly.
And her eyes—those luminous orbs of gold and silver, shimmering with ethereal brilliance—were breathtaking. A doll-like beauty, born of nobility, destined to be a glittering jewel among the world's high society.
"…You're right," Planteena conceded quietly. "Theory is not practice. I'll learn to distinguish the two myself."
But her voice carried a note of stubborn defiance, unwilling to wholly surrender.
Logan only shook his head, smiling. A proud, prickly young lady who wasn't overbearing… it was oddly charming.
By then, they had reached the source of the commotion.
A small girl was struggling to force her way into the courtyard, but her path was firmly blocked by towering security guards. Their faces were strained—not out of fear of the girl, but of the Pokémon at her side, which bristled with hostility.
The guards were ordinary men, not trainers. Against a trained Pokémon, even the strongest human body stood no chance.
"Step aside."
Erika's command rang clear.
Relieved, the guards quickly withdrew, bowing deeply. "Our apologies, Lady Erika. Such a trivial disturbance should never have required your attention."
"You've done well," Erika replied kindly. "She is a trainer, and her Pokémon was issuing a threat. You still held your ground—that alone speaks for your diligence. I recognize your effort."
The men's hearts swelled with gratitude. Lady Erika's understanding only deepened their loyalty.
As the guards retreated, Logan stepped forward, his sharp eyes on the girl.
"…So, you're the one looking for me?"
"You're Logan?" the girl asked, eyes wide, excitement lacing her voice.
Logan smirked. "Didn't even know what I looked like, yet you came barging in here? You've got guts, kid… Little dark-skinned brat."
His words dripped with mischief, deliberately provoking.
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