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Once the jam cooled, Leah brought out several jars, carefully spooned the finished jam into them, and handed them to Ron.
After Ron left with his share, the cabin fell silent once more—empty as before.
Leah dipped a small spoon into the pot, scooped a bit of jam, hugged Deerling close, and whispered, "Want to try?"
Deerling licked the spoon, then nuzzled its head against Leah's neck as she buried her face in its fur.
---
Back at the farm, Ron unpacked the jam, sliced the bread he'd bought, and spread generous layers of jam on each piece.
He released all the Rattata.
After handing out jam sandwiches to everyone, Ron sat beside Froakie and ate quietly.
Froakie glanced between Ron and the Rattata—who were now impaling their bread slices on sticks and roasting them over the fire. After a mont's hesitation, it hopped down to join them.
The jam caralized over the flas, filling the air with an irresistible toasted sweetness.
Even the Zubat drifted in from outside, perching along the porch, waiting patiently.
Thankfully, the wild edibles the Rattata gathered daily now sold for just enough to cover the farm's basic expenses—so Ron didn't mind sharing.
Watching his Pokémon chatter and play, Ron finished his al, brushed the crumbs from his hands, and lay back on his bed.
After a short rest—and once everyone had eaten and settled—he grabbed his pickaxe and headed to the Mines with his team.
It was the Rattata's first ti on the Mine Cart. The bold ones clung to the edges, wide-eyed at the rushing scenery; the timid ones huddled at Ron's feet, squeaking nervously.
The ride was lively—noisy, even.
Ron wasn't one for crowds. He usually preferred quiet.
But looking down at the packed, expressive faces of his Pokémon… after a while, he smiled.
The cart screeched to a halt at the mine entrance.
To achieve sprinkler freedom by sumr, Ron split his team:
– Combee's squad would mine Floors 1–10.
– The rest would follow him deeper.
Perhaps because he'd already captured a group of Rattata, Ron encountered no new Pokémon on Floor 10—not even the ones that had fled earlier.
Instead, the original dungeon monsters had returned.
A Sli oozed toward them from the shadows.
Froakie sprang into action—Water Gun followed by Quick Attack—dispatching it cleanly.
Ron collected the dropped Sli and got to work with his pickaxe.
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anwhile, at the Stardrop Saloon…
Night deepened, and the saloon filled with patrons. Emily weaved through the crowd, taking empty glasses from Clint and refilling them with beer.
"You're drinking too much," she said disapprovingly—but under Gus's watchful eye, she still filled his glass.
As Clint's friend, she worried about his health.
Clint chuckled sheepishly, scratching his head as he looked at Willy across the table.
"Honestly, you should cut back," Willy murmured. "Even if you're trying to—this isn't the way."
"Trying to what?"
Clint, convinced his feelings for Emily were well-hidden, was genuinely confused.
"…Never mind. Just drink less," Willy said, downing his beer, returning the glass to the counter, and leaving.
Clint stared after him, awkwardness settling in the sudden quiet.
Just then, Haley walked in.
She slid smoothly into the seat opposite Clint and took the freshly poured beer from Emily's hand, sliding it toward him.
"Uh… thanks," Clint mumbled.
"No problem," Haley said, blinking innocently. She wanted to ask about the farm—but couldn't bring herself to pry directly. So she watched Emily and searched for a way to start a conversation.
"Is… is sothing wrong?" Clint asked, bewildered by her attention.
In Pelican Town, Haley was undeniably stunning—fashionable, golden-haired, with fair shoulders and striking sea-blue eyes like polished gemstones. Even when she wore that haughty, judgntal expression, no one could truly dislike her.
She rested her chin in her hand, watching Emily work.
"Well?" Haley finally couldn't resist. "Don't you have anything to say?"
"About what?"
"…" Haley paused, then brightened. "Last night, Emily ntioned you—"
"Emily talked about ?"
"Of course!" Haley batted her lashes. "She says you're a great storyteller—really chatty."
Alcohol fogged Clint's thoughts. He slowly recalled his usual tales—the poor, struggling farm.
He'd told it countless tis… but if Emily liked hearing it…
He launched into a drunken recounting of his visits to the farm: the destitute, wilderness-surviving new farr barely scraping by.
Listening, Haley rembered the figure she'd glimpsed on Egg Festival day. A vague image of Ron began forming in her mind.
"How sad," she murmured.
Normally, she'd have made a cutting remark—mocking the dusty farm or the city boy who failed in Zuzu City and fled here.
But not tonight.
He'd given her a gift.
So she felt a flicker of goodwill—and allowed herself a rare mont of pity.
Especially since he'd gone out of his way to send her that beautiful crystal.
Just then—the saloon door opened.
Haley turned slowly.
A young man strode in.
"Evening," he greeted.
"Evening, Ron!" Emily called warmly from behind the counter.
He wasn't as pitiful as Clint described. Not ragged or hopeless. He looked clean, put-together—certainly not covered in gri. And perched on his shoulder was a blue frog.
Froakie, Emily had called it.
Haley's gaze lingered on his face—then drifted downward.
At his feet trailed a line of mice.
Exactly like the one that had left the athyst on her doorstep.
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