The days following Joseph's announcement were a blur of excitement and disbelief. News outlets from Indigo Realm to Grayscale Kingdom ran the story on repeat:
"Devon Corp to Host Historic Conference — Five-Year-Old Elementary Scientist to Present Revolutionary Findings."
Cameras camped outside the Devon headquarters.
Reporters clamored for interviews with Joseph, with Oak, even with the drivers who had once delivered research equipment to Stone Manor.
In Evergreen Island, the public conversation swirled endlessly.
Was Deford a genius, a prodigy, or something else entirely?
Inside the Stone manor, Albert remained calm on the surface, though Steven often caught him staring at his notes longer than usual, as if rehearsing words that didn't come naturally.
The boy had already written papers dense enough to stagger veteran researchers, but standing before the world was something different.
"Relax," Steven teased one evening, flopping on Albert's bed. "You've already outsmarted professors twice your age. Talking about it can't be harder than writing it down."
Albert rolled his eyes, but a faint smile curved his lips. "Talking is… inefficient. Writing lets me perfect every word."
"Then think of it this way," Steven shot back, smirking. "You're just… reading your perfect words out loud."
Meanwhile, Joseph managed the tidal wave of logistics.
Devon's headquarters was polished to perfection. Security was doubled.
Invitations to professors, league officials, and coordinators flew across the world.
By the eve of the conference, the building buzzed with journalists, dignitaries, and researchers arriving from every major region.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
When the day of the conference arrived, the auditorium at Devon HQ brimmed with dignitaries, professors, coordinators, league officials, and reporters.
The front rows bore names like Birch, Rowan, and Elm.
Behind them sat lesser-known but hungry researchers from every corner of the world.
Cameras clicked, drones hovered, and anticipation hung thick as static.
Then Albert Deford stepped onto the stage.
The hall fell silent.
He was small—shockingly so compared to the towering professors—but he carried himself with quiet gravity.
Behind him, on polished display, stood a dazzling array of Pokémon—Crobat, Togetic, Roselia, Lopunny, Blissey, Lucario, Mamoswine, Leavanny, Swoobat, Chimecho, Frosmoth, Ribombee, Marill, Clefairy, Jigglypuff, Snorlax, and Silvally—all recorded as happiness-driven evolutions.
Beside them were the three updated Eeveelutions—Umbreon, Espeon, and Sylveon—who stood proudly, embodiments of Albert's earliest revelations.
Albert raised a small hand, and the murmurs ceased.
His voice emerged soft but unshaken.
"My research began with a simple question. Why do some Pokémon evolve, and others do not? Why do patterns exist, yet exceptions defy them? My work on Eevee revealed one answer: that adaptation lies within hidden genetic potential. But today, I present another truth. Evolution can be guided by something less tangible, but no less real—happiness and intimacy."
Gasps rippled as he activated the Deford Resonance Meter, projecting graphs of live emotional readings from Crobat, Sylveon, and Lucario.
The spikes and flows shifted in tandem with their reactions, undeniable evidence of a phenomenon long suspected but never proven. The numbers danced in real time, proving what the papers had already described.
When the floor opened to questions, the professors wasted no time.
Professor Rowan leaned forward. "Your meter indicates fluctuations within minutes. How do you confirm this isn't just a stress response, rather than a long-term emotional state?"
Albert adjusted the projection, showing longitudinal charts. "Stress responses are sharp, erratic spikes. Friendship value, as I call it, is consistent growth over time. You will notice that Crobat's curve aligns with positive reinforcement, not duress."
Professor Elm tapped his notes. "Many evolutions you listed—like Roserade or Togekiss—were not previously understood. How did you verify their methods?"
"I ensured controlled environments," Albert replied. "Each Pokémon was provided with conditions of safety, interaction, and care. Evolution only occurred after resonance thresholds were met, measured repeatedly. The consistency within and across species proves causality."
Professor Birch raised his hand. "Does this mean that this friendship value is constant across all trainers?"
"No," Albert said simply. "As happiness is dynamic, a Pokémon's resonance can increase or decrease depending on the trainer's bond. If a Pokémon returns to its original trainer, resonance often spikes; with a new trainer, it must be rebuilt. However, intrinsic happiness exists even without a trainer. This baseline is slower to grow, but evolution remains possible."
The room buzzed.
Coordinators whispered excitedly, already dreaming of routines that could showcase such emotional bonds.
League officials muttered about the implications for competitive battling.
Through it all, Albert stood still, his psychic veil shimmering faintly.
He looked not like a child, but like an oracle of science—distant, unreadable, but commanding every ounce of attention.
When his presentation concluded, the hall erupted into thunderous applause.