The kitchen door was open, the table was set, and for a few blissful monts, the only sound in the room was the rhythmic clicking of cutlery and the enthusiastic munching of four very hungry Pokémon.
Julian sat at the head of the table, finally taking a mont to appreciate his own handiwork. He had arranged his portion of the Crabominable at with a careful drizzle of the spicy Volcano Sauce, the vibrant red glaze glistening under the hotel's warm amber lights. He picked up a generous chunk with his fork and took a bite.
The texture was extraordinary. It had a "snap" to it—a firm, succulent bounce that released a flood of chilled, savory juices the mont he bit down. Then, the spice hit. It wasn't just a burn; it was a complex, floral heat that seed to hum on his tongue.
( ◍ ´ ꒳ ` ◍ ) "Wow... okay, I outdid myself," Julian whispered, closing his eyes.
For a second, the hotel room in Solaceon Town faded away. He could almost feel the phantom sensation of a scorching Alolan sun on his neck and the fine, white sand between his toes. He could hear the distant cry of Wingull and see the silhouette of a Crabominable lumbering across a tropical shoreline. It was a vacation in a single mouthful.
"My theory was right," he muttered, quickly shoveling a spoonful of rice into his mouth to balance the heat. "The Alolan nectar acts as a bridge between the savory fats and the spice. It's perfect."
While Julian was having a private mont with his crab, the "Fairy Trio"—Floette, Sylveon, and Togetic—were busy having a spiritual experience with the Bounsweet Cream Cake.
As they took their first synchronized bites, ti seed to stop.
In their collective imagination, they weren't in a ssy hotel room anymore. They were drifting through a shimring field of Alolan flowers—vibrant hibiscus and sun-drenched ferns that reached as high as the sky. Around them, flocks of Oricorio perford the Pom-Pom dance, their yellow feathers shedding sparks of joy.
Ribombee and Cutiefly zipped through the air, leaving trails of golden pollen that slled like pure happiness, while a group of Bounsweet bounced playfully through the tall grass, inviting them to join the parade.
The three of them were essentially dancing in their heads, lost in a sugar-induced paradise.
Floette was the first to snap back to reality. Her eyes flew open, glowing with a manic intensity. She didn't say a word. She simply dove back into her slice of cake with the speed of an Extrespeed Dratini.
Sylveon and Togetic weren't far behind. The "elegance" that usually defined the two of them evaporated instantly.
Splat!
A glob of pure white Moomoo-cream flew through the air, landing directly on Julian's cheek. He froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. Then, another splash of pink nectar jam hit the rim of his bowl.
Julian slowly turned his head toward the source of the chaos, his expression darkening.
"Floette, I swear, if you're throwing food again—"
He stopped mid-sentence. He had expected to see Floette being her usual ssy self. What he saw instead was a scene of total culinary carnage.
Sylveon—his graceful, ribbon-twirling, dignified Sylveon—was currently face-down in her cake. Her ribbons, which she usually kept immaculately clean, were draped over the table, speckled with frosting. Togetic wasn't much better; he had cream on his nose, his wings, and even his tiny feet.
It was an epidemic. They had all been "Floette-ified."
"...Are you serious?" Julian's mouth twitched. "You two as well? Is the cake really that good, or did I accidentally put a 'Confuse Ray' in the batter?"
The "Four Foodie Treasures" didn't even look up. They were a whirlwind of chewing and happy chirping. Jam was flying, cream was saring, and the dining table—which Julian had spent ten minutes polishing—now looked like a battlefield in a bakery.
Julian looked down at his own shirt, which was now speckled with red spicy sauce and white cream. He looked at the floor, which was quickly becoming a slip-and-slide of fruit pulp.
( ￢ _ ￢ ) The cleaning bill for this room is going to be astronomical, he thought, a dark vein throbbing in his temple.
He realized two things simultaneously:
His cooking was officially "Legendary" level if it could turn a Sylveon into a glutton.
Cleaning this up was going to be the literal death of him.
"You know what? Fine," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave. "If this is how we're going to play, I might as well see what the fuss is about."
He reached over and grabbed a spare slice of the cake. He took a bite, and for a mont, he too joined the Oricorio dance in the flower field.
"Okay... yeah. It's that good," he admitted, sighing in admiration. "But man, this is a lot of work. Two hours of shopping, two hours of prep, one hour of eating... and probably three hours of scrubbing. I can't do this every day. We'd never make it to the Gym."
He made a ntal note right then and there: Alolan Feasts are for victories and special occasions only. Daily life is back to standard high-quality kibble and basic stews.
The Great Post-Feast Reckoning
Twenty minutes later, the whirlwind had stopped.
The "Four Foodie Treasures" were currently sprawled out across the chairs and the rug, looking like they had been defeated in a very delicious war. They were covered—head to toe, paw to ribbon—in cream, jam, and crab juice. They were so full they were literally radiating a faint, sweet aroma.
Julian, anwhile, stood over them like a grim reaper with a dish sponge.
The table was a disaster. The chairs were sticky. The floor was a cri scene. He hadn't even served the Alolan Puddings yet because he knew they'd probably explode if they ate another bite.
"Alright, listen up, you four!" Julian barked, pointing a finger at the ss.
The Pokémon groaned in unison, barely opening their eyes.
"Don't 'groan' at ! Take a good look at this room! Look at the table! Look at !" Julian gestured to his ruined shirt. "I spent two hours in that kitchen while you guys were napping and practicing 'ditation.' I am exhausted, and I am not cleaning this ss by myself."
He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. "You have ten minutes to digest. Then, we are cleaning. Together. And after that, every single one of you is going in the tub for a deep-scrub bath. If I see anyone slacking off, the next ti I make Alolan nectar, you're getting the 'Lite' version. No sugar. No spice. Just water."
"Floe~ (Ai... my stomach is a rock...)" Floette moaned, patting her distended belly. She was the most affected; she looked like a little green balloon with a flower on top.
"Fly! (I'll help! Just... give a second to find my center...)" Sylveon chirped weakly.
"Togekiss! (Worth it!)"
"Woof! (I can still lick the floor! That counts as cleaning!)"
"No, Growlithe, you are not 'licking' the floor as a cleaning thod," Julian snapped. "You're using a rag like a civilized Pokémon."
The Cleanup Crew
Ten minutes later, the most unusual cleaning crew in the Sinnoh region began their work.
Julian handed out the tools. Growlithe, being the lowest to the ground, was assigned "Floor Duty." He held a damp rag between his front paws and scooted across the hardwood, wiping up the spicy sauce spills. He looked like a very fluffy, very orange mop.
Sylveon used her ribbons—now functioning as high-precision tentacles—to hold two rags at once, wiping down the legs of the chairs and the underside of the table with professional speed.
Togetic took the "Tabletop" assignnt, hovering over the surface and scrubbing away the dried cream with a sponges.
And Floette?
"Floette, don't you dare close your eyes," Julian warned as she tried to drift toward the bed. "You're the 'Mobile Dishwasher.' Get over here."
Floette sighed but obeyed. Since she was too full to physically scrub, Julian utilized her best asset: Psychic. She hovered over a basin of warm, soapy water, using her ntal power to swirl the dirty rags inside, rinse them clean, and then "wring" them dry in mid-air before delivering them back to the others.
Julian, anwhile, took on the heavy lifting—scrubbing the walls and the stove, and putting the leftovers into the fridge.
Seeing the four of them working together, Julian actually felt a sense of peace. "You know," he said, watching Growlithe dutifully scrub a particularly stubborn jam stain, "you guys are actually pretty good at this. Maybe I should make you do the chores more often."
The Pokémon all looked at him with varying degrees of "Please don't."
The Double Bath Incident
Once the room was spotless, it was ti for the final stage of the night: The Bath.
"Floette, Togetic, you're the smallest. You're up first," Julian announced, carrying them into the bathroom.
He filled the tub with warm water and a bit of Moomoo-milk-scented soap. Watching the two tiny fairies bob around in the bubbles, scrubbing the last of the cake from their faces, was one of the most relaxing parts of Julian's day. He took a soft brush and grood Floette's petals until they shone, then dried Togetic's wings until they were fluffy again.
Then ca the big ones.
Sylveon was surprisingly easy to wash; she enjoyed the attention and the warm water, standing perfectly still as Julian combed the tangles out of her fur.
But Growlithe... Growlithe was a project.
"Co here, you big orange rug," Julian laughed, hoisting the heavy Fire-type into the tub.
Because Growlithe had been the one eating the spicy sauce, he slled like a campfire in a pepper field. Julian had to scrub him twice to get the scent out. By the ti he was done, Julian was as wet as the Pokémon, but he didn't care. As he ran a towel over Growlithe's thick coat, the Pokémon leaned into his touch, let out a long, happy sigh, and started to purr—a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest.
Julian spent an extra ten minutes just petting him, feeling the incredible softness of the clean fur. It was pure bliss.
After everyone was clean, Julian took a quick shower himself, changed into fresh pajamas, and collapsed onto the oversized bed. The four Pokémon imdiately piled in around him—Floette on his pillow, Togetic on his chest, Sylveon curled by his side, and Growlithe draped across his feet like a living heater.
"Grand al number one... complete," Julian whispered, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. "But rember, I promised you two grand als today. Tomorrow morning... we finish the pudding for breakfast."
Growlithe let out a sleepy "Woof," and within minutes, the entire room was filled with the sound of deep, satisfied breathing.
The "Daily Life" of a Trainer was ssy, exhausting, and expensive. But as Julian drifted off to sleep, surrounded by his best friends and the fading scent of Alolan flowers, he wouldn't have traded it for all the gold in the Magikarp Salesman's tank.
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