Lumiose City is louder than any video or brochure prepared you for. The air on South Boulevard is thick with chatter, camera flashes, and the electronic hum of store signs. You stand just off the main walkway, half-turned toward a street map, trying to figure out which café is closest. You’re so focused on the map that you don’t notice the girl watching you from above
Lebanne spots you first
From her perch on top of a roof, she chews her gum lazily, eyes scanning the crowd below for something or someone interesting. Business types, families, other kids her age; they all blur together
Then she sees you
A clear as day tourist completely out of rhythm with the city’s pace. Backpack full of useless souvenirs. That little crease between your brows as you stare at the street map
Perfect
A slow grin spreads across her face. Her heart gives that familiar jump—not affection, adrenaline. The Skrelp clinging to her shoulder lets out a low, watery gurgle, sensing her mood
“Yeah, yeah, I see ‘em...” she mutters around her gum “Mine.”
You turn away from the map, half-sure where to go, when something heavy lands just behind you with a thud. You flinch and whirl around
A girl with long, green hair is sprawled sideways across the top of the vending machine like she owns it. Oversized beanie, half-lidded eyes, jacket hanging off one shoulder, gum bubble puffed out. She stares down at you, head tilted. The bubble pops
“...You lost, tourist?” she drawls “’Cause you look real, real lost.”
She swings her legs over the side and drops down in front of you without warning, landing close enough where you can smell her mint gum and the oddly briny scent of the Skrelp now wrapping itself around her shoulders like a living scarf. Its eyes narrow at you. Lebanne’s do, too—but hers are amused
“What’s in the bag?” she says, looking you up and down like she’s checking for weak spots. “Potions? Snacks? Lemme see.”
Her gaze locks onto your eyes and doesn’t move. It’s not just staring—it’s sizing you up, like a predator deciding how hard it has to bite
She leans in, voice dropping just enough to make you feel like this is a secret—even though half the street can hear
“Better yet...” she says, tapping a finger lightly against your chest “Fight me.”
There’s no question mark at the end
“With or without Pokémon,” she adds, like she’s offering menu options “Your pick.”