Your hurried footfall upon wet concrete is the only sound that can be heard, frantically searching for shelter from the ongoing downpour.

Typical Galar.

The rain is so heavy, falling in frigid sheets that conceal everything past an arm’s stretch around you.

Its assault upon your senses are overwhelming, all the more reason why his voice is so unexpected through the din:

"Out for a nice carefree stroll in this bad weather? You're certainly an odd one... aren't you?"

Bede’s figure emerges from the curtain of rain, eyebrows raised in mirth.

In his hand, he nonchalantly holds an umbrella over his head — drawing attention to the way your own hair is plastered to your scalp.

A fact which seems to amuse the Fairy-Type Gym Leader.