The morning of the Contest dawned bright and clear, the kind of weather that seemed designed to draw crowds.

  Jason woke early, restless energy pushing him out of bed before the sun had fully risen. He stood at his window watching the city come alive below—street vendors setting up their carts, early-bird trainers heading out for morning training, the first ferries of the day pulling into the harbor.

  He was looking forward to the Contest more than he'd expected. He'd never seen one in person before—only fragments from the games and anime that felt increasingly distant now. The chance to witness real coordinators performing with their Pokémon...

  It would be a good break from thinking about Team Aqua and volcanic rocks and legendary Pokémon.

  He focused on getting ready.

  The Contest Hall was already buzzing when they arrived mid-morning.

  The elegant building had transformed overnight into a hub of frantic activity. Coordinators hurried through the entrance clutching their registration papers. Fans lined up at merchandise stalls selling ribbons, pennants, and photos of famous competitors. A massive screen above the main doors cycled through images of past Contest winners, their Pokémon frozen in moments of artistic triumph.

  "Registration closes at noon," Marcus said, consulting his Pokégear. "Performances start at two. We've got time to look around."

  The interior of the Contest Hall was even more impressive than the exterior. The main lobby featured a soaring ceiling painted with images of Pokémon in graceful poses—Beautifly trailing silver dust, Milotic wreathed in rainbow light, Roselia scattering petals across an invisible stage. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic patterns across marble floors. Everything was designed to evoke beauty and elegance.

  "Fancy," Hana observed, her practical Ranger sensibilities clearly bemused by the opulence.

  "Contests are big business," Marcus replied. "The top coordinators make more money than most gym leaders. Sponsors, merchandise deals, exhibition tours—it's a whole industry."

  They wandered through the public areas, taking in the atmosphere. A practice room had been set up for last-minute rehearsals, and Jason watched through a window as coordinators put their Pokémon through their paces. A Skitty practiced its Assist combination. A Beautifly worked on its String Shot patterns. A Roselia—green and blue flowers marking it as well-trained—executed a flawless Petal Dance that filled its practice space with swirling color.

  "That's impressive," Jason admitted.

  "That's Drew," a nearby spectator said, a young woman with a Contest fan magazine tucked under her arm. "He's one of the favorites today. Already won a ribbon in Slateport's sister competition last month."

  The coordinator with the Roselia—Drew, apparently—was maybe Jason's age, with green hair and an expression of practiced confidence. He recalled his Pokémon with a flourish and headed toward the competitor's area, not sparing a glance for the observers.

  "Seems sure of himself," Hana noted.

  "Top coordinators usually are," the woman replied. "You need confidence to perform in front of hundreds of people. The nervous ones wash out early."

  They found seats in the main arena around one-thirty, settling into the upper gallery with a good view of the stage.

  The Contest Hall's performance space was a work of art in itself. The stage was circular, polished to a mirror shine, with lighting rigs overhead that could create any atmosphere a coordinator might need. Screens flanked the stage, ready to display scores and close-ups of performances. The judges' table sat at the front—three seats for the panel that would determine who advanced and who went home.

  The crowd filled in steadily as two o'clock approached. Jason estimated maybe five hundred people in the arena—a mix of dedicated Contest fans, curious trainers, and locals looking for entertainment. The energy was different from a gym battle audience. Less aggressive, more appreciative. People here wanted to see beauty, not just victory.

  "Welcome, everyone, to the Slateport City Pokémon Contest!"

  The announcement came from a woman who'd taken the stage—the MC, dressed in a flowing outfit that sparkled under the lights. Her voice carried easily through the arena's acoustics.

  "I'm Vivian, and I'll be your host for today's competition! We have an exciting lineup of coordinators ready to show you their skills!"

  The crowd cheered.

  "Let me introduce our judges! First, the Chief of the Pokémon Activities Committee—Mr. Contesta!"

  An older man in a formal suit stood and waved, his expression professionally pleasant.

  "Next, the President of the Pokémon Fan Club—Mr. Sukizo!"

  A rounder man rose, beaming at the crowd with genuine enthusiasm.

  "And finally, our local expert—Slateport City's own Nurse Joy!"

  The familiar pink-haired nurse stood and bowed, drawing appreciative applause.

  "Now," Vivian continued, "let's meet our contestants!"

  The coordinators filed onto stage for introductions, and Jason found himself scanning the line.

  There—near the end. Brown hair, bandana, nervous posture.

  May.

  She looked exactly like he remembered from Petalburg, except more anxious. Her hands fidgeted at her sides, and even from the gallery, Jason could see her taking deep breaths to steady herself.

  Jason sat up straighter, his attention sharpening. "You recognize someone?" Hana asked, noticing his reaction.

  "The girl in the bandana—May. I met her in Petalburg City." Jason pointed her out. "She's Norman's daughter. Was traveling with her brother Max and a couple other trainers."

  "Norman the gym leader?" Marcus looked interested. "That's a pedigree. Wonder if she's any good."

  "She's new to coordinating, I think. But she seemed determined." Jason scanned the crowd, wondering if Ash and Brock were somewhere in the audience. "She was nice when we talked. I hope she does well."

  Sprigatito, curled in his lap, made a sound that might have been agreement or might have been commentary on the spectacle below. She'd been watching the stage with keen interest since they'd sat down, her tail flicking whenever a particularly flashy Pokémon appeared.

  The introductions continued—Drew with his confident smirk, a coordinator named Robert with elegant bearing, a dozen others whose names Jason didn't catch. Then the contestants filed off, and Vivian took center stage again.

  "The Appeals Round will begin shortly! Remember, coordinators have one chance to impress our judges with a display of their Pokémon's beauty and skill. The top eight scores will advance to the Battle Round!"

  The Appeals Round was unlike anything Jason had experienced.

  Coordinator after coordinator took the stage, each presenting their Pokémon in unique ways. A Dustox created spiraling patterns with its Poison Powder, the toxic dust somehow rendered beautiful by clever lighting. A Loudred used its sound-based attacks to create vibrations in the air that made water droplets dance in impossible patterns. A Medicham demonstrated its psychic abilities by levitating objects in a graceful aerial ballet.

  "They're not just showing off moves," Jason murmured. "They're telling stories."

  "That's the whole point," Marcus replied. "Any Pokémon can use an attack. Contests are about using those attacks to create something beautiful. Something that moves people."

  Drew's performance came midway through the round. His Roselia took the stage with a confident twirl, then launched into a routine that drew gasps from the crowd. Petal Dance filled the air with swirling colors. Stun Spore added a glittering shimmer. Magical Leaf sliced through the petals in precise patterns, creating shapes and images that lasted just long enough to appreciate before dissolving.

  The finale had Roselia vanishing into a blizzard of petals before emerging with a final Magical Leaf that scattered them across the stage in a perfect spiral.

  "Twenty-nine point four!" Vivian announced. "Our highest score yet!"

  Drew recalled his Roselia with a small bow and walked off stage, his expression suggesting he'd expected nothing less.

  "Showoff," someone behind Jason muttered, but there was grudging respect in the voice.

  A few more coordinators performed—some impressive, some clearly outmatched by the competition. Then a name was called that made the arena buzz with anticipation.

  "Next up—Robert and his Milotic!"

  Jason leaned forward despite himself.

  Milotic was legendary among Water-types—said to be one of the most beautiful Pokémon in existence. He'd seen pictures, played with them in games, but never witnessed one in person.

  The reality exceeded every expectation.

  Robert walked onto stage with the calm confidence of someone who'd done this hundreds of times. At his signal, a Pokéball opened and Milotic emerged in a cascade of water droplets that caught the light like diamonds.

  The Pokémon was... breathtaking. There was no other word for it. Its serpentine body moved with impossible grace, scales shimmering in colors that seemed to shift with every angle. Its tail fanned out to display patterns that looked almost like abstract art.

  The crowd had gone silent. Even the judges seemed transfixed.

  Milotic began its routine with Safeguard, surrounding itself in a soft green glow that made its colors even more vivid. Then it moved—not attacking, just moving—and the motion itself was the performance. Every curve of its body, every ripple of its scales, every gentle wave of its tail created beauty that needed no special effects to enhance.

  For the finale, Milotic raised its head and sang—a haunting, wordless melody that resonated through the arena. The Safeguard glow intensified, surrounding the Pokémon in light that seemed almost divine.

  Then it was over, and the silence stretched for a long moment before the crowd exploded into applause.

  "Perfect score!" Vivian announced, her voice slightly awed. "Thirty points! Robert and Milotic have set a new standard for today's competition!"

  "That was..." Hana trailed off, apparently unable to find words.

  "Yeah," Jason agreed. "That was something else."

  Ralts, who Jason had released to sit on his other side, was trembling slightly—not with fear, but with something like awe. Through their bond, he felt her emotions: wonder, appreciation, a longing he didn't quite understand.

  Beautiful, she sent. So beautiful.

  Sprigatito's reaction was different. She watched Milotic with the focused intensity of a predator evaluating potential competition, her tail lashing slowly. Whether she was impressed or jealous, Jason couldn't quite tell.

  "You two okay?" he asked quietly.

  Sprigatito made a sound that clearly meant I could do that if I wanted to. Ralts just continued staring at the stage where Milotic had performed, her small form still quivering with residual emotion.

  May's turn came near the end of the Appeals Round.

  She walked onto stage with visible nervousness, her steps slightly unsteady. Jason found himself leaning forward, willing her to do well despite knowing how this would end.

  "This is May's first Contest," Vivian announced. "Let's give her a warm welcome!"

  Polite applause. May took a deep breath, pulled out a Pokéball, and—

  Tripped.

  She caught herself before falling completely, but the stumble was obvious. A ripple of sympathetic murmurs went through the crowd.

  "Come on," Jason whispered. "You've got this."

  May steadied herself and threw the Pokéball. "Beautifly, take the stage!"

  The butterfly Pokémon emerged in a shower of sparkles—clearly a planned entrance that landed well despite May's rocky start. Beautifly's wings caught the light, scattering rainbow patterns across the stage.

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  "Use String Shot!" May called.

  Beautifly fired a strand of silk, catching a frisbee that May had thrown at the same moment. The Pokémon whipped the frisbee back, and May caught it—barely—before throwing it again.

  "Gust!"

  A wind attack sent the frisbee spinning back toward May, who fumbled the catch but managed to hold onto it.

  The routine continued in similar fashion—good ideas with imperfect execution. Beautifly was clearly talented, its moves precise and well-practiced. But May's nervousness kept throwing off the timing, creating moments of awkwardness that undermined the overall effect.

  Still, there was something earnest about the performance. Something genuine that resonated despite the technical flaws.

  "She's got potential," Marcus observed. "Just needs experience."

  "Twenty-four point six!" Vivian announced when the routine finished. "A solid score for a first-time competitor!"

  May left the stage looking relieved but not satisfied. Jason could guess what she was thinking—she'd wanted to do better, to prove herself on her first try.

  She'll get there, he thought. This is just the beginning.

  The Appeals Round concluded with the announcement of the top eight advancing to Battle Rounds.

  Robert was first, naturally. Drew was second. A coordinator named Grace with her Medicham made third. Several others filled the middle slots.

  And May—just barely—scraped into eighth place.

  "She made it!" Marcus pumped his fist. "Cutting it close, but she's through!"

  "Barely," Hana noted. "She'll be facing tougher competition in the battles."

  Jason nodded, knowing what was coming. May would face Drew in the Battle Round. Drew's Roselia would defeat her Beautifly. She'd be eliminated, but she'd learn valuable lessons that would shape her into the coordinator she was destined to become.

  It was strange, watching destiny unfold. Knowing the outcome but being unable—unwilling—to change it.

  Some things have to happen, he told himself. She needs to lose to Drew. She needs to learn from this.

  But part of him wished he could spare her the disappointment.

  During the intermission before the Battle Rounds, Jason excused himself to find a bathroom.

  The hallways of the Contest Hall were busy but not packed, coordinators and spectators milling about in roughly equal numbers. Jason navigated through the crowd, lost in thought about what he'd witnessed.

  The performances had been impressive—more artistic than he'd expected, more emotionally resonant than the games had ever conveyed. Contests weren't just showing off; they were genuine expressions of the bond between trainer and Pokémon, translated into beauty.

  Maybe I should try coordinating sometime, he thought. Sprigatito would probably—

  Something small and round bounced into his leg.

  He looked down.

  A Marill stared up at him with enormous eyes, its blue body quivering slightly. It couldn't have been more than a foot tall, its round ears twitching as it studied this new human.

  "Oh no, I'm so sorry!"

  A young girl—maybe eight or nine—came running up, her face flushed with embarrassment. "Bubbles gets away from me sometimes. She didn't hurt you, did she?"

  "I'm fine." Jason crouched down to the Marill's level. "Hey there, Bubbles. You're a quick one, aren't you?"

  Bubbles the Marill chirped and bounced closer, apparently deciding that Jason was acceptable. She was absurdly cute—her round body, her oversized ears, the little ball at the end of her tail that bobbed as she moved.

  Something in Jason's chest melted.

  "Oh my god," he breathed. "Oh my god, you are the most adorable thing I've ever seen."

  The girl giggled. "She likes you! She doesn't usually warm up to strangers that fast."

  Bubbles had pressed herself against Jason's knee, looking up at him with those enormous eyes. Her fur was impossibly soft under his fingers, and she made a happy trilling sound as he scratched behind her ears.

  Dignity be damned.

  "Who's a good Marill? Who's the cutest little water mouse in the whole city? You are! Yes you are!"

  The girl was laughing openly now, and Jason couldn't bring himself to care. Bubbles was too adorable, too soft, too perfectly round and blue and wonderful.

  "You really like Pokémon, huh?" the girl asked.

  "More than I can explain." Jason gave Bubbles one final pat and stood reluctantly. "You're lucky to have such a sweet partner."

  "Thanks! She's my best friend." The girl scooped up her Marill. "Good luck with whoever you're cheering for!"

  She disappeared into the crowd, Bubbles waving a tiny paw over her shoulder.

  Jason stood there for a moment, collecting his dignity.

  Worth it, he decided. Completely worth it.

  He eventually found what he was looking for and was heading back when a voice cut through his thoughts.

  "Hey! I know you!"

  The voice was young and enthusiastic. Jason turned to find Max pushing through the crowd toward him, glasses slightly askew and expression bright with recognition.

  "You're the guy from Petalburg! With the Sprigatito!"

  "Uh, yeah." Jason managed a smile. "Max, right? Norman's son?"

  "You remembered!" Max beamed. "May said she saw your name on the spectator list. She was hoping we'd run into you!"

  Before Jason could respond, more figures emerged from the crowd behind Max. May, looking flustered in her coordinator outfit. A taller young man with spiky brown hair who had to be Brock. And—

  Ash Ketchum.

  He looked exactly like Jason had always imagined—black hair under a red cap, determined eyes, Pikachu perched on his shoulder like it belonged there. The electric mouse was watching Jason with curious intensity, ears twitching.

  "This is the trainer May met in Petalburg!" Max was saying, apparently having taken on the role of impromptu introducer. "The one with the weird Pokémon!"

  "Max!" May elbowed her brother. "Don't call it weird!"

  "But it is! I've never even seen a Sprigatito before!"

  "That doesn't make it weird, it makes it rare. There's a difference."

  Jason found himself the center of attention from a group of people who had no idea how significant they were. Ash Ketchum, the protagonist of a thousand adventures. Brock, the reliable friend and aspiring breeder. May and Max, whose journeys were just beginning.

  And here he was, an anomaly from another world, trying to act normal.

  "I'm Jason," he managed. "Nice to meet you all."

  "Ash Ketchum, from Pallet Town!" Ash stepped forward with an easy grin, offering his hand. "May told us about meeting you. Said you had a Pokémon she'd never seen before."

  "Sprigatito. She's a Grass-type from Paldea."

  "Paldea?" Ash's eyes lit up with interest. "That's really far away! How'd you end up in Hoenn?"

  "Long story." Jason shook his hand, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he was shaking hands with Ash Ketchum. "I'm doing the gym circuit. Got two badges so far."

  "That's awesome! I've got two badges too!" Ash's enthusiasm was infectious. "We should battle sometime!"

  "Ash, you can't challenge everyone you meet," Brock said, his tone suggesting this was a frequent reminder. He nodded to Jason. "I'm Brock. Sorry about him—he gets excited."

  "It's fine. I understand the feeling."

  Pikachu chose that moment to leap from Ash's shoulder onto a nearby railing, getting a better look at Jason. Its black eyes studied him with an intelligence that seemed almost unsettling.

  "Pika?"

  "Hey there," Jason said, extending a hand slowly. "Nice to meet you too."

  Pikachu sniffed his fingers, considered for a moment, then made a sound that seemed approving. It allowed him to scratch behind its ears—just for a moment—before returning to Ash's shoulder.

  "Pikachu likes you!" Ash said, as if this settled some important question. "He's usually pickier about strangers."

  Jason wasn't sure what to make of that. The Pikachu was watching him still, its expression unreadable.

  "We should get back," May said, glancing toward the competitor's area. "The battles are starting soon."

  "Good luck," Jason told her. "You did great in the Appeals Round."

  "I tripped." Her face reddened. "Everyone saw."

  "You recovered. That takes guts." He meant it. "Whatever happens in the battles, you should be proud of making it this far on your first try."

  May's expression softened slightly. "Thanks. That actually helps."

  "Maybe we'll run into each other on the road," Ash said, already bouncing on his heels with energy. "You're doing the Hoenn League too, right? We should definitely battle!"

  "Maybe," Jason agreed. "Good luck with your journey."

  He watched them disappear into the crowd—Ash and Pikachu leading the way, Brock following with fond exasperation, May and Max bringing up the rear. A group of travelers whose adventures would shake the region.

  I just talked to Ash Ketchum, he thought, the reality of it finally hitting him. I shook his hand. His Pikachu let me pet it.

  It felt surreal. Like something from a dream that he'd wake from at any moment.

  But the Contest Hall was solid around him. The crowd was real. The journey was real.

  Everything was real.

  The Battle Rounds delivered exactly what the Appeals had promised.

  Coordinators faced off in timed battles where damage and style both mattered. Points were deducted for taking hits and awarded for landing attacks beautifully. The goal wasn't just to defeat your opponent—it was to look good doing it.

  May's first battle came early in the bracket. Her opponent was another first-time coordinator whose Dustox looked formidable but proved vulnerable to Beautifly's speed.

  "Silver Wind!" May called, her confidence growing now that she was in battle mode rather than performance mode.

  Beautifly's attack sparkled as it struck, knocking Dustox back and taking a chunk of the opponent's points. May pressed the advantage, her instincts from traveling with Ash apparently serving her better than her Contest training.

  She won her first battle with time to spare, her expression shifting from anxiety to genuine joy.

  "Yes!" She pumped her fist as the crowd applauded.

  But her next opponent was Drew.

  The green-haired coordinator took the stage with the same confidence he'd shown throughout the competition. His Roselia emerged ready for battle, flowers bright and movements sharp.

  "This should be interesting," Marcus murmured.

  It wasn't. Not really.

  Drew was simply better. More experienced, more polished, more prepared. His Roselia anticipated Beautifly's attacks and countered with combinations that looked effortless. Petal Dance scattered incoming String Shots. Magical Leaf created barriers that May's commands couldn't penetrate.

  May fought hard. She tried every combination she knew, pushed Beautifly to its limits, refused to give up even as her points dwindled. But the gap in skill was too wide.

  When time ran out, Drew had more than half his points remaining. May had almost none.

  "Drew advances to the semifinals!" Vivian announced.

  May recalled her Beautifly, her expression crumbling despite obvious efforts to stay composed. She left the stage quickly, not looking at the crowd.

  "That was rough," Hana said quietly.

  Jason nodded but didn't respond. He knew this loss was necessary—knew it would drive May to train harder, to improve, to eventually become one of the best coordinators in multiple regions.

  But knowing that didn't make watching it any easier.

  The semifinals and finals played out as expected.

  Drew faced Grace's Medicham in the semifinals and lost—badly. Grace's Pokémon moved with precision that even Drew couldn't match, its Psychic attacks dismantling Roselia's defenses methodically.

  The finals pitted Grace against Robert and his Milotic.

  It wasn't close. Milotic was simply transcendent, its movements turning even defensive maneuvers into art. Grace fought well, but Robert and his Pokémon operated on another level entirely.

  "Robert wins the Slateport Ribbon!" Vivian announced as the final horn sounded. "Congratulations to Robert and his magnificent Milotic!"

  The crowd roared. Robert accepted his ribbon with gracious composure, Milotic wrapped around him like a living trophy.

  "That's the level these top coordinators reach," Marcus said, shaking his head in admiration. "No wonder most never make it to the Grand Festival. You'd have to be incredible just to qualify."

  "Makes me glad I'm sticking to gym battles," Jason admitted. "At least there I only have to worry about winning, not looking beautiful while doing it."

  "Don't sell yourself short," Hana said. "Your Ralts seemed moved by the performance. Maybe there's a coordinator hidden inside you somewhere."

  "Absolutely not," Jason replied, scratching Sprigatito behind the ears. "Right, Sprig? We're battlers, not performers." Sprigatito made a noncommittal sound that suggested she might have opinions on the matter.

  Jason watched Robert exit the stage, thinking about all the journeys represented here today. May's beginning, Drew's growth, Robert's mastery. Different points on the same path, each coordinator working toward their own vision of perfection.

  Not so different from gym battles, he realized. Just measuring success differently.

  They found May outside the Contest Hall afterward, sitting on a bench with her Beautifly beside her.

  She'd clearly been crying, though she was trying to hide it. Her eyes were red, her expression determinedly neutral.

  "Hey," Jason said, approaching carefully. "Mind if we sit?"

  May looked up, surprised to see him. "Oh. Sure."

  He settled onto the bench, leaving space between them. Sprigatito hopped down from his shoulder and approached Beautifly cautiously, making a soft chirping sound. The butterfly Pokémon looked up, antennae twitching, and after a moment returned a gentle flutter of its wings.

  Hana and Marcus hung back, apparently sensing this was a conversation that didn't need an audience.

  "I'm sorry about your battle," Jason said. "Drew's good."

  "Drew's better." May's voice was bitter. "I thought I was ready. I trained for weeks. But up there, against him..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

  "You made it to the top eight in your first Contest. That's not nothing."

  "It's not a ribbon."

  "No. But it's a start." Jason watched Beautifly nuzzle against May's hand, offering silent comfort. "You know what I saw today? I saw someone who got knocked down and kept fighting. Who made mistakes but didn't give up. That's more important than any single ribbon."

  May was quiet for a moment. "You think so?"

  "I know so." And he did—he knew exactly where her journey would lead, the heights she'd reach, the challenges she'd overcome. "This is the beginning, May. Not the end. You'll be back. You'll be better. And someday, you'll be standing on that stage with your own ribbon."

  She looked at him, something searching in her expression. "You sound really sure about that."

  "Call it intuition." He stood, offering a small smile. "Keep training. Keep competing. Don't let one loss define you."

  He walked away before she could respond, rejoining Hana and Marcus at the edge of the plaza.

  "That was kind," Hana observed.

  "She needed to hear it."

  "You barely know her."

  "Sometimes that makes it easier to say what needs to be said."

  Hana studied him with that measuring look she got when she was filing information away. But she didn't push further.

  That evening, they found a quiet restaurant near the harbor—a place with wooden booths worn smooth by decades of use and windows that looked out over the darkening water. Jason ordered without really seeing the menu, his mind still cycling through the day's encounters.

  The contest had left him emotionally drained in ways he hadn't expected.

  Watching May lose, talking to Ash, seeing Pikachu up close—it had all hit harder than he'd anticipated. These weren't just characters anymore. They were real people with real feelings, living lives that would intersect with world-changing events.

  And he was somehow part of their story now. A minor character, maybe, but present nonetheless.

  "You're quiet tonight," Marcus observed over his fish.

  "Thinking."

  "About the contest?"

  "About everything." Jason pushed his food around his plate. "This journey, the people we're meeting, the things that are happening around us. It all feels bigger than I expected."

  "That's Hoenn for you." Marcus's voice was understanding. "Everything's connected. Every path crosses eventually. You think you're just a trainer doing the gym circuit, but then you meet someone at a Contest or help someone at a museum, and suddenly you're part of something larger."

  "Is that a good thing?"

  Jason asked it lightly, but the question sat heavy in his chest.

  He was already part of something larger. He'd been part of it since he woke up in this world with knowledge he couldn't explain. The connections he was making—with Hana, with Marcus, with May and Ash and everyone else—those ripples were already spreading.

  He just couldn't see where they'd end up.

  "Depends on what you do with it." Marcus shrugged. "The connections you make can lift you up or drag you down. The people you meet can become allies or enemies. The choices you make ripple outward in ways you can't predict."

  "That's either very wise or very ominous," Hana said dryly.

  "Why not both?"

  After a little while, Marcus excused himself to use the restroom. Hana spoke.

  "The coordinator you talked to. May." She didn't look up from her plate. "You told her she'd succeed. That she'd have ribbons someday."

  "I told her to keep trying."

  "You told her more than that." Now she did look up, her eyes steady. "You sounded like you knew."

  Jason held her gaze. "I believed it. There's a difference."

  "Is there?"

  Before he could answer, Marcus returned, sliding back into the booth with a satisfied sigh. "Alright, what did I miss?"

  "Nothing," Hana said, returning to her food. "Just talking about the Contest."

  But her eyes met Jason's once more, and he understood: she was still watching. Still wondering.

  They finished dinner as the sun set over the harbor, painting the water in shades of orange and gold. Ships moved in and out of the port, their lights blinking like earthbound stars. Somewhere in the city, May was reviewing her performance, searching for what went wrong. Ash was probably already thinking about his next gym battle—the kid had energy that wouldn't quit. And Team Aqua... Team Aqua was doing whatever Team Aqua did when no one was watching.

  And Jason was here, in the middle of it all, trying to navigate a world he knew and didn't know simultaneously.

  Two badges down, he thought. Six to go. And whatever's coming after that.

  Tomorrow, they'd figure out the next step. Mauville was waiting. The gym circuit continued.

  But tonight, he let himself sit with the strangeness of it all—the fact that he'd shaken Ash Ketchum's hand, comforted a future contest champion, watched a Milotic perform like something out of a dream. This world kept surprising him.

  He wasn't sure if that would ever stop. He hoped it wouldn't.

  But tonight, he was content to watch the sunset and appreciate how far he'd come.