Heartho City—the soul of Sinnoh. As we crossed the city limits, I felt the imdiate shift in energy. Unlike the ancient, quiet mystery of Celestic Town, Heartho was a vibrant explosion of color, motion, and the soft chi of strollers clicking along the pavent. It was a city designed for life, where escalators replaced steep stairs to accommodate toddlers and Pokémon alike, and the air slled of freshly baked Poffins and expensive perfu.
To the north lay Amity Square, the legendary park where Trainers walked alongside their companions in peace. But my eyes were fixed on the towering, ornate structure in the heart of the comrcial district: the Heartho Gym.
"Hoo~ we finally made it," I sighed, wiping a layer of travel dust from my forehead. "The city of art, fashion, and Ghost-types."
Beside , Growlithe trotted with a new confidence. His Flathrower wasn't perfect yet, but the heat radiating from his fur was steady. He looked around the bustling streets, his ears twitching at every siren and whistle, probably instinctively looking for an Officer Jenny to report to.
After a quick stop at the Pokémon Center to register for my Gym match and restock my dwindling supply of spicy Berries, we checked into a hotel that was far more "upscale" than our usual mountain lodges. The room had plush carpets, high ceilings, and a bathroom that looked like it belonged in a palace.
"Alright everyone, let's get settled!" I called out, releasing the team from their Poké Balls.
"Florges-sound! (Service! Where is the room service!)" Floette materialized and imdiately began scouting the mini-fridge.
"Fly! (Ooh, look at the view!)" Sylveon gracefully leapt onto the wide windowsill, her ribbons fluttering as she watched the city lights begin to twinkle like fallen stars.
Togepi, however, was still a little ball of sleep. He rolled out of his ball and just stayed on the carpet, snoring rhythmically. "Zzz... Zzz..."
"Woof!" Growlithe hit the floor in a defensive crouch. He perford a sweep of the room, sniffing the corners and checking under the beds. Once he was satisfied there were no hidden Ghastly or Ninjask, he sat down, though his eyes remained sharp.
"Listen up," I said, clapping my hands to get their attention. "We're in Heartho now. This is Fantina's territory. She's a Top Coordinator and a master of Ghost-types. Her battles aren't just fights; they're performances. Starting tomorrow, we practice our rhythm and coordination. Growlithe, you're on 'Observer Status' for this match. I want you to watch how Sylveon and Floette use their moves to control the field."
Growlithe gave a short, professional nod. Study the targets. Learn their weaknesses. Got it.
"But first," I smiled, my stomach growling in unison with Floette's. "Dinner!"
I spent the next hour in the kitchenette, whipping up a "Welco to Heartho" feast. For Growlithe, I made Slow-Roasted Moomoo Ribs with a Spicy Tamato Berry glaze. For the others, I prepared a delicate Sweet Honey Nectar Pasta.
The mont I set the plates down, the "elite soldier" facade Growlithe had been maintaining crumbled like a dry biscuit.
Slurp. His nose twitched. His tail gave a single, traitorous wag. Damn it, Growlithe thought, staring at the ribs. The deviant's culinary skills are increasing. Is this a psychological warfare tactic? Is he trying to buy my silence with high-quality protein? He jumped onto his padded chair and began to eat with a speed that rivaled Floette. Hmph. I will eat the ribs, but I will not be swayed. I am a professional. I am a detective. I am... he took another bite of the spicy glaze ...very, very impressed by this texture.
I watched him from across the table, hiding a smirk behind my own fork. I could see his little head churning. He'd look at with suspicion, then look at the food with adoration, then look back at with confusion. He was clearly trying to reconcile "Mama-Pervert" with "Master-Chef."
Once the plates were licked clean and the "foodie group" was sprawled out on the carpet in various stages of a food coma, I decided it was ti for the final challenge of the night.
"Alright," I said, standing up. "Everyone looks a little... crusty. Especially you, Floette. You have nectar on your ears. It's bath ti!"
"Florges-sound~ (Whatever, just carry ...)" Floette muttered, too full to move.
"Sylveon! (A bath! Yes! I want the lavender bubbles!)" Sylveon cheered, her ribbons dancing.
"Woof!" Growlithe, however, bolted upright. He took three sharp steps back, his fur bristling. His police training hadn't included 'Spa Days,' and like most Fire-types, the idea of being dunked in a tub of water was his literal nightmare.
"Easy, easy," I said, squatting down to his level and keeping my voice soft and rhythmic. "I know, I know. Fire and water don't mix. I wouldn't do that to you."
I reached into my bag and pulled out two items. One was a pressurized bottle of No-Rinse Pokémon Hair Foam, and the other was a professional-grade Steel-Pin Grooming Brush with a soft gel handle.
"Look, no water," I explained, squirted a bit of the foam onto my hand. It was thick, white, and slled like sun-dried linen. "This is 'Dry Foam.' It lifts the dirt out of your fur without you getting wet. And then, I'll use this brush to get those tangles out. You've got so Oran Berry juice stuck on your chest from dinner, and if we leave it, it's going to get itchy."
I pointed to the sticky red smudge on his orange mane.
Growlithe looked down at his chest. He raised a paw and tried to lick it off, but only succeeded in making it stickier. He sniffed himself. Between the mountain dust, the sweat from training, and the food stains, he did sll a bit... "wild."
He looked at the brush. He looked at the foam. He looked at my eyes. For the first ti, I didn't have that "I-want-to-squeeze-you" glint. I just looked... helpful.
Fine, Growlithe thought, his ears drooping slightly in defeat. Cleanliness is a core tenet of the force. I shall submit to the grooming... for the sake of the mission.
He took a tentative step forward and sat down, offering his chest to .
"Good boy," I whispered.
I applied the foam. It sizzled slightly as it hit his warm fur, and Growlithe flinched, but when he realized it wasn't cold or wet, he relaxed. I began to work the brush through his mane.
Oh. My. Arceus. The sensation was incredible. It wasn't just a brush; it was a rhythmic massage that reached right down to his skin. As the pins caught the hidden tangles behind his ears, Growlithe's leg began to twitch uncontrollably. His eyes rolled back slightly.
"Woof..." he sighed, his body going limp under my hands. (Translation: Okay... maybe the deviant isn't all bad. Maybe he's just... misunderstood. This... this is the pinnacle of human achievent.)
I worked in silence, carefully grooming every inch of his coat until he was a fluffy, orange cloud that slled of fresh laundry. For those twenty minutes, the "Mama" jokes and the "Arrest" plots were forgotten. It was just a Trainer and his Pokémon, bonding over the simple magic of a good hair day.
"There," I said, finishing with a flourish. "You're the most handso Growlithe in Heartho."
Growlithe stood up, shook himself—sending a few stray hairs flying—and looked at his reflection in the hotel mirror. He looked magnificent. He looked regal. He looked... like he might let pet him again tomorrow.
"Tomorrow," I said, yawning, "we go to the Gym. Get so sleep, everyone."
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