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You were sitting on the couch in Corbeau’s apartment, leaning into his side as he skimmed through reports on his tablet. Christmas had past, and Lumiose City was already buzzing with preparations for the New Year’s Day parade.
“So… what do you usually do for New Year’s?” you asked him.
Corbeau didn’t look up.
“Work.”
You waited. He didn’t elaborate.
“And?” You pressed, “When you’re not working?”
“Philippe and I remain in the office.” He said it like describing a dental procedure. “It is quiet. Efficient.”
“You mean you spend New Year’s Eve in your office? Wow, that’s boring as hell, Corbeau.”
“There’s nothing else to do,” he said plainly.
You sat up.
“You're joking, right?”
He finally looked at you.
You crossed your arms. “There’s a huge party on New Year’s Eve, and an even bigger parade on New Years Day.”
“I am aware.”
“So why don’t we go?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He stared. “You know why.”
Because he hated crowds. Because public attention made him tense. Because high-risk environments were a nightmare. Because he’d rather be chewed on by a feral Garchomp than attend a public spectacle.
You softened. “Okay,” you said, gently. “Then, why don’t we invite the children?”
“What?”
“You know,” you continued, “the kids from Four Winds Orphanage. Camille. Holden. Adeline. And some of the other children? They’d love the parade. And the floats. And the fireworks.” You smiled. “They’ve probably never seen it in person.”
Corbeau closed his eyes and shook his head. “Absolutely out of the question.”
You frowned. “Why not?”
“Too many liabilities,” Corbeau said matter-of-fact. “Besides, where would they sleep? What would they eat? What if a child wanders into the street? What if—”
“They can stay at Hotel Z.”
His eyes narrowed. “There are not enough rooms.”
You raised a brow. “Are you kidding? There are plenty of rooms. And if I remember you once said you got a good night’s sleep when you stayed over that one night.”
He narrowed his eyes at you. “Well, it would impose upon you and your… associates.”
“You mean Urbain, Lida, and Naveen?” You tilted your head. “They’ll be thrilled. They adore kids. It’ll be a nice change from all the adults and business people we occasionally get.”
He opened his mouth, but you cut him off.
“And even if they weren’t thrilled,” you leaned closer, voice soft, “Corbeau…how often do these kids get to leave that place? They deserve one night outside the orphanage. One night to see Lumiose. One night to feel part of something bigger.”
He faltered, thinking hard on your words.
“…They would like the parade,” he finally admitted quietly.
“Yes.”
“And being able to stay up late on New Year’s Eve.”
“Yes.”
“And see the fireworks up close.”
“Yes.” You smiled. “Plus, think how excited little Camille will be.”
He shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he’d lost the argument and he knew it.
“…Fine,” he said.
“Really?!”
“On the condition,” he said firmly, raising a finger, “that all legal documents, permissions, medical information, and emergency protocols are in place.”
“Obviously,” you said proudly. “Already emailed the orphanage director.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You planned this.”
“You have no one but to blame yourself. I think I've learned a thing or two about these things, hanging around you so much,” you said, kissing his cheek.
He sighed, defeated.
“Philippe!” he called.
The large man poked his head out of the hallway. “Yes, boss?”
“Make sure to clear our schedules for New Year’s Eve,” Corbeau said. “We are… celebrating.”
Philippe eyes widened in shock, before he grinned.
“Yes, boss!”
You met Corbeau, Philippe, and the rest of the Rust Syndicate outside their headquarters at exactly 7 AM, as instructed. Several black SUVs were lined up in a neat formation, engines idling. You had a fleeting suspicion Corbeau had arranged them this way purely to look impressive.
Corbeau stood beside the first vehicle, coat crisp, gloves immaculate, expression unreadable. Except, the moment he saw you something in his shoulders eased.
“Right on time,” he said.
“Of course,” you grinned. “Big day.”
Philippe jogged over, waving excitedly. “You ready to pick up the greml— I mean, the kids?”
You climbed into the back seat of the lead SUV. Philippe took the driver’s seat, and Corbeau slid in beside you.
As the fleet pulled away from Lumiose, you glanced down at the large gift bags stacked neatly beside Corbeau’s boots—extras, he had said earlier, “just in case.”
He caught you looking.
“…They might want snacks,” he said stiffly.
You smiled into your scarf.
The orphanage director was already outside waiting when your convoy rolled up. The door swung open and at least a dozen young faces were pressed to the frost-covered windows.
You barely had a foot on the ground before the front doors BURST open and Camille, Holden, and Adeline shot out like they’d been fired from a Poké Ball launcher.
“Mister Corbeau!!”
Camille ran at him full speed, arms wide. Corbeau braced in half a second, lowering his center of gravity like someone preparing for a physical attack. She slammed into his legs, hugging with all the enthusiasm of a Pokémon using Tackle.
Corbeau’s coat fluttered with the impact, but he didn’t move an inch. He placed both gloved hands gently—so gently—on her shoulders.
“Happy New Year’s Eve, Camille,” he said, voice warm in that understated way that made your chest ache. “Are you excited for tonight?”
Camille nodded so vigorously her well-worn Chespin hat nearly flew off.
Behind her came Holden, who grabbed your hand like you were his favorite superhero.
“Is it TRUE? We’re going to LUMIOSE?! For REAL?!”
“Of course,” you laughed. “You all get the full tour.”
Holden gasped, whispering loudly, “Maybe we’ll get to see a real pokemon battle!”
Corbeau made a subtle amused sound.
Philippe grinned at the young boy. “If you’re lucky, perhaps boss will be the one to show you.”
Corbeau cleared his throat pointedly, shooting Philippe a quick glare with a quick shake of his head.
“We might not have time for a battle,” you gave a nervous laugh. “There’s so much of Lumiose to see!”
Holden blinked at Philippe. “…Are you good at battling?”
Philippe straightened. “I am decent at battling—”
Corbeau cut in smoothly. “As my right-hand man, Philippe is one of the strongest trainers I know.”
You side-eyed Corbeau.
Philippe gawked. “That is the highest compliment boss has EVER given me—Holden, write that down.”
Holden pretended to jot it down on his palm.
Adeline approached quietly, clutching her Sylveon doll Santa had given her at Christmas. She tugged lightly at Corbeau’s coat.
“Did you bring the safe-driving Pokémon again?” she whispered.
Corbeau lowered into a crouch so he was eye-level with her.
“The drivers,” he corrected softly, “are professionals. You will be safe.”
Adeline nodded, solemn and satisfied, like she had just received a briefing from a top-ranking officer.
A cluster of younger children spilled out next. Each greeting Corbeau excitedly. While you would have loved to take all of them, you knew and understood that it was impossible to safely wrangle and keep track of a huge gaggle of kids.
One small girl, the third girl who was coming with, tugged your sleeve. “Are we… really staying in a hotel?”
You smiled. “You sure are.”
Her whole face lit up like a Mareep.
“OHMYGOSH—we’re like FAMOUS PEOPLE!”
Philippe leaned down conspiratorially. “You are! But shhh. Don’t tell the paparazzi.”
Corbeau sighed.
Inside, the entryway was lined with six neatly packed bags—colorful backpacks, small suitcases, even a tiny rolling case shaped like a Miltank.
The director approached, beaming. “All emergency contacts are here,” she said, handing Corbeau a folder thick enough to be a textbook.
Corbeau accepted it and began flipping through the documents like a commander reviewing mission orders. You caught glimpses of medical notes, allergies, emergency numbers, and room assignments.
Corbeau nodded once. Then again, slower. Everything was in order. He closed the folder with the crisp finality of a mission commencing.
“Very well,” he said. “Load up, kiddos.”
The hallway erupted in cheers as the children flew into motion.
“I call shotgun!” Holden yelled.
“Sorry, only grownups get to sit in the front seat,” Philippe told him.
“Aw…”
“Camille, sit next to me!” Adeline cried, grabbing the other girl’s hand with her free one, the Sylveon doll clutched in her other.
“Holden, your bag is open—YOUR CLOTHES—”
“My bag is HEAVY can someone help—”
“I GOT THE BACK MIDDLE SEAT I AM UNTOUCHABLE—”
Philippe supervised like a camp counselor, guiding kids toward cars with exaggerated arm gestures.
“This way! That’s right—feet first—YES, you can sit next to Adeline—NO, you cannot put your face on the window—”
Meanwhile, Corbeau was doing quiet dad checks: fastening a seatbelt, adjusting a scarf, tightening a coat zipper, making sure a child’s backpack wasn’t dragging in snow, lifting a bag into an SUV without a word, and brushing snow off the top of Holden’s head. All without ever softening his expression, but the gentleness was unmistakable.
Philippe leaned toward you. “This is the happiest I’ve ever seen him since Christmas,” he whispered.
“I can hear you,” came Corbeau’s voice.
Philippe blinked.
“…Good.”
Finally, all children were seated and buckled. Bags were stored. Philippe counted heads twice—out loud, dramatically, with commentary.
“Three, four, five—oh Arceus where’s Holden—HOLDEN—oh, there you are—OKAY, six!”
Corbeau closed the SUV door behind the last child. He looked at you.
“Ready?”
“More than ready.”
Philippe threw open the driver’s door. “TO LUMIOSE!” he shouted.
Corbeau sighed deeply, climbed into the front passenger seat, and muttering something about already regretting his decision.
You smiled.
Hotel Z’s doors slid open with their familiar soft chime, and the blast of warm air immediately thawed the snow from everyone’s coats.
The lobby wasn’t extravagant—no chandeliers, no marble floors, no velvet ropes.
Instead, it was cozy. Old wooden floors with a few floor rugs, dated wallpaper, mismatched but well-loved sofas, a fireplace burning in the corner, bulletin boards crowded with Team MZ notes, schedules, and doodles, and the faint smell of coffee and whatever Urbain had attempted to bake that morning. It felt like stepping into a big shared living room, which made the kids gape in wonder anyway.
“WHOA—THIS IS A HOTEL?!”
“It’s so COZY!”
“It smells like COOKIES!”
Philippe sniffed the air. “No, it smells like…fire. Is something on fire?”
“NO,” Lida said immediately from somewhere down the hall, “nothing is on fire.”
Then, a pause.
“THE KIDS ARE HERE!!”
Urbain rounded the corner at full speed, almost slipping on the rug before sliding to a stop in front of the group. He beamed like this was the happiest moment of his week.
“Hi, hello!! Welcome to Hotel Z! I’m Urbain!”
Holden’s jaw dropped. “Urbain? Like THE Urbain? Rank A Urbain?!”
Urbain grinned even wider. “Yep! Guilty!”
Holden grabbed his arm. “CAN YOU SHOW ME YOUR POKÉMON?!”
“Uh—maybe after—”
Corbeau’s quiet, low warning hum cut through the air like a subtle parental thundercloud. He stepped forward and rested a gentle hand on Holden’s shoulder.
“First,” he said calmly, “you need unpack. Then you may ask Urbain questions.”
Holden nodded rapidly.
Urbain mouthed to you: He scares me.
You shook your head before reminding Urbain about the debt he’d put the team into.
Lida approached with her typical cool, gentle composure, clipboard in hand. “Alright, all the girls can follow me!” she said, raising a hand.
Camille grabbed her hand instantly, pulling her forward with zero fear. Adeline followed at her side, her Sylveon doll tucked under her arm. The third girl trailed behind them.
You went with Lida, smiling as she was peppered her with questions:
“Do you sleep here too?”
“Do you have snacks?”
“Is your room big?”
Lida kept her cool. “Yes. Sometimes. And it’s…decently sized, I think.”
“Aw…”
Urbain had put the girls in one of the larger suites, which was modest but bright—two beds, a pull-out couch, a low table, and a window with a partial view of Lumiose’s rooftops.
“It’s AWESOME!” Camille squealed, already climbing onto one of the beds.
“The view is the best part!” Lida agreed.
Meanwhile, across the hall—
“Okay, BOYS!” Urbain announced, throwing his arms wide. “This is YOUR room!”
Cheers exploded as they rushed inside, immediately claiming spaces.
“I get this bed!”
“No, I want that bed!”
“I call the couch!”
“I WANT THE FLOOR!”
Philippe blinked. “…The floor?”
The boy who had claimed the floor nodded proudly. “Yeah! Campsite style!”
“Ah,” Philippe said. “A man of culture.”
Naveen stepped in last, silently surveying the room. He didn’t say much, but his eyes noticed everything. Holden’s coat sleeve? Frayed. One boy’s backpack? The strap was torn. Another boy had patched knees that were worn thin.
After about twenty minutes, the rooms finally looked lived-in. Bags were lined neatly or not-so-neatly. Beds were arranged with blankets and plush toys. Urbain showed Holden how to make a pillow fort while Lida taught Camille how to fold her pajamas. Philippe distributing extra blankets like a proud dad
You stepped into the hallway just as Philippe did a dramatic headcount.
“ONE, TWO, THREE—Holden you’re hiding behind Urbain, that doesn’t count—FOUR—”
“Philippe,” Corbeau said, “I am also capable of counting.”
“Of course, boss,” Philippe said quietly, “but you don’t have pizzazz.”
Corbeau blinked.
“…Pizzazz?”
“Exactly.”
Corbeau glared at Philippe, before clasping his gloved hands behind his back. “Is everyone settled?” he asked.
A chorus of excited “yes” filled the hallway.
With a firm nod, he turned to look at you.
“Now,” you said brightly, “are you ready for the next part?”
The kids leaned in.
“Your tour of Lumiose!” you finished.
The children screamed. Urbain and Lida cheered with them.
“Not you two,” Naveen hissed at his teammates. “We still have preparations to make for tonight.”
Urbain visibly deflated while Lida scratched at her cheek, laughing. “Oh right. I forgot.”
And Corbeau, a bit flustered, sighed. “…Very well,” he said. “I suppose now that you’re here, it’s only fitting to give you a tour.
The overlook at Wild Zone 3 sat on a raised platform above the tall grasses. The hologram barrier was bright and buzzing. Children could press their faces and hands against it, but nothing could pass through.
The moment they reached the barrier, the chorus began.
“LOOK!!”
“SKIDDO!! REAL SKIDDO!!”
“LOOK AT THAT ONE!!”
Below, a small herd grazed under swaying branches. One Skiddo lifted its head at the noise, flicked its ears, and wandered closer—not close enough to touch, but close enough for the kids to squeal and slap their palms happily against the hologram barrier.
“They’re so cute!” Camille squealed.
The Skiddo tilted its head in a friendly, confused way before giving a small little cry that made Holden clutch his heart
“That one likes ME,” Holden declared before trying to climb a nearby tree to “get a better look,” but Corbeau caught the back of his coat in half a second.
“Holden.”
The boy dangled mid-air for a moment before Corbeau gently set him back on his feet.
“I was just—”
“I know what you were doing. You still can’t do it.”
Holden sighed. “Okay…”
A group of Pikachu scampered out from the tall grass, their sparks flickering harmlessly as they chirped at each other. One trotted closer to the glass, placing tiny paws against it.
The children gasped.
“It’s waving!!”
“It’s saying hi!!”
“It likes ME!!” Holden yelled.
The Pikachu twitched its ears.
Holden immediately tried to climb halfway up the tree again.
Corbeau caught him. Again.
“No.”
Holden pouted. “It waved at ME, though!”
“It waved at everyone.”
“No, it waved at ME—”
Philippe gently knelt beside him.
“Kid,” he said, “you can absolutely wave back from the ground. Let’s keep our arms, hands, and feet on this side of the barrier, please.”
Holden reluctantly obeyed.
A cluster of Flabébé rose from the flowerbeds, hovering in gentle spirals. They floated near the barrier, their delicate voices chiming in soft notes.
Adeline reached toward the barrier with both hands and giggled as a Flabébé mirrored the movement on the other side, twirling like a tiny floral dancer.
Holden pressed his nose against the barrier.
“They’re SO CLOSE! If I just—”
Corbeau didn’t even look—just placed one gloved hand on Holden’s shoulder and guided him backward with a sight.
Holden groaned dramatically. “You’re like a super detector of trouble,” he muttered.
Two Pancham emerged from the bushes, wrestling each other until the noise from the children made them freeze. One Pancham puffed out its chest, trying to look fierce. It tripped over a rock instead.
The children roared with laughter.
Holden immediately dropped to the ground in a push-up stance.
“I CAN DO THAT!” he declared.
Philippe swooped in. “No ground contact! The mud will win, and I will not carry you home like a Slugma-snail!”
Holden reluctantly got up.
Corbeau gave Philippe a faint look of approval.
A tiny Litleo cub plodded out from behind a tree, blinked sleepily at the commotion, and plopped into a sunbeam.
“Awwwwwwww,” the kids whispered collectively.
Corbeau held Holden instantly by the back of his hood as soon as the boy stepped away.
“How many times are we going to go through this, Holden?” Corbeau asked calmly.
Holden sighed. “I’m sorry, Mister Corbeau.”
“You can’t go climbing trees around the wild zones,” Corbeau explained. “It’s not safe.”
Holden looked up at him. “…But I didn’t climb, technically, because you stopped me.”
Corbeau blinked once before narrowing his eyes.
“Don’t test me, kid.”
Holden snapped to attention like a tiny soldier.
While Philippe herded the rest of the children along the barrier (“Two hands on the barrier! Slow movements! We do NOT tap on the barrier, we RESPECT it!”), you stepped beside Corbeau.
“They’re really loving this,” you observed.
Corbeau watched the group—Camille explaining loudly that she could speak “perfect Skiddo,” Adeline twirling with a Flabébé on the other side of the panel, Holden vibrating with unspent energy.
“They should,” he said quietly. “It’s rare they see Pokémon like this.”
Something in his tone—soft, almost wistful—settled gently in your chest.
After nearly twenty minutes, Philippe clapped dramatically.
“Alright, explorers! Time to continue our expedition!”
“Awwwwww!!”
“Can we come back?!”
“Can we sleep HERE?!”
“Out of the question,” Corbeau answered instantly.
“But we could—”
“No.”
The children filed back onto the path—Holden lingering until Corbeau’s shadow fell over him.
The boy sighed deeply. “You’re like… everywhere.”
“That ain’t even half of it, kid,” Corbeau said dryly. “I have eyes and ears everywhere.”
The group moved on, buzzing with excitement—ready for the next stop.
The walk from Wild Zone 3 to the edge of Centrico Plaza wasn’t super long, but the children made it an adventure: Holden leaping into footprints, Camille skipping, Adeline clutching her Sylveon doll against the cold, the others chattering about Pokémon sightings.
And then, a warm, sweet, and delicious scent filled the air. The scent—fresh pastry, roasted beans, vanilla sugar—increased as the familiar red-and-white Café Nouveau truck, steam curling up from its vents, warm lights glowing beneath the awning.
“Ohhhh,” Camille breathed. “That smells AMAZING.”
“Is that… hot chocolate?” one of the boys asked.
Philippe pressed a hand over his heart. “Ah, yes. The nectar of winter.”
Corbeau shot him a confused look.
Grisham stood at the serving window, wiping down the counter with his usual precise motions, while Griselle shifted the tray in her hand. When they saw your group approaching—six children, you, and Corbeau—they both paused.
Grisham’s brows lifted. Griselle’s mouth parted in genuine surprise.
“Well,” she said, adjusting her scarf, voice amused rather than biting, “this is quite a crowd.”
Holden lifted a hand immediately. “Do you have hot chocolate?!”
Griselle blinked, caught off guard—then smirked. “I might,” she said. “But hot chocolate isn’t free, little man. You got money?”
Holden proudly patted his coat pocket. “I have two Pokédollars!”
Griselle pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. “Two, huh? That’s… very impressive.” She leaned in slightly. “But I’m afraid it won’t cover all six of you.”
The kids visibly deflated—shoulders drooping, excitement fading. Camille’s big eyes widened with worry. One of the boys shuffled closer to you.
Griselle’s expression softened—not dramatically, but noticeably—as she took in their reactions. Her posture eased, her tone gentled.
“Hey,” she said quietly, “don’t look so gloomy. I’m just teasing you. We’ll figure something out.””
The kids peeked up at her and she offered a small smile.
You stepped up. “Actually, Griselle, these kiddos are from Four Winds Orphanage. They’re visiting Lumiose for the New Year.”
Something flickered in Grisham’s eyes—recognition? Sympathy? Affection? He nodded once.
“Then everything is on the house. It is New Year's Eve, after all.”
One by one, small hands wrapped around steaming cups topped with fluffy whipped cream and a sprinkle of cocoa.
Camille’s eyes sparkled. Adeline held her cup with both hands, savoring the warmth. The third girl whispered, “It’s so pretty…”
One boy took a reverent sip and immediately started hopping because it was too hot. The other boy simply said, “Whoa.”
Holden chugged half of his in three seconds.
“Holden,” you hissed, “slow down—”
“IT’S SO GOOD—!!”
Grisham quickly slid a napkin under Holden’s dripping cup, smiling faintly.
“Careful,” he warned gently. “It’s hot.”
You watched Grisham discreetly adjusting the sweetness levels—more sugar for Camille, less for one of the other boys, extra cream swirl for Adeline. And when one of the boys asked which pastry was best, Grisham actually kneeled to be level with him.
“These,” he said, pointing at the smallest butter rolls, “are perfect with cocoa.”
The boy nodded solemnly and chose one.
Griselle leaned her elbows on the counter, eyeing Corbeau.
“I didn’t expect you to be playing babysitter today.”
A muscle in Corbeau’s jaw twitched. “It’s not babysitting.”
“Sure looks like babysitting.”
Philippe popped into view behind him.
“It IS babysitting!”
Corbeau didn’t dignify that with a response. He simply brought his own cup of coffee to his mouth and took a sip.
You stepped aside to take a sip of your drink, and Grisham leaned slightly out of the window, voice low.
“They look happy,” he murmured.
“They are,” you said.
His eyes followed the children—Camille laughing with whipped cream on her nose; Adeline clutching her pastry like treasure; Holden teaching the boys how to make fake “Dragon Breath” steam in the cold using their hot chocolate.
There was a softness in Grisham’s gaze you didn’t often see.
“…Good,” he said.
After a good fifteen minutes of cocoa, giggles, and crumbs, you rounded up the children.
“Say thank you,” you reminded.
“THANK YOU!!” the kids chorused.
Griselle smirked. “Anytime.”
Grisham nodded warmly. “Travel safe. And Happy New Year.”
Before turning away, Corbeau gave Grisham a brief, respectful nod—a gesture that would go unnoticed by most, but not you.
And as the children scampered down the sidewalk, clutching their pastries and pointing excitedly toward your next destination, you glanced back just in time to see Griselle sliding Corbeau’s card into the reader.
Grisham caught your eye and shook his head with a small smile.
You smiled back.
The moment you stepped through the doors of the Lumiose Museum, you welcomed the warmth as a refined hush—soft lighting, polished marble, and informational displays stretcched across the lobby.
The children stopped as one.
“WHOOOOAAAH…”
Camille pressed both hands to the glass of a diorama. Adeline gasped at the statue of Lucario. Holden was already halfway across the room before Philippe snagged the back of his jacket collar like a well-trained Manectric.
Corbeau, meanwhile, was visibly relaxed here—the museum was orderly, structured, quiet. A place where children were easy to supervise. He gave a silent nod toward a hallway lined with ancient artifacts.
“Stay on this floor. Do not go upstairs unless one of us is with you,” he instructed. “If you get lost—”
“Find Philippe,” Holden declared.
“I was going to say ‘call for help,’ but… yes,” Corbeau sighed.
You laughed under your breath and guided the group toward a spectacular fossil exhibit.
“Oh?” A smooth, airy voice—like someone eternally posing for a magazine cover—floated from behind a display of framed illustrations.
You turned.
Jacinthe stood there in immaculate winter fashion—cream capelet, tailored coat, gloves that clearly had never known the indignity of public transit. Lebanne hovered unobtrusively behind her like a well-trained maid with opinions she’d never voice aloud.
Jacinthe’s eyes widened. Then narrowed. Then widened again.
“…Corbeau?”
Corbeau’s jaw flexed.
“Jacinthe.”
She stepped forward, disbelief coating every syllable.
“You. Are. With. Children?”
Corbeau opened his mouth, likely to issue a clipped response, but Holden beat him to it—rushing forward with awe-struck excitement.
“Are you a FAMOUS person?!”
Jacinthe blinked, caught off-guard.
“Well, I’m certainly—”
“She owns a giant company,” Lebanne supplied helpfully.
Jacinthe shot her warning glance.
“I own Hotel Richissme, Lebanne.”
Then she looked back at the children, smoothing her expression into something poised and camera-ready.
“You’re really pretty!” Adeline said, taking in the woman’s sparkling clothes and neatly kept hair.
“Well, aren’t you all darling,” she said sweetly, bending a little. “Do you like Lumiose City? Have you ever experienced the parade? SBC is hosting the most magnificent float this year. Perhaps you would like to see it up close later?” Her tone clearly expected the children to swoon.
They did not. Instead, Camille pointed blatantly at Corbeau.
“Only if Mister Corbeau can come!”
Jacinthe blinked. Lebanne blinked. You blinked. Corbeau smirked, brushing a hand through his hair.
Adeline added, “He brought us here.”
Holden chimed, “He’s the coolest grown-up EVER.”
Jacinthe’s eye twitched—just barely, but enough for you to savor it internally.
“…I see,” she said stiffly.
Lebanne leaned in and whispered something about “unexpected public relations potential,” which Jacinthe nodded at without taking her eyes off Corbeau.
“Alors,” she said briskly, standing again, “if you’re entertaining children today, I suppose you’re… doing your civic duty.”
Corbeau’s eyebrow lifted. “SBC is familiar with ‘civic duty’?”
Jacinthe bristled so elegantly it should have been trademarked. “Some of us care about sculpting public image,” she replied.
Corbeau’s mouth curved faintly—somewhere between amusement and challenge. “So do I,” he said. “I simply leave out the sculpting.”
“Well,” she said brightly, louder than necessary, “if Mister Corbeau is showing you Lumiose, Then you all must see how…capable in battle he is.”
Corbeau’s eyebrow twitched.
Jacinthe’s eyes gleamed. “Yes, what a splendid idea! Why don’t we demonstrate something educational for the children, Corbeau? A doubles battle, perhaps?”
Corbeau stiffened.
Camille tugged his coat. “Can we watch a REAL battle?”
Holden practically vibrated. “I wanna see you battle Mr. Corbeau! I bet you’re really strong!”
Corbeau closed his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them,
“…Very well,” he said. “But not in here.”
Jacinthe blinked, thrown off.
“Excuse me?”
Corbeau gestured lightly toward a nearby sign:
NO POKÉMON BATTLES INSIDE THE MUSEUM
You folded your arms. “He’s right. We’d destroy half the museum if we battled in here.”
Philippe piped up, “And I’d rather not be banned again—”
You raised a brow at Philippe as Corbeau shot him a look.
Jacinthe’s smile widened as the children finished cheering, her eyes sparkling with opportunistic brilliance. “Alors,” she said sweetly, “if it’s a proper demonstration these children deserve…” She turned slightly, her capelet fluttering. “…why not use a proper venue?”
Corbeau visibly tensed.
“I invite you—ALL of you—to the Hotel Richissime Grand Ballroom. Lebanne?”
Lebanne bowed as though she’d asked her to prepare a coronation. “Yes, Lady Jacinthe. I’ll notify the staff immediately.”
Philippe perked up, excited. “Ooh! Is this like last time when—”
Corbeau shot him a warning look sharp enough to cut through steel.
“No.”
You side-eyed Corbeau. “You mean the tournament she held there?” you asked, raising a brow. “The one where she staged that surprise trainer gauntlet and basically kept everyone trapped until someone beat the final bracket?”
Jacinthe fanned herself, delighted. “Oh, please, it wasn’t trapped. I simply wanted Lumiose’s best to enjoy a full evening of entertainment.”
Lebanne, entirely too factual, added. “We did lock the doors.”
“Urbain and I were able to leave,” you pointed out.
“Yes, and you remember how that ended,” Jacinthe sniffed. She didn’t need to remind you about the Jacinthe zone.
Holden gasped loudly. “You were LOCKED IN?!”
Corbeau’s eyebrow twitched.
Jacinthe flicked her wrist dismissively. “Only until the refreshments arrived. There were canapés.”
Philippe nodded sagely. “Very good canapés.”
Corbeau exhaled through his nose. “The last time I entered that ballroom, I spent three hours battling every notable trainer in Lumiose…because Jacinthe refused to ‘let the momentum die.’”
You tilted your head, all innocence. “Or because someone didn’t want to lose to me twice in one week?”
Corbeau closed his eyes, his jaw clenched tensly.
The children all gasped.
Jacinthe lit up like a Luxray. “Oh, yes. The promotional battle. You utterly flattened him, didn’t you?”
Lebanne added helpfully. “I recall Philippe assisting his training quite diligently after the first loss.”
Philippe rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I TRIED.”
You shrugged, already stepping forward. “It’s okay, Philippe. Corbeau gets more chances to redeem his honor whenever we’re matched up in the Infinite Royale.”
Corbeau’s jaw flexed, but the faint curl of his mouth told you he wasn’t actually mad.
The kids looked between you and Corbeau with awe.
“You beat Mister Corbeau TWICE?!” “You must be really strong if YOU beat him!” “I wanna watch Mister Corbeau battle you!”
“I’ve beaten him more than once,” you told the kids with a wink. “Urbain isn’t the only A-rank trainer here.”
“You’re an A-rank trainer?!” Holden yelled in surprise.
“Sure am! Between you and me, I’ve beaten Urbain numerous times, too.”
“Woahhhh!”
Corbeau muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Remind me not to bring you near impressionable youth.”
Jacinthe clapped her hands. “This way, everyone~. I’ll show you a REAL stage.”
Camille grabbed your hand with sparkling eyes. “Are we REALLY going to see a fancy ballroom?!”
You grinned. “Absolutely.”
Holden tugged Corbeau’s coat. “Are you scared she’ll beat you AGAIN?!”
Corbeau closed his eyes in exasperation, “Holden, were you not listening? This is a doubles battle.” Then, he smirked. “I’m afraid the one being beat won’t be me.”
The grand doors of the Hotel Richissime Ballroom swung open, revealing a sweep of marble flooring, towering chandeliers, and a gleaming battle court set at the center like a stage. Luxurious seating areas lined the edges—velvet couches, polished crystal tables, trays of macarons and sparkling juice already set out because of course Jacinthe had anticipated company.
The children all stopped dead in their tracks.
“WHOA…” Holden whispered.
Jacinthe practically floated into the room, capelet trailing like a ribbon of gold.
“Welcome, welcome! Children, do make yourselves comfortable in the VIP lounge,” she purred, gesturing to an absurd amount of plush seating and delicacies.
Lebanne ushered the kids toward the lounging area with gentle but firm guidance, making sure none of them tackled the macaron tray too aggressively.
Corbeau stepped inside beside you, shoulders noticeably tense.
You nudged him lightly. “Unpleasant memories, huh? Relax.” you teased.
A quiet exhale escaped him. “You remember exactly what she did last time.”
Jacinthe clapped her hands sharply, drawing the room’s attention. “Right. We’ll battle with one pokemon each. The team with at least one pokemon still standing, wins. Lebanne, with me, please.” She turned to Corbeau, haughtily. “Corbeau, choose your partner. And, do try not to embarrass yourself in front of the youth.”
Philippe leapt forward as if summoned by destiny itself, sliding into a battle-ready pose.
“I’ll partner with you, boss—!”
“No.”
Philippe froze mid-motion, one arm sticking out like a malfunctioning robot. He made a tiny noise of betrayal.
Corbeau didn’t spare him a glance. Instead, he looked over his shoulder at you.
“How about it, partner?”
Your heart performed a flip worthy of a contest ribbon.
The children—mid-bite into fancy pastries—shrieked excitement.
Jacinthe blinked several times, composure momentarily cracked.
“…Her?” she repeated.
Lebanne looked demure. “Well, she is A-Rank—”
You rolled your eyes, already stepping forward and unclipping a Poké Ball. “Oh please. Like you were going to pick anyone else. No offense, Philippe.”
Corbeau’s mouth curled, the barest hint of a smirk—the one he only ever gave when you were absolutely, undeniably correct.
You tossed your Poké Ball in a single smooth motion.
“Let’s get this over with.”
Excadrill erupted onto the field with a metallic roar, claws gleaming beneath chandelier light.
Scolipede materialized beside it, chittering with coiled, precise readiness.
The children crowded against the velvet rope dividing the lounge from the battle floor, breathless.
Jacinthe straightened, eyes sharpening. She snapped her fingers.
“Fine. Lebanne—Dragalge.”
A dangerous grin spread across Lebanne’s face. “Yes, Lady Jacinthe. Clefable as well.”
Two Poké Balls hit the polished floor in perfect synchronization. Dragalge floated forward, plume of toxins swirling. Clefable hopped lightly, its eyes glowing with practiced, elegant power.
The children squealed. Your Excadrill slammed a claw into the floor, ready.
Corbeau nodded once.
“Scolipede — Iron Tail.”
“Excadrill — Iron Head, target Clefable!”
Jacinthe’s eyes widened. “Clefable, use Mystical Fire!”
Clefable hurled a wave of flames toward Scolipede—but Scolipede surged forward, tail already glowing metallic white.
Excadrill charged in from the opposite side, its steel helm shining.
Both attacks landed. And being super effective, Clefable fainted instantly.
Jacinthe froze, mortified.
Lebanne inhaled sharply. “Dragalge—Hydro Pump!”
Dragalge gathered water pressure, fins swelling.
You tensed. Hydro Pump would decimate Excadrill. But Corbeau had a plan.
“Scolipede—Protect.”
A hexagonal barrier snapped up around Scolipede—just in case.
But you had made the call before Dragalge could fire.
“Excadrill — Dig!”
Excadrill dove straight underground just as Dragalge unleashed its attack, a torrent of water shredding the marble floor where Excadrill had stood.
Lebanne stiffened. Dragalge swayed, briefly exposed after the recoil.
Excadrill burst up from below, dust and debris spraying—its claws extended, spinning, delivering a perfect, clean, super-effective Ground-type blow.
Dragalge’s health plummeted—but not fully. Lebanne sneered, refusing to break composure.
“Dragalge, Dragon Pulse!”
A blast of purple struck Excadrill hard, but luckily, your pokemon was a tank, and was still standing strong after that.
Corbeau didn’t miss a beat.
“Let’s end this Scolipede. Earthquake!”
Scolipede slammed the ground, the shockwave hit Dragalge squarely. With a cry, Dragalge collapsed, before it was quietly recalled by a mournful Lebanne.
Jacinthe clenched her jaw.
The children erupted in cheers, bouncing on the velvet couches. Philippe, nearby, gave a curt nod, clapping proudly at his boss and you.
Corbeau turned just slightly toward you.
“You timed Dig perfectly.”
You shrugged, smirking. “Exadrill could’ve tanked it, but why bother?”
He huffed — which, given Corbeau’s emotional range, meant “you did well.”
Camille ran up to the edge of the battle arena. “That was AMAZING!”
Holden stared at Scolipede with stars in his eyes. “EARTHQUAKE IS SO COOL!!”
Jacinthe, regaining her composure, lifted her chin. “Well, I suppose that was a competent demonstration.”
“Your Clefable fainted in one hit,” Camille replied instantly.
Jacinthe gave a strained smile as Corbeau shot her a smirk.
Lebanne offered a polite bow to you both. “A wonderful battle. Truly.” Then, she turned and gave a low bow to Jacinthe. “Lady Jacinthe, I apologize for not being stronger.”
Jacinthe just waved her hand. “Don’t fret, Lebanne. We’ll simply have to train harder next time.” She then turned her gaze to you. “After all, we did just battle against Lumiose’s savior.” She then took on a thoughtful stance, raising a hand to her cheek. “Though I did have a question. Who are these children with you?”
“They’re from the Four Winds Orphanage,” you explained. “We’re hosting them for New Year’s Eve so they can experience the full Lumiose celebration.”
Jacinthe’s eyes widened as her mouth slightly dropped open. Her gaze flickered overed to Corbeau who gave a curt nod in confirmation. Then, her expression softened—surprise flickering into something genuinely warm.
“Oh,” she murmured. “That’s… very commendable.” She turned to the kids with a more sincere smile. “Then you must look for the SBC float tomorrow. We shall throw extra confetti.”
The kids erupted into cheers.
Jacinthe shot Corbeau a final, smug little nod—as if to say I win this round—and Corbeau responded with the faintest, driest eye-roll.
By the time you, Corbeau, Philippe, and the six children pushed through Hotel Z’s front doors, the lobby was glowing with warm light and the smell of roasted herbs and butter.
Urbain popped his head out of the kitchen instantly.
“There you are!” he gasped, hands on his hips. “I was worried you’d be late—Lida said she’d throw me out the window if dinner got cold.”
Lida, seated at the table with her feet up, didn’t look up from peeling an oran berry. “I maintain that threat.”
Naveen adjusted his glasses, looking far too pleased with himself. “Don’t worry. I supervised him closely. There is not a single curry-croissant in this room.”
Urbain dramatically clutched his chest. “Not even ONE! I suffered!”
You snorted. “Urbain, with peace and love, that’s for the best.”
“Curry-croissant?” Corbeau asked you in a hushed voice when you walked by.
“Don’t ask.”
A long table had been laid out beautifully, filled with steaming dishes of classic Kalosian comfort foods: Ratatouille baked with fresh herbs, butter-sautéed magikarp fillets, buttered-roasted potatoes, warm baguettes from the corner bakery, and a salad Lida insisted on adding “so they don’t grow up like Urbain”.
Floette floated near the end of the table, petals glowing softly as she twirled, entertaining the younger girls with trails of glittering light.
The moment everyone sat, the kids exploded into chatter.
“We visited Wild Zone 3 and saw so many pokemon!” Adeline chattered, placing her Sylveon doll on the chair before climbing onto it. “My favorite were the Pikachu!”
“I enjoyed the hot chocolate and pastries from Café Nouvuea,” said the third girl.
Camille climbed onto her seat. “After that we went to the BIG museum where we met Lady Jacinthe!”
“Yeah, and then we went to her big hotel where Mister Corbeau and his girlfriend battled her and her maid.” Holden nearly fell off his chair reenacting Earthquake. “And then the whole FLOOR shook like—BAH-BAH-BOOM!!”
Another boy demonstrated how Excadrill burst out of the ground. “LIKE THIS!! But with claws!!”
Adeline, very serious, lifted her fork. “And she beat Lady Jacinthe’s Clefable in ONE HIT.”
When they finally caught their breath, Urbain grinned at you. “So, you beat Jacinthe again, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised. You’re the strongest trainer in Lumiose.”
Corbeau quietly cut into his meal, pretending he wasn’t pleased.
Zygarde, in its 10% form, trotted under the table, sniffing politely like the world’s most well-trained guardian dog.
Holden looked at it with reverence. “Can we… can we feed it?”
“No,” Naveen said immediately
But Camille was already holding out a tiny piece of roasted potato.
Zygarde sniffed it, and gently accepted it with shocking delicacy.
Lida cooed as Naveen shut his eyes and muttered something about the kids not listening.
Zygarde took to role of the beloved, and begging, family pet quite seriously. Adeline brushed its face gently as she slipped it a morsel of karp. One of the boys gave it a piece of bread. Holden offered a whole berry tart, which Zygarde boofed in approval before wolfing it down.
“Surely that’s not healthy for Zygarde,” Corbeau said to you, quietly.
You shrugged. “Who am I to decide what the world’s guardian of the ecosystem can or cannot eat,” you said, spearing some roasted potatoes on your fork and taking a bite. “I think it wouldn’t eat anything it shouldn’t…?”
Floette huffed indignantly, and floated over to the girls, showering them with sparkles until they squealed and pet her too.
As dinner wound down, you caught Corbeau watching the scene: the kids laughing, Zygarde curled like a watchful guardian by their chairs, Floette twirling, Urbain and Lida bickering, Naveen quietly mending a small tear in one boy’s jacket without fanfare.
Corbeau’s expression softened, just for a moment. But you saw it, and it warmed you more than the meal.
The day had been perfect. And it wasn’t even midnight yet.
The rooftop balcony of Hotel Z was alive with warmth despite the winter chill. Strings of soft golden lights crisscrossed overhead, a small fire pit crackled in the center, and blankets were piled in a basket like a cozy winter fortress. Urbain had clearly outdone himself decorating.
Corbeau also had a few patio heaters brought over to ensure that the kids were kept warm. In, fact, by the time you had walked outside, you barely felt the cold.
The children burst out of the stairwell in a wave of pajama-clad excitement, dragging pillows and blankets behind them.
“It’s so pretty up here!!”
“Look! You can see everything from here!”
“Look at all the lights!!”
Lida hurried after them with a tray of s’mores supplies. “Slow down before someone falls off the building.”
Philippe roared dramatically. “The fire is ALIVE!”
“Philippe,” Corbeau said calmly, “it is a fire pit.”
“A powerful one,” Philippe corrected, then proceeded to roast a marshmallow with suspicious zeal.
You settled onto one of the lounge cushions as Zygarde trotted past, tail wagging once before taking its post near the railing, watching the city vigilantly like a loyal guardian dog.
Floette hovered near the fire, twirling trails of petals that sparkled in the light.
Urbain passed out long sticks for roasting marshmallows, which the children immediately set theirs on fire.
“No, no, NO!” Philippe lunged forward like a trained bodyguard. “Rotate it! Rotate it. Don’t ignite it!”
A young boy mumbled, holding up a charred orb. “…Is this done?”
Philipp blinked. “That is past done. It's deceased. Let’s try again.”
Corbeau actually snorted.
You blinked. “Was that a laugh?”
“I cleared my throat,” he said sharply.
But there was a smirk.
Urbain, meanwhile, handed out mugs of sparkling oran-berry juice for the kids.
“CHAMPAGNE!” Camille squealed.
“No,” Naveen said immediately.
“YES,” Urbain corrected, “It's...child-safe champagne.”
Naveen sent him a bewildered look.
Lida just shook her head as handed the adults a tray of real champagne flutes.
You accepted yours, savoring the chilled bubbles, looking out at the city. Lumiose spread out beneath the rooftop like a glowing circuit board—streets lit with holiday lanterns, fireworks beginning in scattered bursts, and the tower lights shifting colors in slow waves.
The children bundled themselves in blankets around the fire pit, Zygarde curling beside them like a warm green-and-black guardian. Floette perched on Adeline’s shoulder looking at her Sylveon doll curiously.
At some point, Corbeau drifted away from Philippe’s dramatics and Urbain’s marshmallow-disaster corrections and came to stand in front of you. You looked up from your seat and saw a hand stretched out to you. Corbeau motioned with his head to follow him. You took his hand and he led you a few feet away from the group, under one of the patio heaters.
You watched as he adjusted the temperature.
“You did well today,” he said.
You nudged him gently. “We did well.”
His straightened, gaze flicking toward you, lingering. Then, almost reluctantly, “…Thank you.”
You raised a brow. “For?”
He hesitated—the kind of hesitation that was rare from him. “For this idea,” he said quietly. “For bringing the children here. For making their New Year’s Eve special.”
“Well,” you said, “they deserved a good New Year’s. And maybe… maybe this could become another tradition.”
Corbeau’s brows lifted slightly. Something warm flickered across his face. A commotion in the air caught your attention and you turned in the direction of the ruined Prism tower where the main party was happening.
But directly below, there were loud festivities as well. The crowd began chanting:
“TEN—!”
Philippe perked up.
“NINE—!”
The children scrambled to their feet, pillows forgotten, as Lida handed them sparklers.
“EIGHT—!”
Zygarde barked once, tail wagging.
“SEVEN—!”
Floette gave a happy cry, and spun in a glowing circle.
“SIX—!”
Urbain nearly dropped the champagne.
“FIVE—!”
Lida held her sparkler like a weapon.
“FOUR—!”
Naveen was on stand by incase fabrics caught on fire.
“THREE—!”
You looked up at Corbeau, only to find he was already looking at you. His eyes soft and warm. You suddenly felt shy.
“TWO—!”
His hand brushed yours. Slowly. Intentionally.
“ONE—!”
Fireworks burst across the sky—
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”
The children screamed, Floette whirled, Zygarde barked, Urbain yelled something about curry freedom, Philippe cried “GLORIOUS!!” at the sky.
And Corbeau leaned in, his hand lifted to your cheek, fireworks painted gold across his features, and kissed you.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“Happy New Year,” he murmured.
You smiled, breathless.
“Happy New Year, Corbeau.”