The rally still echoed in his ears, chants, shouts, the sharp snap of Poké Balls clattering against cobblestone as people surrendered their partners. N had spoken with conviction, his voice carrying like fire through dry grass. And they had listened. They always listened.

But now the crowd was gone, the square cleared, Plasma dispersing like shadows on the wind. The weight of it all pressed down on him. Too much noise. Too many human eyes. He slipped into the treeline, the forest welcoming him in its hush.

Leaves whispered overhead. A wild Purrloin padded at his side, brushing against his leg, as if sensing the tremor beneath his calm mask.

Then, movement.

He stopped. His breath caught. Just beyond the undergrowth stood a figure, older than in his memory, but unmistakable all the same. Time had changed them, but not enough to erase the curve of their face, the way they held themselves, the familiarity that hit him like a blow to the chest.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke.

“…It’s you,” N said at last, the words rough, disbelieving. His voice was quieter than the one that had commanded the crowd only minutes ago.

Your name trembled on his lips, half a question, half an accusation.

“You—” He took a step forward, then stopped himself, fingers curling at his sides. His eyes, usually bright with conviction, flickered with something raw.