"Damian… there's something I want to ask you."
After chatting for a while, Lillie finally seemed to steady her breathing. She hesitated, fingers tightening around the edge of her skirt, then forced the words out.
"Asking for 'advice' makes it sound like I'm some kind of expert," Damian said lightly, still idly playing with Nebby. "Go on."
"It's… like this. I have a friend."
The classic line.
Damian's lips curved, amused, but he didn't expose her. He simply waited.
Lillie lowered her head. Her feet swung gently above the ground, almost absentmindedly, as if she were trying to soothe herself with the motion.
"She used to have… a perfect family," she began softly. "Her father was considerate. Her mother was gentle. And her brother… always protected her."
For a moment, her voice warmed—then it faltered.
"But there was an accident. Her father went missing." Lillie's throat tightened. "And from that moment on, her gentle mother… started to change."
"She stopped caring about her children's feelings. She became cold. She stopped listening. She became strict—so strict it was frightening."
Lillie's voice dropped even lower.
It wasn't hard to hear the fear behind it.
"And she wanted to do something dangerous. Something that… couldn't be taken back." She swallowed. "In the end, her children couldn't endure it anymore. They ran away from that cold, enormous mansion."
Lillie lifted her eyes just a little, not quite daring to meet Damian's gaze.
"Damian… do you think that was the right thing to do?"
She sounded lost—like she'd been carrying the question for too long, and it had finally become too heavy.
"A family mess," Damian said, as if weighing it. "That's a hard one. 'Right' and 'wrong' don't always fit neatly in situations like that."
He paused, then leaned forward slightly.
"So let me ask you something instead."
Lillie's breath caught.
"Does your friend believe her mother still loves her?"
Lillie froze.
The question landed too cleanly—no comfort wrapped around it, no soft padding. Just the truth, offered without mercy.
Her lips parted.
And then she realized, painfully, that she didn't know.
"I…" Lillie's voice trembled. "She doesn't know."
Her eyes stung. Red crept into them no matter how hard she fought it.
"She doesn't know if her mother still loves her."
Damian let out a quiet breath, watching her struggle.
"Then it's already serious."
His gaze sharpened—not at Lillie, but at the invisible person behind her words.
Lusamine.
What a sinful woman.
To twist a girl like this into someone who flinches at the idea of going home… that took a special kind of cruelty.
Damian's expression remained calm, but something colder moved beneath it.
"Here's my opinion," he said. "Running away isn't always wrong. Sometimes it's the only way a person can breathe."
Lillie wiped at her eyes quickly, as if ashamed she'd let the tears surface.
But she listened.
"However," Damian continued, voice steady, "running away also doesn't solve anything. It buys time. It buys distance. But it doesn't untie the knot."
He glanced down at Nebby, then back at her.
"Family bonds don't snap as easily as people think. Even when they hurt."
Lillie's shoulders tensed.
Damian spoke again, tone even.
"Let me tell you something about my own family."
Lillie instinctively looked up.
"When I was very young, my mother died." He didn't dramatize it; he simply stated it. "And ten years ago, my younger brother went missing."
Lillie went still.
She hadn't expected this. Not from Damian—who always looked so relaxed, so bright, like nothing could weigh him down.
"I… I'm sorry," she said quickly, guilt flashing across her face. "I didn't mean to make you remember something painful."
"It's fine." Damian gave a small smile. "I'm not trapped in it. Neither is my father."
His voice softened, not in pity—more like something firm and reassuring.
"What I want you to understand is this: my brother has been gone for ten years. Not a single trace. Not one."
He tapped the candy wrapper lightly between his fingers.
"And my father still hasn't given up searching."
That was family. Ugly, stubborn, irrational—yet real.
Damian was a transmigrator—though "reborn" was more accurate. He'd come to this world in his mother's womb. But by three, she was gone. By six, his brother Silver had vanished.
Damian knew—roughly—who had taken Silver.
But what could he do?
Tell Giovanni? March into Johto and demand answers from that old monster?
He could… in theory.
But that "Old Monster" from Johto was far too dangerous. The kind of trainer who stood at the top of the food chain in this world—at least, so far.
Unless, of course, that little anomaly named Akari from ancient Hisui existed here too.
Damian kept his expression gentle.
"My point is simple," he said to Lillie. "If you're truly family, then even if things become ugly… there's still a path back. Not always. Not for everyone."
"But often enough."
Lillie stared at him, eyes wide and shimmering, caught between hope and fear.
Then Damian asked the next question, and he didn't soften it either.
"Has your friend ever spoken to her mother honestly?"
Lillie blinked.
"A… conversation?"
"A real one," Damian said. "No polite masks. No swallowing words. No pretending everything's fine. Just saying what she feels."
Lillie's lips parted, then closed.
"I… she hasn't."
Her fingers tightened in her lap.
Having a heart-to-heart with Lusamine… she'd never even considered it. She was shy by nature. Not helpless, not weak—but she wasn't the kind of girl who could walk into a room and demand answers.
"A lack of communication ruins families faster than hatred does," Damian said bluntly.
And in Lillie's case, that was the cruel truth.
Lusamine had warped over the years, yes. But Lillie and Gladion—children, back then—had never pushed back in a way that forced Lusamine to stop and look at herself.
Lillie was quiet and timid. Gladion was closed-off and hard to reach.
Expecting either of them to confront Lusamine without pressure from the outside was unrealistic.
Lillie lowered her head, shame creeping in.
"So… that's what it is…"
Damian watched her for a moment, then spoke again—lighter, almost teasing, but not unkind.
"Have you sorted it out?"
Lillie's shoulders trembled slightly. She didn't answer right away.
Damian leaned back, casual again, as if he hadn't just peeled her open with a handful of questions.
"If you need help," he said, "I can help."
Lillie's head snapped up.
"E-eh?"
Damian smiled, eyes narrowing with amusement.
"You're not exactly subtle, Lillie. You wear everything on your face." He tilted his head. "And that 'friend' of yours… is you."
Lillie's face instantly turned crimson.
Damian chuckled, like he'd expected exactly that reaction.
"If you want help, ask. I'm not weak, you know." His smile sharpened just slightly. "And if you decide you're done being cornered… I can make sure you aren't alone when you face it."