Back at the hotel suite, the cozy glow of the lamp-lit living room did little to distract Julian from the mental loop playing in his head. While his hands were busy pre-washing a handful of fresh mushrooms, his mind was still back at the Hearthome Gym training court.
The battle with Clara's Misdreavus had been a win on paper, but in Julian's eyes, it was a glaring red flag.
Growlithe's defense is currently a sieve when it comes to status moves, Julian thought, his brow furrowing as he set the mushrooms on a cutting board. Fire Spin is great for physical containment, and it worked against Togepi's Yawn because bubbles have mass. But Confuse Ray? That's just a wave of spectral light. You can't exactly 'block' light with a loose vortex of fire.
In a professional match, a trainer could simply recall their Pokémon to clear a confusion status. But Julian was thinking three steps ahead. He knew about Mean Look—that nasty Ghost-type move that locks a Pokémon in place, preventing any switching. If Growlithe got trapped and then hit with a status like Sleep, Confusion, or Paralysis, he would be a sitting duck.
Julian leaned against the counter, tapping his chin with the back of his knife. He mentally scrolled through Growlithe's potential move pool. Safeguard? No, he doesn't learn that naturally. Facade? Useful, but it requires him to take the hit first, and I'd rather avoid the damage altogether. What about a 'Coordinator' solution?
He'd spent the last hour simulating scenarios where Growlithe used Fire Spin to create a rotating "mirror" of heat to refract light-based moves. He'd even pitched the idea to Growlithe while they were walking home. The fire-dog had just stared at him blankly, tilted his head, and let out a sneeze that suggested the level of fine-motor control required was... well, let's just say it wasn't happening this week.
"Coordinator tricks are too delicate for him right now," Julian sighed, finally starting to mince the onions. "He's a brawler. He needs a solution that's as straightforward as he is."
After more deliberation, Julian finally reached a conclusion. He didn't need to teach Growlithe a complex defensive maneuver; he needed to integrate defense into his offense.
The next big hurdle was the Veilstone Gym. Maylene, the leader there, was a Fighting-type specialist. Unlike the tricky, ethereal Ghost-types of Hearthome, Fighting-types were usually direct. They didn't rely on "Confuse Rays"—they relied on fists, kicks, and raw physical pressure. If Growlithe could master a "brutal counter"—a move that protected him by destroying anything that touched him—he wouldn't just survive Veilstone; he'd dominate it.
With that tactical weight lifted off his shoulders, Julian's mood lightened. It was time for the most important part of the day: Dinner.
Growlithe had worked himself to the bone today. He'd fought nearly half a dozen battles and practiced his fire control until his throat was dry. He deserved something more than just standard kibble. He deserved a feast.
Julian pulled a large, marbled slab of pork belly from the refrigerator. "Tonight," Julian whispered to the empty kitchen, "we're going full 'Gourmet Hunter'."
The Recipe: Golden Potato-Stuffed Pork Roast
Julian started with the filling. He peeled a bag of premium Sinnoh gold potatoes, boiling them until they were soft enough to fall apart at the touch of a fork.
As the potatoes boiled, he sautéed a medley of wild mushrooms and the minced onions in a pan with a pat of herb butter. The kitchen began to fill with an earthy, savory aroma that made Julian's own stomach growl. He mashed the potatoes, whipping them with a splash of cream until they were velvety and golden, then folded in the mushroom and onion mixture.
Next came the meat. He laid the pork belly flat, seasoning it heavily with crushed black pepper, cloves, and sea salt. He spread the mashed potato mixture across the pork, rolled it into a tight cylinder, and tied it with butcher's twine.
"Now for the magic," Julian murmured. He rubbed the skin with a bit of oil and a secret blend of spicy dried peppers. He set the oven to a precise temperature—high enough to crisp the skin but low enough to render the fat into the potatoes.
As the meat hit the heat, the Maillard reaction began its work, turning the surface into a crispy, amber crust. The scent of roasting pork, aromatic cloves, and spicy peppers began to leak through the cracks of the oven door.
The Hungry Investigator
Outside the kitchen, Growlithe had been lounging on his cushion, his tail limp with exhaustion. But as the first wave of the meat's aroma hit his sensitive nose, his ears snapped upright.
Sniff. Sniff-sniff.
He stood up, his nose twitching rhythmically. This wasn't the smell of "Healthy Veggie Salad." This was the smell of Victory.
Growlithe trotted to the kitchen's sliding glass door. He stood up on his hind legs, pressing his front paws against the pane. His pink tongue lolled out, leaving a long, damp streak of drool across the glass. His eyes were wide, fixed on the oven like a laser.
Scratch. Scratch-scratch.
Inside, Julian was finishing the sauce—a reduction made from spicy eggplants, tart Oran Berries, and a splash of balsamic vinegar. He heard the sound of claws against glass and turned around.
"Pfft!" Julian nearly dropped his whisk.
Growlithe looked like a cartoon. His entire face was squashed against the glass, his cheeks flattened, and he was making a low, desperate whining sound. Two very clear, very damp paw prints were already marking the pristine glass.
"Growlithe! Get down! Dinner isn't served yet!" Julian called out, though he couldn't stop grinning.
"Woof... (Human... I can smell the soul of a Miltank in there... let me in...) ¯_(﹃)_/¯"
"I'm serious! You're getting drool on the floor!" Julian walked over, intending to shoo him away, but the look of pure, unadulterated longing in Growlithe's eyes was too much. "Okay, look. If you sit down and stay quiet for five minutes, I'll give you a 'chef's taster' piece. Deal?"
Growlithe's head moved so fast it became a blur of orange. "Woof-woof!!! (Yes! Deal! I am the most obedient dog in Sinnoh! Look at how still I am!)"
He sat down instantly, his back as straight as a soldier's, though his tail was still thumping the floor like a jackhammer.
The Tasting
Julian pulled the roast out of the oven. The crackling sound of the pork skin was like music. He took a sharp carving knife and sliced off a small, crispy corner where the fat had caramelized into a deep mahogany brown. He placed it on a small saucer and carried it out to the living room, squatting down in front of Growlithe.
"Careful, it's hot. Don't go burning your—"
Gulp.
Growlithe didn't wait for the warning. He inhaled the piece of meat in a single motion. For a second, he just stood there, his eyes bulging. Then, a look of absolute, celestial bliss washed over his face.
( ´ ω ` )
He closed his eyes, his ears drooping in relaxation. He looked like he was having a religious experience. The combination of the spicy, crispy skin, the melt-in-your-mouth fat, and the earthy, creamy potato filling was more than his entry-level brain could process.
"How is it?" Julian asked, resting his chin on his hands, watching his partner's reaction.
Growlithe didn't bark. He just let out a long, shaky breath, leaning his head against Julian's knee.
I will follow this man into the depths of Giratina's Realm if he keeps cooking like this, Growlithe thought.
The Diva's Entrance
"Fly? (What is that smell? Is someone burning a incense stick made of heaven?)"
A pink-and-white shadow drifted into the doorway. Sylveon, who had spent the entire afternoon napping on Julian's bed, had finally been summoned by the sheer gravitational pull of the aroma.
She trotted over, her ribbons waving elegantly behind her. She looked at the roast on the counter, then at Growlithe's blissed-out face.
"It's just some roast pork I made for Growlithe," Julian explained, standing up. "You don't like meat, remember? And it's loaded with spicy peppers. You'd hate it."
Sylveon leaned in, sniffing the air around the counter. Her ribbons touched the edge of the plate, then recoiled.
"Sylveon-fly! (Roasted meat... and spicy? Ugh. My delicate palate rejects this savory violence. I'll stick to my sour-sweet Poké Puffs, thank you very much.)"
She turned her nose up with a huff of aristocratic disdain. Sylveon was a connoisseur of the "Sweet and Sour" lifestyle. To her, spicy food was just an assault on the senses.
"Sylveon! (However! Just because I won't eat this doesn't mean I don't expect a dish of equal effort! If the fire-mutt gets a three-course roast, I expect a five-course dessert platter by tomorrow!)"
Julian laughed, reaching down to scratch Sylveon behind the ears. "Yes, yes, I hear you. I'll make you something special for the Grand Festival prep tomorrow. I promise."
"Woof! (More! More meat! The tiny piece has only awakened the beast within!)" Growlithe barked, having finally snapped out of his trance. He began circling Julian's legs, his tail wagging so hard he was practically drifting across the floor.