The mansion's ballroom was everything Arata imagined it would be… and more.
The ceiling arched high overhead, painted with sprawling murals of winged Pokémon locked in battles and dances that seemed half-legend, half-history. Golden chandeliers hung down like clusters of captured stars, each crystal catching and refracting light until the whole hall shimmered. Polished marble stretched underfoot, cool and gleaming, while long tables lined the edges of the room, filled with arrangements of fruit, pastries, and wines he'd only ever heard of.
And the people.
The room thrummed with voices laughter, hushed discussions, polite greetings that sounded too rehearsed to be real. Men in tailored suits, women in dresses that seemed stitched from light itself. A constant murmur of power and money hung in the air, the kind of presence that made him suddenly aware of how he was holding his glass of water too tightly.
He adjusted his collar, trying not to fidget. The shirt and slacks fit perfectly not his usual style, but clearly cut and pressed by someone who knew what they were doing. Rin had offhandedly mentioned she'd arranged it through her family's butler, and the man had simply appeared with a set that somehow matched Arata's measurements exactly. He hadn't asked questions.
Still, no matter how well the clothes fit, he felt like an imposter. He wasn't one of them not a business mogul, not a politician, not the child of a dynasty. Just a fourteen-year-old from Vermillion with a duffle bag and too much awkward energy bottled in his chest.
He lingered near the edge of the room, pretending to admire the paintings. It was easier than trying to break into any of the conversations swirling around him.
And then he saw her.
Rin descended the staircase like she'd been born to it. Her dress was deep green, strapless, the fabric flowing smoothly to her ankles. Simple in design, but elegant, each line drawing the eye in ways that made her seem taller, sharper, more refined. The muted gold of her earrings caught the light, and her dark hair framed her face just enough to soften the edges of her serious expression.
For a moment, Arata forgot to breathe.
A sudden chime rang through the hall delicate, crystalline. The hum of conversation ebbed as waiters moved with practiced ease, refilling glasses along the tables. Arata glanced up to see an older man step into the open space near the staircase, his presence enough to command silence without a word.
Rin's grandfather.
His silver hair gleamed under the chandeliers, combed immaculately back. The lines on his face were deep, but they gave him gravitas rather than frailty. His tailored suit was dark, almost severe, softened only by the cane he held though Arata doubted he truly needed it. There was no mistaking it: he was the kind of man people listened to, the kind whose voice could turn a room.
He raised his glass, and the hall followed.
"Friends," he began, voice resonant and sure, "tonight is more than a gathering of peers. It is a celebration of lineage, of promise and of the future carried forward."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before his gaze sought Rin.
"My granddaughter, Rin," Arata noticed how the old man used her full name, as if trimming away any hint of familiarity "comes of age tonight. She steps not only into majority, but into the legacy of our family. A legacy of stewardship, of knowledge, of Saffron itself."
There were approving murmurs, glasses shifting in hands. Rin stood composed, though Arata caught the faint stiffness in her shoulders, the careful neutrality of her smile.
"Already she has been recognized," her grandfather continued, "accepted into Saffron University under the esteemed Professor Albrecht, one of the most brilliant minds in modern aura studies. A path worthy of her talents, and one which will shape the future of our people."
Arata blinked at the name. Even he'd heard of Albrecht in passing strict, almost reclusive, but spoken of with reverence among researchers. To study under him was no small honor.
"And more than a scholar, she is my heir," her grandfather concluded, lifting his glass higher. "To Rin. May her future shine brighter than even this hall tonight."
Glasses rose. Crystal chimed. A unified "To Rin" filled the air.
Arata's throat tightened as he raised his water, belated and awkward among the chorus of champagne.
Rin inclined her head in gratitude, the perfect image of composure, though Arata didn't miss the faint flush at her neck. She accepted the applause with grace, neither shrinking from it nor basking too much. When she finally lowered her gaze, it sought him again quieter now, like an anchor against the tide of attention.
As the clamor softened and the crowd drifted back into conversations, Rin slipped through the press of guests until she reached him.
"Quite the speech, wasn't it?" she murmured, her tone carefully even, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.
Arata gave a crooked half-smile. "Made it sound like you're about to run the League."
She exhaled through her nose, amused despite herself. "That's the point."
Before Arata could reply, a familiar voice chimed in from behind him.
"There you are!"
Mira wove through the crowd with a bounce in her step, skirts fluttering around her knees. Her dress a soft blue, ribbons tied neatly at the waist—looked almost whimsical compared to the sharp lines and rich fabrics around them. She didn't care. Her grin was wide and unapologetic, drawing eyes as surely as Rin's poise had earlier.
"You look so stiff," she teased, tapping Arata's arm with one finger. "Like you're about to get tested on silverware etiquette."
"I wouldn't pass," Arata muttered, though a faint smile tugged at his mouth.
Mira rolled her eyes, then glanced at Rin with mock severity. "You dragged him into this circus without warning him, didn't you?"
Rin's lips curved, just a touch. "He's surviving."
"Barely," Mira shot back, but her tone was affectionate. Then she leaned closer, voice dipping lower so only the two of them could hear. "Anyway, our escape's ready. Side hall. Five minutes."
Arata blinked. "Escape?"
Mira grinned wider. "Please. You didn't think I'd let us rot in here all night, did you?"
Rin shook her head, though the tiniest sigh slipped out. "Subtlety is wasted on you."
"Good thing you've got me, then," Mira quipped, linking her arm with Rin's before either could protest.
Five minutes later, the three of them slipped from the main ballroom into a quieter side corridor. The chatter and music dimmed behind them, replaced by the muffled hush of polished stone and tall windows spilling pale moonlight across the floor. Rin carried herself as if she'd done this countless times before, Mira half-skipping beside her, Arata trailing after with a strange mix of relief and guilt at leaving the glittering hall behind.
At the end of the corridor, a butler waited, posture perfectly straight, his silvered hair combed with precision. His name tag read: Mr. Harroway.
"Your car is prepared, Young Miss," he said, inclining his head toward Rin. Then, with the faintest hint of warmth softening his professional tone, he added, "And happy birthday. May it be one of many celebrated in your rightful place."
Rin's composure didn't falter, though a flicker passed through her eyes. She inclined her head politely. "Thank you, Harroway."
The butler gestured, and a sleek black car waited at the base of the steps, engine humming softly. The driver stood ready by the door, giving them a quiet nod.
Mira gave an exaggerated flourish, like she was presenting a stage. "Our getaway awaits !"
Arata only shook his head, but followed them down the steps, the cool night air washing away the last remnants of chandeliers and murmured power.