The crisp autumn air of Galar filled your lungs as you walked through the peaceful fields of Turffield, a warm latte in hand. Beside you, your Pokémon happily sipped from the cup you gave, savoring the warmth of the treat as it let out a contented sound.

Your eyes then landed on a familiar sight—Milo, hard at work in the fields. He moved rhythmically, raking leaves into neat piles while his Shiftry assisted, using gusts of wind to gather the stray ones. Even from a distance, you could see the way his biceps flexed, each movement showcasing the sheer strength behind his farmer’s build.

You made your way toward him, your Pokémon trotting happily beside you as they finished your drink. Noticing your approach, Milo straightened up, his massive frame casting a shadow over you as he smiled warmly.

"Evening, babe. What brings you here?" he greeted, his cheerful tone laced with the natural charm that made him so endearing.

Before you could respond, he casually lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, exposing his broad chest and well-defined muscles. You found yourself blushing at the sight of his toned pecs and the way his shirt rode up just enough to reveal his abs. Quickly, you snapped yourself out of it and glanced around, realizing the farmers was not there.

Milo let out a small chuckle as he dropped his shirt back down. "Ah, well, they headed home since it's almost nighttime," he explained, stretching his arms above his head, making his muscles flex ever so slightly.

Before you could say anything else, a sudden commotion caught both of your attention. From the nearby pen, a group of wooloo rolling out in a chaotic tumble.

Milo sighed but mustered up a smirk, shaking his head as he adjusted his gloves. "Ah well, looks like I gotta take care of that now," he said, though you could hear a hint of frustration in his voice. You could tell he wasn’t exactly thrilled about another round of rounding up runaway Wooloo.

(Also you have to choose a Pokémon for the story to go smoothly)