I barely had the hotel door open when the world turned green and pink—and then went completely dark.
"Floe~!Floe~! (Dinner! It's happening! The prophecy is fulfilled!)"
Floette had launched herself from the windowsill with the trajectory of a guided missile, face-planting directly onto my nose. Her tiny arms wrapped around my forehead, and her flower was shoved so deep into my eye socket that I was pretty sure I could see her individual pollen grains.
"Floette! Get... ugh... off!" I stumbled back, my hands full of heavy shopping bags. I tried to shake my head, but she was attached like a Limpet. "I can't see! I'm going to trip over the bed!"
I did not notice, however, that Growlithe was watching this entire display from the corner of the room. From his perspective, the "Mama" Trainer was being attacked by a crazed floral parasite, and I was just taking it. He narrowed his dark eyes, his skepticism deepening by the second.
Floette finally realized that blocking my air supply was a counter-productive strategy for getting fed. She let go, floating a few inches from my face with a look of extreme, starry-eyed hunger.
"Floe~ (Dinner dinner dinner~)"
"Yes, yes, I'm going to make it right now," I sighed, dropping the bags on the small kitchenette counter. I ran a hand through my hair, which Floette had effectively turned into a bird's nest. I looked around the room, trying to read the vibe. "Everything okay while I was out?"
Sylveon, who had been gracefully grooming herself on the bed, let out a soft trill. "Sylveon-fly-ah~ (All good! Growlithe is a natural with Togepi. I actually got to nap without being used as a jungle gym.)"
"Thanks, Growlithe," I said, looking over at the orange pup. Togepi was currently patting Growlithe's flank as if he were a giant pillow. "I'm sorry to throw babysitting duties on you the very first day. Let me make it up to you with the best meal you've ever had."
I squatted down, moving slowly. I wanted to give him a reassuring pat on the head—the universal sign of "we're cool." But as my hand descended, Growlithe's eyes widened. He took a sharp, calculated step back, his paws clicking on the floorboards. My hand swiped through empty air.
I pulled my hand back, feeling a twinge of disappointment. "Right. Sorry. Still adjusting. I'll get the kitchen started."
As I turned toward the stove, a little devilish thought popped into my head. It's okay, Julian. He's just playing hard to get. Once I master his Aura, I'll find his 'sweet spot' behind the ears. I'm going to pet that fluff until he's as bald as a Diglett. He won't even know what hit him.
I let out a low, muffled chuckle—what I thought was a confident "Trainer" laugh. But to Growlithe, who was staring at my profile from the shadows, that laugh sounded like a villain plotting to steal all the Rare Candies in the world.
"Woof..." Growlithe whispered, a shiver running down his black-striped back. (Translation: He's definitely a deviant. Look at that sinister glint in his eye. I need to gather more intel. I'll stay close, play the 'loyal dog' part, and then—boom—I'll lead Officer Jenny right to his door.)
For the next forty minutes, the hotel room was filled with the sounds of chopping and the sizzling of a pan. I worked with a focus that usually only happened during lab exams.
I poured sweet, filtered nectar into bowls for Floette and Togepi, adding a side of Mango Berry salad and Jaboca Berry mini-sandwiches. For Sylveon, I prepared a delicate Plum Berry cupcake with whipped Moomoo Milk.
But for Growlithe, I went all out.
"Okay, partner, let's see how you like this," I muttered. I laid out a Spicy Pepper Berry burger and a plate of Grilled Chicken Wings brushed with a reduction of spicy Oran Berry jam. Most Fire-types in the K-9 academy are raised on bland kibble; I wanted to show him that life with Julian meant a Five-Star menu.
"Dinner's served!" I called out, clapping my hands.
Zoom.
A green blur hit the table. Floette didn't even use her hands; she just dived face-first into the nectar bowl, her little tail wagging so hard it created a breeze.
Sylveon hopped onto the chair I'd padded with a pillow, using her ribbons to lift Togepi up beside her. Then, I turned to Growlithe.
"Want a lift up to the chair?" I asked, reaching out.
"Woof-woof!" Growlithe barked, giving me a stern glare that said 'Keep your pervert hands to yourself.' With a powerful leap, he cleared the height of the chair in a single bound, sitting upright and staring at the plate.
"Fair enough," I muttered, scratching my nose. "Try the wings. They're a specialty."
Growlithe looked at the wings. They were a vibrant, glossy red, smelling of charcoal and sweet heat. He wouldn't poison me, would he? he wondered. He looked at the other three. Floette was practically vibrating with joy, and Togepi was covered in mango juice. They seemed... suspiciously happy.
He took a cautious bite.
The heat hit first—a sharp, smoky kick from the Pepper Berry. Then came the Oran Berry glaze, a burst of sweetness that cooled the spice just enough to make his taste buds dance. The chicken was tender, falling off the bone.
Growlithe's eyes widened. His pupils dilated. His tail, which had been stiff with suspicion, suddenly betrayed him and started thumping against the chair. Thump-thump-thump.
"Woof! Woof-woof!" (Translation: Oh my Arceus. This is... this is illegal. Food shouldn't taste this good!)
"Looks like a hit," I said, leaning against the counter with a satisfied grin.
The Secret Plan
After the "battlefield" was cleared—mostly of Floette's nectar splashes—I started washing the dishes.
Growlithe sat on the rug, licking his paws and looking at me with a very complicated expression. He was currently experiencing a massive internal conflict.
On one hand, he thought, this human is clearly a 'Mama' identifying fur-sucker who laughs like a mad scientist. On the other hand... those wings were better than anything the precinct ever gave me. Even the Officer Jennys only gave us dry biscuits.
He watched me scrub the pans, his ears twitching.
Okay, Growlithe decided, nodding to himself. The plan stands. I will catch him. I will bring him to justice. But... since he's such a good cook, maybe I can convince the Judge to let him serve his sentence in my personal kitchen? Yes. A private chef under house arrest. That is a just and fair punishment.
He wagged his tail at the thought of a lifetime of Oran-glazed wings. "Woof~"
"A-achoo!"
I nearly dropped a plate as another sneeze racked my body. I rubbed my nose with the back of my hand, feeling a bit congested. "Seriously? Three sneezes in one hour? Maybe the mountain air really did give me a cold."