Orions point of view:
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the jet's windows, warm and golden against my face.
I stretched like a contented Purrloin, my back arching, my arms reaching toward the ceiling, a sleepy smile tugging at my lips. I felt refreshed. Ready. Like today was the start of something huge.
And thanks to Rin's emergency lessons last night, I was actually prepared.
By the end of our crash course, she had looked at me with wide, shimmering eyes, her mouth opening and closing like a Magikarp on dry land.
"You..." she had whispered, clutching her chest. "You absorbed everything. In hours. Most children take weeks to learn what you learned tonight."
I had blinked at her, not sure what to say.
She had grabbed my shoulders, her amber eyes blazing with intensity. "You are a prodigy, Young Master. A proper little prince. Mark my words—you will make your mother prouder than she ever dreamed possible."
Then she had hugged me again, and I had endured approximately three more minutes of suffocation before escaping back to my seat.
I sighed, staring up at the ceiling of the jet.
"I am never going to get used to any of this," I muttered to myself. "Not the jet. Not the maids. Not being called a 'proper little prince.' Not any of it."
"Good morning, baby."
I turned my head.
Mom was awake, her red hair a wild halo around her face, her purple eyes soft with sleep. She smiled at me—that warm, gentle smile that always made my chest feel too full.
"Did you sleep well?" she asked, her voice still a little husky from rest.
I grinned up at her. "Like a baby, Mama."
She giggled—that bright, musical sound—and reached over to ruffle my hair. "That's because you are still my little baby."
Her fingers tangled in my knots.
I felt it immediately. The tug. The snag. The unmistakable sensation of hair that had spent the night twisting itself into a thousand tiny disasters.
My expression dropped.
Mom must have seen the horror flash across my face because her hand stilled. She looked down at my hair. Then her eyes widened.
"Oh, darling," she breathed. "Your hair is a mess!"
I didn't need a mirror to know she was right. I could feel the tangles. The knots. The wild, chaotic nest that had somehow formed on my head while I slept.
Mom glanced at her Pokegear. "Well, it's a good thing we still have an hour before we arrive." She sat up straighter, her sleepy demeanor replaced by sudden efficiency. "Let's eat breakfast first. Then we'll tackle... that."
She gestured vaguely at my hair.
I nodded, still too horrified to speak.
Rin appeared moments later with a small tray—fresh fruit, warm pastries, a glass of milk so cold it had condensation beading on the glass. I ate carefully, deliberately, using every lesson Rin had drilled into me the night before.
Napkin in my lap. Small bites. Chew with my mouth closed. Sit up straight.
When I finished, I placed my fork neatly across my plate and dabbed my mouth with my napkin.
I looked up.
Rin was watching me from across the cabin, her hands clasped beneath her chin, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She looked like a proud mother watching her child win a beauty pageant.
Mom didn't notice though.
She was staring out the window, her fingers tapping against her thigh, her brow furrowed just slightly. Her breakfast sat half-eaten in front of her.
Nervous, I realized. She's nervous.
But why?
I mean, it's not like she ran away from home and abandoned her family for years and is only now returning with a secret child and a lifetime of complicated emotions to unpack.
...Right?
Eh. Whatever.
I pushed the thought aside and stretched again, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face. Everything was fine. Everything was going to be—
My instincts screamed at me.
RUN.
Every hair on my body stood up. My eyes darted around the cabin, searching for the threat, the danger, the reason my lizard brain was suddenly telling me to flee.
Then I saw them.
Mom was smiling.
Not her usual smile. Not the warm, soft, safe smile I knew.
This was different.
This was mischievous.
I looked to the left. Rin was smiling the same way.
I looked to the right. Sasha, Mira, Yuki—all of them. Even the copilot, who had apparently wandered in from the cockpit at some point, was leaning against the doorway with that exact same expression.
Six women.
Six mischievous smiles.
All aimed at me.
I took a step back, my heel hitting the leg of my seat. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. My mouth opened, but only a tiny squeak came out at first.
"M-Mama," I stammered, holding my hands up in surrender. "You are the best mom in the entire world. The greatest. The most wonderful. Please don't—whatever you're planning—please don't."
Mom's smile didn't waver.
If anything, it grew kinder.
And somehow, that made it so much worse.
To me, in that moment, she didn't look like my mother.
She looked like the devil, coming to claim my soul.
So in that moment I did what any sensible person would do...I ran for it.
My legs pumped beneath me, carrying me down the narrow cabin aisle as fast as my two-year-old body could manage. The jet's carpet was soft beneath my bare feet, but I didn't slow down. I couldn't slow down. Death was literally smiling at me from across the room.
The door loomed ahead.
Small, round window. Heavy handle. The words "COCKPIT - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" printed on a sleek silver plaque.
I slammed my palm against the door, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
"Please!" I shouted. "Please open up! She's trying to do something to my hair that I consider to be a crime against humanity! I need sanctuary!"
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the lock clicked.
The door creaked open slightly, revealing the pilot's face in the narrow gap—silver threaded through his hair, exhaustion lining his eyes, and a look filled with quiet, profound sympathy.
"Young Master," he said quietly. "I cannot help you."
My jaw dropped. "What?! Why not?!"
He glanced past me, toward the cabin where 8 women were undoubtedly advancing with brushes and combs and god knows what else. When he looked back at me, his eyes held the weight of a man who had seen things.
"Because," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, "she is your mother. And I have learned, over many years, that getting between a mother and her child's grooming time is a battle no man or pokemon can win."
"But—"
"Master," hee interrupted, and I swear I saw a tear glistening in his eye, "may Arceus help you."
He closed the door.
Click.
Clickclickclickclickclick.
I heard at least six separate locks engage on the other side.
I stared at the door.
Betrayed. By my own pilot.
"Traitor," I whispered.
Then I sighed—a long, defeated exhale that seemed to drain all the fight from my small body—and turned around.
Mom was waiting for me with a calm victorious smile.
"Is my little Litleo done running?" she asked, her voice dripping with honey and menace.
I trudged back toward her, my feet heavy as lead, my head hung in surrender.
"Yes, Mama."
"That's my Good boy."
Then the maids descended.
Their hands were on me before I could blink—lifting me, carrying me, settling me into a chair that definitely had not been there thirty seconds ago. Someone tied a cloth around my neck. Someone else produced a brush that looked suspiciously like a torture device.
I opened my mouth to protest but it was too late.
Mom's fingers sank into my hair.
The moment she touched my scalp, my body betrayed me. The tension in my shoulders melted. Any protest died on my lips. My eyes fluttered half-closed, and a purr escaped my throat—
The maids plus the copilot froze in place.
All seven of them froze in place, their hands suspended mid-reach, mouths slightly open, and eyes as wide as dinner plates.
Rin's jaw dropped first. "Did he just—"
"Purr," Sasha finished, her voice barely a whisper. "He purred. Like a—"
"Like a Litleo," Mom said proudly.
She was beaming. Actually beaming, like she had just won an award for Best Mother in the Entire World. Her free hand pressed against her chest, her purple eyes sparkling with maternal pride.
"He's been doing it since he was a baby," she continued, her voice warm with smug satisfaction. "The first time I scratched his head, he just... melted. Right in my arms. Purring like a little engine."
The maids stared at her.
Then they stared at me.
I wanted to die. I wanted Arceus himself to descend from the heavens and strike me down where I sat.
But Mom kept brushing my hair without any remorse.
And I just kept purring.
"This is the most adorable thing I have ever witnessed," Mira whispered, her hands clasped under her chin. "In my entire life."
"I'm going to cry," Yuki said, already reaching for a tissue. "I'm actually going to cry."
Mom chuckled, her fingers working through a particularly stubborn knot. The tug sent another wave of bliss through my scalp, and my purr deepened despite my best efforts to stop it.
"See?" Mom said, glancing around at the gathered maids. "This is what I've been dealing with for two years. He acts all dignified and serious, but the moment you touch his hair?" She grinned. "He melts and becomes my little litleo."
"Mama," I managed, my voice thick with embarrassment. "Please. My dignity."
"What dignity darling?"
I groaned. It came out half purr, half whine.
The maids cooed at my suffering.
Mom finished detangling my hair after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all. Her fingers left my scalp, and I immediately missed the warmth, the pressure, the mind-numbing pleasure of being groomed like a prized Persian.
But before I could mourn the loss—
"Alright, girls," Mom announced, stepping back. "He's all yours."
My eyes snapped open.
"Wait—"
Hands descended from every direction. I was lifted out of the chair, carried across the cabin, and deposited in front of a door I hadn't noticed before. A bathroom. A fully stocked, ridiculously luxurious bathroom with marble floors and a tub big enough for three adults.
"No," I said. "No, no, no—"
Sasha turned on the water.
Mira tested the temperature with her hand.
And Rin started unbuttoning my shirt.
"I CAN DO THIS BY MYSELF!"
They ignored me of course.
The next hour was a blur of embarrassment and surprisingly pleasant smells. Water cascaded over my head. Shampoo—multiple kinds, I lost count after four—was massaged into my scalp by at least three different sets of hands. Conditioner followed, then something that smelled like flowers, then something else that smelled like even more flowers.
They scrubbed my arms. My legs. My back. Every inch of me was washed, rinsed, and washed all over again, until my skin felt softer than it had any right to feel.
I kept my eyes squeezed shut the entire time.
Not because soap got in them—though that happened twice—but because if I couldn't see them, I could pretend this wasn't happening.
When they finally pulled me out of the tub, wrapped me in a towel, and carried me back to the main cabin, I smelled like a field of roses.
Specifically, my hair smelled like roses.
"It's a good smell," I admitted begrudgingly, pulling a strand of my now-fluffy hair in front of my nose. "I smell like a garden."
"A very expensive garden," Rin corrected, her eyes sparkling.
Mom was waiting for me with something draped over her arm.
Mom was waiting for me with something draped over her arm.
A suit.
Black. Crisp. The kind of suit that whispered money in a language I was still pretending not to understand. The fabric looked soft but held its shape like it had been trained to stand at attention. And there, on the left pectoral area, just above where my heart would be, was an insignia.
I recognized it immediately.
It was the same design as my necklace—the Pyroar head, its mane spreading outward in layered, petal-like shapes that seemed to shift between flames and flowers depending on the light. The silver crest gleamed against the black fabric, the lion's expression regal and commanding.
Mom noticed me staring and smiled.
"That's our family's insignia, my cub," she said softly, her fingers brushing the embroidered emblem. "The Pyroar line has been our family's Pokémon for generations. They represent strength, loyalty, and pride. And now..." She cupped my cheek, her purple eyes warm. "They represent you too."
I reached out and touched the insignia. The stitching was smooth beneath my fingertips, precise, each curve of the mane rendered with care.
"I love it, Mama," I said, meaning it. "I love the suit."
Her face lit up. Behind her, the maids exchanged glances of pure, unfiltered joy, their hands clasped, their eyes suspiciously bright.
"Then let's put it on you, Young Master," Rin said, already reaching for the buttons.
I didn't fight them this time.
They dressed me with careful hands and softer touches, smoothing the fabric over my shoulders, adjusting the cuffs, making sure every seam sat exactly where it should. The suit wasn't stiff or uncomfortable—it moved with me, like it had been made for my body and no one else's.
When they finished, I looked at myself in the mirror.
And I could nearly recognize myself, heck I looked like a prince.
The suit fit perfectly. The black fabric contrasted with my hair—those wild waves of black and purple that refused to be tamed. But today, they would be.
"I'm not done with you yet, Young Master," Sasha said, appearing behind me with a comb.
She worked quickly, her fingers sure and practiced. She parted my hair with precision, sweeping it back from my face, creating volume at the front, letting the rest fall in soft, controlled waves.
When she finished, I barely recognized myself.
I smiled a little as I caught my reflection. My hair had been styled in long, layered waves that flowed neatly down my back, with the front swept away from my forehead and parted just enough for a few loose strands to frame my face. The overall shape reminded me of Apollo from Record of Ragnarok—soft, elegant, and almost effortlessly perfect in that annoyingly beautiful anime-character way. Even the slightly messy parts looked intentional, like every strand had been carefully arranged to create that balance between refined and natural.
It looked elegant. Deliberate. Like I had actually put effort into my appearance instead of just letting it do whatever it wanted.
(Image here)
I turned my head left, then right.
"I love it," I said, and watched their faces bloom with happiness.
The truth was, I loved it more than I let show. This hairstyle this exact look—was going to be my go-to for civilized occasions. No more wild tangles. No more looking like I'd wrestled a Pikachu and lost. From now on, when I needed to be presentable, this was the look.
I kept that thought to myself.
Then the intercom crackled.
"Hey, Mira, I need you up here." The pilot's voice was calm, professional. "We're about to land in twenty, and I need my copilot."
Then Mira , sighed so dramatically I thought she might collapse.
"But the cub," she whined, her lower lip jutting out. "He just got all cleaned up and pretty. I haven't even had a chance to properly admire—"
"Mira."
"Fine!" She threw her hands up, stomping toward the cockpit with the energy of a child being called inside for dinner. But she paused at the door, turned, and marched back.
Before I could react, she crouched down and wrapped her arms around me, squeezing tight.
"You look perfect, Young Master," she whispered against my hair. "Absolutely perfect."
Then she was gone, the cockpit door clicking shut behind her.
The remaining maids turned to Mom.
Rin raised an eyebrow. "Mistress Yua. It's time."
Mom nodded, her expression shifting. Something flickered in her eyes—nerves, maybe, or anticipation—but she masked it quickly.
"Watch him for me?" she asked.
"Of course mistress," Sasha replied.
Mom disappeared into one of the private rooms at the back of the cabin. The maids formed a loose semicircle around me, not quite hovering, but definitely watching. I stood there in my perfect suit with my perfect hair, feeling like a doll on display.
Rin knelt down and straightened my collar unnecessarily. "You're going to make quite the impression, Young Master."
I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a warning.
The private room door opened and Mom stepped out.
She was wearing a red dress—deep, rich, the color of embers in a dying fire. It wasn't flashy or overdone, but it commanded attention anyway. The fabric draped over her shoulders and fell in soft folds, and there, on the strap, was our family's insignia. The same silver Pyroar crest. The same proud, vigilant face.
She'd even put on makeup. It was Light, and subtle, but enough to make her purple eyes seem brighter, and her cheekbones sharper.
She looked like a queen about to address her court.
"You look beautiful, Mama," I said.
Her composure cracked. Just slightly. Her eyes went glossy, and she pressed a hand to her chest.
"Thank you, my cub," she whispered.
Then the intercom crackled again. The pilot's voice filled the cabin.
"We are beginning our descent. Please take your seats and fasten your safety belts. We will be landing shortly."
Mom crossed the cabin in three quick strides and settled into the seat beside me. Her hand found mine immediately—warm, steady, squeezing gently.
The maids buckled themselves in across from us, their earlier playfulness replaced by something quieter. More serious.
The plane tilted.
My stomach floated for just a moment, then settled as we began our slow descent toward the ground.
Outside the window, clouds rushed past. Then green appeared—fields, forests, a line of mountains in the distance. And somewhere down there, hidden among the trees and the hills, was my family and my next adventure.