Amid the heavy weight of academia and expectation, Albert carved out spaces to simply live.
Thanks to Sister Maribel's teachings, he played music in the evenings, filling the manor with gentle piano or violin melodies, sometimes harmonizing with Steven, who can play the piano.
He painted in the gardens, capturing roses, sunlight, and sometimes portraits of Pokémon that had stayed with them.
He loved books, devouring philosophy and poetry alongside dense scientific journals.
He enjoyed chess with Percy, debates with Joseph, and quiet evenings with Sister Maribel.
Albert was brilliant, yes, but he was also compassionate.
He remembered every Pokémon he had studied, every trainer he had helped, and never once forgot that his work was not just theory—it was lives.
That fragility, that empathy, was what made people who knew him not just admire him, but love him.
All these things—music, painting, food, strategies, Pokémon care—made him more than a scholar. They made him whole.
And then there was Steven.
The heir to Devon Corp, who had grown in parallel with Albert.
At six, Steven was already precociously bright, and by ten, his interest in stones and minerals had deepened into obsession.
His room was filled with shelves of rare geological finds, many of which Albert had helped him catalog with quiet patience.
Steven trained as a would-be Pokémon trainer through seminars, camps, and bootcamps—his father sparing no expense.
He came back from each one taller, stronger, a little more confident. Yet, no matter how far he traveled, his first stop upon returning was always Albert's study or laboratory.
Their bond had shifted subtly as they aged.
As children, they were simply companions, two prodigies bound by circumstance.
By their early teens, Albert noticed how Steven's gaze lingered longer, how conversations about stones turned into confessions of worry or dreams of the future.
And by sixteen, their relationship had entered an ambiguous territory.
In the quiet hours, when titles and roles melted away, there was something else.
A closeness that hovered at the edge of definition, ambiguous yet undeniable.
They sat together in the manor's garden, sometimes with words, often with silence.
When Albert played piano in the evenings, Steven lingered, listening with a gaze that said more than praise.
They were both aware of the implications.
Albert, veiled to the world, was an enigma protected as a national treasure.
Steven, the public heir of Devon, expected to carry his family's name forward.
And yet, in private, there were fleeting moments—a brush of hands as they passed papers, Albert's soft smile when Steven teased him, Steven's protective instincts flaring whenever Albert looked tired.
They never spoke of it, but neither did they pull away from each other. The ambiguity became its own kind of intimacy.
And now, Albert Hugo Deford was sixteen.
His birthday, August 28, had been celebrated quietly in the Stone Manor.
The dining hall had been decorated with flowers and soft music.
The celebration was intimate, as all Albert's birthdays had been.
A long table set in the manor's dining room, candlelight flickering against crystal glasses. Joseph at the head, Percy grinning from one side, and Sister Maribel offering blessings from the other.
Sister Maribel had baked a cake, Percy had teased him mercilessly about finally "being of legal trainer age," and Joseph had given a rare, warm smile as he toasted Albert's future.
Steven had sat beside him, their shoulders brushing, and when Albert caught his eye, the warmth there said more than words could.
Albert's gifts were practical and personal: a set of rare paints from Percy and a hand-bound music book from Sister Maribel.
From Joseph, besides a brand-new car he had been eyeing, came words more precious than any present: "Whatever the world demands of you, Albert, remember—here, you are simply family."
And from Steven… a watch.
Not like the one from their childhood, but refined—silver, engraved with delicate patterns that shimmered like wings when caught by light.
On its back was a single line: To remind you of time well spent.
Albert did not speak when he accepted it, only smiled, the kind of smile reserved for Steven alone.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Later that evening, after the candles had burned low and the manor lay in silence, Albert and Steven slipped into the garden.
The moon cast silver light over trimmed hedges and blooming roses, their fragrance mingling with the cool night air.
They sat side by side on the stone bench, neither speaking at first.
Then Steven chuckled softly.
"You know, for all your degrees and titles, soon, you'll be just another sixteen-year-old lining up to take the exam."
Albert smirked, eyes glinting amethyst in the moonlight. "And you, for all your heir business, camps, and tutors, will be standing there with me."
Their laughter faded into quiet.
The air between them grew heavier, charged with words neither dared to speak.
Steven's hand brushed against Albert's on the bench, lingering just a moment longer than chance allowed.
Albert turned his gaze skyward, to the vast stretch of stars.
He thought of the boy he once was, the boy hidden, the boy veiled.
And then of the young man he had become—scholar, prodigy, son, and perhaps one day, something even greater.
His amethyst eyes reflected the starlight as he whispered, almost to himself:
"I think I'm ready."
Steven, watching him, did not ask what he meant.
He only nodded, quietly, as though the two of them had already made a promise without words.
Although Albert already held doctorates, masteries, and honors, this exam marked something different.
It was not about intellect or scholarship.
It was about a journey—about stepping onto the field, claiming his future partners, and facing the world not from behind books and veils but with his own strength.
For Albert, it meant embracing the challenge of becoming a Master Trainer, not merely as a title, but as the culmination of all he had prepared for.
It also means facing the danger of the world, in the wild, of the people, and the dark societies that his family and the IPA had inadvertently protected him from.
He knew, at that moment, he was ready to face the world head-on.
Chin-up, head held high, and with a face finally ready to be unveiled.
The world never knew what was coming.