The silence after the door slammed was absolute.
Albert did not move.
His gaze lingered on the glowing screen in front of him, though he saw none of the numbers or simulations scrolling across it.
The sound of Torchic and Eevee breathing softly in their sleep was the only rhythm in the room, but even that felt far away, dulled by the echo of Steven's last words.
"You're selfish."
Albert exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair.
I'm not angry. I'm not hurt. He tried to convince himself.
He felt the familiar weight of inevitability pressing down on him—the cost of choosing a path that led away from Evergreen Island, away from Steven, away from comfort.
It was a decision he had already made. He could not allow himself to regret it.
But Joseph's words from weeks ago gnawed at him, whispering like a shadow lodged in the back of his mind.
"You care for him, Albert, more than you think. More than he knows. That's fine—friendship, rivalry, even affection—these are not weaknesses in themselves. But bonds can become threats when they bind you too tightly. And you—" Joseph had fixed him with that piercing, fatherly gaze, "—you're the type who will always choose distance when closeness starts to cost too much. Aren't you?"
Albert had not answered then. He had not needed to.
Now, alone in the sterile lab's glow, Albert pressed his knuckles against his lips, shutting his eyes.
Joseph was right. He had grown up in this house, under Joseph's guidance, alongside Steven.
They had studied together, played together, argued like brothers. Somewhere along the way, Steven had become more than a rival—he had become an anchor.
And that was dangerous.
Albert's heart knew it, though his mind tried to suppress the thought: if he allowed Steven too close, if he let himself soften, he might hesitate. He might stay.
And hesitation is death.
Not literal death, perhaps. But death of potential. Death of the future Albert saw for himself, far beyond Evergreen Island's borders.
He wanted to be free.
Hence, he had been so cold tonight. His words had cut sharper than he'd intended. Why he had not softened even when Steven flinched.
It wasn't cruelty, not really, never intentionally. It was his armor—steel forged to keep Steven rooted here, while Albert freed himself to fly.
Because the truth was terrifyingly simple: Albert would give in if Steven begged hard enough.
So he had to be cruel now, so Steven wouldn't ask again.
Albert opened his eyes, staring at the dim reflection of himself in the incubator glass.
His psychic aura shimmered faintly around him, restless, mirroring the conflict he kept buried.
Torchic shifted in his sleep, a tiny spark of warmth in the cold air. Eevee's tail flicked, ears twitching at the faint psychic hum.
Albert reached out, brushing Eevee's head with absent fingers. "You'll come with me," he spoke faintly, more to himself than to his Pokémon. "You and Torchic. The path ahead will be ours alone. And Steven… Steven will remain where he belongs."
He told himself it was for the best.
He told himself distance was necessary.
He told himself bonds were dangerous when they demanded compromise.
But in the hollow silence, he could not quite convince himself that he believed it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The night air outside the laboratory was cool, sharp against Steven's flushed skin.
He stormed down the dirt path toward the manor's outer grounds, fists clenched at his sides. Each step pounded with the rhythm of his heartbeat, loud and furious in his ears.
Albert's words echoed mercilessly.
"This isn't about you."
"I won't chain my future here."
"I don't ask for forgiveness."
Steven gritted his teeth, his vision blurring with the heat in his eyes.
He wasn't sure if it was anger, frustration, or something else entirely that burned in his chest.
Albert had chosen Indigo. Albert had chosen distance. Albert had chosen away.
Albert…had simply not chosen him.
Steven kicked at a loose stone on the path, sending it skittering into the grass. "Selfish," he muttered under his breath, the word tasting bitter.
Yet even as he repeated it, doubt gnawed at him. Was Albert selfish—or simply braver than him?
Steven had known for years that he was bound to Devon, bound to Evergreen Island, bound to the expectations of his father and the weight of his family name.
He had accepted it, convinced himself it was duty, responsibility, inevitability.
But Albert—Albert never bowed to inevitability.
He carved his own path, cold and relentless, even if it meant cutting ties.
That was what Steven admired about him. That was what Steven feared.
He stopped walking, staring out at the faint silhouette of the sea in the distance. The waves were dark under the starlight, endless and untamed.
For the first time, Steven felt small, chained, while Albert reached for something greater.
A laugh escaped him, harsh and humorless. "Maybe Dad was right…"
He remembered Joseph's words from long ago, warnings Steven had only half-understood then:
"Albert will always chase beyond. He will always choose distance if closeness threatens his ambition. Don't hold him back, for both of your sakes."
Steven clenched his fists tighter. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
Part of him wanted to run back, to argue again, to demand Albert reconsider.
But another part—quieter, heavier—knew it would be useless. Albert had already decided. His coldness tonight hadn't been hesitation; it had been finality, and Albert never changes his decisions.
Steven felt the sting of betrayal, but beneath it was something worse: fear.
Fear that Albert was right. Fear that Steven truly was being left behind, not because of Devon, not because of duty—but because he lacked the courage to leap.
And fear that one day…Albert will forever be out of his reach.
The night wind tugged at his hair, cool and merciless.
He forced himself to breathe, to calm the storm inside, but it didn't fully fade. It wouldn't fade.
"Fine," he whispered to the empty night. "If you want distance, Albert, then I'll give you distance."
But even as he said it, his chest ached, the words hollow. Because deep down, Steven knew this wasn't just about university or future paths.
This was about something neither of them dared name—something that bound them together more tightly than rivalry, more deeply than friendship.
And Albert, in his cold way, had just perhaps torn that bond to shreds himself.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Back in the lab, Albert sat alone, his eyes unfocused, the machines' glow painting his face in pale light.
He didn't know Steven's thoughts. He didn't hear the words whispered to the night.
But something in him—empathy, perhaps, or simply the weight of years together—told him Steven's anger wasn't the kind that faded quickly.
Joseph's words whispered again: "Bonds can be threats."
Albert closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
He had chosen distance. He would not waver.
And yet, for the first time in years, the silence felt unbearably heavy.
His chest tightened, his throat constricted. He pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes, but the tremor in his breath betrayed him.
A single tear slipped free, tracing a hot line down his cheek, then another, until they fell soundlessly onto the desk.
He didn't sob, didn't make a sound.
His cold façade remained intact to anyone who might have seen him—but alone, in the dim glow of his laboratory, Albert Hugo Deford—the greatest researcher currently in the world—for the first time since he was born, wept in silence.
Because even as he told himself bonds were dangerous, even as he convinced himself distance was necessary…
He already missed the one person he had just pushed away.