The weeks following the Pokémon arrivals were less about discovery and more about diligence.
Albert understood that before any true breakthroughs could be made, one principle had to guide everything: happiness itself was not just a prerequisite for research—it was the research.
Armed with his resonance device, Albert began building a framework of daily routines.
Each Pokémon's diet was adjusted to its favorite foods: berries sweetened for the playful Cleffa, protein-rich pellets for Riolu, earthy greens for Budew, and carefully prepared snacks for the picky Alolan Meowth.
Devon employees managed deliveries and storage, while Albert oversaw preparation personally, making sure every dish was tailored-fit for each Pokémon.
Playtime became just as important as feeding.
Boxes of toys—rattles for Togepi, plushes for Igglybuff, agility hoops for Buneary—were scattered around the yard, and rotation schedules were drawn up.
For more active Pokémon, Albert encouraged short sparring matches, allowing Riolu, Buneary, and Woobat to exercise under structured supervision.
Snom and Chingling, however, preferred quiet recreational activities: gentle observation, soft music, or a chilled enclosure designed to mimic their natural environments.
Every day, Albert emphasized personal interaction.
His psychic abilities gave him an edge, allowing him to project reassurance and affection toward each Pokémon, but he also took time to bond the conventional way—feeding them by hand, playing games, or simply sitting among them while jotting down notes.
The resonance meter reflected the results: steady, upward trends across the board.
It was during these sessions that Albert made a critical discovery: friendship value could exist even in the absence of a trainer.
Some Pokémon, particularly the young or naturally playful ones like Togepi and Munchlax, generated resonance spikes simply from play, safety, and comfort.
This "intrinsic happiness," as he began to call it, was slower to develop than happiness anchored in a bond with a trainer, but no less genuine.
The presence of a beloved trainer, he theorized, simply accelerated the process by providing a living anchor for emotional energy. Without such an anchor, the growth of intimacy energy was steadier, but also more fragile—easily disrupted by neglect or loneliness.
Joseph's resources ensured another essential component: continuity with their original trainers.
Devon employees and Oak's aides coordinated daily video calls. Each Pokémon was given time to see, hear, and interact with the humans they knew before.
The results were immediate—friendship values stabilized, and the Pokémon showed reduced anxiety.
Some, like Munchlax and Chansey, even grew livelier after the calls, their bond energy surging from the recognition of familiar voices.
Albert meticulously recorded the changes. "It proves intimacy isn't broken by distance," he murmured, scanning the numbers. "As long as the bond exists, it resonates. That's...incredible."
Steven, free from school in the afternoons, threw himself into helping.
He ran errands in the yard, fetched toys or berry mixes, and played with the younger Pokémon until they collapsed in heaps of giggles and squeaks.
He even assisted with the video calls, sometimes acting as translator for the shyer Pokémon or coaxing them closer to the camera.
One evening, as Steven handed a Togepi a rattle, he grinned at Albert. "You've basically turned the yard into a daycare, you know."
Albert gave a rare laugh. "Maybe. But it's the happiest daycare in the world. Moreover, every laugh, every smile, every spark of joy—it's not just play. It's data. Happiness itself is their evolution's fuel."
By the end of the month, the manor's Pokémon yard had become a sanctuary of joy and trust.
Each Pokémon thrived in its own corner of comfort—fed, entertained, connected, and nurtured.
The resonance readings told a story Albert already saw in their eyes: the bonds of friendship were growing stronger every day.
In a few weeks or months, they may already be ready for their own evolution.