The comforting hum of the television filled the living room as Isabelle sat cross-legged on the couch, Azzy perched on her lap with her tail lazily draped over Isabelle’s arm. A plate of PokéPuffs rested on the coffee table, though Azzy seemed more interested in the drama unfolding on the screen. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the TV, contrasting the warm, earthy aroma wafting in from the kitchen, where émile was busy multitasking dinner prep and the looming conference call.

  On the screen, the recap for Episode 1 of Rosewood High Secrets played in dramatic fashion. The narrator’s voice dripped with suspense as clips from the first episode flashed by: a mysterious letter slipped into a locker, ominous whispers in the school halls, and the shocking revelation of a missing girl whose secrets seemed to entangle everyone.

  “Previously on Rosewood High Secrets… After Bianca, the queen bee of Rosewood High, vanished without a trace, her friends Liv, Mia, Taryn, and Elise began receiving threatening messages from an anonymous sender known only as Shadow. The messages hinted at buried secrets the girls thought were safe—secrets only Bianca knew. Who is Shadow? And how much do they know?”

  The recap ended, transitioning seamlessly into the opening moments of Episode 2. Isabelle leaned forward, clutching Azzy tighter. “Alright, Azzy, here we go. Let’s find out what these girls have gotten themselves into now,” she said, her voice brimming with anticipation. Azzy squeaked, tilting her head toward the screen as if just as invested.

  In the kitchen, émile stirred a pot of stir fry while glancing at his work laptop propped up on the counter. The screen displayed the VireTech conference platform, showing a muted lobby screen with the names of his colleagues slowly appearing as they joined. He adjusted the laptop angle before checking on the vegetables roasting in the oven, shaking his head with a soft smile as Isabelle’s voice reached him.

  “Oh my Arceus, Taryn! Don’t go into the creepy basement!” Isabelle groaned dramatically from the living room, her exasperation carrying over the sound of simmering soup. Azzy let out a chirp, seemingly agreeing. émile chuckled under his breath, mumbling to himself, “It’s like she’s training for a play-by-play commentator job.”

  Back on the screen, Liv and Taryn were sneaking into the basement of Bianca’s old house, determined to find clues about their missing friend. The eerie music swelled as the girls whispered urgently.

  “Taryn, are you sure this is a good idea? What if Shadow is watching us?”

  “We can’t stop now, Liv. Bianca’s diary might be down here. If it is, we’ll finally know what she was hiding.”

  Isabelle threw her hands up. “Obviously, she was hiding the fact that you’re all dumb enough to wander into dark basements unarmed. Have none of you heard of personal safety?” She glanced at Azzy, who chirped in agreement. “See? Azzy gets it.”

  Azzy, in response, bounced lightly on Isabelle’s lap, her tail thumping against the couch.

  In the kitchen, émile adjusted the flame under the stir fry pot and returned to his laptop just as the call began. The familiar voices of his colleagues filled the room, a mix of professional tones and casual greetings.

  “Good evening, everyone,” said a deep voice belonging to Bernard, one of the senior analysts. “émile, I trust you have something to show us today?”

  émile nodded, though his hands were occupied chopping herbs. “I do,” he said, his tone calm and measured. “I’ve re-evaluated our previous models and incorporated a fresh perspective. Let me share the document now.”

  He clicked a few buttons, and the spreadsheet Isabelle had worked on appeared on the shared screen. The once-chaotic notes and formulas had been cleaned up into a cohesive layout, though émile made no mention of his daughter’s role in its creation.

  Meanwhile, Isabelle gasped audibly as the show cut to a suspicious character in the shadows texting on a PokéGear. “Oh, come on! You’re just going to show us his silhouette? Give us something to work with!” she groaned, flopping dramatically against the couch. “I swear, Azzy, if this show doesn’t give me one real clue by the end of this episode, I’m writing an angry letter.”

  Azzy chirped, bouncing onto the armrest as if to console her Trainer’s frustration. The suspenseful music on the screen quieted, replaced by a tense conversation between Elise and her younger brother about a cryptic message she’d found.

  In the kitchen, émile’s colleagues were pouring over the spreadsheet, their voices overlapping in excitement.

  “This is... different,” said Colette, a sharp-eyed mathematician known for her no-nonsense attitude. “Whoever approached the linear progression issue like this had a very unique perspective. It’s unconventional but... intriguing.”

  “Unconventional or not, it works,” Bernard added, his tone surprised. “These projections align almost perfectly with the theoretical outputs we’ve been chasing for weeks. émile, who came up with this angle?”

  émile hesitated for the briefest moment before replying smoothly, “It was a collective effort. Sometimes it takes stepping back and rethinking the fundamentals.”

  “NO WAY,” Isabelle shouted from the couch, interrupting the tension in the conference call momentarily. émile glanced toward the living room, one eyebrow raised.

  “Did Liv just—OH MY ARCEUS, SHE DID. SHE KISSED HIM!” Isabelle practically squealed, clutching a throw pillow. “I mean, fine, it was a little predictable, but still!” She pointed at the screen as if Liv could hear her. “You’d better not regret this in two episodes when it all goes wrong!”

  Azzy chirped and bounced in excitement, her tail wagging rapidly.

  émile couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him, though he quickly masked it as a cough when Colette asked, “Is something funny, émile?”

  “No, no, just... the pot boiling over,” he said quickly, adjusting the lid of the soup pot for show. “Let’s focus on the updated grid projections.”

  “émile,” Bernard said, his tone teasing, “I hope you’re not letting a cooking mishap derail what might be a breakthrough.”

  “Not at all,” émile replied with a smile, though his eyes flicked toward the living room. Isabelle’s muffled commentary and Azzy’s enthusiastic chirps continued in the background, adding a strange but comforting harmony to the moment.

  By the time émile ended the call, the stir fry was ready, and Isabelle was ranting loudly at the television about Elise’s refusal to share her discovery with the group. “Why do characters in shows like this always hide crucial information? Just TALK to your friends! Communication is free, people!”

  émile walked into the living room, carrying two steaming bowls. “You’re very passionate about this show.”

  “It’s research,” Isabelle declared, pausing the show for dramatic effect. “I’m learning how girls act in groups.”

  “Ah,” émile replied with mock seriousness, picking up his bowl. “So the drama is purely educational, is it?”

  “Exactly!” Isabelle said, tossing a piece of popcorn from the bowl on the table into her mouth. “Also, the drama is so good. You wouldn’t understand.”

  émile smirked. “Try me.”

  “Okay, okay.” Isabelle leaned forward, gesturing at the paused screen. “So, Bianca’s been missing for a year, right? She was this ultra-glam, perfect queen bee who ruled Rosewood High. But—” She grabbed a handful of popcorn for emphasis, “—her friends, Liv, Mia, Taryn, and Elise, start getting these super creepy messages from Shadow, who knows all their secrets. Like, all of them. Stuff only Bianca would’ve known.”

  “Interesting,” émile said, taking a bite of his stir-fry. “And you’re sure this is teaching you about girl friendships?”

  “Dad,” Isabelle said, narrowing her eyes. “Focus.”

  Azzy squeaked as if in agreement, her tail wagging. émile chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. What’s happening in this episode?”

  “Okay, so now,” Isabelle began, pointing to Liv Harper on the screen, “Liv feels super guilty because she had a huge fight with Bianca before she disappeared. She thinks maybe it’s her fault.”

  émile raised an eyebrow. “Her fault? Because of an argument?”

  “That’s just it!” Isabelle said, her voice rising. “They all have secrets, and Shadow’s threatening to expose them. Like, Liv might’ve said something, you know, really bad. And then there’s Mia, the artist. She’s all tough, but she’s hiding something about her and Bianca’s friendship.”

  “Secrets and lies,” émile said, shaking his head. “Teenagers.”

  “Exactly!” Isabelle grinned, as though he’d finally gotten the point. “And now, they’re trying to put together this memorial for Bianca because their parents—” Isabelle pointed emphatically at the TV as Liv’s mom gave her a stern lecture about public perception, “—think it’ll help the town move on. But you just know Shadow’s going to ruin it somehow.”

  Azzy squeaked again, rolling to her side as if the suspense was too much. Isabelle glanced at her father, who was watching the show with more interest than she expected.

  “You’re actually watching this, huh?” she asked, poking his arm.

  “Why not?” émile replied, shrugging. “I need to see how this... Shadow character operates.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure, Dad.”

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  The scene on the television cut to a flashback, showing Bianca Hayes in her signature oversized sunglasses, walking through Rosewood High with her posse of Liv, Mia, Taryn, and Elise trailing behind her like loyal subjects.

  “Bianca was always extra,” Isabelle said, popping another piece of popcorn. “I mean, look at her. That strut. That attitude. Total queen bee energy.”

  “She reminds me of someone,” émile said, raising an eyebrow at his daughter.

  “Who?” Isabelle asked, frowning. Then realization dawned, and she shook her head vehemently. “No. Don’t even start.”

  "You’ve got a bit of that energy yourself," émile said with a teasing grin, eyes darting to Isabelle for her reaction.

  Isabelle froze, her hand hovering over the bowl of popcorn. Her hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously as her father’s words sunk in.

  "Excuse me?" Isabelle said, shifting her weight on the couch as she turned to face him fully. "Did you just compare me to Bianca Hayes?"

  Isabelle’s hand dramatically hovered over the popcorn bowl as she stared at her father like he’d just accused her of stealing candy from a PokéCenter donation jar. Azzy, ever the loyal sidekick, chirped indignantly, her tail bouncing against Isabelle’s leg as if to say, Yeah, you tell him!

  “Queen bee? Me?” Isabelle gasped, clutching her chest like she’d just been struck by Shadow’s latest threat. “Oh, sure, Dad. Because I’m out here in Lumora City ruling the high school halls with my sharp eyeliner and snarky text messages. Did you miss the part where I’m floundering in a social pond full of Gyarados while I’m just… Magikarping my way through life?”

  Azzy squeaked her agreement, puffing her cheeks out in a defiant show of solidarity.

  émile chuckled, clearly unfazed by Isabelle’s dramatics. “I’m just saying, you’ve got a bit of a presence. People notice you.”

  “Yeah, because I tripped over a trash can on the first day!” Isabelle shot back, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “That’s not queen bee energy, Dad. That’s slapstick comedy energy. Big difference.”

  émile caught the popcorn midair and popped it into his mouth with a smug grin. “Slapstick or not, you’re still the one narrating everyone’s lives like you’re the star of the show.”

  “Okay, no,” Isabelle said, leaning forward with a serious expression, her finger wagging in émile’s direction. “If anything, I’m Liv. Compassionate, introverted, probably way too emotionally invested in everyone else’s problems.”

  “Uh-huh,” émile said, leaning back into the couch. “And the popcorn commentary doesn’t scream Taryn at all?”

  Isabelle gasped dramatically. “How dare you. Taryn is bold, brash, and probably keeps a nail file in her boot for emergencies. I’m not bold. I’m… passively chaotic at best.” She gestured to the screen where Taryn was currently breaking into a locked classroom with a bobby pin and a smirk. “See? Taryn energy. Not me.”

  Azzy squeaked her disagreement this time, tilting her head in what Isabelle could only interpret as a Really? You’re not bold? look.

  “Don’t start,” Isabelle muttered to Azzy before tossing another piece of popcorn in her mouth.

  On the screen, the girls stood in front of the Rosewood High memorial committee, their parents hovering nearby, each girl visibly uncomfortable as Liv’s mom launched into a speech about the importance of unity and moving forward.

  “And there’s Liv’s mom,” Isabelle said, rolling her eyes. “She’s like, ‘Let’s all remember Bianca with this nice shiny statue, but also, don’t forget to keep your dirty secrets buried, girls.’ Subtle.”

  émile raised an eyebrow, gesturing at the television. “And Shadow’s just… what? Watching from a distance, waiting to strike?”

  “Exactly!” Isabelle threw up her hands. “Shadow’s probably behind a vending machine right now with binoculars and a notebook, taking detailed notes about what Liv’s wearing so they can insult her later via text. Like, who has the time? Do they not have homework?”

  émile chuckled, his gaze fixed on the screen as he leaned back in his chair. “Seems like the kind of dedication that comes with a lifetime supply of caffeine and maybe a serious lack of hobbies.”

  “Or a crippling need for drama,” Isabelle quipped, tossing a piece of popcorn at Azzy, who gleefully tried (and failed) to catch it. “I mean, imagine dedicating your entire existence to tormenting high school girls. Shadow probably has an entire spreadsheet for this nonsense.”

  “A spreadsheet, huh?” émile smirked. “Sounds like they’d fit right in at VireTech. We’ve got openings.”

  Isabelle groaned, sinking further into the couch. “Please don’t. The last thing I need is Shadow sending out energy efficiency reports between blackmail texts.”

  The screen flickered to the final scenes of the episode: the girls standing in front of the half-finished memorial for Bianca, tension thick in the air as another ominous message from Shadow arrived. Liv’s face twisted with guilt, Mia looked like she was ready to throw hands with the universe, and Taryn muttered something under her breath while Elise calmly studied the note like it was a puzzle to be solved.

  “And there it is,” Isabelle announced, gesturing grandly. “Shadow swoops in, ruins everyone’s day, and somehow makes me feel like I need to check under my bed for threatening text messages.”

  émile stood and stretched, the faint clatter of dishes echoing from the kitchen. “Well, if Shadow shows up, just forward them to me. I’ll file them under ‘nonsense.’”

  “You’d probably try to recruit them for data analysis,” Isabelle muttered as she turned off the TV. Azzy chirped indignantly, clearly not ready for the episode to end, and flopped dramatically onto her back.

  As the credits rolled, Isabelle glanced at the clock. Her math homework was finally done, and the late hour was settling in like a heavy blanket. She stretched, yawning as her dad returned with a soft smile and a pair of steaming mugs—her usual evening tea and his coffee.

  émile handed her the mug. “So, you survived another weekend. Think you’re ready for tomorrow?”

  Isabelle stared into her tea like it might contain all the answers to life’s mysteries. “Barely. I mean, Mr. Kotomine didn’t break me, so that’s something. But...”

  “But?” émile prompted, settling beside her.

  “But... everything’s happening so fast,” Isabelle admitted, her voice quieter now. “I thought moving here would just be... you know, school, Pokémon, the usual. And now there’s Amélie, and math, and this... League Circuit thing everyone keeps talking about. I don’t even know where to start.”

  émile sipped his coffee, his expression thoughtful. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, Izzy. You’ve got time to figure things out. And if you don’t want to do the League Circuit, that’s okay too.”

  “Yeah, but... what if I do?” Isabelle frowned. “What if I want to try, but I just end up flopping? Like... a literal Magikarp situation?”

  émile chuckled softly, ruffling her hair. “Even Magikarp can swim upstream, remember? And they don’t give up until they’re Gyarados. You’re smart, capable, and tougher than you think, Izzy. If you decide to do this, you won’t be alone. You’ve got Azzy, and you’ve got me.”

  Isabelle’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Thanks, Dad. I just... need to think about it more.”

  He nodded, finishing his coffee. “You’ve got time, Izzy. Take it. And hey, don’t overthink it too much tonight. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

  She nodded, sipping her tea as Azzy hopped into her lap, curling up with a contented chirp. After a few moments, Isabelle stood, stretching again. “Alright, bedtime. If Shadow sends me any threats overnight, I’ll let you know.”

  “I’m counting on it,” émile teased, gathering the mugs as Isabelle headed for her room.

  Isabelle shuffled into the bathroom, the soft yellow glow of the vanity light reflecting off the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to her skin. The day had been long, and her face—free of makeup but not free of Lumora City’s pollution and chaos—needed some serious attention. Azzy waddled behind her, tail bouncing like a spring, and perched herself precariously on the closed toilet lid, chirping curiously as if to oversee the process.

  “Alright, Sous-Chef,” Isabelle said, tying her hair back into a loose ponytail with a scrunchie. “Time to tackle the war zone.”

  Her mental projection appeared beside her, arms crossed and wearing a pink fluffy robe with cucumber slices over its eyes. “War zone is right, Izzy. Do you even remember what the word ‘moisturizer’ means?”

  “Excuse you,” Isabelle retorted, poking at the projection’s side as if it were tangible. “I’ll have you know this face hasn’t seen a breakout in weeks. That’s a win in my book.”

  The projection snorted, adjusting its imaginary robe. “Sure, but let’s not push our luck. Get to it. Oil-free, remember? No slacking.”

  With a roll of her eyes, Isabelle grabbed her oil-free cleanser from the shelf. “Step one,” she announced like a host on a skincare tutorial. “Double cleansing. Even though I don’t wear makeup, because, you know, who has time for that?”

  Azzy chirped as if in agreement, her tail twitching with approval.

  Isabelle worked the cleanser into a light foam, massaging it across her face in gentle circles. “Oil-free is key,” she muttered, almost to herself. “Because who wants clogged pores? Not me. And definitely not my projection over there, judging me like it’s got perfect skin.”

  The projection smirked, now lounging on the edge of the sink. “Hey, I’m you, remember? We sink or swim together, babe.”

  Rinsing off the cleanser, Isabelle reached for her toner. She poured a small amount onto a cotton pad and swept it over her face. “Restore the pH balance,” she muttered, mimicking something she’d read online. “Which I totally understand... kind of.”

  Next came her essence, a lightweight serum she gently patted into her skin. Azzy chirped inquisitively, tilting her head as Isabelle explained, “This helps keep my skin hydrated. You know, so I don’t look like I’ve been living in a desert.”

  The projection added, “And because hydration equals glow, Izzy. You’ve got to fake it till you make it.”

  “Glow? I don’t need glow,” Isabelle said, sticking her tongue out at the projection. “I just don’t want my face to fall off.”

  Eye cream came next, dabbed lightly under her eyes with her ring finger. “Because apparently, the skin here is super delicate,” she said. “Or so says every beauty article ever.”

  By the time she reached her moisturizer, Isabelle felt the weight of the day finally beginning to melt away. She worked the cream into her skin, savoring the cool sensation. “Nourish and repair,” she muttered. “Not that there’s much to repair. I’ve got, like, one wrinkle, and I’m sixteen.”

  Her projection raised an eyebrow. “Wrinkle? Please. You’ve been glaring at math problems for the past two days. Your forehead’s practically a roadmap.”

  “Rude,” Isabelle shot back, finishing with a light facial oil to seal in the moisture. She stood back, examining her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked fresh, clean, and a little pink from all the massaging.

  “Not bad, Izzy,” the projection said, giving her an approving nod. “Now, let’s hope you don’t sleep on your side and ruin it all.”

  Isabelle turned her attention to her hair, pulling out her favorite leave-in conditioner. She ran it through the ends of her layers, detangling carefully as Azzy watched with curious eyes. “You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with this,” Isabelle told the little Pokémon. “Your tail probably stays soft no matter what.”

  Azzy chirped proudly, wagging her tail as Isabelle gave it a playful pat.

  After brushing out her hair, Isabelle grabbed a body lotion infused with a faint citrus scent. She applied it to her arms and legs, the cool cream soothing her tired muscles. “Lotioned and motioned,” she said, flexing her arms in the mirror.

  “Now you’re just showing off,” her projection teased, pretending to flex as well.

  Once her routine was complete, Isabelle returned to her room, where the faint glow of her bedside lamp illuminated the cozy space. Her bed was neatly made, save for the corner where an old, well-loved Psyduck plushie sat propped against the pillow.

  “Don’t judge me,” Isabelle said, catching Azzy’s amused squeak as she picked up the plushie. “Psyduck’s been through a lot with me. He’s earned his spot.”

  Azzy bounced onto the bed, curling up at the foot as Isabelle climbed in beside her. The plushie was tucked securely under Isabelle’s arm, and she sighed contentedly as she pulled the blanket over them.

  Her mental projection reappeared, now wearing a pair of oversized glasses and holding a clipboard. “Alright, final thoughts before we power down. School tomorrow, potential existential crisis about the League Circuit, and oh, let’s not forget the demo with Professor Ardene later this week. How do we feel?”

  “Exhausted,” Isabelle muttered, shifting to get comfortable. “And mildly terrified. But tomorrow’s a problem for Future Izzy.”

  The projection nodded sagely. “Future Izzy’s got this. Probably.”

  With that, Isabelle set her VireBand alarm, turned off the lamp, the room plunging into a calm darkness. Azzy let out a soft chirp, snuggling closer as Isabelle closed her eyes.

  “Goodnight, Azzy,” she murmured. “And Psyduck. And... me, I guess.”