After lunch, Ron gave everyone a short break. Now, they lounged on the picnic blanket, digesting.
Pam gazed up at the dappled shade, eyes half-closed in contentment.
Whether from the satisfaction of labor or the beer's buzz, her mood was unshakably bright.
No complaints—even after such grueling work.
Shane felt it too. His usual guarded heart, so often closed off, now thrummed with something unfamiliar: This chaos… isn't so bad.
Gus regaled them with saloon tales—years of stories and gossip.
The humans listened politely, but Rattata and Froakie sat rapt like children, slapping the blanket when Gus paused for effect.
Ron glanced at Indeedee nearby. It sat serenely—already spoiled by Gus's psychic spoilers, he guessed.
After a while, Shane stood without prompting and returned to the fields.
Pam stretched and followed.
Gus watched, unsurprised by Shane's initiative—but Pam? The woman who'd once dodged housework now worked without being asked.
He brushed off his hands and joined Ron at the trellises. "Let me see how you're doing this first."
Ron nodded, slowing his pace to demonstrate Hops trellis assembly.
Gus—more accustomed to kitchen work than heavy labor—took several tries to grasp it. He fetched a trellis and started beside Shane.
"Like this," Shane muttered, adjusting Gus's frame before returning to his own row.
"Thanks," Gus grinned, hammering the post deeper. Sweat beaded on his brow—heavier build meant quicker exhaustion.
After minutes, he retreated to rest, panting.
---
Meanwhile, at the Stardrop Saloon…
Emily arrived under the blazing sun—only to find the door locked. A sign read:
"Helping at the farm—closed for the day."
"Farm?" Emily blinked. Peering through the glass, she saw Snorlax happily devouring food inside.
Of course. Summer planting season. Ron must've sown vast new crops—and promised cheap produce to the saloon. Gus's help made sense.
She hurried home, swapped her dress for shorts and a tank top, grabbed Squawkabilly, and headed to the farm.
From afar, she saw the frenzy:
– Rattata and Froakie watering, seeding, tilling
– Gengar darting through shadows, stuffing seeds into holes
– Gus struggling with trellises, face flushed
The other three worked at lightning speed.
Emily waved and sprinted over. "Afternoon! Is there anything I can help with?"
Ron wiped sweat from his brow with his elbow—still dripping.
Emily pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. "You've worked hard. The Saloon is closed today, so I thought I'd lend a hand." She smiled at Gus who looked over.
Ron hesitated—then agreed. "Thanks." He demonstrated trellis setup.
"Got it," Emily said. Spotting Fletchling dropping seeds mid-air, she turned to Squawkabilly. "You help too! Like that Pokémon!"
"Help~ Help~" Squawkabilly echoed, eyeing Fletchling.
Then—hostility.
"Help?! HELP?!" Squawkabilly screeched, puffing up.
Emily missed the challenge in its tone.
"Fletch-fletchling!" Fletchling chirped. It darted to a seed hole, planted quickly before Gengar could steal the spot, then faced Squawkabilly defiantly.
Just as they lunged—
Confusion!
Indeedee separated them, sending each flying in opposite directions.
"Indeedee! Indee!" it scolded. Fighting's pointless! Race to plant faster!
Instantly, both birds shot skyward, wings flapping as they competed to fill holes under Indeedee's watch.
Gengar froze, seed in mouth, staring at an empty hole. Its mischievous grin faltered.
"Indeedee?" Indeedee assigned it a new task.
Unaware his conflict had been defused, Ron kept assembling trellises.
Gus sighed, watching his lagging progress. Why's Pam working so hard? She'd only been here for a couple of days—surely she wasn't fitter than him, a saloon cook who cranked out dishes during rush hour everyday!
As Pam slammed another trellis post, her thoughts lingered on Emily's gentle handkerchief—and Ron's tired smile.
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