The Paldea Saga: Treasures and Trials

by Pocketbook

Tired of the burden of fame, Ash Ketchum, Monarch of the World, decides to disappear into a whole new adventure in the far-away land of Paldea. Eager to participate in the region's famous "Treasure Hunt," Ash must first attend Scarlet Academy and its rigorous Battle School, where he'll meet trials a plenty alongside new friends and rivals...and old flames. SatoSere.

10. Chapter 10: It Begins

Few notes:

- I imagine Serena's showcase as a more traditional "anipoke" feel: upbeat, electronic music, etc. I personally listened to "Fading" by Vallis Alps to envision her first number. Later performances will feature "fuegodanza"/flamenco elements.
- While the theater's name "The Teatro Real" is based off of the theater in Madrid, I chose to intentionally describe it more as the Palais Garnier in Paris.
- This chapter is not short

Chapter Amended: 2/19/24

-Okay, so maybe a semi-major amendment…but not really. Conversation between Ash and Serena at the end was made a little longer in order to include room for some more introspections. Also, the ribbon was mentioned—I meant to mention it in the original conversation, but this was a chapter I wrote in haste and therefore forgot. The ribbon will be mentioned again when they have their first date, but I had wanted it to be brought up here.

Chapter Amended again: 4/09/24

-Changes made to remain in keeping with Geeta's character

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Chapter 10: It Begins

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Gary was way out of his element. He knew that. But he also knew that he was already having a pretty damn good time.

He had stepped into the grand plaza, the likes of which he had seldom seen. Before him, The Mesagoza Theater, which the locals affectionately called The Teatro Real, stretched upwards, a colossus of art and history intertwined in stone and gold. The exterior was a marvel of architectural splendor, reminiscent of the opulent castles he'd seen in Kalos, with its richly ornamented façade gleaming against the velvet night. Statues clad in gold leaf stood as silent sentinels on the rooftop, their figures captured mid-motion as if frozen by some divine hand.

The entrance was flanked by colossal pillars, leading to arched windows and balconies draped with intricate ironwork. Gary's eyes had trailed the lavish details, following the curves and contours of the stonework that spoke of an era that valued the grandiose.

Swept along by the night, Gary had soon found himself within the famed Aguda Del Pasado. The interior beckoned back to an elegance of a bygone era, now repurposed for modern luxury. Under the soft glow of chandeliers, the room was a dance of light and shadow upon the polished marble floors, adorned with a mosaic that laid out a tapestry of colors in complex, swirling patterns.

Elegant tables dotted the space, each one laid out with an array of food that filled the air with inviting aromas, and glasses that caught the light with their contents of sparkling wine, fine liquors, and beer. It was in this setting that Gary found himself amidst the distinguished company of Paldea's most esteemed dignitaries.

The men wore suits that seemed to be crafted from the very shadows of the salon, deep and rich in color, with ties that added a splash of brighter hues. Their jackets were tailored to perfection, each crease and cut a statement of their stature. The women were draped in fabrics that cascaded around them, gowns that shimmered with subtle patterns, adorned with lace and jewels that caught the eye with every delicate movement they made.

They were a tableau of sophistication, their conversations a gentle hum beneath the music that filled the air, each word exchanged as carefully as the placement of a chess piece. Gary, feeling a world away from his usual haunts, couldn't help but be swept up in the atmosphere, his heart beating to the rhythm of this new, exhilarating world as the anticipation for the Grand Showcase grew with every passing moment.

He'd been invited by García to this "pregame" of sorts—at least that's what Gary referred to it when he spoke with Larry. This gathering, however, was far from the casual get-togethers he knew; it was a congregation of the crème de la crème, a soiree where the elite of Paldea mingled over clinking glasses and gourmet bites. Gossip-laced whispers and spirited conversations filled the air, as did the clatter of fine cutlery against porcelain plates. The scent of bread and saffron and delicately fried foods mingled with the heady aroma of aged spirits.

Even from afar, Larry had made sure Gary wasn't out of place in this mosaic of high society. The Medali gym leader had a suit sent to Gary — not just any suit, but one that murmured luxury in every thread. The fabric, a deep midnight blue that seemed to drink in the salon's soft lighting, fit him like a second skin. He initially resisted the confines of the stiff jacket and pants, but as he caught his reflection — a dashing figure who belonged in this sphere of affluence — he decided that could certainly get used to the fine clothes and the amazing good food.

"The governor of the East Province, Joaquín de Levincia, " A whisper sliced through the hum of conversations, snagging Gary's focus and directing it toward a portly man engaged in animated dialogue with Santiago Márquez. Joaquín held court amidst the revelry, a lit cigarette poised between his thick fingers as he punctuated his words with a smoky flourish.

Suddenly, the room's grand entrance claimed Gary's attention as Eduardo Navarro made a commanding entrance. He cut a striking figure in an impeccable blue suit that seemed to capture the very essence of the evening sky. Every stitch spoke of meticulous care, and the fabric draped his frame with the kind of precision that only a master tailor could achieve. At Navarro's arm, a woman of stately presence accompanied him, her dress a masterpiece of subtlety and grace. Though her constitution did not boast the robust angles of traditional beauty, her attire left no doubt of her elegance; the gown hugged her almost too slender frame, almost overwhelming her delicate form.

"Navarro, of course," the whisper continued, the voice low and succinct, "with his apprentice Brutus of Galar, and naturally his advisor Hamber."

A tall, silver-haired youth strode in step with Navarro, his presence like a beacon. His hair, a waterfall of metallic strands, caught the light with every step, and his eyes scanned the room with a forced confidence. Beside him, an older gentleman seemed to blend into the grandeur of the scene, his attire reflecting a choice to step back rather than stand out. His suit, while finely made, was less ostentatious, adorned with only a few, discreet medals that suggested a quiet accumulation of honors.

On the periphery of this entourage, another figure drew Gary's scrutiny—a young, pale man whose appearance struck a dissonant chord in the symphony of the grandiose setting. There was something about him that commanded attention, perhaps the pallor of his skin or the intensity of his violet gaze, which seemed to take in more than the visible splendor of their surroundings. There seemed a distinct chill to him.

"And the guy with Hamber?" Gary's gaze fixed on the pale young man, his complexion a stark canvas—a specter.

"I don't think I know him, actually," the source of the whispers—Gary's date for the evening—admitted.

Gary looked towards the young woman at his side. She bit her lip, drawing a glass of champagne between her delicate long fingers close to her cheek while also observing the pale, black-clad figure beside Hamber.

"Her name's Carmen—she works with a friend of mine," Larry had explained over the phone, waving off Gary's initial unease at the idea of using a girl to get into the 'political clown show,' as he thought of it. But the businessman had not been bothered. "All of the models that work for her are more than capable of holding their own. Hell, Tulip's a cut-throat business woman herself, so I wouldn't be surprised if whoever she sends has their own agenda."

Carmen walked alongside Gary, her free arm folded casually into his as she keenly observed the scene. Her dark hair cascaded in gentle waves, framing a face that was both strong and refined. Her eyes, a deep brown, were alight with a quiet confidence, and her posture spoke of a woman who navigated the world on her own terms. Carmen's striking red dress clung to her effortlessly, the fabric shimmering with each movement as if it were woven from fragments of rubies. A plunging neckline emphasized her toned figure, while a delicate necklace with a pendant lay gracefully against her collarbone, catching the light with a subtle glint.

Suddenly, Carmen whipped out her phone and pulled Gary into the frame for a selfie. The aim was clear—to ensnare the peculiar pale man haunting the background with their candid shot. Gary's expression, caught mid-protest, was far from photogenic—his mouth agape, eyes pinched in a silent rebuke. He watched, bemused and slightly annoyed, as Carmen expertly tapped her screen, dispatching the photo to an unseen recipient with an efficiency that betrayed her experience in such covert exchanges.

"You'd definitely make a horrible model," she quipped, pocketing her phone with a sly grin.

"I wasn't ready," Gary grumbled defensively, his voice lost in the gulp of his beer.

It was then that the salon's atmosphere shifted subtly, as if a shadow had passed over the sun. A cold, statuesque woman made her entrance, her presence slicing through the throng with the sharpness of a scythe. She was adorned in a dress that seemed to absorb the light around her, its black fabric a stark contrast to the gleaming marble in the room. Her hair, dark as the void between stars, flowed over her shoulders with the grace of a raven's wing.

"And that is…?" Gary's curiosity piqued as a shiver danced down his spine.

Carmen's gaze followed the line of his question, her eyes landing on the newcomer with a mixture of amusement and disdain. "That's Geeta, La Primera . The current Paldean champion, league chairwoman, and a real piece of work," she scoffed, her voice carrying a note of shared contempt. "Tulip can't stand her—says she cramps her style, which is quite obvious. I don't think Geeta grasps the concept that black is so last year."

"But isn't your boss a gym leader or something? Doesn't that mean she works for Geeta?" Gary probed, arching an eyebrow in a silent challenge to Carmen's indifference.

With a theatrical sigh, Carmen produced a cigarette, her fingers dancing with practiced grace as she lit it from a tea light's unsteady flame as they now stood around a cocktail table. "It's not illegal to hate your boss, you know?" Smoke curled from her lips, her nonchalance soon becoming a fragrance.

Gary watched Geeta pose for photographs with various politícos. Behind her was Clavell—Gary recognized the director of Scarlet Academy immediately, having seen pictures of him during some research he had done after hearing his name in conversations with Ash.

Soon enough, Geeta, with the poise of a queen and the assertiveness of a conqueror, moved with the inevitability of nightfall, approaching Navarro and his cohort with eerie movements that made her look like she was floating . Gary's lips twisted into a wince as he detected the subtle retreat in the posture of the men; Geeta was a force of nature they were ill-equipped to withstand.

His gaze landed on Diego García, now threading his way into the group—a signal for Gary to make his move. With a gesture of invitation, he extended his arm again to Carmen, his head tilting toward the gathering titans..

"I've come to offer my congratulations to you, Navarro," Greeta was saying as Gary and Carmen ambled quietly into the scene. The researcher shivered at the sound of her voice—aloof yet cool like stone. The overall impression this woman lent was that of being from another planet.

Navarro gave Geeta a measured look, his eyes tracing her form with a caution that seemed to border on suspicion. He made a half-turn towards her, his body language a study in polite evasion. His gaze flicked toward the photographers lurking at the edges of the scene, a glimmer of paranoia flickering behind his eyes as he pretended to be absorbed in his drink, feigning a detachment that was betrayed by the tightness in his jaw.

"I can't imagine what for," Navarro's voice barely rose above a murmur, the words dripping with feigned ignorance and a veneer of indifference. Then, with a mild deferential nod, the CEO looked around her to the Academy director, who had materialized in her shadow. "Clavell."

Clavell nodded stiffly at the recognition.

Undeterred by Navarro's reception, Geeta smiled a very peculiar smile. "For having somehow been given the privilege to host the Midsummer's Gala at the end of the month, of course," she retorted, her voice rich with challenge. Her smile was as sharp as it was wild, revealing a hint of the predator beneath the polished exterior. "Remarkable, really, seeing as the event has always been held traditionally at the governor's mansion. The strings of power certainly seem to be shifting hands," she mused aloud, her words laced with a pointed observation that hung in the air like a veiled threat. "A bit premature, don't you think?"

From behind her, Clavell appeared stricken. His face white as a sheet, though he remained utterly silent.

Navarro, however, met the moment with a smirk, his voice weaving dark humor with a tinge of nervous energy. "Yes, I suppose they are," he acknowledged. "I suppose that means I can invite and disinvite whomever I wish, no? Remind me, does the Elite Four usually get invited to such affairs? Despite their trivial involvement in political matters..."

At his side, García's chortle punctuated the tension, while Joaquín's expression flickered to one of alarm, a crack in the mask of high-society decorum.

Yet Geeta's mask of eldritch calm remained unshaken, her retort cutting through the air with the sharpness of a blade. "Power belongs to those who can actually control it, Navarro. Not to those who pretend to."

Joaquín de Levincia nearly sputtered on his drink, while García rolled his eyes. Santiago Márquez had somehow vanished from the scene.

Navarro's response came deliberately, each word measured and released with a careful slowness intended to mask something beneath. "Then I suppose time will tell in regards to who is really in control," he said, attempting to project a threat but only managing something hollow.

Gary noticed the play of emotions across Navarro's features, the CEO's eyes darting past Geeta, drawn to something—or someone—else. His gaze trailed Navarro's, landing on Hamber and the pale, enigmatic figure they had previously observed. The connection between the veiled power plays at play and the quiet observer in the background crystallized in that moment, suggesting a web of intrigue far more complex than the surface interactions betrayed.

"I suppose so," Geeta sighed, and her eyes glazed over with some portentous vision. She then moved on, as if Navarro had suddenly become an uninteresting ghost to her. She had left her message, leaving a ripple of disquiet in her wake. Clavell was quick to step behind her, his departure marked by a courteous but terse bow to the CEO.

Diego García attempted to wield laughter as a shield, his chuckles forced and hollow as he tried to diffuse the tension that clung to the air. His eyes, however, betrayed his unease as they followed Geeta with a glint of disdain. "Well, she certainly grows more charming each year," he quipped, his words dripping as he took a defiant sip of his amber cocktail. "Perhaps we can see about a replacement soon."

Meanwhile, Joaquín's discomfort was palpable, his handkerchief mopping at his forehead with the urgency of a man trying to erase the stress of the moment. "But one would have to dethrone her. Not even a collective vote by the governors could just strip her of her title. It would need to be done properly in a battle."

The mayor of Mesagoza responded with a dismissive snort. He remained silent, locking eyes with Navarro in a quiet exchange.

"Well, when does the real show begin?" inquired the woman at Navarro's side with a voice that wavered like a delicate leaf in the breeze. Gary noticed her — Navarro's wife, he presumed — and her smile, soft and slightly nervous, as if the undercurrents of the evening had frayed her composure. "All this excitement does nothing for my health."

Brutus, his complexion a sheet of white that matched the governor's uneasy pallor, interceded with the timely intervention of a caregiver. He materialized at the woman's side, presenting her with a glass of water as smoothly as a magician conjuring a rabbit from a hat. The glass, gleaned from a passing waiter's tray, offered a brief respite.

Navarro, meanwhile, regarded his wife with a detachment that bordered on coldness. His face, shadowed by stubble, twisted in a grimace that seemed out of place in the opulent surroundings. With a curt motion, he released himself from her delicate hold. "Mi amor, why don't you go and sit with Brutus at our box." The command, veiled thinly as a suggestion, allowed for no argument.

Her response came with the funereal deference, her head dipping in a gentle nod. She accepted Brutus' offered arm with the quiet surrender of someone accustomed to retreating from the spotlight. Together, they departed, her figure a whisper of silk and sorrow fading into the evening air.

García's eyes snagged on Gary, his gaze drifting to the researcher's date, and a pleased smile spread across his features. "Ah! Mr. Pryce. What a lovely escort. You must be a man of many talents," he remarked, his eyes gleaming with a less-than-subtle interest as he appraised Carmen, taking in her appearance with a boldness that crossed boundaries.

Carmen, undeterred by the mayor's brazen scrutiny, exhaled a plume of cigarette smoke and let a tantalizing smile curl her red lips. Her eyes, though dark and inviting, sparked with a fiery defiance that Gary recognized as a warrior's spirit veiled behind velvet. "Mr. Pryce doesn't mind sharing," she declared, her voice a silken challenge as she took another calculated drag of her cigarette. "That is, if you don't."

Gary, his discomfort mounting like a tide against a shore, managed to hold his composure. He nodded subtly towards the path Geeta had taken, seizing the opportunity to shift the conversation. "She can be easily defeated in battle, you know," he interjected with a calculated smirk, "anyone can. With the right Pokémon."

The implication caught García's fancy, a chuckle escaping him as a spark of intrigue lit up his expression. Even Navarro, previously ensnared in his own thoughts, found his attention lured by Gary's words, his gray eyes slicing through the air to pin the researcher in place.

"Have we been introduced?" Navarro inquired, his voice a smooth baritone, hinting at layers of unsaid questions as he regarded García.

The mayor, relishing the moment, summoned a waiter with a casual gesture for a refill of his drink. "Eduardo, this is Gary. He is a tradesman of… delicate goods," he hinted, his eyes flickering with the thrill of clandestine knowledge.

Navarro's amusement didn't quite reach his eyes as he processed the veiled words, but he acknowledged Gary and Carmen with a nod that was as sharp as a diplomat's handshake. "Are you a hunter?" he asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

Gary's nod came slowly, deliberately, the grip on his beer betraying the sudden intensity of the conversation.

Navarro's once-over was thorough, leaving Gary feeling like an exhibit under a magnifying glass. The CEO then shared a look with Hamber, who bore into Gary with an analytical intensity from beneath the shadow of his tousled gray hair, adding an extra layer of scrutiny that felt almost invasive.

Navarro fixed his gaze back on Gary, the question sharp in the charged atmosphere. "Do you battle?"

Gary, momentarily caught off guard, quickly marshaled his wits. "Of course," he retorted, his confidence stitched into a smirk that he plastered across his face. "How else does one hunt?"

Navarro's nod came with a distant air of contemplation, as if he were sizing up a potential rival or ally. "A few of us gentlemen often meet to... let's say, blow off some steam," he revealed, a conspiratorial upturn of the corners of his lips teasing the edge of his mouth. "You should join us next time. That might give us an idea of how well you 'hunt.' Then we can talk more."

The offer hung in the air, heavy with implications. Gary's lips felt parched under the weight of it, but he maintained his cool, his exterior as smooth as the surface of a still lake. He gave a decisive nod. "Just tell me the time and place, and you won't be disappointed." His voice, firm and assured, belied the rapid calculations firing behind his eyes.

At the far end of the room, a sudden swell of voices and shuffling feet heralded an unforeseen disruption. Gary's hand jerked reflexively, his beer sloshing dangerously close to the brim as Carmen's fingers clamped onto his sleeve with unexpected urgency.

"The Kalos Queen," the model breathed out, a ripple of anticipation lacing her words.

All eyes turned as Serena glided into the hall, her presence unfurling like a banner of elegance, her beauty accentuated by the exquisite dress she wore. The gown bathed her like a dreamy vision, its fabric a sea of sparkling sequins that played with the light with every subtle movement she made. The dress—the color of champagne, rich and effervescent—clung to her form, highlighting her graceful silhouette while her honey-gold hair fell in soft, romantic waves around her shoulders in a warm, sun-kissed glow. The gown's plunging neckline was both daring and tasteful. The sweeping train added a touch of drama to her ensemble, flowing behind her like a shimmering stream of liquid gold. Her blue eyes, as deep as an ocean, scanned the sea of faces.

García leaned toward Navarro, his voice a low rumble of admiration laced with envy. "Look at that, Navarro," he said, "In Kalos, they say she is a star that has descended amongst mortals."

Though there was certainly truth to those words, Gary recoiled inwardly at the mayor's tone, a hunger and possessiveness tracing the outlines of the syllables. Yet, Serena did dazzle—even more brightly than she did on any glossy magazine spread in which Gary had seen her.

Suddenly, the absurdity of Serena's rumored affection for Ash struck Gary with complete hilarity. Sure, his buddy was a good-looking guy, Gary conceded, but the notion that the same Ash Ketchum—with his ridiculous cluelessness about girls and perpetual density—could capture the attention of someone like Serena seemed like a cosmic joke. Gary had to literally wipe a rising chuckle from his mouth. It was just too good.

Of course, a part of the researcher felt a sting of empathy for his old rival. Just by looking at her, Gary knew all too well that Serena wasn't exactly the type of girl you forget so easily. Ash was really in for it. There was no getting over her any time soon.

Serena's smiles, as generous as they were, carried a stiffness—an echo of the reluctance that shadowed her entry. Guillermo Lebarón, her escort, was at her side, his presence commanding yet protective. Gary recognized him from a luncheon earlier in the week, his demeanor now just as arrogant as it had been then.

It was clear Serena was on edge, a subtle tension in her shoulders indicating her discomfort with the pomp and display. Truly, she had preferred the quiet before the show, yet Guillermo had persuaded her to make an appearance with a persistence that not even Kathi Grace's reasoned objections could thwart. Guillermo's promises of brevity and the importance of the connections she would forge tonight seemed to have sealed her acquiescence. Yet, as Serena moved through the room, her poise impeccable but her spirit seemingly elsewhere, it was evident this was a duty she endured rather than enjoyed.

Kathi Grace scuttled behind the two, paying very close attention to the watch at her wrist.

Gary actually felt himself gulp as he watched Lebarón lead Serena directly towards them. Even Carmen tightened her grip on his arm.

" Buenas noches, señores ," Lebarón announced, his voice smooth as silk, each word oozing the satisfaction of a man basking in reflected glory. "It is my absolute pleasure to introduce you personally to the Kalos Queen. Serena—this is mayor Diego García and the CEO of Paldea's most prestigious companies, Eduardo Navarro."

Serena inclined her head with a decorum that masked her reluctance, her greeting to the men polite but devoid of warmth. Her gaze swept past them and landed on Gary, a flicker of recognition—or was it curiosity?—passing through her eyes. Gary's mind raced. He was certain their paths had never crossed, yet the moment lingered, puzzling and unexpected.

"We so look forward to your performance tonight, my dear," García said, his voice a patronizing purr as he toyed with his mustache. "We truly do hope you popularize showcases across Paldea. I can't imagine a better form of entertainment."

Actually, I bet you can, you perverse piece of... Gary thought with a disgust he tried to hide in his beer. He was happy Ash was nowhere in sight. In fact, it was probably better if the monarch went back to Kanto for this part.

Gary was surprised to hear Serena actually respond to the mayor, her tone cool. "I am so happy to be an ambassador for the Showcases," she lifted her lips but the smile did not reach her face, "especially so that I can protect their integrity. I moderate everything about the show, from the dances, the set, the music…to the costumes. Nothing is done without my approval."

And then the performer gave García a fierce, knowing stare.

The mayor looked away and had the audacity to look mildly ashamed.

The other men then engaged Serena in conversation, Navarro and Joaquín's words and smiles as polished as the silverware adorning the cocktail tables. They spoke with the ease of those accustomed to the spotlight, trading pleasantries and accolades with a practiced charm. Serena, for her part, navigated the exchange with a grace that spoke of her own experience in the public eye, responding with a poised countenance that belied any discomfort she might have felt.

But the respite was brief; Guillermo, ever the attentive handler, soon reclaimed Serena, guiding her through the salon to greet others. They moved from cluster to cluster of the glittering attendees, her presence demanded like a rare exhibit on display. Gary watched the procession, a knot tightening in his chest at the sight. There was something disheartening about watching someone so admired being shepherded with such calculated intent, her autonomy eclipsed by the agenda of others.

As Serena disappeared into the throng, García signaled to Gary and Carmen. "Come" he announced with an authoritative tilt of his head. "Let us head to our box to await the show." There was an unspoken order in his voice, a command that expected compliance.

Gary felt a twinge of reluctance, casting a last look toward where Serena had been led off. Despite the lavish surroundings and the promise of an extraordinary showcase, there was a hollowness to the spectacle, a reminder of the personal freedoms often surrendered in the face of public demand. With a silent nod to Carmen, he followed García, their steps in sync as they moved toward the privacy and anticipation of their reserved seating.

---

After being accosted by paparazzi and journalists outside the main threshold of the Teatro Real, Ash and Pikachu's eyes sparkled with the reflection of countless chandeliers as they entered the magnificent foyer shrouded in a warm, golden glow. Intricate carvings danced across the balustrades of the marbled staircase, each pillar a silent symphony of Paldean history, as if every step they climbed whispered a different tale. Statues stood guard at the landing, their bronze figures an ode to legendary Pokémon battles of yesteryear, etched into the very soul of the theater.

The foyer embraced them in an architectural hug, where opulence met the eye at every corner. Gilded accents crowned the majestic columns forming graceful arabesques all around, and the rich patina on the marbled floors reflected centuries of artistry. Each tile seemed to hold the echo of a thousand footsteps.

Hohma took a step forward, his eyes scanning the scrollwork, his fingers itching to touch the volutes that spiraled up the columns like Galarian serpents. "Look at how remarkable," he beamed, his voice an informative whisper, "the architecture is a confluence of Baroque and Renaissance styles. This theater is one of the most famous in the Pokémon world, and has been mostly reserved for contests, plays, and dances. It will be wonderful to see a Pokémon Showcase here!"

Arven's quick glances traced the lines of the structure, remembering offhandedly that he had been only a boy the last time he'd attended a show at the theater. Meanwhile, Brock's analytical mind calculated the years it must have taken to craft such beauty. Aliquis and Goh exchanged a glance, their subtle nods speaking of their own appreciation. Hands buried in pockets, they allowed the majesty of the foyer to wash over them.

Nemona's excitement bubbled over like an eruption from a Camerupt, her words tumbling out in a rush.

"I am just so excited," Nemona and her Pawmo were jumping up and down, and she was tugging on Aliquis's sleeve, much to his annoyance. He didn't want his shirt to wrinkle. "Come on, let's find our seats!"

Ash gently lifted Pikachu, placing him comfortably onto his shoulders, a gesture both familiar and practiced. With Pikachu secure, Ash followed the group deeper into the foyer. He strolled with a forced relaxed air, mimicking Goh and Aliquis with hands buried in the pockets of his trousers. Occasionally, he walked backwards, his head tilted back, eyes wide with wonder as he tried to absorb every detail of the majestic space around him. The opulence of the foyer, with its high ceilings and elaborate decor, seemed to captivate him completely. A wide grin spread across his face. Serena definitely belonged in a place like this, he decided.

Realizing he had lagged behind, Ash quickly turned and jogged to catch up with his friends.

He followed them into the auditorium, his gaze sweeping over the rows of plush red seats cascaded toward the stage, where a luxurious scarlet curtain stood with a promise of unfolding narratives. Gold adorned everything within sight, from the ornate ceiling to the curving balconies that embraced the theater's lavish interior. He made his way down the aisle with Pikachu, both sharing a sense of awe.

The group found their seats near the front, surprisingly close to the stage—a position that stirred a mixture of excitement and nerves in Ash's chest. He shuffled into the row, acclimating to the closeness of everything. The possibility of Serena seeing him from the stage made his stomach roil a bit, and he drifted into a dreamy haze where she appeared before him, her eyes locking onto his in a silent, electrifying connection that lasted the entire performance.

Once the group was comfortably settled, Nemona, sandwiched between Ohara and Aliquis, reached into her purse with a mischievous smile and brought out an array of bread. "Who wants some?" she offered, her voice ringing with playful mischief. She and Pawmo began to nibble on the snack.

"Me!" Goh exclaimed, stretching across Aliquis with eager hands to claim a generous piece of an aromatic, seeded loaf. He settled back into his seat, a fistfull of pieces in his lap, ready to enjoy the illicit feast.

Aliquis let out a groan, "Please don't get any on my pants, guys." He brushed at his trousers with quick, precise movements, a frown etching his face as he tried to fend off any stray crumbs.

"Isn't there no food allowed in here?" Arven's voice carried a note of anxiety as he scanned their surroundings, his eyes darting to check if any of the theater staff had noticed their small rebellion.

Nemona dismissed his concern with a flick of her wrist. "It's a stupid rule, so I reject it," she declared, her tone leaving no room for debate.

"You can't just pick and choose the rules you want to follow!" Arven hissed, his body slouching into his chair, as if by making himself smaller he could escape the attention their group might draw.

Nemona blinked, the bread puffing out her cheeks and those of her Pawmo. "Of course I can," she hummed in a sing-song voice, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she continued to savor the snack.

Brock, occupying the seat at the end of their row, chuckled softly beside Ash. He then turned towards the young champion, offering a look tinged with empathy. "How are you feeling?" the Pokédoctor inquired, his gaze landing on Ash's knee, which bounced with nervous energy.

Ash paused, his attention snapping back from the distant daydreams as if Brock's voice had to travel to reach him. "Huh? Oh, fine," he replied, his words contradicted by his restless movements—his hand repeatedly smoothing down his hair and fiddling with the collar poking out from beneath his sweater.

Brock's smirk widened, sensing the unspoken tension, but he chose not to press further.

At that moment, the lights in the auditorium started to dim.

---

Serena dashed into her dressing room, the clock tauntingly ticking closer to her cue. Kathi Grace flitted around her in a whirlwind, the panic on their faces mirroring each other. Serena's Pokémon, partners in performance, slipped into their costumes with an urgency that matched their trainer's swift movements.

"I can't believe Guillermo did that," Kathi Grace hissed under her breath, her hands a blur as they helped strip Serena out of her champagne dress. With a deft click, she activated her headset and spoke with crisp authority, "Hold the curtain for five minutes! Yes—You heard me! Five minutes, Gustavo!"

The backstage was a frenzy of focused chaos. Makeup artists swarmed around Serena, brushes and sponges dancing across her skin, adjusting her appearance with swift, expert strokes. They zipped and buttoned, ensuring every piece sat perfectly against her frame.

The air hummed with the tension of a ticking clock, the collective effort of the team bending time to their will, each second stretched to its limit. Serena, at the eye of the storm, took deep breaths, her own hands steady despite the commotion. She was calm in the backstage tempest, the center point around which everything revolved. Her Pokémon, attuned to her mood, moved with a composed haste, readying themselves.

Serena's fingers worked through her hair as she stepped into the brilliance of her sequin outfit: the top, an array of blues and greens, held intricate patterns of sequins resembling the fine scales of a Water-type Pokémon. Some of the beads cascaded down her exposed midriff like rivulets of rain drops. The high waisted skirt matched its shimmering splendor with fringe-like sequins that offered a glimpse of her strong, poised legs.

Before she knew it, Serena and her Pokémon were standing in the hushed wings of the stage, the moment of the performance upon them. Sylveon preened itself, ribbons undulating with a soft glow, as if to cast away any lingering tension. Pancham practiced a few playful punches, honing its focus with each precise jab. Delphox, ever the anchor of calm, stood with its wand-like stick aloft, embers crackling quietly, a beacon of readiness.

Serena's breath came in quick, shallow pulls, her chest rising and falling with the rapid tempo of nerves. She leaned ever so slightly from the shadowy embrace of the curtains, her gaze seeking the particular row of seats at which she knew she'd find her friends. Spotting Ash, her breath hitched—a silent gasp trapped in the moment. Compulsively, her fingers traced the lines of her outfit, a gesture meant to smooth out wrinkles that weren't there but serving more to calm the fluttering in her stomach. She was a professional, Serena reminded herself, and with the show beckoning, she marshaled her determination.

She shared a silent exchange with her Pokémon, their eyes meeting in a wordless huddle of support. Delphox offered a confident nod, its fiery gaze infusing Serena with a borrowed strength.

Then, as if on cue, the lights began their descent into darkness. The auditorium surrendered to the night-like embrace of a blackout, the prelude to magic, the silent herald of the performance about to begin. In this temporary void, Serena found her purpose, her anxiety melting away into the shadows. It was showtime, and the darkness promised the birth of a spectacle only they could bring to light.

---

In the engulfing darkness of the auditorium, Ash sat with Pikachu on his lap, both enveloped by the collective hush of the audience. Everyone seemed to breathe as one, a silent symphony of anticipation that filled the space. The stillness was a canvas, waiting for the first stroke of sound to bring it to life.

Then, gently, almost imperceptibly, music began to seep into the void. A gentle, dreamy melody with a lush, atmospheric sound floated through the hazy air. The ethereal hum wove through the dark, wrapping the audience in a cocoon of sound. As the music built, it grew in confidence, the light and airy tones evolving into a crescendo, a sonic depiction of light chasing away shadows.

At the peak of the buildup, the music dropped, and it was as if a myriad of sunbursts punctuated the darkness. Lights flared to life, revealing Serena in the epicenter of the stage. Her Pokémon burst into immediate action, Delphox commanding the space with an elegant flourish of its wand, conjuring a ring of fire that spiraled upwards. The flames shimmered with an otherworldly glow, reaching their apex before dissipating into a shower of celestial falling stars wreathed in flames, an illusion helped along by Sylveon's Swift. The audience grew spellbound from the outset.

Pancham then leaped forward, its focus intense. With a quick motion, it slammed its fist into the stage floor, Ice Punch unleashed. From the point of impact, beautiful blue crystalline ice surged, rising like frozen waves on either side of Serena. She embraced the moment, her body flowing into a sequence of steps, a harmonious fusion of ballet grace and modern expression. She rose onto one foot, extended in a poised arabesque, then swung her other leg in a grand arc before her, her movements synchronized with the burgeoning cold crystals.

The ice continued its ascent, spiraling around her to form a translucent dome. Seren danced on, her silhouette a mesmerizing spectacle within the growing crystal cavern. As the music carried her, Sylveon joined in, casting Dazzling Gleam. The move sent prismatic light scattering across the ice, turning the stage into a living kaleidoscope.

She was the embodiment of a ballerina within a snow globe, her every movement deliberate and enchanting. The ice thickened around her, its surface fogging into a mist that softly veiled her form. The bubble expanded, its frosty breath a shroud that momentarily obscured Serena from view, leaving the audience in suspenseful awe, waiting for the magic to continue—the crowds responding with 'oohs' and 'ahhs.'

Nemona, caught up in the excitement, bounced in her seat, a cascade of bread tumbling from her purse, forgotten in the moment. "Someone pinch me! I'm swooning!"

No one moved to do a thing.

At the crescendo of the music, Delphox commanded the stage with a magician's flair. With a graceful twirl, its wand traced a circle, igniting a ring of red-orange fire in the air. Then, with dramatic precision, Delphox opened its mouth and a Mystical Fire burst forth—a stream of sunburst flames, encircled by undulating rings of fire, racing toward the icy globe that enshrined Serena.

In a breathtaking instant, the fire met ice, and the globe shattered, sending icy shards glinting in the air like a shower of diamonds. These fragments caught the stage lights, twinkling as they spun. Sylveon stepped forward, summoning a Fairy Wind that swept the shards up in a dance of pink light, scattering them gently over the heads of the audience.

As the breeze caressed Ash's face, minuscule ice shards landed like whispers against his skin. They melted instantly, a fusion of coolness and the heat rising in his cheeks as he caught sight of Serena. She posed center stage, her sequin skirt catching the light from Delphox's flames, making her appear as though she had been lit on fire. The costume, cleverly designed to interact with the performance, clung to the embers, enhancing the illusion of a dance amidst flames.

Serena launched into a series of spins, each turn more daring and precise than the last. With every pirouette, embers flicked from her skirt into the air, creating arcs of light that traced her movement. Her body moved with a fluidity that only heightened the spectacle, her silhouette a blur of light and motion that captivated every eye in the audience.

Serena halted her spinning with precision, descending into a demi-plié. Her legs bent gracefully, absorbing the momentum of her turns. The flames dancing along her dress dissipated. Serena seamlessly transitioned into fifth position, her feet neatly aligned, one in front of the other. Her arms rose above her head, arching with the elegance of Swanna necks, framing her face in a picture of balletic poise.

At her side, her Pokémon aligned themselves in a moment of unity. Sylveon's ribbons cascaded, Pancham's stance was firm, and Delphox's mystic presence added to the tableau. Serena, in the heart of this perfect harmony, turned her gaze to the audience and blew a kiss.

The crowd roared. The thunder of applause and cheers filled the auditorium, a tidal wave of shouts, hollers, and whistles.

Ash scanned the jubilant crowd, a touch of self-consciousness seeping into him. As his hand found its way to the back of his neck, he rubbed it uneasily. Meanwhile, Nemona's enthusiasm knew no bounds; she clung to Aliquis's sleeve, her excitement undimmed even as it spelled doom for his shirt's pristine condition. The blue-haired trainer bore a look of resignation, accepting the evening's fate for his attire with suppressed irritation.

Ash's attention returned to Serena, an involuntary pull drew his eyes to the sparkle of her glittering outfit. A pang of guilt undercut his admiration of her—the kind he was starting to grow all too aware of and familiar with. He was really kicking himself inside for actually believing he could somehow force himself back into just seeing Serena as a friend, to see the way things once were between them. A jolt surged through his gut, a visceral reaction to the fear of confronting these feelings, the terror of acknowledging what his chest was really trying to ignore.

But when Ash's eyes lifted to meet her face, that fear dissipated. There she was: her features illumined with a radiant glow, her golden hair framing her face like a halo, her cheeks tinged with the rosy flush of her exertion and a thrill in her blue eyes. In that moment, Ash really felt like he knew her—her passion and determination; echoes of their time in Kalos flashed through his mind—and he remembered all the promises she made to him before she kissed him, and her words raced through him like an electric current. He just felt so proud of her.

With a dramatic sweep of her arms and a voice that carried command, Serena cued Sylveon for the next act. The Fairy-type Pokémon concentrated, its feelers glowing, and initiated a Dazzling Gleam. The sphere of rainbow light emanating from the Pokémon expanded, its colors vivid against the darkened stage, growing in intensity until it burst in a flash that swept across the hall. The audience, caught by surprise, blinked against the sudden brilliance, their vision a blur of color and light.

As the gleam faded and sight returned to normal, a transformation had taken place. The stage was now an enchanted forest, with ethereal lighting casting dappled shadows that mimicked sunlight through leaves. Trees and foliage adorned the background, and a gentle mist gave the scene a dreamlike quality. Backup performers had seamlessly joined the tableau, accompanied by various Pokémon, enhancing the magical atmosphere. They were dressed in harmonious outfits, echoing the theme but in a subtler fashion, allowing Serena to remain the focal point.

Serena now wore a corset mini dress—the bodice, fitted and structured, was a tapestry of vibrant, floral embroidery, reminiscent of a garden in full bloom. Its colors were rich and varied, with a lace-up front that added a classic, romantic touch. The skirt portion of the dress cascaded in soft, cream-colored tulle, flowing and flaring well above the knee.

As the performance continued to weave its spell over the audience, Gary observed from the privileged vantage point of Mayor García's box. Carmen, ever the picture of languid elegance, sat at his side, a thin stream of smoke spiraling from between her fingers. Despite the casual air with which she held her cigarette, her dark eyes betrayed a keen interest in the spectacle unfolding below.

Gary, once as captivated as the rest of the audience, now found his attention drifting. His initial enchantment with the showcase waned as he tuned his ears to the hushed conversation occurring behind him. Navarro was whispering to his advisor Hamber, their heads close together, speaking in secretive tones that suggested matters of importance. Beside them loomed the pale young man with black and silver hair, his presence nearly ghost-like. This protective shadow seemed to hang on every word, vigilant and unyielding, and Gary couldn't help but be drawn to the undercurrents of intrigue that seemed to swirl around these figures as much as the performance itself.

"—that is why, you didn't need to bring him."

Gary leaned back ever so slightly, his curiosity piqued, trying to catch every word of Navarro's nervous, almost angry retort. There was a tremor in the CEO's voice, a hint of fear perhaps, that tinged his words with urgency. It was hard for Gary to know from the tone alone.

Then Hamber spoke, his voice cutting through the tension with its polished, kingly accent that seemed at odds with his position. It was a voice that commanded attention, and it certainly seized Gary's. "Amethio will be with us from now on," he stated firmly, a low rumble in the quiet of the box. "We cannot take any chances. Especially now with…how delicate everything has become. We may indeed need to discuss what to do about La Primera."

Gary fought the instinct to visibly react, to reach up and ensure he wasn't dreaming up the conversation by rubbing his ears.

"The monarch is here," interjected a new voice, formal and devoid of emotion, slicing through the thick atmosphere. Gary jolted again, taken aback by the sudden entry into the dialogue. He surmised this must be Amethio, the one Navarro seemed keen to dismiss. "And there is a boy with him, the one with the Grookey, do you see?"

Gary's heart skipped. They were talking about Goh? Why? A flurry of questions buzzed through his mind, each more unsettling than the last. He settled back in his seat, trying to appear nonchalant, his mind racing as he processed the fragments of the covert discussion.

Amethio's voice dropped to a hush, a whisper meant for trusted ears only. "I know him... he was stalking Area One on the night..." His voice trailed into silence, the unspoken words hanging in the air like a specter, heavy with implication.

Gary's mind raced back to a conversation he'd had with Goh, who had recounted an unsettling run-in with some dubious characters in Area One just a week prior. The memory clicked into place with a chilling sense of revelation. No way...

Navarro's voice quivered with a shadow of fear. "Is the monarch involved? How? How does he know anything?... The Council of Champions can not—," His concerns splintered off into the charged atmosphere of the box.

The sound of movement followed; Hamber was undoubtedly rising to soothe Navarro's frazzled nerves. "Calm yourself, señor. But this is why Amethio must attend such events from now on," Hamber's voice was stern, a reprimand cloaked in reassurance. "Amethio will keep an eye on the monarch and his friend. Rest assured, Navarro. By the gala, all will be in place. The Council will not get involved. While powerful, the boy is too young to really be considered a threat."

The finality in Hamber's tone brooked no argument. It spoke of plans in motion, of threads being woven into a larger, more ominous tapestry.

García's inebriated voice sliced through the tension in the box. "She's spectacular, Lebarón, truly," the mayor slurred, his words rolling out with the carefree confidence of a man who felt he had dominion over all he surveyed. He lounged sideways in his plush chair, embodying the very essence of entitlement, his eyes fixed on the stage.

"What do you plan to do with her after the show, I wonder?" A sly, knowing smile crept across the mayor's mustached lips as he turned his gaze toward the contest professor. Lebarón sat with stoic composure beside the mayor, his chiseled features betraying only the slightest twitch of annoyance—or was it amusement? Gary couldn't tell if the professor was acting or not.

Lebarón's smirk lingered as he responded to García's insinuations with a measure of veiled intrigue. "I plan to do what you imagine, I think," he said, his eyes gleaming with an unreadable intent. "I'm sorry if that ruins any plans you might have had."

García's features shifted into a sulk, yet he managed a snicker, a blend of disappointment and threat darkening his tone. "But you promise to share at some point, no? She'll earn you many friends for your campaign if you use her correctly."

In the shadow of García's crass remark, Gary saw Lebarón's composure crack ever so slightly, his body tensing, a silent rebellion against the vulgar transaction being suggested. Yet, the man said nothing.

"Pig," Carmen muttered from beside Gary, her eyes still on the stage, but the researcher realized she too had been listening to every voice whispering in the box. "Really, how García has managed to remain in the company of civilized society astounds me," she drawled through her smoked breath, "but I suppose money buys class these days."

Gary couldn't respond. His indigo eyes were burning holes into the back of Ash and Goh's heads. He would need to speak with them. As soon as he possibly could.

---

Ash's brow creased with a hint of worry as he realized Serena hadn't looked his way during her entire performance. But she had to know he was there, he thought; after all, she provided them with these prime seats. He wrestled with the concern, attempting to brush it aside. There were a thousand reasons she might not look his way, and he didn't want to dwell on it too much.

The show was drawing to its grand finale. Ash and the others had been spellbound from start to finish; Serena's had not only masterfully woven her own skill and talent onto the stage, but made a point to spotlight different aspiring performers, each given their moment to shine by themselves for an exclusive number. In many ways, this wasn't a typical Showcase—it was an introduction, an odyssey through the world of Pokémon Performing. Serena had transformed the stage into a platform where the dreams of up-and-coming stars took flight, each act a stepping stone that built upon the last, culminating in a crescendo of shared triumph.

Ash smiled as he reflected on Serena's vision. He understood it, just as he'd like to think he understood her. She was so generous to share the limelight. Her performance hadn't just been about her own talent; it had been like a doorway she was holding open for others to pass through. And that was amazing, Ash thought, sharing happy glances with Pikachu.

Serena, now clad in a short dress that seemed to capture the essence of the night sky, moved into the final act of her set. The fabric, a deep navy blue adorned with a constellation of silver sparkles that resembled distant stars. Its long, flowing sleeves and flared skirt danced around her as she moved, each twirl and leap making her seem as if she were soaring through space.

Against a backdrop as dark and velvety as midnight, Serena and the other performers orchestrated a ballet of specialized attacks. Bright beams of color, the vibrant flames, bolts of electricity, and swirls of psychic energy illuminated the stage, each one a shooting star streaking across the firmament.

Then, as if on cue, Sylveon's Fairy Wind whipped these displays into a mesmerizing haze, a nebula of battle prowess that enshrouded the performers in an ethereal fog.

And just as suddenly as it had formed, the mist dissipated, drawn back like a curtain to reveal the stage anew. Serena stood there, once again the solitary figure in the spotlight, accompanied only by her faithful Pokémon.

In a final, breathtaking display, Delphox and Pancham positioned themselves to either side of the far ends of the stage, poised for a dramatic finale. With a graceful flourish, Delphox summoned the incandescent swirls of its Mystical Fire, a spiral of vivid flames twirling with life. Simultaneously, Pancham channeled its energy and unleashed a Dark Pulse, a wave of crackling, shadowy energy that pulsed towards Serena.

The two attacks converged right where Serena and Sylveon stood, a confluence of light and shadow, fire and darkness, swirling around her. To the audience, it appeared as though Serena was about to be consumed by the powerful forces summoned by her Pokémon.

Even Ash held his breath, the tension in the auditorium punctuated only by the roar of the combined attacks. Then, as quickly as they had erupted, the flames and dark waves dissipated. There was a flash of light, leaving behind no trace of the fiery maelstrom that had just taken place.

And there, in the wake of the spectacle, where Serena and her Pokémon should have been, was nothing but the empty stage. The performers had vanished, leaving the audience in a moment of stunned silence before the reality of the illusion set in and a thunderous applause erupted through the auditorium.

Nemona was one of the first to shoot up from her seat with a standing ovation. She had two fingers in her mouth to perform a very loud, high whistle that made everyone in her row wince.

"She was wonderful! It was all wonderful!" Ohara beamed, her smile as bright as the stage lights. The two girls locked eyes, their faces alight with thrill. Fuecoco and Pawmo mirrored their trainers' excitement, their postures animated, clearly caught up in the moment.

The boys, meanwhile, maintained a facade of nonchalance, yet the awe was evident in their wide eyes and the slight slack in their jaws. Arven and Brock were more reserved, stealing glances at Ash, gauging his reaction, cautious not to show too much enthusiasm lest it unsettle him.

But Ash, catching the infectious spirit from Nemona and Ohara, couldn't hold back his own excitement. "She was awesome!" he exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air, his own form of a standing ovation.

"Come on," Nemona reached for Ohara's arm, "we need to go find her."

At this, even Aliquis looked up. His blue eyebrows lifted. "Good luck. She's probably being swarmed by fans already."

Nemona considered this and tapped her chin. She then locked eyes with Ash, who already looked nervous about whatever the student body president was going to suggest. "You can get us through any crowd, Señor Monarch, so come on," Nemona gestured for Ash to follow Ohara and her.

"W-what?" Ash stammered, his surprise clear as Brock gave him an unexpected nudge from his seat—a move that was both startling and slightly vexing for Ash. He shot Brock a look of mild annoyance, only to find Pikachu already scampering to Nemona's side, the Pokémon's enthusiastic demeanor endorsing the plan without words.

Ash found himself adrift in the human sea, the firm grip of Nemona on his wrist acting a rip current. He stumbled slightly, buoyed along by the tide of bodies that filled the theater's grand hall. Ohara, with her Fuecoco trotting diligently beside her, made sure they didn't lose their lead, forming a determined trio in the post-show bustle.

A rush of adrenaline surged through Ash, translating into a roar in his ears, a rhythmic, pulsing din that seemed to sync with his own heartbeat. The opulent golds and marbles of the theater swirled around him in a colorful tunnel, reality blurring into a backdrop for this strange sensation of being both there and not there.

"Monarch of the World, coming through!" Nemona's voice cut a swath through the crowd, her announcement audacious. Her loose black curls danced with her movements, full of life and undeterred purpose.

Faces turned in their wake, eyes widening in recognition. Rotom Phones emerged like pools of electronic periscopes, their cameras capturing the moment. Admirers reached out, pens and papers suddenly in hand, hopeful for a signature from the world champion, but Ash seemed to be in a trance, his awareness clouded, the familiar yet overwhelming attention registering as nothing more than a distant hum.

Having left the main auditorium and entered a corridor at the wings of the stage, Nemona halted before a set of glossed doors, where two bodyguards stood like suited sentinels. Their gazes swept over the trio, appraising, their stances unyielding and faces unreadable.

"No one's allowed in, yet—not even family," stated one of the bodyguards, his voice as firm as the stance he took.

Unperturbed, Nemona motioned toward Ash, "But he's the world champion!" she insisted, hoping the title carried enough weight to sway them.

The guards, however, did not waver, their expressions set in stone, their duty clear. No argument seemed to dent their resolve.

A flicker of annoyance sparked in Ash, and he stepped forward, the frustration clear in his furrowed brow. Pikachu felt the tension, its cheeks beginning to hum with static.

"Come on, just tell her we're out here. She'll let us in," Ash said, his voice earnest, imploring the guards to understand.

"What is all this?" The question came wrapped in a tone of dark amusement, echoing down the hall. Guillermo Lebarón approached the standoff, his presence alone commanding a pause in the tension. His dark eyes settled on the group, a flicker of recognition sparking as he saw Nemona. He mustered a polite smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ah, presidente, I'm afraid you're out of your jurisdiction," he teased, a hint of underlying annoyance in his gaze flashed towards Ash.

"Professor," Nemona's voice wavered, a blush coloring her cheeks, betraying her usually confident demeanor. Ohara stood by, her own expression difficult to mask. "I'm sorry, but," Nemona tried, "you see, we know Serena and just wish to see her very quickly! Ash is an old friend and—,"

But Guillermo raised a hand, his gesture smooth and assured, halting Nemona's plea. "I know all this, señorita," he interjected, his dark eyes fixed on Ash with an intensity that seemed to dissect the very essence of the champion. There was a calculating quality to his gaze, as if he were trying to decipher Ash's motivations without uttering another word.

Ash's stance was firm, unwavering as he locked eyes with the professor, their gazes on equal ground. For some reason, Ash just didn't like the guy. At all. His mind kept flashing to the way the professor had steered Serena away from him the first night at the Welcome Ceremony, the hand on her shoulder…

"We just want to say 'hi,'" Ash said, his voice steady, though a nagging feeling suggested there was more beneath the surface of his words.

If Guillermo sensed the half-deception, he didn't reveal it. With a subtle nod to the bodyguards, he cleared the way for them. "Who am I to deny the Monarch entry to see his friend?" Lebarón's tone was rich with a dark amusement, as he offered a concession with a twist. "But why don't you let the ladies go? And in exchange, you come with me. I know some people who would love to meet el campeón."

The offer hung in the air, a thinly veiled barter, placing Ash at a crossroads between his desire to see Serena and the professor's inscrutable intentions.

Their gazes were locked, a silent standoff in the gilded corridor. Neither Ash nor Guillermo wanted to concede their silent assertion of will, each man's eyes a clear challenge to the other.

"Okay then…" Nemona, trying to remain unperturbed by the tension, gave a quick, perplexed exchange of looks with Pawmo and Ohara. Without further ado, she rallied. "We'll catch you later, Ash. We're going in now. Okay, bye!" With that, she ushered Ohara through the doors, leaving Ash and Guillermo alone under the warm glow of the opulent lights.

Lebarón's smile held a trace of condescension. "I do not think we have been properly introduced," he said, his voice smooth, yet he made no move for a handshake or a gesture of welcome. "I'm Guillermo Lebarón—Contest Professor at the Academy. I work directly with Serena. Every day."

Yea, Ash really didn't like this guy. Neither did Pikachu, apparently, because the small mouse's cheeks felt staticy against Ash's face "She never mentioned you," Ash shrugged, moving to follow Lebarón. "Well, I'm ready to go meet whoever."

Guillermo's features twisted into a sneer for a fleeting second before he composed himself and pivoted on his heels. He led the way back to the theater boxes, Ash and Pikachu in tow, an uneasy alliance forming as they moved to meet this unknown assembly.

---

Nemona and Ohara, amidst the chaos of the backstage, navigated through the whirlwind of activity. Crew members buzzed around them, dismantling sets with practiced efficiency, while others carted off costumes, a parade of fabrics and colors. Performers, still aglow from the adrenaline of the show, huddled in groups, exchanging laughter and hugs with their Pokémon.

The pair paused as they spotted Ana, a familiar face from their cohort—her Spirigatito by her side amidst the bustle. Ohara greeted the coordinator eagerly, finding a brief respite in the sea of activity. They chatted, their conversation a blend of gushing about Serena before sharing a groan over the looming biology test.

Nemona, ever focused on her mission, peered above the heads of the crowd, searching. "Oye, where is Serena, anyway?" she inquired, her eyes scanning the vibrant landscape.

Ana, following Nemona's gaze, extended her hand to point deeper into the heart of backstage. Her gesture led them further into the labyrinth of curtains and props, signaling that their quest to find Serena was not yet over. With nods of thanks, Nemona and Ohara and their Pokémon plunged back into the flow of people, determined to reach their friend amid the post-performance exhilaration.

Meanwhile, in the sanctuary of her dressing room, Serena sat before her vanity, peeling off her nude tights, a physical unburdening that mirrored her mental unwinding. Kathi Grace's voice filled the room, a steady stream of practicalities about the people Serena needed to greet and thank. Serena listened with one ear, her mind still riding the high of a showcase brilliantly executed.

Turning her attention to her Pokémon, she saw Pancham, Delphox, and Sylveon, each sprawled across various spots in the room, their exhaustion evident in their relaxed postures. "You all stole the show!" Serena exclaimed with affection, beckoning them into a group hug.

Kathi Grace paused her list, her eyes lifting from the roster of names to witness the tender moment. A sympathetic smile crossed her face. "You all did wonderfully, really," she sighed, her voice softening as she allowed herself a moment of reprieve from the logistical details. "I do hope that these meet and greets won't take too long, for your sake. You deserve a little rest after that show!"

Serena's smile was warm and appreciative. "Thank you, Kathi Grace! But you too! You've done so much!" she replied, acknowledging the efforts of her manager.

The two girls exchanged flushed, pleased smiles before turning to hear an aggressive knock at the door.

"That better not be Lebarón," Kathi Grace grumbled, adjusting her glasses and tucking her tablet into her armpit, "you haven't even had five minutes to decompress!"

Her stern expression softened, however, at the sight of Nemona and Ohara. Nemona stood with a confident pose, her hands on her hips, Pawmo perched proudly on her shoulder. Beside her, Ohara offered a shy smile, cradling Fuecoco in her arms, a picture of innocence and admiration.

Serena's face lit up at the sight of her friends. "Oh hi!" she exclaimed, her hands lifting in a welcoming gesture as the girls rushed in for a cheek-kiss greeting. "You both look so pretty!" she giggled, playing with the skirt of Ohara's dress as the petite girl performed a playful little curtsy.

"You were incredible, en serio," Nemona gushed, her hands coming together beside her cheek in a gesture of awe. "When you surrounded yourself in ice! That was my favorite. And then—,"

Ohara chimed in, her agreement punctuating Nemona's enthusiastic recounting of the performance. In the background, Pawmo and Fuecoco made their way over to Serena's Pokémon, a friendly congregation of creatures reflecting their trainers' camaraderie.

Serena basked in the adulation, her laughter and smiles a mirror to Nemona and Ohara's joy. The room was filled with an air of celebration until Kathi Grace, ever the guardian of Serena's schedule, cleared her throat pointedly, a reminder that there were still responsibilities awaiting the star of the night.

"Oh, this is my manager, Kathi Grace!" Serena smiled sheepishly, and then gestured gracefully towards the blue-haired woman staring at the three of them with mild resignation. "Gracie, these are some of my new friends I told you about!"

"I see," Kathi Grace sighed, peering over her glasses at the girls, "well, it's nice to meet you. But I have to ask: how did you get in here? The guards were asked to be strict…"

"Oh, they were such losers," Nemona lamented melodramatically, stealing a piece of candy from a box of caramel chocolates on Serena's vanity, "Mmm! These are divine!" She proceeded to eat the whole box "Oh!" she exclaimed in between mouthfuls, "Do you want to go out with all of us tonight? Ohara and I want to take everyone dancing!"

Ohara scratched her cheek shyly. "We were only allowed in because Guillermo let us through," the petite brunette replied, looking at Kathi Grace. Ohara then glanced at Serena, "Ash was with us, but Lebarón insisted they go and meet some people."

Serena had gone behind a small partition to fully change out of her costume. The tops of her shoulders and head were visible as the performer stopped short. "Oh!" She attempted to manage the heat rising into her cheeks, a wary expression flickered across her eyes. "Who are they going to meet? Did Guillermo say?"

Kathi Grace cut in, waving the stylus to her tablet like some sort of orchestral composer, "More than likely, they are going to see the same politícos we need to see. So, hurry it up, my dear, and then you can go out with your new friends—if you want."

Serena paused, looking at her manager with surprise. When the words registered, the performer's response was instantaneous and unrestrained. She emerged from behind the partition with a radiant smile, enveloping Kathi Grace in a quick, excited hug before darting back to finish changing, her squeal of delight filling the room.

Kathi Grace, now slightly flustered and flushed, lifted a delicate hand to her head as though to soothe the turmoil brewing inside it.

"Yay!" Nemona and the Pokémon cheered, "We'll wait for you outside behind the theater! We're dragging the guys along too. It's going to be so fun!"

After exchanging giggles and phone number with Serena, Nemona and Ohara departed, allowing Serena to finish slipping back into her champagne gown. Kathi Grace, regaining her composure, assisted her with fastening the back of the dress, their movements a well-practiced dance of efficiency and care.

"How do I look?" Serena asked, almost worriedly as she looked at her reflection to soothe her hair, putting her cool hands to her cheeks to control their color.

Sylveon cried out with approval, while Delphox nodded stoically. Pancham gave a cheeky smile and a thumbs up.

Kathi Grace sighed as if the question was a ridiculous one. However, she smiled softly. "Exquisite," the manager then opened the door to the dressing room, "let's go."

---

Ash followed Guillermo through the ornate halls of the theater, his senses tingling with caution. They arrived at a set of luxurious red velvet curtains, which parted to reveal a balcony filled with refined, polished-looking men. They lounged in their seats, some with drinks in hand, others puffing on cigars, engaged in what seemed like important conversations.

Ash took in the scene—the grandeur of their vantage point offering a spectacular view of the stage below. The men were impeccably dressed, their attire speaking of wealth and influence. Amidst them, Ash's gaze locked onto Brutus. The silver-haired rival had yet to notice him, sitting beside an older, stately woman whose expression wore a mix of boredom and melancholy, an odd contrast to the lively atmosphere.

"Ash Ketchum, may I introduce the Mayor of Mesagoza—Diego García," Lebarón announced, gesturing towards a tall, middle-aged man with a thick mustache and sharp, angular features. Guillermo then pointed to a more imposing figure beside García, "and Eduardo Navarro, with Tera Industries. Both are major players here in Paldea—good gentlemen to know, especially in your position." Guillermo's voice was laden with a stiff formality.

Ash regarded Guillermo with a skeptical look, unconvinced that this introduction was solely for his benefit. The undercurrents of power and politics in the room were palpable, and suddenly Ash found himself navigating a world far removed from the battles and adventures he was accustomed to.

García's boisterous greeting filled the air, his voice a little too loud. "Ah! El campeon!" he exclaimed, the drink in his hand sloshing dangerously close to the rim of his glass. His balance seemed precarious as he gestured grandly for Ash to join them. "What an honor! Come in, come in—have a beer. Smoke?" He motioned for one of his aides to offer Ash a cigarette, which Ash declined with a polite sniff.

Navarro, in stark contrast to García's flamboyance, greeted Ash with a reserved stiffness. He gave the young champion a sharp, acknowledging nod. "You are here to challenge the Paldean league, I imagine?" His voice was crisp, his demeanor formal.

Feeling the weight of all eyes on him, Ash's discomfort grew. He was acutely aware of Brutus's piercing gaze now, but chose to deliberately ignore the Galarian. He was about to respond when he caught sight of Gary, who subtly shook his head, a silent message urging Ash not to acknowledge him openly. The researcher, sitting with a girl Ash did not recognize, appeared just as on edge as Ash felt.

Trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy, Ash replied, "Yeah, I'm, uh, at the Academy right now—I'll be challenging the gyms in the spring." He accepted the beer handed to him but didn't show any intention of drinking it.

García, undeterred by Ash's lukewarm reception, sneered. "Such a stupid policy," he commented dismissively, "to have foreign trainers go through Dendra's Battle School before they can properly compete. And the Monarch of the World, no less. Geeta is a crazed and power-hungry bruja."

Ash, uncomfortable with García's tone and derogatory remarks, shrugged nonchalantly. "I think it makes sense. The Academy's awesome, and I love being there." He discreetly set the beer down as soon as it seemed socially acceptable.

The champion's attention sharpened as he observed an older gentleman lean in to whisper something to Navarro. The CEO's reaction was thoughtful, his hand stroking his chin as he considered the words spoken to him. "Yes, Director Clavell runs the school very well," Navarro mused, his eyes still fixed on Ash. "I'm sure the school feels very honored to have you. Geeta should be worried that perhaps someone of true merit has come to challenge. You know it has been five years since she has become La Primera?"

Ash, feeling increasingly out of place, shook his head and shifted his weight from foot to foot. He kept wondering why he was even here—was it Guillermo's way of making a point, or maybe he had been trying to keep him away from Serena? The thought caused a flicker of annoyance through Ash, and he felt his fist twitch.

"She must be really powerful," Ash replied, trying to steer the conversation back to familiar territory. "I can't wait to challenge her,"

At his words, Navarro and the older gentleman exchanged a glance that seemed to carry unspoken communication. It was Navarro who finally spoke, his voice measured, as if he was carefully crafting his words on the spot. "Yes…that will be most interesting," he said, a hint of intrigue lacing his tone.

Ash was ushered from one introduction to another, a seemingly endless parade of influential figures. Joaquín, the portly governor of the Eastern Province, approached him with a nervous smile. "How did you enjoy the show, monarch? You must come watch with us next time!" he suggested, his demeanor friendly yet somewhat timid.

Before Ash could respond, Diego García interjected, his eyes gleaming darkly with an unsavory mirth. "Oh, that is an excellent idea, Joaquín! Surely this handsome young gentleman is an admirer of beautiful women," García said, his tone laden with insinuation.

Ash, from the red blurs he felt forming around his vision, noticed Gary stand abruptly.

But the researcher was too late. García continued with a smirk. "You see, Lebarón has promised to share the Kalos Queen with all of us—Perhaps we can put you on the waiting list," he laughed, a sound that grated on the ears.

It took Ash a minute to understand. He blinked but knew something was wrong. He had never heard anyone talk like that about a girl.

Guillermo's voice cut through the tension, strained and anxious, a warning thinly veiled in his tone. "Diego," he said, attempting to rein in the mayor's distasteful jest.

Behind them, Gary buried his face in his hands.

In that instant, Ash's comprehension of the situation crystallized. His vision tunneled, the edges tinting red with fury. Ash didn't know how, but—he blinked—and he had Diego Garía up against a wall, his forearm pressed firmly against the mayor's chest, immobilizing him. García's face, usually a picture of florid self-assuredness, drained of color, replaced by a ghostly pallor as shock set in. His attempts to speak were reduced to futile wheezes, his eyes wide.

Pikachu, sensing the heightened tension, had leapt to the ground, his stance defensive and cheeks sparking. Navarro and Guillermo, caught off guard by the sudden outburst, recoiled in surprise. The room was frozen in a moment of uncertainty, nobody quite sure how to react to the unexpected confrontation.

Ash, caught in the grip of his own emotions, barely registered the chaos around him. He was acutely aware of García's struggles beneath his hold, but his arm remained unyielding, fueled by a deep-seated sense of indignation. Reality was a blur, his focus narrowed.

Suddenly, he felt a firm grip on his shoulders. Someone was trying to pull him back, their hands insistent, attempting to break the tense standoff.

Gary Oak was surprised by how strong Ash was—at least, that's what he thought as the researcher tried pulling the enraged champion off the mayor amidst the chaos. At first, there was no moving Ash. Gary noted the intensity in the champion's eyes, a focus so deep it mirrored the zone he entered during his Pokémon battles.

But as Ash's consciousness seemed to resurface, recognizing himself and his actions, Gary found an opening. "Hey, hey, hey!" he urged, his movements growing more forceful as he sensed Ash's resolve waning, his grip on the situation loosening.

"What is going on here!?" An authoritative voice broke through the chaos. It belonged to Kathi Grace, who had appeared from behind the curtain, her presence demanding attention. Serena stood just behind her, her expression a mixture of shock and concern, her lips parted slightly and eyes wide as she took in the scene.

The room, previously a whirlwind of motion and confusion, fell into a stunned silence. The confrontation, which had escalated so quickly, now hung in the air, unresolved and heavy with implications. Ash, pulled back from the brink by Gary, stood there, what he had almost done dawning on him, while the others absorbed the gravity of the moment, unsure of the next step in this unexpected drama.

"Ash…?" Serena started, a hand moving to her chest as though something inside her was hurting.

At the sound of Serena's call, Ash spun around, his intense gaze softening as he saw her. It was as if her voice had the power to anchor him back to reality, breaking through the haze of his anger. His eyes, dark and turbulent, lingered on her for a moment, steadying themselves in her.

Gary, sensing the shift in Ash's focus, used the opportunity to guide him away. "Come on," he murmured, his voice feigning cold indifference. He maneuvered Ash away from the tense atmosphere. Ash, now subdued, offered no resistance, his face flushed with the remnants of his outburst, his expression introspective. Pikachu, silent and solemn, trailed behind, a faithful shadow to Ash's unsteady steps.

As Ash and Gary made their exit, the men in the box attempted to recompose themselves, murmurs and uneasy glances exchanged as they tried to brush off the disturbance and regain some semblance of normalcy.

Serena remained rooted to her spot, her gaze fixed on the curtain through which Ash and Gary had disappeared. Her hand still clutched at her heart, which hammered against her ribcage, a tumult of emotions reflected in her wide, worried eyes.

García, somewhat disheveled from the altercation, brushed off an aide who attempted to tidy his appearance. "Well," he hummed dismissively, straightening his own jacket with a flick of his hand, "I guess they don't teach any manners in Kanto."

Navarro, visibly frustrated but silent, shook his head in disapproval at the mayor. He turned his attention to his wife, who sat in a state of shock from the recent events, offering her a stringent reassuring presence in the midst of the chaos.

From the near balcony's railing, Carmen rose from her seat with a grace that belied the tension in the air. Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she extinguished her cigarette with more force than necessary. "Yes," she said, the acidic edge of her words cutting through the thick, "That must be it."

Kathi Grace stepped in front of Serena, cutting off any attempt by Guillermo to approach the performer. "What happened?" she demanded, her stance firm, her eyes seeking answers.

Guillermo, maintaining a facade of nonchalance, offered a dismissive shrug. "There was a misunderstanding. That is all," he said, trying to downplay the incident, his voice betraying a hint of unease.

Gary's return to the scene brought a brief respite from the tension, his attempt at humor a thin veil over the underlying stress. "Well, I wasn't aware the show continued after the final curtain," he offered, smoothing his suit sleeves while wearing a strained smirk. Yet, his dark indigo eyes held a current of worry as he navigated back to Carmen's side.

Serena gently placed a hand on Kathi Grace's arm. The gesture seemed strange and distant. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I-I have to go. I'm suddenly not feeling well," she said, her voice wavering slightly. Her smile, offered to the assembled crowd, was faint and lacked its usual warmth; her excuse was a polite but transparent veil over her desire to leave.

As Guillermo made a move to intercept Serena, Kathi Grace swiftly positioned herself as a barrier between them. Her stance was protective and assertive, reminiscent of a Houndoom on guard at the gates of the underworld.

---

Serena hurried through the maze of corridors, her mind singularly focused on finding Ash. She was unaware of the specifics of the incident on the balcony, but at that moment, it didn't matter. All the rumors and fragments of conversation could wait. She only wanted to see him.

"Ash!" she called out, spotting him at the top of the far staircase leading to the first floor.

Ash spun around, his expression surprised and relieved, but also a noticeable shade of embarrassment colored his face. Looking almost relieved, Pikachu leapt from his shoulders and darted straight into Serena's open arms.

The performer's face lit up with a giggle as she caught the yellow mouse, the moment bringing a much-needed lightness into the air between them. "Hey, Pikachu! Did you like the show?" she asked, receiving an enthusiastic nod from the yellow rodent. She then turned her attention back to Ash, her blue eyes expectant and cautious. "Thank you for coming," she said to him, "I…I wasn't sure you'd be able to come."

Ash's expression softened. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I was going to come no matter what," he smiled and looked at her, finding it hard to really speak with her looking the way she did—all flushed and breathless in that really pretty dress that reminded Ash of diamonds and other gems he didn't know the names of.

There was an awkward silence that settled between them. It killed Ash, it really did. But he just didn't know what to say. He was still breathing pretty hard, and his heart was still pounding in his ears, though the sound had dulled. He just didn't feel like himself at all.

"I," Serena bit her lip, "I hear you all are going out! Nemona said she was going to take you all dancing."

Ash let out a short laugh. He scratched the back of his head, "Yea, she did mention that. I guess she doesn't know I'm the world's worst dancer."

Serena's smile flickered, a hint of shyness in her eyes. "Well," she paused, gathering her thoughts as a tightness gripped her throat, "I'm going with you all!"

Ash could tell she was trying to cheer him up, which he appreciated, but it wasn't really working for some reason.

"That's, uh, great," Ash managed, his hand running through his hair. He tried to look excited. "But don't you have to go, um," he gestured vaguely towards the direction of the box.

"No," Serena stepped close to him, her head shaking in determination. "I'm done with all of that tonight. I want to go with you."

Ash couldn't help but feel a little better at hearing her say that. He brightened, nodding.

With Pikachu still nestled in her arms, Serena's smile widened. She reached out, her fingers wrapping gently around Ash's wrist, her laughter light as she tugged him along. "Come on, I have to change first and then we can go meet the others."

As Ash allowed himself to be led back downstairs and through the backstage maze, a wider smile began to play at the corners of his mouth—the familiar ease he was used to between them, returning.

They entered her dressing room, a space that mirrored the aftermath of the showcase's excitement. The room was a mess: makeup scattered across the vanity, costumes draped haphazardly, bouquets of flowers splashing color and scents amidst the chaos.

"This place looks worse than my room," Ash teased, his eyes scanning the area. He spotted a box of chocolates on Serena's vanity and lifted the lid only to find it empty.

Serena noticed him and pulled out another box of candy from a pile beside the door. "I have more!" she offered, a bit anxiously, before returning to the racks of clothes that lined one side of the room.

Ash chuckled, taking the box shoved into his chest. "Where'd you get…?" his voice trailed off when he noticed more boxes of candy piled high besides all the bouquets of flowers. Ash almost chuckled to himself but felt too depressed to laugh it off. He placed the candy back into the pile, much to Pikachu's irritation.

"So you liked the show?" Serena asked rather casually, pulling Ash from his thoughts.

He turned to respond but found himself quickly looking away. Behind her partition, Serena's back was turned to him. But the sight of the tops of her bare shoulders peeking over the barrier caught him off guard, sending a wave of embarrassment through him. Ash's face flushed, and he stammered for a moment, struggling to regain his composure. His eyes darted to anything and everything, trying to distract himself with anything else in the room. He tried to think about the show. Failed. Miserably.

"I-it was amazing," he offered, rubbing his face with his hands. He couldn't think of anything else to say. After another minute or two of just listening to Serena shuffle through clothing, Ash made a move towards the exit. "I think I'll wait out—,"

"Sorry! I'm done," Serena breathed, short-winded in her hurry.

Ash took a moment, steadying his breathing as he watched Serena re-emerge from behind the partition. Her attire had transformed from the opulence of her previous dress to something more relaxed yet equally enchanting. It was a simple yet tasteful strapless white dress, light and airy. The smocked bodice hugged her form comfortably, flaring out into a short skirt, the hem adorned with delicate trim, that bounced playfully as she moved.

Ash's gaze lingered on her, his eyes soft. "I like that dress," the compliment slipped out spontaneously, an honest thought voiced aloud before he could stop it. As soon as he spoke, Ash felt his neck begin to burn and his collar grow tight.

Serena, focused on slipping into her wedges, wobbled precariously. In a moment of imbalance—or surprise—she stumbled forward. Ash's reflexes kicked in, and he reached out to steady her, his hands finding her waist to prevent her fall.

For a fleeting moment, neither of them moved. Serena blinked, her hands on Ash's chest—her face centimeters from listening to his rapid heartbeat. She looked up to see their faces only inches apart. Words felt useless. A blush inflamed both their cheeks at the intimate proximity. But they stayed like that, suspended in time, each acutely aware of the other's pulse and the warmth between them.

"Um, you like this dress?" Serena's voice left her like a sigh, her words slow and measured as she began to reluctantly disentangle herself from Ash's arms. There was a hesitant smile on her lips, a faint hint of curiosity as she registered his earlier compliment. "And…and why is that? What about the dress I was wearing before?"

Frozen in the moment, Ash became acutely conscious of Serena's departing touch. It was as if he had turned to stone, every muscle tense, every nerve on high alert. He was hyper-aware of the importance of respect, of boundaries, and the fear of overstepping held him rigid. He didn't want to do anything wrong.

But feeling her on him sent his mind wandering. He sifted through memories until landing on a distant one. There was a time, simpler and seemingly worlds away, when Serena had been in his arms before. Back then, the moment was innocent, uncomplicated by the layers of history and unspoken things now woven through their current interaction.

This echo of the past mingled with the present, blurring lines, stirring a nostalgia that was both comforting and confusing. Ash was caught between times, between the innocent moments and the confusion of now, all while holding Serena, the person who had really been there since the beginning.

"Yeah," he finally said, his voice a whisper from somewhere distant, as if he were speaking from across a vast expanse, "I mean—I liked them both," he tried again, gently pushing away from her, "I just, uh, I don't know. This one's more, um, you." He turned away, his eyes looking around the room as though finding interest in anything else.

Serena, sensing the need to ease the tension, allowed Ash the space his gaze sought, even though she longed for him to look at her again. Her sigh was soft, tinged with understanding and disappointment, but she kept her smile in place. "I think so too," she agreed, her voice gentle. Affirming.

Those words seemed to act as a balm, and Ash allowed his eyes to drift back to her, his relief palpable. The tight knot of confusion and embarrassment began to unravel as he saw her genuine smile, felt the comfort in her voice.

"Come on," she said, grabbing a matching purse and nodding towards the door signaling it was time to rejoin the world outside the bubble of the dressing room. She adjusted the knot at her waist, perfecting the fit of her dress with a simple, fluid motion.

Ash nodded in agreement, ready to follow Serena's lead. He almost half-expected for her to take his hand again, but she didn't.

Pikachu, its mouth covered in chocolate, sighed.

---

Arven really should have known that "going out" really meant—for him, at least—the following: "Arven, please make sure your friends all survive a night of strangely tense interactions, moments of stupidity, and more."

Arven sipped his water calmly at the counter of the club's bar, the cool glass a small comfort amidst the chaotic buzz. The polished surface reflected the colorful array of bottles lined against a backdrop of eclectic lighting. Above, industrial-style lamps hung, casting a warm glow over the patrons, while potted plants interspersed between the spirits added a touch of greenery to the urban chic decor.

On the dance floor, a sea of people lost themselves in the music, their energy infectious, their movements a mixture of grace and abandon. Strobe lights sliced through the darkness, spotlighting the faces of the crowd in fleeting moments of intensity.

Arven's gaze flitted between Brock, who seemed determined to introduce himself to every woman whose eye he caught, and Goh, whose naivety with the bar's customs had him unintentionally amassing a small arsenal of drinks all because he thought "all the drinks sounded cool" and told the bartender as much. Each time Brock made a move, Arven was there, steering him back to the bar. And for Goh, Arven found himself interjecting repeatedly trying to tell the bartender that "no, this kid does not need any more drinks" and to Goh, "you are going to have to pay for those."

It was a workout. On top of which, Arven had to babysit.

Ash sulked next to the bar, clearly feeling out of place in the buzz of the atmosphere. The young champion was clearly not trying to watch Serena as she danced with the other girls and Aliquis, who seemed to be having way too much fun—in Arven's opinion—taking turns spinning and twirling the excited young women.

"What time is it?" Ash asked about the hundredth time, watching the bubbles of his orange soda surface.

"It's still 1 a.m.," Arven sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was just his luck to have to sit here and have Ash ask for the time just about as often as a girl came up to ask the young champion to dance—all offers declined, of course. "You know, you can go home if you're not having a good time," Arven suggested loudly before another group of girls tried to make their way towards the monarch. "Hohma already left!"

Ash's eyes flashed. He looked offended. "I'm having a great time! This is awesome!"

Arven rolled his eyes, but then quickly spotted Brock barreling for a purple-haired woman standing beside the DJ. "H-Hey! Come on," he groaned, disappearing into the dance floor.

Serena spied Ash sitting alone—even Pikachu seemed elsewhere. There was a section of the club for the Pokémon to dance and Pickachu had apparently decided to not let Ash's mood get him down. Serena's attention was briefly diverted, as Aliquis spun her and Ohara once more just as a song ended. As Nemona went off to dance with other partners, Serena took the opportunity to leave the dance floor for a moment, squeezing through the crowds towards the bar.

The bar was alive with movement and chatter, bathed in the ambient light that reflected off the glossed and metal surfaces, creating a tapestry of colorful lights and shadow. Bartenders hustled back and forth, crafting cocktails with an artisan's flair and bustling out aromatic food, all the while patrons engaged in animated conversations, their laughter rising above the thumping baseline of the music.

Serena noticed a group of young women congregating near Ash. Their eager excitement clear, each one flushed and a bit embarrassed as they vied for the champion's attention, their attire chic and clearly carefully chosen. Ash, overwhelmed by their attention, didn't immediately notice Serena slipping up beside him.

"No, I'm sorry, I don't really dance," Ash was apologizing, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish smile. From behind him, Serena couldn't help but shoot the girls a very mild look of warning, and they murmured to one another before getting the hint. Ash, confused by their sudden departure, turned around to see Serena. He looked away as if on instinct, but then forced himself to glance back, nodding to her with effort.

Serena suppressed the urge to snap at him. He had been avoiding her pretty much since they'd left the theater. At first, she'd been fine with giving him some space to cool off from whatever it is that happened on the balcony—and the dressing room—but now she was getting annoyed.

"You know, you can dance with us," she said coolly, smiling at the bartender who made her a drink free of charge. In almost a childish state of rebellion towards Ash's cold display, she brought the sweet, pink cocktail to her lips. She was surprised to find that she actually enjoyed it. "You don't really have to know how to dance," she licked her lips, feeling the sugar linger there. "It's just fun to be there and, I don't know, you could spin me around."

Why was she putting him in these positions? Ash thought, a bit angrily. No, he did not want to spin her around and act like everything was fine when it wasn't. He was confused and he kept watching her lips like he wanted to do more than just 'spin her around.' And that was frustrating the heck out of him, because it was like these feelings were coming out of nowhere. Besides, Ash didn't know how to tell her that he wanted to be the only one spinning her around. He didn't want to share her with Aliquis, or have to spin Nemona and Ohara around when Serena was right there.

And so, Ash decided to communicate the best he could at that moment: He shrugged.

"Okay," Serena's tone was short and clipped. "I'm going to go back now," she offered, as though allowing Ash a moment to stop her.

He didn't.

Arven returned just as Serena was leaving in a sulky huff. "Arceus, now what," he groaned, turning to Ash, "Let me guess—you just sat there and didn't even say a thing?"

The young champion blinked, as though he didn't seem to understand why that would be wrong in any way.

Arven was about to reply, when Goh—who had gone off to dance with some girls—returned to the bar to ask the bartender to make his entire entourage drinks. "He literally doesn't understand that these are not free—I just—I don't even—," Arven pulled at his hair, muttering to himself as he stalked over to Goh, who only waved happily at seeing the botanist.

The night at the club continued, a symphony of interactions both harmonious and discordant. Ash remained a silent observer, his presence at the bar a still point in the swirling energy of the club. He watched Arven continue going back and forth between trying to contain Brock's overzealous attempts at romance to Goh's misunderstanding of bar economics. The botanist's frustration increasing as he tried to explain (again) to an obliviously cheerful Goh that his newfound role as a generous benefactor was not sustainable.

Ash couldn't help but keep an eye on Serena. She was the picture of joy, dancing and laughing with Nemona, Ohara, and Aliquis. Her carefree spirit captivated, and Ash liked seeing her happy like that—he really did. He liked watching her have a nice time and watching her dance; her lightness defying the gravity of the evening's earlier tension.

He wanted to be a part of it all, but Ash just didn't know how to enter back into any sense of normalcy when he felt like this—all confused and aimless. He felt like he had no control over what he wanted. Part of him wanted for just everything to go back to normal with her, that they could just be good friends, and that everything could just be easy again. But another part of him—the much stronger part, hated that idea. It was like something within Ash had awoken—or maybe it had been awake for a long time now ever since Serena kissed him—and he had only been trying to bury that part of himself for a long time only to fail miserably now that he was around her again. He just couldn't see Serena the way he used to. Her lips were welded into his memory—her past hopes becoming his future hopes—and it roused Ash to do something in case he missed his chance.

The night wore on, a montage of laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses and bottles. Ash's gaze occasionally met Serena's in the fleeting moments the lights were on her. Each glance was a mix of longing and uncertainty, a silent dialogue in a room full of noise.

At some point, the dancing trio made their way back to the bar, where Arven had Brock and Goh sitting like properly trained Mabosstiffs at the counter with two sodas to keep them in place. Ash perked up at seeing everyone return—Pikachu, Grookey, Pawmo, and Pancham having huddled around the young champion after dancing themselves to exhaustion.

"Okay," Serena said finally, her voice nearly muted by the music, addressing Nemona and Ohara; her face flushed from dancing. "Well, I think it's time for me to go!"

Nemona and Ohara hugged and kissed her goodbye, the two girls also a bit dazed from fatigue. After leaving Serena's arms, they found themselves in Arven's, who blushed furiously but managed to support the two, before finding them seats at the bar with a heavy sigh. As if to say, "a little help?" Arven looked at Aliquis, who was coolly wiping his damp bangs from his face and ordering a drink.

Ash felt like he was watching everything in slow motion. "Serena, wait," Ash caught her by the arm, feeling her flushed skin against his cool fingers.

"Ash," Serena laughed softly though the sound was hollow. Her voice grew distant. "Why do I feel like you're always asking me to wait?"

Ash didn't really understand what she was saying, his heartbeat was too loudly drumming in his ears. "Can I walk you home?" He asked, releasing her arm to thrust both his hands in his pockets.

Serena looked at him with mild disbelief. Hadn't he spent most of the night avoiding her? She chewed on her bottom lip. "Of course," she said earnestly—breathlessly; because every inch of her hoped and always hoped and always would hope for him to walk her home. And she just didn't care anymore if anyone thought her weak or naive or simple for that.

"Ok, great!" Ash grinned, every inch of him relaxing with some relief, "Alright guys, we're going to go!"

As Ash announced their departure, Pikachu hopped onto Ash's shoulder with a cheerful sound. Pancham, on the other hand, seemed to understand the shifting dynamics of the moment. With a small, knowing look towards Serena, he gestured towards his pokéball. The performer, catching the hint, nodded and returned Pancham with a soft beam of red light. It was then that Pikachu realized his own mistake, but it was too late to abandon ship—Ash and Serena had already said their goodbyes to the rest of the group; the farewells brief, a mixture of tired smiles and half-hearted waves.

Stepping out of the club, Ash and Serena were greeted by the warm embrace of the night. The air was still, carrying the faint scent of summer flowers and the distant echo of city life. The stark contrast between the club's vibrant energy and the serene more quiet streets of the outside world hit a striking chord.

As they began to walk, a strained silence enveloped them. It was a heavy, tangible thing, and Pikachu decided to hop off Ash's shoulder and follow them some feet away. Ash's hands remained buried in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched as if bracing against an invisible weight. Serena walked beside him, her steps measured, her mind a whirlwind.

"Nice night," Ash began.

"It is."

They started speaking at once:

"You were great tonight—,"

"Thanks again for—,"

Silence. The light sound of some pedestrians.

After a little while, Serena shifted. "Ash," Serena began, rubbing her bare arms before adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder, "Why didn't you ever come see me? Before?"

Ash thought about the dance classes—how he'd left suddenly. "I, um…Well, Blitz took…" he stopped. He didn't want to lie. "I did come. But I couldn't stay."

Silence as they walked.

"I wasn't talking about the classes," Serena spoke so softly her voice was almost lost in the Paldean winds, "I meant…when I became Kalos Queen. And after."

This caught Ash by surprise and he looked at her, studying her eyes as though trying to find the answer in them. "I didn't know you wanted me to be there," Ash found himself saying, because it was true. That and he had always been…afraid? Yeah, if he was being honest with himself, he'd always been a little nervous to see her again after she'd kissed him. He had been a little tense on the dock in Lilycove—when he rambled. He had been afraid to go see her after the Welcome Ceremony; he had been afraid to speak with her after seeing her dance.

"Well, I did," Serena spoke quietly. "Ash." Suddenly, Serena stopped walking, they were in the middle of a narrow, empty alley, the moonlight illuminating soft pools of light between the cobblestones. Somewhere off in the distance they heard the hum of people still enjoying the night.

"Yeah?" Ash asked, worried. A determined look seemed to have come over her, hardening the delicate features of her face.

Serena put a hand—a strong hand—on Ash's chest to turn him fully towards her. "You have to know," she whispered, and she didn't know what it was—the subtle humming of drink in her blood or the years of pent up feeling or both. Or everything. But she stepped closer to him. "You have to know that—that I'll always want you there. For everything. Always."

Ash looked at her. His hands, still buried in his pockets—as though he didn't trust them—itched. "Um," his heart kept thudding against the walls of his ribcage. It was almost painful. He thought he understood her, but he needed to make sure. "Serena," he started. Stopped. Started again. "Where's the ribbon?"

Serena looked shocked, her mouth hanging slightly ajar. She felt too tired to try and figure out what he was getting at, but she couldn't deny the looming pit in her stomach that seemed to be enlarging at the thought of him maybe trying to change the subject.

"Why do you want to know?" The performer finally asked, taking in a deep breath to compose herself. Why did he want to know? Did it…did it mean something to him? After all this time? Honestly, she was a little surprised he'd remembered it—let alone noticed she'd gone with it.

Ash averted his gaze and began studying the individual bricks of a nearby building. "I, uh," his jaw seemed to be working hard over the words, "I'm just wondering if it still means anything to you."

Serena blinked. "It does, Ash," she surprised herself with the confident immediacy of her answer. However, while the next words hurt tremendously for her to say, she felt like they were necessary. "But, it won't hold its meaning forever," Serena felt her throat thicken. She swallowed, "That is, not unless it begins to mean something to you."

The boy from Pallet Town looked at her again. This time his stare was intense and searching. "Why?" Ash asked, not turning away from her this time. He needed her to just tell him. He needed to hear it from her.

Serena closed her eyes and began pulling her hand away from him. "Really, Ash?" Her eyes flashed with frustration, "I can't be any more clear! I mean—I kissed you!"

"Yea, but that was three years ago! How do I know you still feel the same way?" Ash protested, a hand erupting from one of his pockets to catch her fingers before she completely pulled away from him.

Serena actually scoffed. "Ash, it takes me days to recover after I dream of you. Imagine how hard it is for me when I have to see you again…"

It took a moment for the words to register.

But a slow grin began to form on Ash's face. It was a wide and boyish smile, uncontrolled and brilliant. "So you still dream of me?" His grip tightened over hers. "You mean—you still feel the same way?"

Serena's face could have boiled water. "Ash Ketchum, this is not funny!"

"I'm not laughing!" Ash exclaimed, though he was chuckling as the bubbles surfaced from his chest up into his throat. He couldn't explain it, but something inside him seemed to jump for joy as though he'd just won a league championship. "Sorry, I mean, I'm not laughing at you! I'm laughing because I'm…I don't know—happy! Serena, I think you just made me really happy!"

Serena's mouth fell up and down like a Magikarp. "W—what?" She squeaked, bringing her other hand to her lips as though to prevent any other sounds from slipping through. "But you've been avoiding me all night! And you…you…"

"Well," Ash scratched the back of his head, still grinning, "I mean, I'm still kind of nervous and scared about all of this, but I really want to be there for you. And I've just been realizing that I want you to be at all of my stuff too!"

Serena blinked. What was happening? Was she dreaming? Maybe she was drunk and didn't realize it…Maybe Nemona drugged her…

"Ash!" She closed her eyes and took a deep stabilizing breath, "What are you saying? You mean…Wait, what are you saying?"

Ash let go of her to run both of his hands through his hair. "Look, I…I really love being friends," he began bouncing in the tips of his feet, "And I don't want to ruin our friendship, but—"

Serena was hanging on to every word, shivering despite the warm air.

Ash tugged at his collar, clearing his throat. "Um, but I just feel different around you. You're really special. You're so nice to everyone, so generous and patient and encouraging. And you're brave and passionate about your dreams, always trying to do your best and," Ash couldn't help but flush, "well, I just want to be closer to you than just a friend, if that makes sense. Like, I want you to be something more to me, because, in a way, I think you already are."

Serena couldn't breathe. She was going to faint. She just knew it.…but thankfully she only felt her lips break into a smile. A very wide and beautiful smile. "That makes sense, Ash," Serena replied patiently, biting her lip now to try and keep herself from giggling uncontrollably. When she had calmed herself, she spoke again, more serious and breathless. "Thank you…for saying all those things about me. You can't imagine how that made me feel hearing all that from you."

Ash seemed relieved, his shoulders unraveling. He returned her smile. "Well, it's all true."

And the two of them just stood there for a few minutes, smiling at one another, shifting their weight between their feet, embarrassed. Serena clutched her arms and Ash scratched his nose.

Somehow, Pikachu had procured popcorn and was watching everything unfold in the shadows.

"So," Ash began, looking around them as though searching the air for something to say, "um, what happens now?"

Serena laughed. The sound like a running river beneath the moonlight. "Well," she started, walking again towards her apartment, which wasn't far now, "I guess we start seeing each other more. And we go on dates."

"Dates," Ash repeated, as though the concept were a little foreign to him. He had heard Brock talk about them before, but wasn't really sure what they entailed. Ash suddenly felt uncomfortable and self-conscious again. "Hey, Serena?"

"Yes?"

"You'll," Ash looked flustered, "you'll be patient with me right? Like, I don't know anything about all this stuff yet and I wanna get it right, but I'm going to need some time. Can we…take things slow? And…and maybe not tell the others right away? I just don't want them bothering us."

Serena's smile was gracious. "Of course I'll be patient with you, Ash. And we can go as slow as you need. I—," she could hardly contain herself. It took everything in her to not just jump into his arms and bring his face down to hers. "I'm just so happy!"

Ash grinned. "Yeah. Me too." And he really meant it. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Like he'd confronted something he'd been avoiding head on, only to find that the thing he'd been running from was actually the very thing he'd really wanted all along. Of course, this was all tempered by a new nervous fear lying just beneath the surface of everything. He had never done anything like this before, obviously. But also he had never felt like this before—vulnerable and open. Part of Ash didn't even recognize himself. Since when had he stopped thinking only of battling and Pokémon and food. Since when did Serena start to take over his mind? Since when did she start to influence his own happiness?

As the two of them walked, like travelers in a shared but unspoken dream, the buildings around them gradually changed, indicating they were nearing Serena's apartment. The structures became more residential feeling, with the warm glow of lights in windows hinting at the lives unfolding within.

Finally, they arrived. It was a modest but well-kept brown-stone structure, standing quietly amidst its surroundings. Ash looked up at the building, taking in its familiar yet foreign appearance. "So this is where you live, huh?" he asked, already trying to commit the directions to memory.

"It is," Serena acknowledged shyly, pulling out a set of keys from her purse.

"I guess I should get your number?" Ash grinned at her but looked embarrassed. "I really should have gotten it before. But I'm really bad at that stuff."

Again, Ash had to own up to the fact that he had probably been avoiding getting her number for a while now. He had everyone else's number.

"That's okay, Ash." Serena felt like she was in a fog. Everything was blurred and unclear.

"So," Ash looked at her, the two of them close now as they handed back each other's phones, "I guess I'll see you around."

"Yes," Serena breathed, her eyes incandescently aglow as she looked up at him. "You will."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Serena hesitated, wondering if she should do something. She wanted to, so badly. But Ash had already put himself out there for her, and she didn't want to overwhelm him. With a happy sigh, the performer decided that she had already made her move—three years ago. She would wait for Ash to make his move when he was ready. She turned the key to her building and stepped in, looking back at Ash one last time before disappearing into a dimly lit corridor.

Ash waited until she vanished inside. When the door closed, he felt as though he could breathe again. Had his heart been beating that loudly this whole time? He crouched down and looked at Pikachu, who now sat by his feet.

"Did you hear all that? We're going to be more than friends!" Ash lifted a fist in triumph and Pikachu grinned, mimicking the gesture.

"Pika, pi!" Pikachu jumped with excitement, but also nudged Ash with a knowing smirk as if to say, 'took you long enough.'

Ash nuzzled the top of his companion's head and sighed. Standing, he tilted his head towards the school, "Come on! I'll race you!"

And their footsteps echoed across the night.

Meanwhile, somewhere in one of the many apartments above them, Serena threw herself onto her bed, brought her face into a pillow, and cried.