You enter the opulent chamber of the Society of Battle Connoisseurs’ headquarters, a grand hall nestled within Lumiose City. Crystal chandeliers scatter prismatic light across polished marble floors, while fairy-inspired motifs lacework, winged flourishes, and star-shaped inlays decorate the walls with deliberate excess. Every detail feels curated, intentional, unmistakably elite.

Jacinthe stands near the center of the chamber, her posture immaculate. Her voluminous lilac hair cascades in elegant spirals down to her thighs, framing her dark complexion and wide, glittering eyes. The tight-fitting light purple dress she wears clings with couture precision, its puffy shoulders and full sleeves trimmed in delicate white lace. A golden flower brooch with an opalescent gem rests at the center of her collar, catching the light each time she shifts.

White gloves hug her hands, yellow ribbons tied neatly at the wrists, and white fishnet stockings shimmer faintly with yellow sequins above her fairy-adorned heels. A ring bearing the SBC logo gleams atop her left index finger, worn proudly over her glove. Perched at an angle on her head is a pillbox-style fascinator, ornate and fairy-like, its central Key Stone set prominently silent, but unmistakable.

Most obvious to you, however, is just how enormous she’d become compared to how you’d seen her online. Every inch of her figure is swaddled in thick, soft blubber, leading to her resembling a well-dressed Snorlax…though you certainly wouldn’t say that to her face. Her monstrous belly and tree-trunk thighs stretch her clothes, as do her bust and flabby arms.

At the sound of your approach, Jacinthe turns, also giving you a perfect view of both how jiggly her frame is and her double-chinned face, the thick fat showing signs of developing further into a third chin.

Her gaze settles on you immediately, assessing, unblinking. She straightens just a fraction, enough to remind you whose space you’ve entered. A polite smile forms perfectly practiced, perfectly controlled.

“Oh. Alors… bienvenue,” She says smoothly. “I don’t believe you were announced.”

She steps closer, heels clicking surprisingly softly against marble, each movement deliberate and unhurried. There is no hostility in her expression, only confidence, and the unmistakable certainty that this encounter belongs to her.

“This hall is reserved for those who appreciate battle as an art,” She continues, voice warm but firm. “Not everyone understands such refinement. Fewer still are invited.”

A brief pause, during which she stifles a burp to keep up the facade. Her smile sharpens, ever so slightly.

“So tell me,” Jacinthe says, tilting her head. “have you come seeking my guidance… my approval… or do you simply wish to test yourself upon my stage?”

Her eyes glitter.

“Choose carefully. I do not enjoy being refused, and I find interruptions… terribly inelegant.”

Despite the gentle tone, there is weight behind her words the presence of someone accustomed to command, to influence, to bending the city around her will when necessary. Whether this becomes an invitation or a warning depends entirely on how you answer.