Isabelle shuffled through the gates of Lumora’s Academy for Excellence, clutching her bag like it contained the answers to life itself. The early morning sun glinted off the sleek glass building ahead, its towering spires an unrelenting reminder that she was, indeed, a small-town girl in a big-city world. Her VireBand vibrated softly on her wrist—a subtle, unwelcome reminder that school had begun, and so had her second day of trying not to embarrass herself.

  “Day two,” she muttered under her breath, tugging at the strap of her bag. “Just survive. No running into anyone, no trash can incidents, and no Amélie finding new ways to make me the center of attention.”

  The hallways buzzed with energy, a mix of chatter, squeaking shoes, and the occasional Pokémon call. Isabelle ducked her head, weaving through the crowd like a Meowth dodging Splash damage, silently hoping she could reach Ms. Chambers’ classroom without incident. For a moment, she thought she’d succeeded—until she sidestepped too quickly and her knee knocked into a trash can.

  “Smooth, Izzy,” she muttered, cheeks heating. She ignored the chuckles from a group of older students nearby and hurried into Ms. Chambers’ classroom, exhaling with relief once inside.

  The room was already filling with students, their voices a low hum of morning conversation. Isabelle scanned for Amélie and spotted her waving enthusiastically from the middle of the room. She walked over quickly, making her way towards the table.

  “You made it!” Amélie grinned. “No trash cans this time?”

  Isabelle sighed. “One. Just one.”

  Isabelle let out a relieved sigh. Seated next to Amélie was Milo Tanner, the quiet strategist she had met at the Glow Dome, his sandy blond hair as unkempt as ever. He was hunched over his notebook, glasses sliding down his nose as he scribbled what looked like an impossibly complex diagram. Across from them sat a girl Isabelle hadn’t met yet, but who exuded such an intense aura of confidence that Isabelle immediately felt like a preschooler trying to join the grown-ups’ table.

  The girl didn’t look up as Isabelle approached, her attention fixed on her VireBand. Her black hair, streaked with vivid purple highlights, fell in messy waves that framed her angular face. She wore an oversized black jacket adorned with silver pins shaped like Gengar, Mismagius, and Spiritomb, and her ripped black jeans looked like they’d been designed to make a statement. A small silver chain with a polished Duskull pendant hung around her neck, catching the classroom light every time she shifted slightly. Even her nails were painted in a muted violet that matched the streaks in her hair, an attention to detail that made Isabelle feel wildly underdressed.

  Clara. Of course her name would be something sharp and to the point.

  Amélie patted the empty seat next to her. “Come on, Isabelle, grab a seat before the bell rings. Welcome to the best unofficial table in the school.”

  Clara finally looked up, her gray-blue eyes flicking toward Isabelle. The glance was quick but assessing, like she’d already categorized Isabelle and filed her under “new and untested.” She leaned back in her chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, and deadpanned, “We’re the best because we don’t let anyone else sit with us. You should feel honored.”

  Isabelle blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness. “Right,” she said, sliding into the seat and dropping her bag onto the floor. “Honored. That’s definitely the word I was going to use.”

  Amélie snorted, clearly enjoying the exchange. “Clara doesn’t bite. Promise.”

  Clara raised an eyebrow, her voice calm but with the faintest hint of amusement. “I don’t bite. I maul.”

  Isabelle glanced between them, trying not to laugh. “Good to know. I’ll be sure to stay out of mauling range.”

  Milo finally looked up from his notebook, adjusting his glasses with a quiet, polite smile. “It’s not as bad as she makes it sound. Most of the time.”

  Clara smirked, returning to her VireBand. “Most of the time,” she echoed, her tone dripping with mock agreement.

  Amélie grinned at Isabelle, as if proud of her for surviving Clara’s initiation. “Don’t mind her. She’s all bark. Well, mostly bark. Anyway, you already know Milo, right? The walking battle encyclopedia?”

  Milo shrugged, clearly used to Amélie’s playful exaggeration. “I just like analyzing strategies. It’s not that impressive.”

  “Not impressive?” Amélie gasped, clutching her chest in mock horror. “Milo, your diagrams look like they could overthrow a small government.”

  Isabelle glanced at his notebook, which was covered in detailed battle calculations and diagrams that made her head hurt just looking at them. “If I tried to understand that, my brain would probably implode,” she said. “You’re like… the anti-showoff.”

  Milo smiled faintly, adjusting his glasses. “I just like things to make sense. It’s easier to focus on the logic than the noise.”

  Clara snorted, her lips curling into a half-smirk. “That’s Milo for you. Always the calm in the chaos. Meanwhile, Amélie’s dragging us into whatever whirlwind she stirs up.”

  Amélie gasped in mock offense, clutching her chest. “Clara! That’s uncalled for. I don’t drag anyone into anything. You all come willingly because you love me.”

  “Willingly? Sure,” Clara said dryly, not even looking up from her VireBand. “Stockholm syndrome’s a kind of love, right?”

  Amélie waved her off with a grin. “It’s way too late. You’re officially part of the best unofficial group in the school. You know, we should really come up with a name for ourselves.”

  Clara groaned, not even looking up from her VireBand. “Not this again.”

  “I’m serious!” Amélie said, her hazel eyes sparkling with excitement. “We need something cool. Something that says, ‘We’re a force to be reckoned with.’ How about… The Stellar Squad?”

  Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “The Stellar Squad? Sounds like we’re auditioning for a kids’ TV show.”

  Amélie huffed, crossing her arms. “Okay, fine. How about… The Galactic Circle?”

  Clara deadpanned, “Do we look like we run a cult? No.”

  “The Rising Stars?” Amélie tried, her tone pleading.

  Milo adjusted his glasses without looking up. “Too optimistic.”

  “Okay, fine,” Amélie said, leaning forward dramatically. “The Orbital Clique.”

  Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a science club with delusions of grandeur.”

  Clara snorted, finally looking up. “Perfect fit for Amélie, then.”

  Amélie grinned at Clara, wagging her finger. “Oh, so you do like it.”

  “No,” Clara said flatly. “I just like watching you try this hard.”

  Milo glanced up briefly, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. “We could just… not have a name.”

  “Blasphemy!” Amélie declared, gasping in mock horror. “How will people know we’re awesome?”

  “They’ll figure it out,” Clara said with a smirk. “Or they won’t. Either way, we survive.”

  Amélie sighed dramatically, throwing her hands up. “Fine. But mark my words—Orbital Clique is going to grow on you.”

  “Like a fungus,” Clara deadpanned.

  Isabelle snorted, leaning back in her chair. “This is exactly the kind of teamwork I signed up for.”

  Amélie turned to Isabelle, her expression sly. “Speaking of teammates, did you meet Elliot yesterday?”

  Isabelle blinked. “Elliot?”

  “Oh, right,” Amélie said, leaning closer. “He’s part of our group—technically. You probably saw him on the first day. Quiet guy, black hair, always looks like he’s seconds away from teleporting out of existence.”

  Clara added, her tone dripping with sarcasm, “That’s because he practically does. Elliot doesn’t believe in mornings, or school, or people.”

  “Wait,” Isabelle said, frowning. “He just… doesn’t show up? You can do that?”

  Milo adjusted his glasses, chiming in. “Clara gives him all the materials. He does the work on his own time.”

  Isabelle stared at Clara. “Are you telling me this guy gets to live my dream of socially isolated education?”

  Clara shrugged. “Dream all you want. You’re still stuck with us.”

  Isabelle leaned back, adding to her mental to-do list. Find Elliot. Beg for advice.

  The door swung open with a dramatic flourish, and a voice dripping with arrogance filled the room.

  “Morning, peasants. Did you miss me?”

  Stefano Marino sauntered into the classroom as if it were a stage crafted for his personal use. His dark brown hair was immaculately styled, not a strand out of place, and his uniform looked like it had been tailored specifically for him. A gleaming League-branded wristband on his wrist caught the morning light, and he adjusted it with exaggerated care as if to ensure everyone noticed it.

  Clara muttered without looking up from her VireBand, “Great. The walking ego’s here.”

  “Ah, Clara,” Stefano said smoothly as he approached their table. “I knew you’d be excited to see me. Don’t worry, I’ll try to tone down my brilliance just for you.”

  “Sale petit campagnard de merde retourne au champ,” Clara snapped, her sharp gray-blue eyes flicking up at him.

  Stefano placed a hand over his chest, pretending to be deeply wounded. “Ah, Clara. Pourquoi es-tu toujours si méchante? Can’t we just get along?”

  Clara rolled her eyes. “Go back to your farm, Stefano.”

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  Amélie leaned toward Isabelle, whispering with a grin, “This is basically their love language.”

  “Sounds like my parents’ custody battle,” Isabelle whispered back, earning a stifled laugh from Amélie.

  Stefano ignored Clara’s hostility and turned his attention to Isabelle, his smirk softening into what he clearly thought was a charming smile. “And you must be the new girl. Isabelle, right?”

  Isabelle blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift in focus. “Uh, yeah.”

  “Well, Isabelle,” Stefano said, his tone dripping with bravado, “remember the name. Stefano Marino. You’re looking at the future Champion of the League Circuit.”

  Isabelle tilted her head, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Why?”

  The table fell into stunned silence before Amélie snorted, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh. Clara barked out a sharp, genuine laugh, leaning back in her chair as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

  Stefano’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment before he recovered, leaning forward as if to emphasize his point. “Because I’ve got what it takes. Skill, strategy, charisma—the total package.”

  Isabelle tilted her head ever so slightly, a sweet, polite smile gracing her lips as she folded her hands primly on the table. Her posture was almost picture-perfect, radiating the quiet elegance of someone who’d grown up hearing “mind your manners” one too many times.

  “Wow,” she said, her voice soft and smooth, the kind of tone someone might use to compliment a particularly enthusiastic toddler’s drawing. “So humble, too.”

  The contrast between her saccharine delivery and the dripping sarcasm in her words was so subtle, so refined, that for a moment it was impossible to tell if she was genuinely impressed or expertly mocking him. Around her, Clara’s laughter burst out immediately, sharp and unfiltered, while Amélie hid her giggles behind her hand, her eyes sparkling with glee.

  “Oh, she’s good,” Clara said, pointing at Isabelle. “I really like her.”

  Stefano, oblivious to the layers of sarcasm in her comment, straightened his already-perfect posture and gave her a satisfied nod. “I like you, Isabelle. You’ve got an eye for greatness.”

  An eye for greatness? Oh Arceus, Isabelle thought, her internal projection appearing above her head, falling flat on its back and staring at the ceiling. He actually thinks I meant that. How is this real life? Her mental image started wheezing, clutching its chest as if struggling to recover from the sheer audacity of the situation.

  Outwardly, Isabelle maintained her serene expression, nodding along as though Stefano’s words weren’t causing her internal sanity to unravel. Around her, Clara had leaned back in her chair, now openly cackling, while Amélie tried and failed to keep a straight face.

  “See?” Stefano said, gesturing to the rest of the table. “Isabelle gets it. When you recognize greatness, it makes sense to stick close. If you ever need advice, Isabelle—on battling, life, anything—I’m your guy.”

  The mental version of Isabelle slammed her palms onto an invisible table, mouthing, Is this guy for real?! while outwardly, the real Isabelle nodded gracefully, her smile never faltering.

  “Of course,” she said sweetly, her voice practically dripping honey. “I’ll be sure to ask for advice.”

  Stefano grinned, clearly pleased. “Smart choice. You’ve got potential, Isabelle. I like that.”

  Clara snorted so hard she almost choked. “Oh my Arceus, Stefano, you’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

  Stefano shot her a pointed look. “I’m always serious, Clara. That’s what makes me a leader.”

  Clara leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand as her smirk widened. “A leader? Please. I’d trust a drunk squirrel with my nuts over you with a team.”

  Amélie burst out laughing so hard she nearly fell out of her chair. “Oh, Arceus, Clara, don’t hold back or anything.”

  Stefano didn’t even flinch, waving off the comment with a flick of his hand. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Clara. I can’t help it if my natural charisma intimidates people.”

  Clara tilted her head, her smirk sharpening. "Charisma? Oh, you mean being a strutting cock with a God complex? Congrats, you’re the poster child for delusional confidence."

  Amélie nearly fell out of her chair laughing, clutching the edge of the table as tears welled in her eyes. Milo let out a quiet snort, quickly ducking his head to hide his amusement. Isabelle’s mouth twitched, unsure whether to laugh or gasp at Clara’s sheer audacity.

  Stefano, however, remained completely unfazed. If anything, he seemed to take the insult as a compliment. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms and gave the group an exaggerated shrug. “You know, I get it. It’s hard for people to handle this level of excellence. I’m used to it.”

  He stood, brushing off imaginary dust from his sleeve and giving them a confident wave. “But I’ll leave you all to your morning. I’ve got better things to focus on—like how I’m going to crush the competition and take my rightful place as Champion. Isabelle—” he paused, locking eyes with her again and flashing that practiced smirk. “Don’t forget what I said. When you’re ready for a real partner, you know where to find me.”

  “Sure thing,” Isabelle said with mock enthusiasm, her voice perfectly polite. “I’ll be sure to put you right at the top of my call list.”

  “Smart girl,” Stefano replied, completely oblivious to the sarcasm. He gave her a small wink before turning and strutting out of the classroom with all the subtlety of a Honchkrow at a Pidgey convention.

  As the door clicked shut behind him, the table erupted in laughter. Clara was doubled over, practically wheezing. Amélie wiped tears from her eyes, gasping for air. “Oh, Arceus, he’s too much! Did you see the wink? Isabelle, you’re a saint for keeping a straight face.”

  Isabelle sat frozen for a moment, her brain trying to process what had just happened. Her internal monologue was running at full tilt. Seriously, what’s up with that guy? Stefano Marino, he said his name was? Her mental projection of herself appeared above her head, a cartoonish version wheezing and clutching its chest. I just—I can’t—I’m literally dying. Who even does that? The mental image fell to its knees, staring at the floor in stunned disbelief.

  She glanced at the others, her face calm and composed as her village-girl instincts kicked in. She smiled sweetly, sitting prim and proper in her chair, but her head was spinning. Wait, did I really just smile and call him “humble”? And I said I’d call him for advice? What am I, some kind of ironic diplomat?

  Clara caught her breath, still chuckling. “Oh, Isabelle, that was incredible. You were so nice to him! The sarcasm was practically dripping off every word.”

  “I don’t think he noticed,” Isabelle said, her tone dry as a desert. No, scratch that, he definitely didn’t notice.

  Amélie leaned over, her grin wide. “Stefano never notices. That’s the magic of him. It’s like his brain just filters out anything that doesn’t praise him.”

  Isabelle tilted her head, her lips twitching as she fought back a grin. “He really thought I was serious about calling him for advice?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Clara said, leaning back in her chair. “He’s probably planning what profound wisdom he’s going to impart to you. Partner, huh? Subtle.”

  That word—partner—clicked in Isabelle’s brain, and her mental projection slapped itself on the forehead. Oh no. Oh no. He was flirting? Was that his idea of flirting?

  She glanced around the table, half-expecting someone to tell her she was imagining things, but the amused glances from Amélie and Clara told her otherwise. “He was serious about that partner thing, wasn’t he?”

  “Dead serious,” Clara said with a smirk. “Stefano doesn’t say anything by accident. Well, except for most things.”

  Amélie grinned, nudging Isabelle playfully. “Hey, at least you handled it like a pro. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were born to charm cocky guys like him.”

  Isabelle groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Arceus help me. This is my life now.”

  “You’ll survive,” Milo said quietly, not looking up from his notebook. “Stefano’s… harmless. Annoying, but harmless.”

  “Annoying is putting it lightly,” Clara muttered. “But hey, Isabelle, welcome to the chaos. You handled your first Stefano encounter like a champ.”

  Isabelle sighed, sitting back in her chair. “I’m not sure if I should feel accomplished or horrified.”

  Clara smirked. “A little of both. But trust me, it only gets weirder from here.”

  Amélie laughed, her hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. “Don’t worry, Isabelle. You’re officially one of us now. Stefano’s just the beginning.”

  Isabelle shook her head, a reluctant grin creeping onto her face. One of us, huh? She glanced around at her new group, chaos and all, and thought, Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

  As the school day wound toward its inevitable close, Isabelle found herself only half-listening to Ms. Chambers at the front of the room. The teacher’s crisp, professional tone had a way of commanding attention, even if Isabelle’s focus occasionally drifted to the classroom walls.

  Posters of iconic Virelia figures adorned the space, each one a reminder of the towering expectations set for aspiring Trainers. In the center was Champion Astrid Eisenhart, “The Steel Rose,” captured mid-battle in a portrait that exuded power and poise. Her platinum-blonde braid gleamed under a spotlight, her crimson-lined cape flaring behind her as her Aegislash hovered protectively at her side.

  Next to Astrid’s poster hung an equally striking image of Bjorn “Blizzard” Frostsbane, the towering Ice-type master of the Elite Four. His fur-lined cloak billowed in the icy winds of Frostpeak, a Glaceon perched at his feet, its sharp gaze mirroring Bjorn’s own intensity. The crystalline Articuno brooch on his chest shimmered like freshly fallen snow, completing the image of a steadfast protector.

  Isabelle’s mental projection appeared next to her, dramatically bowing before the posters. One day, maybe. But first, let’s make it through today without any more trash cans.

  “Before you all go,” Ms. Chambers said, bringing Isabelle back to reality, “a quick reminder about next week’s group project on Pokémon topics. There’s no set criteria—be creative, explore something that excites you, and present your findings in your own unique way.” She paused, her sharp yet encouraging gaze sweeping over the class. “I’ll announce team groups in the next few days, so start thinking about what inspires you. And while you’re at it, remember—there are better ways to spend your free time than testing Lumora’s curfew laws or entertaining Officer Reed.”

  A ripple of laughter moved through the room, though a few students shifted awkwardly in their seats. Ms. Chambers didn’t need to name names; everyone knew she was referring to the handful of students who thought late-night adventures were worth the risk of detention—or worse. Isabelle glanced down, keeping her face neutral. Yeah, I’m not about to become that kid.

  As if on cue, Mr. Kotomine strode into the room, his severe expression doing nothing to soften the towering stack of papers he carried. “Before you all forget the meaning of discipline,” he announced, his deep voice cutting through the room like a Guillotine attack, “here’s something to keep you busy.”

  He slammed a stack of homework onto each table with the finality of a gavel. “Math problems, due Monday. No excuses.”

  The groans were immediate and unanimous. Even Milo looked faintly dismayed as he flipped through the first few pages. Isabelle glanced at her stack and felt her mental projection stagger backward as if hit by a Hyper Beam. They’re trying to kill us. That’s the only explanation.

  The bell rang, finally signaling freedom. Chairs scraped against the floor as students bolted for the door like a stampede of Tauros. Isabelle lingered as Amélie, Milo, and Clara gathered around her.

  “Okay, team,” Amélie said brightly, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

  Clara rolled her eyes, already inching toward the door. “The plan is to go home and not let you talk me into anything.”

  “Oh, come on, Clara!” Amélie protested, throwing her hands up. “It’s Friday! We’ve got to do something fun.”

  Clara gave her a flat look. “Your idea of ‘fun’ usually ends with someone getting grounded—or injured. Hard pass.”

  Undeterred, Amélie turned to Milo, who was carefully sliding his homework into his bag. “Milo! Don’t tell me you’re busy too.”

  Milo adjusted his glasses, his tone polite but firm. “Homework. Strategies. You know the drill.”

  Amélie sighed dramatically. “Unbelievable. Isabelle, please tell me you’re free.”

  Isabelle froze. Her mental projection waved a tiny white flag. Say no. Say no. SAY NO.

  “I… guess I don’t have plans,” she admitted, instantly regretting it as Amélie’s face lit up.

  “Perfect!” Amélie clapped her hands. “Meet me at the Gleaming Café in an hour. Bring your Pokémon. Trust me, it’ll be great.”

  “Why?” Isabelle asked, though it came out more resigned than curious.

  “Why not?” Amélie replied with a mischievous grin. “You’ll see.”

  Clara smirked, brushing past them on her way out. “Good luck, newbie. Try not to let her rope you into anything too ridiculous.”

  Isabelle sighed, knowing she was doomed. “Fine. But if this turns into a ‘let’s embarrass Isabelle’ thing, I’m leaving.”

  “Deal!” Amélie called over her shoulder as she bounded into the hallway, practically glowing with excitement.

  As the group dispersed, Isabelle lingered by the door, her hand instinctively brushing over the empty spot on her belt where Azzy’s Poké Ball would usually rest. Her mental projection appeared again, dramatically slumping over a desk. Why am I like this? Why can’t I just say no like a normal person?

  The Gleaming Café awaited, and with Amélie involved, it was bound to be… something.