The day after the exam dawned bright and unseasonably warm for early autumn. The air over Ironforge City carried a faint saltiness from the coast, a reminder that the sea was never far away, even amid the Devon Corporation's glass towers and stately streets.
For the first time in weeks, there was no studying schedule, no practice mock tests, no looming sense of urgency in the air.
Albert and Steven rose later than usual, lingering over breakfast in the Stone manor's sunlit dining hall. The silence was different—it wasn't the strained hush of anxious review, but a soft, almost tentative calm.
It was Steven who broke it first.
"We're free, at least for now," he said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms. He looked at Albert across the polished oak table. "Doesn't it feel strange?"
Albert stirred his tea, amethyst eyes catching the glint of light through the porcelain cup. "Strange? Not exactly. Just… quiet."
"Too quiet," Steven replied with a faint grin. "I'm half-expecting someone to drop another exam prep booklet in front of me."
Albert's lips curved faintly, though he didn't laugh. "If you like, I could test you on your knowledge of Devon's board reports instead. I'm sure Joseph would approve."
Steven groaned dramatically, sinking into his chair. "No. Anything but that."
The sound of his exasperation drew Albert's first true chuckle in days.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Later that morning, the two of them slipped out of the manor. Joseph, aware of how much both needed to breathe, allowed it without question.
They walked together through the bustling streets of Rustboro, then out toward the western cliffs where the city gave way to rugged coastline.
The path was high above the crashing surf. Seabirds wheeled overhead, and the horizon stretched endlessly, a pale blue line against the sea.
Steven walked with his hands in his pockets, hair ruffled by the breeze. "Yesterday still feels like a blur. I'm not even sure if my ethics essay made sense in the end."
"It made sense," Albert replied, voice certain. "You've told me your answer. You understood the core principles. That's what matters."
"You sound so sure," Steven said, giving him a sidelong look. "Almost like you already know the score."
Albert's gaze stayed on the horizon. "I know you did well. The rest is just numbers."
Steven fell quiet at that, though inside, a quiet warmth uncoiled.
Albert's confidence in him was steady, unwavering—the sort of faith Steven sometimes struggled to find in himself.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
By afternoon, the two of them returned home, and the manor was unusually quiet. Percy was out on errands, Joseph was tied up in the Devon headquarters, and Sister Maribel was overseeing supplies at the chapel.
Steven drifted toward the music room almost without thinking.
The polished black piano gleamed in the corner, its lid reflecting sunlight like a mirror.
He sat, fingers hesitating above the keys. Then he glanced over his shoulder.
"Play with me?"
Albert tilted his head. "What part?"
"You choose. I'll follow."
So Albert settled in with the violin that rested in its case nearby. He adjusted the bow with practiced precision, then raised it to the strings.
A slow, lilting note filled the room, rising and falling like a tide. Steven's hands joined in, chords layering beneath the melody.
It was imperfect—Steven faltered once or twice, chasing Albert's confident pace—but together the music wound through the air, filling the manor with something alive and fleeting.
When the piece ended, Steven laughed, half-breathless. "You're impossible to keep up with."
Albert lowered the violin, expression soft. "You kept up fine."
And for a brief moment, their eyes met—ice blue against amethyst fire—longer than either intended.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Dinner that evening was a reversal. For once, it wasn't Albert at the stove. Steven insisted, waving away Albert's raised brow.
"I've been learning," Steven said firmly. "Percy's been sneaking me tips when you're too busy."
Albert, skeptical but willing, settled at the counter and watched. Steven moved with more enthusiasm than precision, chopping vegetables with a little too much force, seasoning with guesswork rather than measurement.
The kitchen filled with the scent of herbs, garlic, and something faintly scorched.
At last, Steven set down a steaming dish of pan-seared fish and roasted potatoes.
He looked at Albert expectantly.
Albert took a bite, chewed, and let his face remain carefully neutral.
"Well?" Steven demanded, suddenly nervous.
Albert's lips curved faintly. "It's… edible."
"Edible? That's it?" Steven groaned, covering his face with his hands.
Albert let him stew for a few seconds before adding, more gently, "You did well. It's heavy-handed on the salt, and the potatoes are unidentifiable, but the flavor is almost there. It's pretty good."
Steven peeked through his fingers, cheeks warming. "You're just being kind."
"I don't need to be kind," Albert replied, tone calm but genuine. "If it was bad, I'd tell you. This is good. I mean, as your first attempt, it is better than most."
Steven blinked at him, struck silent by the quiet honesty. Then, unable to help himself, he laughed. "You really don't do half-measures, do you?"
Albert only smiled, faint but unmistakable.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The days stretched on. They played chess one night in the library—Albert almost always winning, though Steven pushed him to longer matches than before.
"You see three moves ahead," Steven muttered after another loss, running a hand through his hair.
"Make that seven," Albert corrected mildly.
Steven dropped his head to the table with a groan. "Of course."
The only response was Albert's melodic light chuckle.
Later, when the house had gone still, they slipped out into the garden.
The air was cool, the stars burning bright above the manor's tall hedges.
They lay side by side on the grass, shoulders nearly brushing.
"Do you think," Steven murmured, eyes on the stars, "that we'll remember this? These nights? Once we're out there, with Pokémon of our own, traveling the world?"
Albert turned his head slightly, gaze catching Steven's profile in the silvered light. "Yes."
"That was fast," Steven said with a faint laugh.
"I don't forget the things that matter," Albert answered simply.
Steven swallowed, flushed, heart beating fast, throat tight. He didn't press any further.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The week dragged, though outwardly both boys kept busy.
Steven drilled through old training camp routines, jogging in the early mornings, practicing with mock Poké Balls until his arm ached.
Albert retreated into research, though Joseph could tell he wasn't chasing new insights so much as distracting himself with endless reading.
Even Sister Maribel, visiting midweek, tilted her head knowingly at him.
"You've already done your part," she told him gently.
Albert only inclined his head, though his fingers lingered longer than usual over the book's pages.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The results arrived on a clear morning, an entire week after the exam, delivered in sealed envelopes stamped with the insignia of the Evergreen Island Government. A messenger handed them directly to Joseph at the front door of the Stone manor.
Joseph gathered Albert and Steven into his study. The room was quiet but heavy with anticipation, the afternoon light slanting across the polished desk.
"Your results," Joseph said, handing each boy their envelope. "No matter what they say, you both did well."
Steven's hands trembled faintly as he broke the seal.
He scanned the page, breath catching.
"...970," he murmured. "Nine hundred and seventy-four." Relief crashed over him, and he sank into the chair, laughing shakily. "I passed. More than passed."
Albert opened his envelope with steady fingers. His eyes flicked down the sheet once, then folded it neatly closed again.
"Well?" Steven asked, voice still buzzing with relief.
He calmly handed him his letter, which Steven readily received.
However, when he saw the content, his eyes widened, unable to utter a sound.
Joseph raised a brow at Albert. A silent inquiry.
"Perfect. A thousand." Albert's voice was calm, as if scoring a perfect score in a national level with international standards was anything but ordinary.
The silence stretched.
Steven continued to stare at him, then to Albert's envelope, and back at him. Disbelief etched across his features.
Joseph's brows lifted, though his face otherwise betrayed nothing. He had long expected paradigm-shifting and world-breaking news from Albert.
Percy, leaning against the wall, let out a low whistle.
Steven's lips parted, then closed again. His chest tightened strangely, caught between awe and something deeper, harder to name.
"You…" He swallowed. "Of course you did."
Albert only inclined his head, expression unreadable but eyes softening faintly at Steven's reaction.
Joseph clasped his hands behind his back. "Both of you have done exceptionally well. Now comes the next choice: which university will you entrust your future to? But for tonight…" His stern tone softened. "Tonight, you celebrate."
Steven leaned back, still staring at Albert. A thousand. Perfect.
He had always known Albert was extraordinary. But seeing it written, undeniable, shook something in him to the core.
And Albert, calm as ever, only looked back at him with that same steady certainty.