The school day blurred into a whirlwind of activity, a mix of lessons, unfamiliar faces, and Isabelle’s relentless attempts to remain invisible. Biology was manageable—she didn’t trip over her words when called on—math was tolerable thanks to Kotomine’s quiet clarifications, and history had been a battle against stifled yawns. By the time the final bell rang, she felt like she’d survived a battlefield, mentally checking off her victories: Didn’t embarrass myself. Didn’t cry. Didn’t trip. That’s a win.

Isabelle packed her things, weaving through the bustling crowd of students streaming toward the exit. Her VireBand buzzed softly on her wrist—a notification reminding her to check her “Goals Tracker.” She ignored it for now, focusing on navigating her way to the front gates. The halls echoed with fragments of conversations, snippets of laughter, and the occasional shout from someone reuniting with friends.

“Did you see the homework already? Ms. Chambers is brutal!”

“Neon District tonight? They’ve got a two-for-one deal at the arcade!”

“I swear, if Beatrice brags about her VireBand theme one more time, I’m switching tables.”

Isabelle ducked her head, weaving through the crowd like a Zubat dodging flashlights. She repeated her mantra like a survival strategy: Keep moving. Blend in. Don’t hit anyone. Don’t get noticed.

Finally, she broke free of the building’s suffocating buzz and stepped into the open air. The sunlight had softened into that late-afternoon golden hue—Lumora City looked different under it, like something out of a postcard. The sleek buildings gleamed with amber highlights, the clean lines of their architecture softened by the time of day. Cars lined the plaza, parents waving down kids, groups of friends claiming the benches as their unofficial hangout spots. The hum of life around her was so effortless, so confident.

And then, like a beam of sunlight cutting straight through her comfort zone—“Isabelle! Hey!”

She froze. Oh no. A familiar voice, bright and cheerful enough to make her brace for impact. Isabelle turned and spotted Amélie jogging toward her, all perfect smiles and windswept grace. It was almost unfair how put-together she looked, like she’d stepped out of a magazine. Does this girl even sweat?

Isabelle managed a small, awkward nod. “Oh. Yeah. I’m… here.” Brilliant. Absolutely captivating conversation skills.

Amélie didn’t seem to notice—or if she did, she was too nice to point it out. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, bouncing on her heels like a Mareep full of static energy. “So! Ready to explore? I know this amazing route through the city—way better than any of the boring tourist brochures.”

Isabelle blinked. Explore? Lumora City? Part of her hesitated, her natural instinct urging her to find the quickest route home, to hide away from the world she was still trying to navigate. But there was something infectious about Amélie’s excitement—like a spark trying to light up something long buried under layers of anxiety.

She cleared her throat. “Yeah. Sure.” Cool. Smooth. So articulate. Someone give you a gold star.

Amélie’s grin widened as she looped her arm through Isabelle’s—not waiting for permission—before leading her toward the street. “Trust me, you’ll love it. Lumora isn’t just buildings and neon lights. There’s this energy here—like every corner has a story. You just have to know where to look.”

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The girls walked side by side, stepping into the rhythm of the city as the streets stretched out before them. Victory Avenue bustled with life, its wide sidewalks filled with students, professionals, and the occasional street performer showing off a Pokémon-inspired act. Isabelle kept her gaze forward, her fingers nervously adjusting her bag strap. Amélie, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease, pointing out landmarks and weaving through the crowd like she’d been born to do this.

“That’s Aurora Lane up ahead,” Amélie said, gesturing to a sleek, upscale street lined with shops and cafés. “The perfect spot for window shopping if we’re feeling fancy later.”

Isabelle nodded absently, the scale of the city still overwhelming. Window shopping? More like window-panicking. Do people just walk into places like that?

“Stick close, newbie,” Amélie teased, glancing back with a playful smirk. “Lumora’s a labyrinth if you don’t know where you’re going. First stop—Central Plaza. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

The hum of activity was almost deafening. The Harmony Fountain roared softly at the center of the plaza, sending arcs of sparkling water into the air. Around its mosaic base—intricately designed to reflect the blending of nature and innovation—people sat chatting, feeding their Pokémon, or taking pictures. A little Litten batted at droplets from the edge, earning delighted squeals from a small group of kids.

“Pretty impressive, right?” Amélie said, gesturing to the plaza like she owned it. “Central Plaza has everything. Everything. There’s Hayashi Corporation’s tower, EvoTech over there, and oh—look!”

She pointed excitedly to an enormous sprawling complex ahead: PokéStudios. Isabelle had seen it plastered all over holoscreens and trainer feeds, but seeing it in person was like being smacked in the face with corporate grandeur. The complex dominated the skyline even among the towering skyscrapers, its sleek facade glittering with holographic projections and surrounded by throngs of people.

Front and center, a colossal Detective Pikachu banner commanded attention. The golden-furred Pikachu, decked out in its signature deerstalker hat and magnifying glass, stood atop a crumbling rooftop as rain streaked dramatically behind it. The text below read:

“Coming Soon: Detective Pikachu - Unlocking the Enigma Files!”

“Is that…?” Isabelle began, narrowing her eyes at the title. “Are we seriously hyping up another Detective Pikachu movie? What’s he unlocking this time, the secret to overhyped marketing?”

Amélie snorted, elbowing her. “Oh, come on. Detective Pikachu’s a classic. It’s like the Arceus of movie franchises—untouchable. And the Enigma Files? Sounds epic.”

“I’m sure,” Isabelle deadpanned, eyeing a nearby pop-up stall. It was overflowing with Detective Pikachu merch: plushies, shiny keychains, oversized mugs shaped like Pikachu’s head, and even a miniature replica of its deerstalker hat. People crowded around the stall like Wingulls on a dropped Poké Puff, waving credits at a harried vendor. “If they slap a deerstalker on it, they’ll sell it,” she muttered.

Nearby, a massive holoscreen blared the trailer, showing the iconic Pikachu leaping through a neon-lit cityscape, lightning flashing ominously as it quipped, “Every mystery has a spark. Let’s find it.” The camera panned to the Pikachu zapping a thug who was attempting to flee with a crystal shard. The crowd ooohed appreciatively.

“I’m telling you,” Amélie insisted, “this Pikachu’s a phenomenon for a reason. He solves everything. Pokémon theft? Done. Cross-region conspiracies? Solved. The mystery of why my brother keeps burning his toast? Probably handled off-screen.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes, half-watching a kid run by holding a plush Detective Pikachu in one hand and a buttered scone in the other. “It’s just… he’s so golden. And smug. Why does his fur have to sparkle like he bathes in Stardust every morning?”

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“Because he’s fabulous,” Amélie said, spreading her arms dramatically. “And don’t act like you don’t like him. Everyone loves Detective Pikachu.”

“Fine,” Isabelle relented, picking up a Pikachu deerstalker hat from a nearby display table. It was the perfect size for Azzy, and for a brief moment, she imagined her little Azurill waddling around with it on. Adorable. But then she glanced at the price tag and nearly choked. “Two thousand credits for a hat? What, is it woven with strands of Pikachu fur?” She quickly put it back down, muttering, “Hard pass.”

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The Central Plaza buzzed with energy as Isabelle and Amélie strolled through its heart. Around them, street performers vied for attention—one juggled flaming torches while his Charmeleon mimicked the act with Ember, and another played an acoustic rendition of a popular theme song on a well-loved guitar. A melodic hum from the Harmony Fountain provided a soothing backdrop to the lively chaos.

Amélie paused at a nearby bench, plopping herself down with the grace of a Skitty leaping into a sunbeam. “Alright,” she announced, “one more stop before we hit the Neon District. I’ve got something to show you.”

Isabelle tilted her head, crossing her arms. “If it involves another overly priced Pikachu hat, I’m out.”

Amélie laughed, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, please. I wouldn’t subject you to more capitalism crimes. This is way better—and free.”

Before Isabelle could protest, Amélie reached into her bag and pulled out a small packet of Poképuffs. With a mischievous grin, she knelt down by the edge of the fountain and tapped the stone softly. “Hey, little guys, it’s treat time!”

A pair of wild Duckletts waddled out from behind the fountain’s base, their blue feathers glistening as they quacked in anticipation. Amélie tossed them a Poképuff each, her face lighting up as the Pokémon gobbled them down. “Aren’t they cute? They’ve been hanging around the fountain for weeks now. I’ve been bribing them to like me.”

Isabelle snorted, crouching down to get a better look at the Duckletts. One of them tilted its head at her before waddling over curiously. She extended her hand, and the Ducklett gave her an approving quack before nibbling gently at her fingers. “Okay, that is cute,” she admitted, her lips twitching into a small smile. “You’re like the Dr. Pokémon of Central Plaza.”

“Thanks,” Amélie said, tossing another Poképuff to the second Ducklett. “But seriously, this place has everything. You could spend a whole day just watching people and their Pokémon here. Oh, look at that!” She pointed toward a group of kids cheering on a Machop who was attempting to balance on a giant inflatable Pokéball. It wobbled precariously but stayed upright, earning a round of applause. “See what I mean? Never a dull moment.”

Isabelle straightened up, brushing off her knees. “Yeah, but it’s a bit… much. All these people. It’s like they have endless energy.”

Amélie nodded sympathetically. “It’s a lot to take in, for sure. But hey, that’s why the Neon District is perfect. It’s a little chaotic, but it’s got its quieter corners too. Trust me, you’ll love it. Plus,” she added with a wink, “it’s where my mom’s boutique is. I can finally introduce you to the source of all my fabulous accessories.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “And by ‘introduce,’ you mean rope me into buying something, don’t you?”

Amélie gasped in mock offense. “How dare you? I would never—okay, maybe. But only because I know you’ll love it. Come on, it’s just down the street.”

Isabelle sighed, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Alright, lead the way. But if your mom tries to upsell me a ribbon for Azzy, I’m holding you responsible.”

Amélie laughed, looping her arm through Isabelle’s as they headed toward the Neon District. “Deal. Just wait until you see it—it’s got lights, colors, and probably the best Poképuff café in the whole city. You’ll be hooked.”

Isabelle glanced around again, taking in every detail. Small personal touches scattered across the boutique added to its charm: an old photo framed on the back wall showed a much younger Madeleine holding an enormous bouquet in a coastal setting, the sea glimmering behind her; tucked beside it was a small glass case filled with pressed flowers and what looked like faded notes. Clearly, this shop was more than just a business—it was history.

“Your shop’s amazing,” Isabelle said honestly. “It feels… alive.”

Madeleine’s expression softened. “Merci, chère. That’s the magic of flowers, isn’t it? They’re living stories—reminders of celebrations, moments of love, and even quiet grief.”

Grief? Isabelle’s gaze flickered toward Madeleine, but the woman’s smile didn’t falter. Something about the softness in her tone, though, hinted at memories Isabelle didn’t dare pry into.

Madeleine turned her attention back to Amélie. “Is your father back yet?”

“No, he’s still out picking up stock from the suppliers,” Amélie replied, absentmindedly twirling a ribbon from a nearby shelf. “He said he’d be back before dinner.”

“Of course,” Madeleine murmured, a twinge of worry creasing her brow. “The roads have been busy lately. I’ll check on him later.”

Amélie tugged Isabelle toward a narrow doorway tucked in the back corner of the shop, clearly sensing the impending mom-worry. “Come on, Isabelle. I’ll show you upstairs.”

The staircase creaked softly underfoot as they climbed to the second floor. The walls were lined with small framed photos—snapshots of family moments. One caught Isabelle’s attention: a boy in his late teens, his dark hair tousled, standing proudly in a League Conference stadium with a PokéBall in hand. “Is that your brother?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Amélie said, smiling fondly. “That’s Aimé. He’s prepping for the Circuit right now. Top eight in Virelia two years ago. He’s determined to win this time.”

“He looks like a pro already,” Isabelle said, genuinely impressed.

Amélie snorted. “Oh, he’s good, no doubt. But living with him? Nightmare. Imagine sharing a room with someone who sleep-talks strategies like ‘Hydro Pump into Ice Beam for coverage!’” She pushed open a door at the end of the hallway. “Speaking of that room—here it is.”

The space was small but full of personality. The bed was tucked against the wall, covered in a quilt stitched with floral patches that matched the shop’s charm. A corkboard hung above the desk, cluttered with pinned drawings, ticket stubs, and faded photos of Amélie and her brother at various Pokémon events. A few stacks of books were piled neatly on the floor, next to a drawer slightly ajar with clothing peeking out.

“It’s… cozy,” Isabelle said with a smile, stepping inside. “You and your brother shared this?”

“For years,” Amélie said, flopping onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “But once he left for the League Circuit, I got the room to myself. Best. Day. Ever.”

Isabelle chuckled and perched on the edge of the desk chair. “Your parents must be proud of him.”

“They are,” Amélie replied, quieter now. “But they worry too. Especially Mom. She lived through some rough times when she was younger. The idea of sending me off to do the same thing Aimé’s doing?” Amélie sighed again, more genuine this time. “It freaks her out. She never says it outright, but I know.”

Isabelle looked down at her hands, fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve. “Yeah… I get that.”

Amélie sat up, offering a small smile. “Anyway. Enough about my cramped room and existential family drama. You ready to see the real Neon District? The part that glows?”

Isabelle couldn’t help but smile back. “Sure. I’m curious what else this place has up its sleeve.”

Amélie grinned and hopped up, leading Isabelle back downstairs. As they stepped out into the evening streets, the Neon District was already beginning to wake up—its lights flickering on like stars scattered across steel and glass. The streets thrummed with energy, and Isabelle felt a small flicker of excitement stir in her chest. Maybe Lumora City isn’t so bad after all.

Amélie grinned and hopped up, leading Isabelle back downstairs. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Madeleine stood by the counter arranging a fresh display of lavender and primroses. Spotting the girls, she looked up with a soft but expectant expression.

“Amélie,” she called, slipping into French briefly before switching back to English for Isabelle’s sake. “Be back by eight for dinner, oui? Your father will have the stock, and I don’t want it getting cold.”

Amélie rolled her eyes playfully. “Yes, Mom. Eight sharp. We’ll behave, I promise.”

Madeleine’s gaze softened as she looked at Isabelle. “You’re welcome here anytime, chère. But make sure my daughter doesn’t get you into trouble.”

“I’ll keep her in line,” Isabelle promised, though the attempt at confidence sounded a little wobbly.

Amélie snorted and tugged Isabelle toward the door. “Keep me in line? You’re hilarious.”

As they stepped out of the shop and into the streets, the Neon District was already beginning to wake up—its lights flickering on like stars scattered across steel and glass. The streets thrummed with energy as shops lit up their holographic displays and stalls began opening for the evening crowd.

“Three hours to explore,” Amélie said, practically bouncing on her heels as she glanced at the shimmering streets ahead. “Plenty of time to show you the good stuff. C’mon, Isabelle—let’s see if Lumora can impress you.”

Isabelle took in the vibrant lights and busy crowds, her heart beating a little faster. Three hours in this sensory overload? Arceus help me. Still, the flicker of excitement she’d felt earlier returned, this time stronger.

“Alright,” Isabelle said, managing a grin. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”