The package arrived in the early morning, delivered not by the usual postal courier but by an official League messenger in a dark uniform bearing the sigil of the International Pokémon Association.
The parcel itself was modest, a plain wooden box sealed with the green wax insignia of the IPA.
Albert accepted it wordlessly at the gate of the Stone manor, and the messenger bowed before leaving.
Steven had craned his neck from the hallway, eyes wide with curiosity.
"What's that?"
Albert's fingers lingered over the seal, his expression unreadable. "It's for me. Official business."
He carried it quietly to his room before Steven could press further.
Inside, the box contained a polished Poké Ball and a handwritten letter. The script was formal, yet the words carried an undertone of respect.
To Researcher Deford,
In recognition of your contributions to the IPA's archives and journals, we send our best wishes for your new path as a licensed Trainer. Enclosed is a young Pokémon recently rescued from an abandoned Team Rocket facility. It has survived circumstances no Pokémon should endure and cannot evolve due to experimental tampering. Its disposition is wary, distrustful, and particularly resistant to bonding—but our experts note it shows faint responsiveness to psychics.
We entrust it to you, believing that your unique talents may provide what no other caretaker has been able to achieve.
—With respect, The International Pokémon Association
Albert read the letter twice, his brows drawn in concentration.
His thumb traced the Poké Ball's smooth surface.
A partner. Not for Researcher Deford, but for Albert Hugo.
He exhaled slowly, then pressed the button.
A beam of white light spilled onto the floor, coalescing into a small, trembling shape.
"Vee…"
The Eevee's fur was silvery-brown, faintly duller than the usual sheen. Its ears twitched sharply, body tense, tail low.
Wide, uncertain eyes stared at Albert, reflecting both suspicion and exhaustion.
For a long moment, Albert didn't move. He simply knelt, lowering himself to the Eevee's level, and let silence settle between them.
The Eevee took a step back, ears flat.
Albert's lips curved faintly. "I won't touch you unless you want me to."
Instead of reaching out physically, he allowed his mind to brush lightly against the Eevee's, careful as though approaching a skittish bird. A whisper of thought: I'm here. Safe. No harm will come.
The response was faint, barely more than a ripple—distrust, fear, a memory of harsh voices and cold walls.
Albert's chest tightened. He let his psychic warmth flow through the link, not as a command, but as a quiet presence. A hearth instead of a chain.
The Eevee blinked, tail twitching nervously. It didn't bolt, which was something.
Albert settled cross-legged on the floor. Minutes passed in silence. When at last the Eevee crept a hesitant step closer, Albert only lowered his gaze, offering neither hand nor pressure.
Finally, the little fox sat a cautious two feet away, its body half-turned as if ready to run at any sign of betrayal.
Albert's voice was soft, barely above a murmur. "You don't have to decide today. But if you stay, I'll be patient. I'll wait as long as you need."
The Eevee's ears twitched, and for just a heartbeat, its eyes softened. Then it yawned—tiny and tired—and curled into a guarded ball.
Albert smiled faintly. It wasn't trust, not yet. But it was a beginning.
Later at night, as he watched the Eevee drift into shallow sleep, he brushed a hand along the letter still lying open on his desk.
A Pokémon who cannot evolve, who fears bonds. And they entrusted it to me. This isn't just a gift. It's a test.
Albert leaned back, amethyst eyes glinting in the afternoon light. "Very well," he whispered. "Then let's grow together."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Albert left the Poké Ball untouched on the desk. If the IPA wanted him to force this Eevee into confinement, they would have never sent it to him in the first place.
Instead, he placed a folded blanket on the floor near his bed. Not close enough to corner the fox, but near enough that warmth and comfort might be shared.
Eevee sniffed it warily, circled once, then decided the wooden floorboards were preferable.
Albert didn't press. He extinguished the lamp and lay down on his bed, eyes closed, but he didn't sleep immediately.
Through the thin thread of their psychic connection, he felt the Eevee's restlessness—how it startled at creaks in the manor walls, how its breaths were shallow and uneven.
When Albert finally drifted off, he sent one last pulse of reassurance, like a blanket of warmth wrapping around the small creature: You're safe tonight.
And for the first time in weeks, perhaps months, Eevee's sleep deepened.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
At breakfast, Steven noticed the faint scratches on Albert's wrist. "New project?" he teased, motioning with his spoon.
Albert only smiled. "Something like that." He didn't explain.
Back in his room, Albert brought a dish of simple food—normal-type Pokémon food, a single normal-type pokecube, and a few cuts of roasted berry.
He set it down in the middle of the floor and backed away.
Eevee didn't move. Its ears twitched, but suspicion rooted it in place.
Albert didn't coax. He picked up a piece of fruit from his own plate and bit into it, chewing slowly, savoring the taste.
It's safe. If you're hungry, you may eat.
For ten minutes, nothing happened.
Then, with a sharp sniff and a sudden dart, Eevee lunged forward, snatched a piece of berry, and retreated to the corner.
Albert said nothing, only lowered his gaze, as though respecting the fox's secrecy.
By the end of the meal, the plate was empty.
That night, Eevee chose the blanket.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Albert sat cross-legged with a brush in hand. He didn't expect Eevee to allow grooming, but he set the tool beside him nonetheless.
"Your fur is dull," he murmured. "It will feel better brushed."
Eevee glared, hackles rising.
Albert tilted his head, then deliberately brushed his own hair with the tool, slow and deliberate.
He closed his eyes, letting the soothing rhythm ripple across their link: See? No harm.
Minutes passed. Finally, Eevee crept closer, eyes narrowed, and butted the brush once with its nose.
Albert's smile was slight, but genuine. He didn't move the brush toward the fox; instead, he left it on the floor.
Eevee pawed at it clumsily, then, almost impatiently, pressed its flank against the bristles.
Albert raised the brush at last, letting it run once, twice, along the Eevee's back.
The fox froze—but didn't pull away.
By the end of the session, its tail swished faintly.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Albert deepened the telepathic link, carefully feeding not thoughts but images.
The sun rising. Warmth against fur. The scent of safe earth.
Eevee responded with fragments—broken, hesitant, but undeniably communication. A memory of cold steel walls.
A flash of hunger. The smell of smoke.
Albert's throat tightened. He shared an image in return: a steady flame on a hearth, a hand stretched toward warmth, not to bind but to comfort.
Eevee's ears drooped. It stepped closer.
That night, the fox slept not at the edge of the blanket but curled near Albert's bed.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Albert stroked Eevee's back gently, his voice quiet. "I know you've suffered, but I'll make sure that starting today, I'll provide you with all the best things the world can offer."
The fox tilted its head, amber eyes narrowing, as though weighing the sincerity of the claim.
Albert didn't press the matter, smiling sadly. "One day, you'll learn to stand up from the pain and defeat your fears. I'll be with you every step of the way."
At the last, Eevee's ears perked.
A faint echo flickered across the bond—curiosity, not resistance.
Albert smiled. "Believe it." He whispered gently.
The fox yipped once, a soft sound, before curling up again.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Steven found Albert in the garden, kneeling in the grass with Eevee perched hesitantly in his lap.
The fox's fur gleamed faintly brighter, brushed and cared for, its tail swishing with a cautious rhythm.
Steven blinked. "When were you planning to tell me about this?"
Albert glanced up, lips twitching faintly. "When trust was mutual. Until then, it wasn't mine to share."
Steven's eyes softened. He didn't press further. He only watched as Albert stroked the fox's back, the small Pokémon pressing closer than it had on the first day.
Albert's amethyst eyes glimmered as he whispered, both aloud and in thought, Welcome home, Eevee.
And for the first time, the Eevee answered not with suspicion, but with a pulse of trust—small, fragile, but undeniably real.