Isabelle felt Azzy press deeper into her chest, the little Pokémon practically vanishing within the folds of her hoodie. The simulation rattled with the echoes of Charizard’s defeat, yet the tension in the air was far from relieved. If anything—it thickened.
Milo’s Rotom-Wash hovered slightly higher, static flickering off its form. Across the battlefield, Elliot’s Excadrill clawed at the metal flooring, its steel-coated talons screeching against the simulation’s terrain.
Then Red moved.
Not himself, of course—just his next selection.
SNORLAX.
The colossal Normal-type materialized onto the battlefield, its sheer presence casting a shadow over the terrain. The weight of its entrance sent a thump through the simulation floor, making even the pixelated battlefield ripple with distortion.
“The titan has arrived, folks!” Rotom’s voice crackled with barely-contained excitement. “And look at this CHONK. You ever just see something so MASSIVE it defies reality? I think my circuits are overheating just looking at it!”
Milo and Elliot stiffened. They knew what was coming.
“Be ready,” Elliot muttered.
Snorlax’s eyes—half-lidded and unreadable—barely acknowledged its opponents. But its sheer mass was enough to terrify.
Then it moved.
Or rather—it fell.
Earthquake.
The entire simulation shook as Snorlax let itself drop to the battlefield like a meteorite. The impact was instantaneous, a cataclysm of raw weight smashing into the terrain, sending tremors exploding outward in violent aftershocks. The entire battlefield cracked beneath the force, simulated stone and steel shattering into an unholy seismic rupture.
Excadrill stumbled, its sturdy frame barely resisting the onslaught. The same couldn’t be said for Rotom-Wash.
The electric-type’s flickering core sputtered as the quake overwhelmed it. Despite floating, the sheer force of the terrain’s breakage sent its body spinning uncontrollably, unable to stabilize. The simulated damage indicators flashed a warning.
Milo grit his teeth. “Shit—!”
Rotom didn’t even get a chance to react before the system called it.
KO.
Rotom flickered violently, then vanished from the battlefield.
Milo slammed a fist down at his side “God—damn it.”
But there was no time to grieve. Snorlax—who had just ended one of their Pokémon in an instant—was already asleep.
Like a lazy king completely unbothered by the destruction it had caused, Snorlax let out a low, rolling snore. Its eyes shut. Its breath deepened. Its entire frame sank further into its own mass.
Rest.
And that’s when Elliot tensed. “It’s gonna—”
Snorlax’s body twitched.
Sleep Talk.
A random attack, chosen purely by chance.
The moment Sleep Talk activated, Snorlax’s limbs stirred. There was no thought behind it, only sheer instinct as its massive frame lurched forward. And that was enough.
GIGA IMPACT.
The battlefield exploded.
Snorlax—still very much asleep—crashed into Excadrill like a runaway train. The sheer bulk sent the Steel-type soaring backward, screeching against the terrain before slamming into the nearest simulated rock structure.
The shock alone had even rattled Isabelle, her hands trembling as she clenched the fabric of her shirt. “That thing… it just—it didn’t even wake up.”
Clara exhaled. “That’s Red’s Snorlax.”
Milo was done hesitating.
Snorlax was asleep. Which meant now was the only time to strike.
“Elliot,” he barked. “I need you to listen.”
Elliot, despite his usual unreadable expression, turned just slightly. “You have an idea.”
“I do,” Milo confirmed. “And it’s gonna suck.”
Elliot’s smirk was microscopic. “Go for it.”
Milo grabbed his next Poké Ball.
“Mamoswine—you're up!”
With a flash of simulated energy, Mamoswine stomped into battle. The great Ice-Ground titan let out a deep, rumbling cry, its breath misting with raw cold.
The strategy was set.
They had one chance. One coordinated play.
And then—they went in.
“Blizzard!” Milo commanded.
The battlefield erupted into a frozen hellscape, Mamoswine unleashing an arctic storm straight toward the sleeping titan.
At the same time—
“Drill Run!” Elliot ordered.
Excadrill ignored its pain and shot forward, spinning like a steel-tipped bullet, drilling straight into Snorlax’s still-recovering form.
Double impact.
The Blizzard froze the field over. Excadrill’s Drill Run hit the weak spot.
And then—it happened.
Snorlax’s Sleep Talk ended.
The titan snorted violently—finally waking up.
And Milo & Elliot knew they were screwed.
Because Snorlax was still standing.
And it was pissed.
The simulation flickered as Milotic materialized onto the battlefield.
Its sinuous body shimmered beneath the artificial light, its elegant fins flexing as its calm, unshaken gaze met Pikachu’s. A stark contrast—serene versus feral.
Milo made his move. “Togekiss, you’re up!”
With a flash, Togekiss emerged, fluttering gracefully into position. It twirled midair, its feathers catching the simulated light, exuding an aura of tranquility that contrasted the sheer unhinged speed demon across from them.
Isabelle’s grip tightened on Azzy. Pikachu barely looked fazed.
Rotom’s voice crackled through the simulation’s speakers.
“AND HERE WE GO, FOLKS! A STALL STRATEGY? A FINAL GAMBIT? OR JUST A DESPERATE HOPE THAT THEY CAN ACTUALLY SEE THIS PIKACHU MOVE BEFORE IT STRIKES?! I’M HAVING AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS JUST WATCHING.”
The moment the round began, Pikachu vanished.
Thunderbolt.
It wasn’t just fast. It was instantaneous.
A lightning bolt struck Togekiss before Milo could even react. The Fairy-type screeched, wings flaring as it spiraled backward. Sparks crawled along its body, paralyzing it on impact.
Milo’s teeth clenched. "Damn it! Air Slash—!"
But Togekiss couldn’t move.
Paralysis.
“Hydro Pump!” Elliot called.
Milotic whipped its body, releasing a powerful torrent of water toward Pikachu.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
But Pikachu wasn’t there.
It side-stepped the blast like it wasn’t even trying.
A blur. A spark. And then—
Electro Ball.
A charged orb of electricity blasted into Milotic’s side, sending it skidding.
Elliot’s jaw tightened. He saw where this was going. “I’m out,” he sighed, stepping back from his console.
Togekiss let out a strained cry as another Thunderbolt landed, sealing its fate.
KO.
KO.
Togekiss vanished. Milotic vanished.
And just like that—Milo was alone.
The scoreboard was updated.
Time elapsed: 5 minutes, 07 seconds.
The record—unbroken.
Milo’s fists clenched. He knew it was over. But damned if he wasn’t pissed about it.
"Fine," he growled. "Let’s see how fast you take this one down."
Dragapult entered the battlefield.
The sleek, draconic Pokémon hovered into place, eyes locked onto Pikachu.
It wasn’t just Milo versus Red anymore. This was Milo versus the arcade. Milo versus the damn record.
He took a sharp breath. "Let's go."
Dragapult never even got to attack.
Pikachu blitzed forward.
“Iron Tail.”
A white-glowing tail slammed into Dragapult’s head.
KO.
The screen flickered violently.
The battle was over.
The arcade exploded with cheers and groans.
Rotom let out a fake sigh. “AND THAT, FOLKS, IS A GAME! YOU TRIED. YOU REALLY DID. BUT UNFORTUNATELY—THE RECORD REMAINS UNTOUCHED. OUR ELECTRIC GREMLIN OF CHAOS HAS CLAIMED ANOTHER VICTORY, AND I AM PROFOUNDLY DISTURBED BY THE PHYSICS OF THIS MATCH.”
Milo slammed his fists onto the console. “Unbelievable. I hate this game. I hate this Pikachu. I hate physics.”
Elliot laughed. “You did your best.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Milo snapped.
The simulation shut down, the digital battlefield fading away. Red still hadn’t moved.
And then—just like that—they were back in the arcade.
Lights. Sounds. Reality.
Isabelle watched Milo storm out of the VR station, muttering angrily to himself.
Clara smirked. “So, how’d it go?”
Milo shot her a look. “Shut up.”
Amélie patted him on the back. “You did great, mon ami. Just... not as great as that Pikachu.”
Milo grumbled something unintelligible.
Azzy peeked up from Isabelle’s lap, staring at Milo.
Floette floated beside Amélie, giggling.
“That Pikachu was on something, though, right?” Isabelle finally muttered.
Clara shrugged. “It’s Red’s Pikachu.”
Amélie smirked. “So, yes.”
Milo dragged his hands down his face. “I hate everything.”
Everyone laughed together in the end and had a good time.
After a few more chaotic round of games, Isabelle found herself drifting away from the main crowd. The flashing neon lights, the constant ping of arcade machines, and the hum of electric excitement made her head feel light. She wasn’t tired—not exactly—but the intensity of the battles, the rush of emotions, and Milo’s increasingly aggressive nerd rage had left her needing a moment to breathe.
Azzy, as if sensing her shift in mood, pressed closer to her chest.
She found herself standing in front of a claw machine, its glass reflecting the shifting colors of the arcade. Inside, an array of plush Pokémon stared back—Pikachu, Eevee, Togekiss, and…
Her gaze landed on a small Jirachi plush, nestled in the middle.
She almost didn’t recognize it at first—it was a little different from the usual marketable Jirachi designs. The eyes were slightly more refined, and its star-like head shimmered in a way that felt unnatural under the fluorescent lights.
Jirachi…
She shook her head. “I need a break from all the legendary-tier bullshit today,” she muttered under her breath.
Azzy cooed softly, her tiny tail bobbing as she watched the plush.
“You want it?” Isabelle asked, voice softer.
Azzy blinked.
Isabelle sighed. “Of course you do.”
She fished out some arcade tokens and slotted them into the machine.
The claw lurched forward, moving with its usual rigged jankiness. Isabelle maneuvered it carefully, biting her lip as she hovered over the Jirachi plush. Pressing the button, the claw dropped—
—and completely missed the plush.
“…Okay, rude.”
She tried again.
Miss.
Azzy pouted.
A third attempt—closer, but still not quite.
“Wow, this is painful to watch.”
Isabelle turned her head to see Clara and Amélie standing behind her, watching the absolute massacre of claw game physics unfold.
Amélie stood slightly taller than Isabelle, her toned frame relaxed but poised in that effortless way she always carried herself. Even in the dim neon glow, her lightly sun-kissed skin had a natural radiance, her warm hazel eyes reflecting the flashing arcade lights. Her wavy light brown hair, highlighted with soft golden strands, framed her confident smirk.
Clara had a smug little smirk, arms crossed. “You’re usually pretty coordinated. What happened?”
“I don’t know, Clara, maybe it’s because this machine is literal garbage.”
Amélie giggled, stepping forward. “Want me to try?”
Isabelle squinted. “You’re going to get it on the first try, aren’t you?”
Amélie flipped her hair dramatically, golden strands catching the neon light. “Bien s?r.”
The blonde slid in front of the machine, grinning with confidence.
First attempt—fail.
“…Ahem.”
Second attempt—missed.
“…Merde.”
Clara snorted. “What happened to ‘beginner’s luck?’”
Amélie huffed, tossing her hair back. “Patience is a virtue, mon amie.”
After a third, fourth, and even fifth try, Amélie finally got the claw to grab hold of Jirachi. The plush dropped into the prize chute with a soft thud.
Azzy squeaked happily, pressing her face into the soft fabric.
Amélie turned, smug but triumphant. “I told you I’d get it.”
Isabelle shook her head. “Yeah, after an entire saga.”
Isabelle shook her head. “Yeah, after an entire saga.”
Clara grinned. “Still, a win’s a win.”
Since they still had some tokens left, they managed to snack a Togepi plush for Clara, who act unimpressed, but held onto it the whole time. Amélie won a Snorlax plush for Milo, just to be petty. And for some unknown reason, a Litwick plush. “It called to me,” she said cryptically.
By the time they were done, they were walking out of the arcade as true victors.
Well—except Milo, who was still bitter about Pikachu.
As Isabelle walked past a row of older arcade cabinets, something flickered.
Unlike the sleek, modern VR stations and holographic battle sims scattered throughout the arcade, these machines were relics of a bygone era. They stood tucked away in a quieter section, their bulky CRT screens glowing with a warm, almost ghostly light.
The cabinets were classic retro-tech, preserved from when arcade gaming was at its peak decades ago. Each bore signs of age and wear—faded decals, scratched plastic, sticky buttons that had endured generations of frantic gameplay.
Some machines were well-loved staples:
- Kanto Crashers! – A pixelated side-scroller where players controlled a Rhydon, smashing through obstacles in a destructible cityscape.
- Rocket Run 3000 – A fast-paced shooter starring a rebellious Pidgeot dodging enemy ships in low orbit.
- Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Time (Arcade Edition) – A primitive dungeon crawler that predated the home console classic, the cabinet art faded but still displaying a lone Grovyle against a swirling blue void.
Most of these machines were only here out of nostalgia, their old circuits still flickering with life despite the world having long since moved on. Few people ever played them anymore.
And yet—
One of them flickered.
A faint static pulse ran across its screen, distorting the starfield of what appeared to be a generic space shooter. The stars shifted—just slightly, just enough to be wrong.
A chiptune melody warbled, almost imperceptibly off-key.
Clara nudged Isabelle. "Come on, there's an empty VR station opening up."
Isabelle glanced toward her, her attention already drifting ahead. She didn’t see the text on the screen shift.
"The stars are watching."
The cabinet’s glow pulsed softly—once, twice. The tiny pixelated void on-screen rearranged, something in the blackness moving beneath it.
By the time Isabelle and the others passed, the game had reset to its idle screen.
Just another forgotten arcade machine.
Nothing more.
By the time they stepped outside, the night had fully settled over Lumora City. The neon skyline shimmered, bathing the streets in hues of electric blue, violet, and gold.
Milo had calmed down somewhat, though he still muttered aggressively about Pikachu under his breath. “Unbelievable. I swear that thing was hacked.”
Elliot—ever composed—adjusted his headphones. “You say that as if the AI wasn’t designed to be unfair.”
Milo groaned, rubbing his face. “I need a drink. And I mean, like, a soda. A very strong soda.”
Amélie perked up with Floette hovering beside her. “Why don’t we stop by the Gleaming Café? I could use something sweet.”
Isabelle immediately recognized the name. The café had been a favorite of hers and Amélie’s since their early days in Lumora City—a quiet escape after school, a place to unwind, and most importantly, a spot that never disappointed.
“Sounds good,” Isabelle said. Azzy gave a tiny, sleepy chirp in her arms, her tiny ears twitching at the mention of something sweet.
With no objections, the group made their way down the lively sidewalks, weaving past street performers and small pop-up vendors, until they reached a familiar warm glow in the distance.
The Gleaming Café was alive with gentle energy, a sanctuary from Lumora City’s high-energy streets. Unlike the neon buzz of the arcade, the café exuded a calming warmth—soft golden lighting from vintage hanging lamps, polished wooden tables that reflected their glow, and a scent that was equal parts rich coffee, vanilla, and freshly baked PokéTreats.
At the heart of each table, a Litwick-shaped candle flickered softly, its wax enchanted to never fully melt, a whimsical signature of the café. The interior always had a way of adapting with the seasons—right now, subtle floral accents and citrus undertones hinted at the incoming warmth of spring.
It was cozy, inviting, and packed with trainers, students, and city locals—as expected from one of Lumora’s most well-loved cafés.
“Geez, it’s packed,” Clara muttered, scanning the room.
“Of course it is,” Amélie said, tossing her bag of plushies onto her shoulder. “This place is the best.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Milo muttered. “As long as they have something strong, I don’t care.”
Elliot, ever efficient, had already scouted an open booth—one tucked toward the back, just close enough to the windows to catch the city lights, but far enough from the counter to avoid the busiest traffic. The group dropped into their seats, setting their winnings—plushies, arcade prizes, and small bags of leftover tokens—onto the table.
The low hum of conversation, the gentle clinking of cups, and the faint hiss of the espresso machine filled the air as a familiar figure approached their table.
Isabelle looked up.
A young woman with short, deep auburn hair and bright, attentive brown eyes balanced a small tray against her hip, her Leavanny-print apron slightly askew from the evening rush. Despite the café’s busyness, her expression remained easy, composed—warm, even.
There was a flicker of recognition as her gaze landed on Isabelle and Azzy.
"Ah, I thought I recognized you," she said, offering a knowing smile. “You were here a few weeks ago, right?”
Azzy’s ears perked up as Isabelle gave a small nod. “Yeah,” she said, the familiarity settling in now. “Juliette, right?”
Juliette tilted her head slightly, amused. “Good memory.”
Amélie, ever observant, leaned forward with an intrigued grin. “That’s impressive—you see a lot of people every day, don’t you?”
Juliette chuckled. “I do, but I have a knack for faces.” Her eyes flicked to Azzy, whose tiny paws rested on the table beside Isabelle’s drink menu. “And I definitely remember the little one.”
Azzy squeaked happily, pressing into Isabelle’s arm.
“Right, let’s get your orders in.” Juliette pulled out a notepad and pen, flipping it open effortlessly. “Same thing as last time, or are we switching it up?”
The orders came in quickly.
- Amélie: A Lumora Latte—sweet, vanilla-caramel infused, with just the right amount of foam. She added a berry tart on the side, citing it as her reward for “single-handedly carrying the claw game.”
- Isabelle: Iced coffee, light on sugar. After a moment’s thought, she hesitated before ordering a slice of honey-drizzled Casteliacone cheesecake. (A treat for Azzy, she reasoned internally, but she wouldn’t admit it out loud.)
- Milo: “Whatever has the most espresso shots in it.” He didn’t care for names, just potency. Juliette didn’t even blink at his request, simply jotting it down.
- Clara: Citrus herbal tea. She claimed she ‘needed to detox from Milo’s saltiness’ but also ordered a stack of honey pancakes without any irony.
- Elliot: Black coffee. No sugar. No cream. Nothing else.
“…That’s it?” Juliette raised an eyebrow at Elliot, waiting.
Elliot nodded. “That’s it.”
She scribbled down the order, lips twitching slightly. “Alright, then.”
As Juliette left, conversation drifted naturally.
Milo, still bitter over their leaderboard ranking, refused to let it go.
“I still can’t believe we didn’t break the record.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I was sure we had it.”
Elliot, as ever, remained neutral. “We didn’t.”
Clara leaned back, smirking. “And yet you’re so pressed about it.”
Milo grumbled under his breath, crossing his arms. “Whatever. I’ll just go home and watch Snow_Hite’s stream. That’ll make me feel better.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “For Arceus’ sake, stop watching her.”
Milo shrugged. “What? She’s interesting.”
Elliot nodded slightly, not looking up from his drink. “She’s talented.”
Clara let out a dramatic groan. “Not you too.”
Amélie chuckled, stirring her latte. “Well, she is one of the biggest idols out there right now. Her streams pull crazy numbers. Not surprising someone at this table watches.”
“Idol culture is its own thing,” Clara muttered.
Amélie tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Honestly, there are a ton of influencers, but they all do their own thing. Streamers, idols, battlers, variety channels…”
Then, she paused—her gaze flicking to Isabelle.
“Hey, Izzy, you ever watch BraixenVivi?”
Isabelle nearly choked on her drink.
She coughed sharply, barely managing to keep from spraying coffee across the table. Azzy startled at the motion, her little paws clutching onto Isabelle’s sleeve in alarm.
Clara’s smirk widened. “Do you now?”
Isabelle cleared her throat aggressively, feeling the heat of everyone’s stares. “I mean—” She shot Amélie a look, who was clearly amused but unapologetic.
They’d talked about BraixenVivi before. They had even bonded over it. Isabelle knew Amélie was setting her up.
“Yeah, I watch her. Sometimes.” Isabelle muttered.
Amélie grinned. “No, no. Izzy here is a longtime fan.”
Milo raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Didn’t think you were the type.”
“I just like her content,” Isabelle said, rubbing her temples. “That’s it.”
“BraixenVivi, huh?” Milo mused, leaning back. “She does battle reviews, right? And some gaming stuff?”
“She does a lot,” Amélie added, clearly enjoying Isabelle’s mild suffering. “More chill, less idol—but she’s got a loyal following.”
Elliot nodded. “Her battle breakdowns are well-structured.”
Isabelle huffed. “Okay, why does everyone suddenly care about what I watch?”
Clara smirked. “Because you’re so defensive about it.”
Before Isabelle could retort, Juliette returned, sliding their drinks onto the table with practiced ease.
“Here you go,” she said, setting down Isabelle’s iced coffee first before placing Amélie’s latte beside it.
The conversation drifted after that—casual, easy.
By the time they stepped back out into the cool night air, the tension from the day had faded. The arcade, the battles, the strange glitching game—it all felt far away.
They split ways at the station, laughter lingering in the air.
And for now, that was enough.