The week after Albert's falling out with Steven was heavy with silence.
Not the comfortable kind of silence they had once shared in the study or the lab, but a taut, brittle stillness that cracked under the smallest of gestures.
They saw each other, of course. Passing in the manor's long hallways, entering or leaving rooms at nearly the same time, sometimes standing at opposite ends of the dining table.
But neither boy spoke. Neither even looked the other in the eye for more than a fleeting glance.
Albert withdrew further into himself.
He no longer shared meals at the family table. Instead, he rose early, prepared something small for himself in the kitchen—omelets, toast, sometimes roasted vegetables with fish—and ate in the laboratory or on the veranda, letting the sea breeze carry away his thoughts.
Even when the household staff offered to serve him, he waved them off gently, insisting he would manage. Cooking gave him something to focus on, something practical to keep his hands busy when his mind threatened to spiral.
Steven, for his part, buried himself in his own preparations.
His study desk was crowded with notes on geology, on Pokémon habitats, on League structures, and the intricacies of Lilycove University's programs.
He spent long hours in the training fields, working with his new partner Beldum, sweat streaking his face as he tried to drown frustration in repetition.
He knew Albert was near, sometimes even felt his presence watching briefly from the balcony, but the weight between them was too much to pierce.
Joseph noticed, of course. He noticed everything. The air at the manor had changed. Conversations were shorter. Laughter had vanished. Yet he did not force reconciliation.
Both boys were strong-willed; pushing them might only deepen the wound. Instead, he gave them room to breathe, hoping time would soften the edges.
But Albert had already made his decision.
On a gray morning, exactly a week after the fight, Albert stood before the mirror in his room, dressed neatly but without his usual veil.
His spatial bag was complete, packed with all his clothes, daily essentials, research notes, and personal effects. His important research instruments were already on the way to his villa in Indigo University.
At his belt rested the Haven Ball containing Torchic, and another with Eevee, who had grown attached enough to refuse to be apart from him for long.
He had waited for this hour deliberately.
Steven had gone out early to Rustboro, to meet with Lilycove University Admission Officers about his upcoming enrollment.
The manor was quiet, almost too quiet, but that was what Albert wanted.
Saying goodbye with Steven nearby would be unbearable.
He found Joseph in the study, the man surrounded by letters and reports, spectacles perched low on his nose.
When he looked up and saw Albert with his bag slung over his shoulder, Joseph's expression softened immediately.
"…So, you've decided," Joseph said quietly, setting the papers aside.
Albert nodded once. "It's time."
There was no anger in Joseph's tone, no reproach. Only understanding, and something deeper—pride, tinged with the sadness of letting go.
He rose from his chair and walked around the desk, stopping a few feet from Albert.
"I won't keep you," Joseph said, his voice steady. "You've chosen your path, and it's one worthy of you. But I want you to hear me, Albert."
His eyes, sharp as steel yet warm as embers, locked with Albert's. "I am proud of you. Not just for your achievements, or your score, or for your power, or even for the trainer you are shaping to become. Rather, I'm prouder of the boy who came into my home, who grew with my son, who carried burdens too heavy for his age but never broke. You are family. You always have been. And no matter what happens, you will always—always—have a place here. Do not forget that."
Albert swallowed hard, the words lodging deep in his chest.
He had prepared himself for this farewell, had told himself he would remain composed.
But Joseph's words cracked the wall he had so carefully built.
"…Thank you," Albert murmured, his voice thick.
Joseph gave a small smile, though the lump in his throat was palpable.
He reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a Haven Ball. Its surface gleamed faintly in the light.
"This is for you," he said, holding it out. "Not from the IPA, not from the government, but from me. A gift—from father to son. For stepping into the world as a trainer at last."
Albert stared at it for a moment, his hand trembling as he reached out. The weight of the Pokéball in his palm felt heavier than any exam, any burden.
It wasn't about the Pokémon inside—it was the meaning, the gesture, the bond.
He tried to speak, to say something fitting, but the words failed.
His throat closed, and his vision blurred.
He clenched the Haven Ball tight and, with a sharp motion, stepped forward and wrapped Joseph in a hug.
It wasn't tentative, nor polite—it was fierce, desperate. His arms locked around Joseph's back, his shoulders shaking faintly.
Joseph stiffened for a moment, then returned the embrace with equal strength, one hand resting firmly between Albert's shoulder blades.
They didn't cry outright. Or at least they tried not to. But Albert's breath hitched, and despite his best effort, hot tears slipped down his face, dampening Joseph's shirt.
"…I'll miss you," Albert whispered, barely audible.
Joseph's own eyes glistened, though he blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall. "And I'll miss you. More than you would ever know. But go, Albert. Be who you're meant to be."
He hugged his son—in everything but blood—tighter, his voice cracking. "Even if I'm here, know that…I'll always be watching you, even from afar."
They stayed like that for a long moment, silent but speaking volumes in the way they held on.
Finally, Albert pulled away, wiping hastily at his face, trying to restore some semblance of composure.
Joseph only gave him a slow but steady nod. "Go on. Before it gets harder."
Albert nodded, clutching the Haven Ball in one hand, his bag in the other.
He turned and walked to the door; his footsteps slow but certain.
He didn't look back. He couldn't.
And Joseph, standing in the quiet study, let him go.