The scene shifted to a three-story building on the quieter edge of Lumiose City. From the outside it looked like a modern research laboratory—ivory stone walls accented by deep blue trim, large arched windows on every floor, and a vibrant blue roof that stood out against the clear afternoon sky.
A wide stone balcony wrapped around the top level, giving the structure the grand appearance of a high-tech sanctuary. Near the entrance, a simple sign read:
Pokémon Research Lab – Professor Augustine Sycamore.
Warm light filtered through the tall windows, casting gentle patterns across the hallways. The air carried the faint smell of clean paper, fresh coffee, and the slight ozone hum from running equipment.
Up on the third floor, in Professor Sycamore's private office, the same light stretched across the polished stone floor, illuminating tall bookshelves along two walls filled with thick volumes on Pokémon biology, evolution theory, and regional Pokédex data.
A wide desk sat near the window with stacks of notes, a few Poké Balls resting neatly in small stands, and an open laptop showing a paused video of a recent Eevee evolution study.
In the corner opposite the desk stood a comfortable leather couch, where Professor Sycamore sat with his legs crossed at the ankles, leaning back against the cushions.
He wore his usual white lab coat over a simple blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A half-full mug of black coffee rested in his right hand, steam still rising in thin curls from the surface.
In his left hand he held that day's newspaper, the front page headline printed in bold letters: "Wildfire Engulfs Forest In Route 4 – Two Survivors Were Rescued."
He scanned the article slowly, eyes moving line by line across the columns of text. The paper rustled faintly each time he turned a page or adjusted his grip.
"Hmm…" he murmured to himself, voice low and thoughtful. "A large-scale fire spread through the forest, and two victims were caught in it?"
He paused, brow creasing just a little as he reread the next sentence. "I wonder who it is… but they escaped safely with the help of a gym leader named Viola, so it's a relief."
He lifted the mug to his lips again, took another slow sip of the still-hot coffee, then set it back down on the small side table next to the couch with a soft clink. The bitter warmth settled in his chest as he folded the newspaper once down the middle and placed it on the cushion beside him.
Then a knock came at the door—three firm, even taps.
Sycamore turned his head toward the sound, curiosity lifting his eyebrows slightly. He straightened his posture a bit on the couch.
"Who is it?" he called out, tone light and friendly as always.
A deep voice answered from the other side of the door, calm and measured.
"It's me, your friend."
Sycamore's face brightened instantly.
Recognition crossed his features, and he set both hands on the couch cushions to push himself up a little straighter.
"Ahh! Lysandre, come in!" he said, voice warm with genuine surprise. "Didn't expect you to be here."
He gestured toward the door even though Lysandre couldn't see it yet. "Come on in."
The doorknob turned with a quiet click. The door swung open smoothly, and Lysandre stepped inside.
He wore a dark suit with orange piping along the jacket and trousers. A fur-lined collar frames his neck, and an orange cravat draws attention to his center. Black gloves and polished boots complete the look, giving him a sharp, commanding presence.
But a normal, polite smile rested on his face—nothing forced, nothing overly bright, just the easy expression of someone dropping by an old acquaintance.
He closed the door behind him with one hand, the latch catching softly, then turned fully toward Sycamore.
Sycamore stood up from the couch now, brushing a few invisible crumbs from his lab coat as he did. He smiled wider, stepping forward a couple of paces to meet his visitor halfway across the room.
"Good to see you, old friend," he said, extending his right hand for a handshake.
"What brings you all the way to the lab at this hour of the day?"
Lysandre stepped forward the rest of the way and met Sycamore's extended hand in a firm handshake.
Their palms pressed together once, fingers closing briefly around each other's grip before releasing cleanly. Lysandre's gloved hand felt cool and steady against Sycamore's bare skin.
"Nothing much," Lysandre said, his deep voice calm and even. "Just here to drop off another abandoned Pokémon."
Sycamore's eyebrows lifted slightly higher. He let his hand drop back to his side and tilted his head a little, concern softening his expression right away.
"Again?" he asked, voice carrying genuine sympathy. "Poor thing... Would you show me what it is?"
Lysandre gave a small nod.
He slid his right hand into the hidden inner pocket of his suit jacket near his hip. He pulled out a standard pokéball and held it up between his thumb and index finger so Sycamore could see it clearly.
"It's very frightened," Lysandre said quietly.
"I suggest caution when you approach. It isn't native to this region, you may find it rather intriguing."
He pressed the center button with his thumb. The Poké Ball opened in his palm with a soft click, releasing a flash of red light that lit up the office for a split second.
The pokémon materialized on the floor between them, standing low on four legs.
It kept its head down at first, ears pressed flat against its skull, eyes squeezed shut. After a moment, it slowly cracked one eye open.
The dark pupil adjusted to the light — and locked on Professor Sycamore.
The instant their eyes met, the pokémon flinched.
Its body jerked backward in a clumsy scramble, hooves skittering on the polished stone as it darted behind Lysandre's legs. It pressed against the back of his trousers, head low, tail tucked between its hind legs, breathing fast and shallow through flared nostrils.
Sycamore's eyes widened in surprise.
His mouth parted; he took a half-step forward, then stopped himself. A flush of professorly excitement made his hands twitch—the urge to grab a notebook clear on his face.
"N-no way…" he breathed out, voice rising with barely contained energy.
"It's… it's… really..."
He trailed off, staring down at the small, trembling shape half-hidden behind Lysandre's legs.
His gaze lingered on every detail—the coat pattern, the ears, the shape of the legs. Something clicked in his mind. He'd seen photos, read reports, watched grainy footage from distant regions—but seeing one here, in his office, made his pulse quicken.
He stayed rooted where he was, hands half-raised as if afraid any sudden move would send the pokémon bolting again, but his eyes stayed wide and bright with that uncontainable wonder.
***
Meanwhile, in Santalune City, the streets hummed with midday life. Trainers in bright caps and backpacks walked side by side with civilians carrying shopping bags or leading small pokémon on leashes.
The city's stone walls and brick pathways gleamed softly under the sun, lined with European-style houses whose flower-filled gardens spilled color onto the sidewalks.
In the center square, the large Roselia-shaped fountain sprayed gentle arcs of water that caught the light in tiny rainbows.
A short walk west from the fountain stood a modest restaurant. A wooden sign swung gently from a metal bracket above the door, the words "Sunny Skillet" carved in neat, curling letters.
The building blended with its neighbors—pale stone walls, narrow upper windows, small flower beds blooming with marigolds and pansies at the base. The front door was glass-paneled with a polished brass handle.
A small brass bell hung above the frame. When the door opened, the bell gave a bright, clear ring.
Inside, the space felt calm and welcoming. Six square wooden tables stood evenly across the dark tile floor, each set with two or four straight-backed chairs.
Sunlight poured through the front windows, warming the tabletops and glinting off the cutlery. Along the left wall ran a counter for ordering, with a chalkboard menu behind it written in tidy white script: today's specials included Herb-Roasted Pidgey Skewers, Garden Berry Salad, and Freshly Baked Honey Loaf.
The air smelled of rosemary, garlic, and something sweet roasting in the oven.
Toward the back, a wide doorway opened directly into the kitchen. No swinging door—just an open view. A stone stove with iron grates held steady flames under several pots.
A preparation table nearby was neatly arranged with chopped leeks, diced carrots, and bowls of fresh berries.
At the stove stood a Combusken, tall and focused. It gripped a long-handled pan in one clawed hand, tilting it with practiced ease while stirring with the other.
Steam curled upward as it reached for a small jar of dried herbs on the shelf beside the stove, sprinkling a measured pinch without looking away from the pan.
The young female owner—early twenties, short auburn hair tied back with a blue ribbon, wearing a simple apron over a light green blouse and jeans—moved smoothly between counter and kitchen.
She checked the edge of a plate with a quick glance, nodded to herself, then carried it toward a waiting table.
Customers spoke in low, comfortable voices. Forks clinked against plates. No one hurried.
The bell rang again.
Bonnie burst through the door first, tugging Satoshi's hand so hard he had to lean forward to keep up. Her eyes were wide, nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply.
"It smells so good!" she squeaked, already bouncing on her toes. "Satoshi, look—there's food! Real food! Not just berries!"
Satoshi stumbled in after her, visor slightly askew from the sudden pull. He straightened it with his free hand and gave the room a quick scan, a small, tired smile tugging at his mouth.
"Yeah, yeah, I smell it too," he said, voice low but amused. "Slow down before you drag me into a table."
The young owner looked up from wiping her hands on a towel. Her face brightened the moment she saw them—especially Bonnie, who was still gripping Satoshi's sleeve like it was a lifeline.
"Welcome to Sunny Skillet!" she called, voice warm and clear as she stepped around the counter. "First time here? You two look like you've had quite a morning."
Bonnie nodded vigorously, eyes darting toward the chalkboard.
"We smelled it from the street! Is that… is that honey bread? And something with chicken? But not real chicken—pokémon chicken? Wait, no, that's not right—"
The owner laughed softly, crouching a little so she was eye-level with Bonnie.
"Pidgey skewers with roasted herbs—perfectly safe and delicious, I promise. And yes, the honey loaf just came out of the oven. Fresh, warm, a little crispy on the outside."
She straightened up and looked at Satoshi. "Table for two? Or are you just here to sniff the air?"
Satoshi rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down at Bonnie's pleading face.
"Table for two," he said. "She's not gonna let me leave without eating something."
"Smart girl," the owner replied with a wink. She gestured toward a table near the window where sunlight pooled on the wood.
"Right this way. I'll bring you the specials menu—and maybe a little sample of the bread to start. On the house."
Bonnie practically skipped ahead, tugging Satoshi along again.
"Yay! Thank you, miss!"
The owner smiled wider as she led them to the table.
"Call me Lila. And don't thank me yet—wait until you taste it."
As they settled into a small table near the front window, sunlight slanting across the polished wood, Bonnie immediately pulled the laminated menu toward her.
She hummed happily under her breath, swinging her legs under the chair while flipping pages back and forth with both hands, eyes wide at every colorful illustration.
Satoshi sat across from her, posture relaxed, arms crossed loosely on the table, visor shadowing his eyes just enough to look casual to anyone watching.
On the surface he appeared completely normal—calm, attentive, even nodding slightly when Bonnie pointed at a picture and asked, "Do you think the berry compote one tastes sweet?"
Inside his head, however, everything had ground to a screeching halt yet again.
'Skewer… skewer Pidgey… PIDGEY SKEWER!?'
His brain flatlined for a full second. The words stared back at him from the menu in neat black print: "Grilled Pidgey Skewers – Herb-Marinated, Served with Roasted Root Vegetables."
'So wait… all this time… eating Pokémon is actually a thing?! I've seen tons of forums, lore videos, YouTube debates, fan speculation back in my world, but I never thought any of it was real!!'
Mental tabs spun open in rapid succession—old Reddit threads, hour-long analysis videos, heated comment sections—all buffering at once like a bad connection.
'Wait, hold on… this is canon? We're seriously talking about pokémon on a menu?'
Then the realization crashed in, sharp and undeniable.
'Pokémon are animals. Stronger than the ones back home, sure. Some with elemental powers, flight, telekinesis, whatever. But animals nonetheless. In my world, animals do hunt each other to survive. Predators eat prey. Food chains exist. So obviously some pokémon hunt too, or they'd starve.'
He exhaled slowly through his nose, gaze flicking over the rest of the menu without really seeing it anymore.
'And humans? Off their diet list. Cats and dogs aren't dinner back home, so no one's eating Pikachu or Growlithe here either. Common livestock exist—cows, pigs, chickens, Miltank milk, Farfetch'd eggs—so it's no stretch that certain Pokémon fill the same ecological role. Everything lines up.'
He leaned back slightly in the chair, arms uncrossing as the last piece clicked into place.
'So in conclusion, this isn't weird. No wonder Zigzagoon spared my sanity by not bringing it up.'
Bonnie looked up from the menu, tilting her head at him.
"Satoshi? You're being quiet. Do you want the Pidgey skewers too? Or the veggie stir-fry?"
He met her eyes, expression steady, no trace of the internal whirlwind left on his face.
"Veggie stir-fry sounds good," he said.
"Let's get one of each and share. You pick the dessert."
Bonnie beamed, already waving toward the counter to catch the owner's attention.
"Okay! I want the Pecha Berry parfait!"
*
To be continued...
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