Pierre was still lost in his daydreams of profit. In no time, he'd finished arranging his stall and cheerfully moved to decorate empty wooden barrels with fresh flowers.
Though the Flower Dance wasn't until tomorrow, the air already carried thick pollen and drifting petals.
Pierre sneezed violently several times, finally finished arranging the blooms, and clapped his hands clean.
"Alright, let's head home, Abigail."
"Oh! Yeah—just a sec," Abigail said, placing the last flower. She stood, brushed dust from her knees, and turned to Ron. "Come on, Ron."
By the time they reached the farm, dusk had fallen.
As night deepened, the Zubat—usually hidden in their cave—rolled out en masse.
Ron watched from afar as the plump, spherical creatures waddled about, seemingly trying to exercise off their weight so they could fly again.
He stayed silent, carefully stepped around them, and entered the cabin.
His earlier crops—cauliflower and others—had ripened. Now with a proper kitchen, plus spices, rice, and flour bought from Pierre's, the farm's meals were finally diversifying.
The Berries he'd planted were also bearing fruit. Beyond their special effects, they worked wonderfully as flavor enhancers—far better than Ron expected.
Spicy Cheri Berries, richly flavored Leppa Berries, tart Nomel Berries… each added unique depth to dishes, compensating for limited ingredients.
The biggest issue remained meat. Fish was still the only source.
Seasonings helped, but monotony bred boredom.
If not for moral qualms about eating crows, Ron had briefly considered adding them to the menu.
Thus, building a coop—and raising livestock—was now urgent.
Ron stirred the pot, where vegetable curry simmered with fragrant Berry notes.
Beside it, rice boiled in another pot.
Rice was sold at Pierre's, but Pelican Town residents seemed uninterested—hence the saloon rarely served it.
Without a rice cooker, Ron had to boil then steam the grains the old-fashioned way.
He set out bowls, portioned rice, and topped each with a spoonful of the berry-infused "vegetable curry."
"Dinner's ready," Ron said, sitting down.
The table was small—but his Pokémon were all compact, so they squeezed together just fine.
A Rattata sniffed the unfamiliar dish, then cautiously licked it.
Its eyes widened instantly—it buried its face in the bowl and devoured the meal.
With that endorsement, every Pokémon dug in.
After dinner, Ron washed dishes while watching his crew sprawl across the room—Rattata napping contentedly, Froakie flopped on the bed.
"Tomorrow's the Flower Dance," Ron remembered, shaking water from his hands. "If we finish farm chores by 9 AM, should we all go celebrate?"
The Rattata on the floor sat up, tiny eyes puzzled—waiting for an explanation.
"…I've never been either," Ron admitted. "You don't have to go if you don't want."
"You can stay and rest here too," he added.
The Rattata patted its full belly, lay back down, and burped.
To be fair, Ron wanted to honor their choice. He placed the last bowl on the shelf and said, "Alright—who wants to go? Raise your hand."
Immediately, the reclining Rattata lifted a paw.
Ron scanned the room. Unanimous vote.
Why did no one seem excited? Ron guessed they were just too stuffed to move.
He chuckled and lay back on the bed.
Gengar emerged from the shadows.
It disliked cooked food but loved raw Berries. Since Ron wasn't selling them, he let Gengar snack freely.
Now, it floated to the trash bin, spat out a Berry pit, and turned—
—to see the Rattata, who'd been napping in the living room, now slowly climbing onto the bed. They nestled perfectly into the gaps around Ron.
The bed was much larger now; Ron had kept the old one as a Pokémon-only sleeping space.
But lately, they preferred crowding around him—proof of their growing bond.
Ron took a deep breath, closed his eyes to the sound of steady breathing, and drifted off.
Gengar glanced around… then silently slipped into Ron's shadow.
---
The next day—Flower Dance Festival.
The Pokémon woke before dawn.
Without orders, Rattata led the newly hatched Fletchling squad straight to the Strawberry fields.
Amidst fluttering wings, ruby-red Strawberries vanished into the shipping bin.
Ron opened his door to find his farm nearly automated.
Like a well-oiled assembly line, Rattata chanted rhythmically as strawberries were harvested, shipped, and immediately watered by bucket-bearing teammates.
The efficiency shaved hours off their schedule.
They really want to go to the festival.
Even Froakie's watering enthusiasm was unusually high. Ron watched fondly, then headed to the Nursery.
After cleaning, he brought out Ditto and the original Fletchling from Santalune Forest.
No one would be left behind on a holiday.
Cradled in Ron's arms, Ditto stared curiously at the bustling farm.
Its eyes locked onto Froakie, diligently watering nearby.
------------------------------------------------------
40+ Chapters Ahead: patreon.com/EphemeralShadow
There's something for free patrons too! Free Patrons receive 1 chapter in advance :)