| Rio POV |
Okay. Deep breaths.
I'm calm. I'm centred. I am one with the containment cube. I am the cube and the cube is me.
I am not vibrating with barely restrained cursed energy while five professors poke me with questions and two dozen tools like I'm a damn legendary egg waiting to hatch, their wariness of Trishout long forgotten, apparently I'm more interesting, and hey, who can blae them?
"I swear," Oak mutters from behind his clipboard, "his energy output alone could short out a regional power grid—"
"—and you're still sure he's not about to blow up? He seems a tad bit unstable." Rowan adds, adjusting his tie like this is a business meeting and not a standoff between me and a dozen Light Screens.
I raise an eyebrow.
"Hey, can you tell them that I will be punching through this box if they poke me one more time?" I turn to the brooding figure in the corner of the room, Mewtwo, apparently one of Oak's pokemon.
I knew the guy was a Chad, I didn't think he was that much of a badass to get THE aura farmer on his side...
"Very well, but note your friend's unstable nature if you choose to break out. But i won't stop you..."
Huh, cool guy, would definitely grab a drink with them sometimes later.
Mewtwo floats a little higher, arms still crossed, watching the professors like he's judging their IQs and finding them lacking. Honestly? Mood.
"Besides," he adds dryly, voice echoing inside everyone's heads, "if he wanted to break out, your walls would already be down. Your Light Screens are ornamental at best."
Rowan blinks. "That's classified—"
"No," Mewtwo cuts in, "it's adorable."
I almost high-five him through the containment field. Almost.
Oak sighs. "Look, we just need to confirm his energy signature isn't feeding off X-energy. If he is, we have a potential Ultra Beast convergence event—"
"Your mom's a convergence event," I grumble under my breath.
Rowan raises an eyebrow. "Did he just—?"
Oh, mental comms are back, yay!
Before Oak can reply, the door rips off its hinges.
No warning.
Just an ungodly screeeech-KRAANG as a steel panel sails across the room and embeds itself in a diagnostic terminal like a frisbee of doom.
Everyone freezes.
Except Mewtwo.
He doesn't even blink.
"...Well, someone's angry," he mutters.
In floats Stardust—newly evolved, newly terrifying, and wrapped in a silent psychic storm that turns the entire lab's mood from "mild concern" to "existential dread."
She doesn't walk.
She hovers, dress fluttering, ballet shoes sparkling like they're here to judge fashion crimes and emotional betrayal.
"Hi Rio, I found Ralts… Kirlia now..." May squeaks from behind Rowan's chair.
Kirlia doesn't respond.
She just slowly turns her head toward me, eyes locking on mine like a heat-seeking missile of unresolved feelings.
Then she looks at Trishout.
Still asleep.
Still curled up smugly in my lap.
Still radiating "I win" energy.
And that's when the temperature in the room plummets.
Every piece of glass in the room hums.
Oak adjusts his glasses. "Uh…"
Rowan gulps. "...What is that?"
"That," I mutter, "is my emotional support Kirlia."
"That is enough little girl, your friends are unharmed." the legendary Pokémon tried to reson.
Kirlia takes one dainty step forward. It echoes. Somehow.
And then—Mewtwo flinches.
Just a half-step back.
Subtle.
But I see it.
He flinched.
The psychic nuclear weapon floating beside our box recalibrated his position because our frilly, 40-pound mascot just decided to radiate "divine wrath and emotional tax fraud."
May mumbles from the back, "I'm going out to get some coffee... Or Vodka..."
"Oh dear," Oak mutters, scribbling notes.
"She's adorable, and I am absolutely terrified." Birch adds, "May, no alcohol!"
Kirlia takes one more step.
The humming turns into a whine — high-pitched, glass-on-glass, like the building itself is trying to back away.
Trishout snores.
Coughs.
And then—
Sneezes.
A tiny puff of flame bursts harmlessly into the air...followed by her curling deeper into my chest, letting out a sleepy little "mrrp~" like she knows she's winning.
Everyone freezes.
I look at Kirlia.
She's smiling.
That is not a happy smile.
That is the smile of a war crime loading.
Mewtwo takes another step back.
"Uh-oh," Oak mutters, flipping to a fresh page. "That's a new expression. Write that down—write that down!"
Kirlia raises one hand.
Her horn glows. The temperature drops. Hard.
May bolts upright. "OH MY GOD, SHE'S GONNA KILL THE BABY—!"
"I'm not a baby!" Trishout groans, half-asleep—
CRACK.
The air splits.
A ball of raw psychic energy flares to life in Kirlia's palm — pulsing, unstable, vibrating like it wants to restructure atoms. Half the professors hit the deck. Rowan dives behind a desk. Mewtwo visibly steps aside, arms half-raised — the universal sign of "not my circus, not my war crime."
And then—
I panic.
I grab Trishout. Shield her in my arms as I turn around.
My aura ignites. Cursed energy coils. Body glowing, reinforced, overclocked. Every Light Screen between us and the blast pops like soap film.
The world goes white.
BOOM.
The box explodes in a flash of violet light and shattered containment tech.
Smoke.
Silence.
[New Moves Learned: Protect, Iron Defense]
The haze clears… slowly.
I'm standing.
Back unscathed.
Trishout limp in my arms, blinking in confusion.
My entire body gleams with a pink metallic sheen. Like someone dumped a tank's armor and a Valentine's Day aesthetic into a blender.
Everyone stares.
Kirlia stares.
May gasps.
Birch wheezes, doubling over. "May... What is your luck..."
I glance down at my arms, still glowing faintly with that bubblegum chrome armor.
"Maybe I should put a few more points into Defense... Tanking like that is kinda fun."
The room is silent.
Then I mutter under my breath:
"Blessed be Maple and the Shield Hero... the true pioneers of gaming."
Oak looks like he wants to cry.
Rowan is scribbling something about "Defensive Lucario Metagame Risk Assessment."
Mewtwo tilts his head, psychic voice deadpan: "Is this... normal?"
Kirlia floats down beside me, clearly trying to play it cool, but I catch it — the flicker of panic in her eyes.
She adjusts my newly acquired scarf. Neatens a tuft of fur on my chest. All wordless.
Then she turns.
Gives Trishout the look.
Trishout immediately hides behind me, pretending to inspect her own tail.
Good instincts, dragon.
I glance at Kirlia again.
She won't meet my gaze.
Her hands tremble just slightly, and her glow dims by a few shades.
She's not mad anymore.
Just… guilty.
The professors are still whispering. Oak's saying something about "unprecedented emotional combat" while Birch tries to bribe Mewtwo into staying for coffee.
But I don't hear them.
I gently place a paw on Kirlia's head.
She flinches.
Then leans into it.
No words.
Just the quiet hum of psychic regret and maybe… a promise not to go full Yandere and start spamming future sight, yes, that was a reference to Yuno Gasai.
Word Count: 1163
You ever had a crazy girlfriend before?
MC: Oh yes she was the worst...
Star: You had a girlfriend?
MC: *High pitched scream* What are you doing here?!
I invited her :D