The door clicked shut behind Isabelle, sealing off the world outside. She let out a long breath, the kind that felt like deflating a balloon stretched a little too tight. The familiar quiet of the apartment enveloped her like a protective cocoon, the muffled hum of Lumora City’s evening hustle safely confined to the other side of the walls. For once, there were no expectations, no sharp-tongued quips to fend off, no relentless questions to answer. Just her, Azzy, and the kind of peace that could only come from knowing there wasn’t a single trash can in sight.

  Azzy bounced onto the couch with a squeak, her tail springing like it had been engineered for chaos. Isabelle watched the little Pokémon flop onto her back, her tiny legs kicking happily at the air. “I see you’re adjusting to the calm just fine,” Isabelle muttered, slipping off her shoes and setting them neatly by the door.

  She shrugged off her bag and slung it onto the nearby chair, her shoulders finally relaxing. “Okay,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “We survived another day. No major disasters. No mysterious bruises from bumping into things. And…” She paused, tilting her head as if waiting for her mental projection to chime in. When it didn’t, she added with a smirk, “Not even one Stefano ego explosion to deal with.”

  Her mental projection suddenly popped into view, draped in an obnoxiously glittery cape and strutting like a grandiose version of Stefano. “You’re welcome, Isabelle. Truly, it’s an honor for you to witness my brilliance.” Isabelle groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Not now, myself. I’ve had enough cringe for one lifetime.”

  She made her way into the kitchen, her fingers brushing against the edge of the counter as she glanced around the space. Small but organized, it wasn’t the kind of kitchen that belonged in glossy magazines. But to Isabelle, it was perfect. It was hers—a quiet retreat that smelled faintly of olive oil and something vaguely herbal that she could never quite pinpoint. The soft hum of the fridge filled the silence, a steady rhythm that grounded her.

  Azzy chirped from the couch, rolling onto her belly to watch as Isabelle tied her hair back with practiced ease. “Alright, Sous-Chef,” Isabelle called over her shoulder. “Let’s whip up something Dad won’t believe is ‘just a simple dinner.’” She crossed the kitchen, tugging her grandmother’s lavender apron off its hook. The faint floral embroidery at the edges caught the dim light as Isabelle slipped it on, tying the strings snugly at her back. It was like armor, but softer—and it came without the existential dread of having to face the world.

  Azzy leapt onto the counter with a cheerful hop, her tail wagging like a metronome. Isabelle arched an eyebrow at the Pokémon’s enthusiasm. “You’re eager for this, huh?” Azzy squeaked in response, picking up a small spoon Isabelle had left out earlier. “Well, try not to eat anything before it’s cooked this time,” Isabelle teased, gently nudging Azzy away from the cutting board. “I’m serious. No raw tomatoes. Remember last time?”

  Azzy chirped indignantly, and Isabelle couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, yeah, you’re totally innocent. Sure.”

  As Isabelle moved through the kitchen, gathering the ingredients for dinner, her thoughts wandered back to the whirlwind of the day. She set a carton of eggs on the counter, her hands moving with the kind of automatic precision that came from years of practice. Green beans, tomatoes, Ni?oise olives, roasted peppers, and basil joined the eggs, their vibrant colors creating a quiet tableau of the meal to come.

  Her mind drifted to Amélie, the self-proclaimed ringleader of their fledgling group. Amélie, with her hazel eyes that somehow managed to sparkle like the sun hitting a crystal-clear stream, was impossible to ignore. She’s like a human bottle rocket, Isabelle thought, chopping the green beans into even segments. Unpredictable, loud, and bound to cause a scene—but in a good way? Maybe? Her mental projection appeared, spinning wildly with fake fireworks bursting behind it, shouting, “Join the group, Isabelle! No time for second thoughts!”

  “Unstoppable,” Isabelle muttered aloud, shaking her head as she moved on to halving the grape tomatoes.

  Then there was Clara—sharp, unflinching Clara. She didn’t bother with pleasantries or sugar-coating, but somehow, Isabelle appreciated that. Clara had this way of making every interaction feel like a calculated move, her piercing gaze always assessing, as if she were silently deciding whether someone was worth her time. She’s intense, sure, Isabelle thought, her knife gliding through the tomatoes with practiced ease. But not in a bad way. She’s the kind of person who wouldn’t hesitate to step in if things got messy—so long as you weren’t the one causing the mess.

  Her mental projection reappeared, wearing Clara’s deadpan expression and crossing her arms. “Good job not being a total disaster today, Isabelle. Mildly impressive.” Isabelle snorted softly to herself. “Thanks, Clara,” she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

  Milo, on the other hand, was practically Clara’s polar opposite. Quiet, observant, always hunched over a notebook or his VireBand with that look of intense focus. He’s like a walking Pokédex, Isabelle mused, tossing the tomatoes into the bowl with the green beans. No flash, no ego—just all strategy, all the time. Anti-Stefano, really. The thought made her smirk.

  And Stefano. Oh, Arceus, Stefano. Even just thinking about him made her cringe. How did I keep a straight face during the ‘humble’ act? Isabelle’s mental projection reappeared, strutting in a faux cape and crown, declaring, “Behold, my unmatched brilliance!” Isabelle rolled her eyes as she reached for the roasted peppers.

  Azzy chirped nearby, bouncing on her tail and clearly eager to join in. “Alright, Sous-Chef,” Isabelle said, pulling teriyaki chicken from the fridge and swapping it for the tuna in the recipe. “But remember—no eating the ingredients this time. I mean it.”

  Azzy squeaked in mock indignation, wagging her tail like a scolded child. Isabelle chuckled softly. “Sure, sure. Innocent until proven guilty, right?”

  Every motion Isabelle made was fluid, efficient, precise—like a well-practiced dance. Her knife sliced cleanly through the green beans and roasted peppers, her hands steady as she trimmed away imperfections. The grape tomatoes joined the bowl with the olives and basil, their colors vibrant and enticing.

  Her hands slowed slightly as her thoughts turned to her grandmother, the one who’d taught her everything she knew about cooking. Isabelle could almost hear her voice, warm and steady, as if she were right there in the room. “Cooking isn’t about perfection,” her grandmother had once said, folding dough with her weathered hands. “It’s about love and patience. That’s what makes it special.”

  The memory brought a faint smile to Isabelle’s lips, though it was quickly shadowed by another thought—her mother. Isabelle hesitated as she flipped through the handwritten notes tucked into the recipe book, many of them her mother’s scrawls. The handwriting was uneven, messy, but unmistakable. She could’ve been amazing, Isabelle thought, her grip tightening slightly on the book. Grandma always said so.

  But the ache of her mother’s absence overshadowed those fleeting moments of brilliance. Isabelle snapped the book shut with a quiet sigh, shaking off the thought. “Focus,” she muttered to herself, turning her attention to the chicken.

  The teriyaki chicken sizzled in the skillet, filling the air with a savory, mouthwatering aroma. Isabelle brushed it with glaze, her focus so intense that she barely noticed Azzy sniffing the air with wide eyes. “Don’t even think about it,” Isabelle warned, pointing her spoon at the little Pokémon. Azzy chirped innocently, as if she’d never even considered it.

  The roasted vegetables were tossed with olive oil, salt, and pepper, their colors shining as Isabelle plated them carefully. The chicken was sliced into neat portions, its glossy glaze catching the light. Finally, Isabelle cracked an egg into a small ramekin, setting it gently to roast alongside the dish.

  She stepped back, wiping her hands on her apron as she surveyed her work. “Not bad,” she murmured, glancing at Azzy, who wagged her tail as if to say, We nailed it. Isabelle reached over to give her a gentle pat. “Good job, Sous-Chef.”

  Isabelle set the small wooden table with care, pulling out plates from Verdantia. Each one was hand-painted with wildflowers, a delicate reminder of home. Azzy helped, though her “help” mostly involved nudging forks into slightly crooked positions with her tail. Isabelle smirked, adjusting them before placing napkins folded with precision.

  As the scent of roasted vegetables, sweet teriyaki, and freshly squeezed lemon juice filled the air, Isabelle leaned against the counter, untying her apron and hanging it on its hook. For a moment, she let herself bask in the satisfaction of a job well done.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Her mental projection reappeared, holding a tiny banner that read, Not bad for a small-town girl. Isabelle chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Not bad at all.”

  The faint sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by the familiar jingle of keys. Isabelle straightened as the door opened, her father stepping inside just as a wave of savory warmth hit him. He paused, inhaling deeply, a look of delight crossing his face.

  “Bonsoir, Izzy,” émile said, setting his bag by the door. “That smells incredible. What are you treating me to tonight?”

  “Just something simple,” Isabelle replied, shrugging as she tried to downplay the effort.

  émile chuckled, walking over to kiss the top of her head. “Simple for you, maybe. For the rest of us? A masterpiece.”

  As they sat down to eat, Azzy perched happily on Isabelle’s lap, the day’s chaos faded into the background. For now, there was only the warmth of home and the satisfaction of a meal shared with family.

  émile pulled out his chair, sinking into it with a satisfied sigh as Isabelle brought the last plate to the table. Azzy wiggled in anticipation, her tail bobbing as Isabelle set her down on her lap. The little Pokémon craned her neck to peek at the colorful spread—roasted vegetables glistening with olive oil, teriyaki chicken perfectly sliced and coated in a glossy glaze, and a small ramekin holding a perfectly roasted egg. Isabelle had even poured fresh lemonade into simple glasses, the faint zest of lemon cutting through the savory aroma lingering in the air.

  “You’ve outdone yourself again,” émile said, picking up his fork. “Are you sure you didn’t sneak off to culinary school while I wasn’t looking?”

  Isabelle rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the flicker of pride. “It’s just dinner, Dad. Nothing fancy.”

  émile smiled warmly, spearing a piece of roasted pepper. “If this is ‘just dinner,’ I can’t imagine what ‘fancy’ looks like. I should start wearing a tie to the table.”

  “Very funny,” Isabelle said, but her lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Just eat before Azzy steals your plate.”

  Azzy squeaked indignantly, but émile laughed, raising his fork defensively. “She wouldn’t dare. Right, Azzy?” The little Pokémon chirped as if to say, Try me.

  As they ate, the comfortable rhythm of their mealtime conversations filled the room. émile asked about Isabelle’s day, his voice light but attentive. Isabelle hesitated, swirling a bite of chicken around her plate before answering.

  “It was… fine,” she said carefully. “School is school. But Amélie… she’s really determined to keep me social.”

  émile chuckled. “Ah, the one with the sparkling personality, right? She sounds like quite the character.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Isabelle muttered.

  “Sounds like she’s good for you,” émile said, his tone teasing but kind. “Keeps you on your toes.”

  “Or drags me by them,” Isabelle replied, but the edge of her voice softened. She poked at her vegetables, her thoughts drifting.

  émile leaned back in his chair, watching Isabelle’s expressions shift as she poked at her plate. “So, what’s the rest of this group of yours like?”

  Isabelle sighed dramatically, setting her fork down as she prepared to dive into the chaos. “Well, there’s Milo,” she began. “Super smart, super quiet, and definitely the guy you want on your team if you’re ever stranded in the middle of a battlefield. He’s always buried in his notes, running simulations in his head like some kind of Pokédex with legs.”

  émile chuckled. “Sounds dependable. A thinker, then?”

  “Definitely,” Isabelle said, nodding. “But he’s not just smart—he’s scary smart. Like, I think he’s already planning for a League Championship battle, and we’re barely into the school year. He’s the peacekeeper by default because he avoids drama like the plague. Which, honestly? I respect that.”

  “And Elliot?” émile asked, his tone curious. “I think you mentioned him before.”

  “Oh, Elliot,” Isabelle said, waving a hand vaguely. “He’s a ghost. Not literally, but he might as well be. He showed up on the first day of school, and I haven’t seen him since. But everyone talks about him like he’s this mysterious genius who’s too cool for schedules or attendance.”

  “Does he sound like that to you?”

  “I mean, maybe?” Isabelle shrugged. “I don’t really know him yet, but Clara bribes him with snacks, and Milo makes sure he gets all the class notes, so… I guess he’s important? Or just really good at vanishing.”

  émile raised an eyebrow. “Interesting group so far. And the rest?”

  Isabelle groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, then there’s Clara. She’s... intense. Like, one look and you feel like she knows all your secrets and is deciding whether you’re worth her time. But she’s not mean, exactly. Just... blunt. Super blunt.”

  “She sounds like someone who keeps people in line,” émile observed, a small smile tugging at his lips.

  “Yeah, in her own terrifying way,” Isabelle muttered. “I don’t think she’s smiled once since I met her, but I think she tolerates me. Or at least hasn’t decided to verbally destroy me yet.”

  émile laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “And then?”

  Isabelle groaned louder, slumping forward until her forehead rested on the table. “Then there’s Stefano. Do we have to talk about Stefano?”

  “Now you’ve got me curious,” émile said, his tone light and teasing. “What’s he like?”

  “Ugh, he’s... so full of himself!” Isabelle lifted her head to glare at her father, as if Stefano’s ego had invaded the kitchen. “He walks into a room and you can practically hear imaginary theme music playing behind him. And the worst part? No one ever tells him to leave. Except Clara. But then Amélie teases that it’s ‘their love language,’ whatever that means.”

  émile leaned back, laughing. “Sounds like someone who could use a good dose of humility.”

  “I tried!” Isabelle threw her hands up. “I told him he was humble—totally sarcastically—and he actually believed me. He probably thinks I’m his biggest fan now.”

  “Well, it sounds like you’ve got quite the mix of personalities,” émile said, still chuckling. “And Amélie?”

  “Amélie is... Amélie,” Isabelle said, smiling despite herself. “She’s got enough energy to power Lumora City for a week. Always coming up with plans, always dragging me into something—even if it’s just getting coffee after school. She’s... a lot. But I think she means well.”

  “Sounds like a good friend to have,” émile said, his voice warm.

  “She’s definitely... persistent,” Isabelle admitted. “She told me to clear my weekend for ‘group plans.’ Whatever that means.”

  émile’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “This is how kids your age get along, huh?”

  “I guess?” Isabelle frowned. “It’s exhausting. One minute we’re laughing, the next Clara’s threatening Stefano, and then Amélie’s trying to make it all sound cute. Like, how do they even have the energy for all this?”

  émile smiled, watching her with a mix of humor and pride. “It sounds like you’re adjusting. Group dynamics can be tricky, but you’re learning. And that’s what matters.”

  Isabelle tilted her head, her curiosity getting the better of her. “What about you? What were you like when you were my age?”

  émile leaned back, a nostalgic look crossing his face. “I was quieter than most of my friends, but we had our share of chaos too. Different times, different challenges.”

  “Do you think it’s harder now?” Isabelle asked softly, swirling her fork on her plate. “For people my age, I mean.”

  émile shook his head gently. “Not harder. Just different. But you’re handling it as well as anyone could, Isabelle. And you’ve got me, every step of the way.”

  “Even when it comes to Stefano?” Isabelle asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well,” émile said, his tone shifting to something protective, “I reserve judgment on that one.”

  Isabelle groaned, rolling her eyes. “Oh, come on, Dad. He’s not even spending time with me. He’s just... there.”

  “Good,” émile replied with a teasing smile. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Arceus help me,” Isabelle muttered, standing to gather the plates. “This is why I don’t tell you things.”

  “And yet, here you are,” émile said, grinning as he stood to help her. Isabelle swatted at his arm, but her smile lingered as they cleaned up together.

  émile chuckled as he rinsed a plate, the warm water splashing softly in the sink. “You know, Isabelle, I’m starting to think you enjoy my overprotective streak more than you let on.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Isabelle replied dryly, stacking forks in the dishwasher with unnecessary precision. “It’s the highlight of my day. Please, tell me more about how I should stay away from people who aren’t even interested in me.”

  “Just doing my job,” émile said with a grin, shaking off his hands before drying them with a towel. “You’ll appreciate it when you’re older.”

  “Sure, Dad. I’ll put that on the list right after ‘learn how to deal with group dynamics,’” Isabelle quipped, shutting the dishwasher with a click. “Which, by the way, might kill me before I even get old enough to care.”

  “You’re doing just fine,” émile said, his voice softer now. He leaned against the counter, watching her with the steady calm she found both comforting and slightly unnerving. “Figuring out where you fit takes time, but you’ll get there. And I’ll be here, even if I have to be the embarrassing dad in the background.”

  Isabelle couldn’t help but smile, though she quickly turned away to grab Azzy, who was bouncing along the counter, inspecting the sponge. “Alright, Sous-Chef,” she said, lifting the little Pokémon into her arms. “Let’s get ready for the real highlight of the evening.”

  “Oh?” émile arched an eyebrow, his tone playful. “Big plans tonight?”

  “Only the most important plans,” Isabelle replied, her voice faux-serious. “BraixenVivi’s livestream. I’ve been waiting all week.”

  émile laughed, shaking his head as he folded the dish towel neatly. “Well, enjoy your ‘most important plans,’ starlet. Don’t stay up too late.”

  “Sure, Dad,” Isabelle said, rolling her eyes with a grin as she carried Azzy toward her room. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Isabelle,” émile called after her, his voice warm. “And goodnight to Azzy, too.”