Stone Manor became more than just a home; it was the anchor of his entire childhood.
Joseph Stone, patriarch, remained stern yet unwaveringly proud.
Though he seldom said the words, his actions spoke volumes: granting Albert unrestricted access to Devon's research libraries, arranging safe passage for mentors to visit the manor, quietly smoothing political waves whenever Albert's name threatened to stir unrest.
In public, Joseph always referred to Albert as "the boy under our care," but in private, his gaze carried the weight of a father.
Joseph Stone was a pillar—stern when needed, indulgent when Albert's small body was pushed too far by long hours of research, and always calculating in how he shielded the boy from the outside world's prying eyes.
Percy, on the other hand, was the warm, brotherly presence. Ever dependable, both a brother and a shadow.
He often dragged Albert away from his workbench to watch a movie, play chess, or spar gently in the garden.
He kept Albert grounded, making sure meals were eaten when research consumed him, teasing him when he grew too serious, reminding him that life existed outside equations and laboratories.
Albert often said Percy was most of the time the reason he remembered to sleep at all.
It was also Percy who first noticed Albert's physical growth. "You're getting taller, Al. Gonna outpace me soon." He smiled wistfully.
Sister Maribel remained a constant presence, too.
She remained a guiding star, though her visits were less frequent as Albert grew.
Despite not living in the manor, she visited often, her role oscillating between mentor, counselor, and the rare adult who treated Albert not as a miracle but as a boy who sometimes needed to rest, laugh, or even sulk.
Her lessons were not dogma, but reminders that knowledge without kindness could become a weapon.
She had taught him piano, patiently guiding his small hands across the keys, and it was under her encouragement that Albert explored other hobbies: painting delicate scenes of the manor's gardens, playing the violin, cooking for his loved ones, and—though few ever heard it—singing.
His voice was clear and haunting, a secret shared only in the Stone family's private halls.
Once, in the music room, late at night, Albert sat at the piano, voice low as he sang softly to himself.
The song was old, from his past life, but it filled the air with longing and beauty.
Steven leaned against the doorframe, frozen.
He had heard Albert play before, but never sing. The sound seemed to reach right into his chest.
When Albert finished, he turned, startled. "You were listening."
Steven only nodded, cheeks faintly red. "You… you should sing more often."
Albert smiled, a little embarrassed, but promised nothing.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Looking back, Albert had been small at five, frail-looking even.
But by sixteen, his body had caught up with his mind.
His psychic training, coupled with occasional exercise with Steven and Percy, Albert stood taller, shoulders broad but not heavy, a frame athletic from years of deliberate exercise and sparring, tempered with grace rather than brute strength.
Where once there was frailty, there was now height and poise.
His skin, now a healthy pale, carried a subtle glow that drew the eye, a refinement that seemed less of the body and more of the soul.
Handsome was too mild a word for his face. He was striking, dazzling, beautiful in a way that made strangers pause and hold their breath.
His platinum blond hair caught the sunlight like polished steel, his amethyst eyes glowing faintly, luminous and unyielding, like twin jewels under the veil of psychic sheen.
However, it was too bad; almost no one outside his own circle had ever seen his face.
Thus, his face had become his most dangerous secret.
The world did not know what Researcher Deford looked like.
Not really.
Outside the walls of this manor, no photograph, no sketch, no captured moment survived.
His psychic veil—perfected over years of training with experts who had come and gone in hushed secrecy—obscured every detail of his face, replacing it with an indistinct, shifting impression.
The public only knew him as the "Veiled Prodigy," the boy who had broken records, rewritten scientific fields, and graduated from Lilycove University before his peers could even finish middle school.
The irony was not lost on Albert: in public records, he was only a boy preparing for his Pokémon Trainer Licensure Exam to qualify for a college application and a trainer's license.
To the world, however, he has a master rank and a doctorate in all three of his professions.
He was a figure already cited in thousands and thousands of papers, whose theories reshaped understandings of evolution, potential, and ability.
Two identities, carefully separated by necessity, yet both undeniably him.