(Interior — Pokémon Home, Main Lobby)
The party streamers still hang from the ceiling, slightly wilted from the night before. A few stray Poké Block wrappers litter the counter. Orion runs a hand through his blonde hair and surveys the damage.
Pikachu sits on the counter, his cheeks dim, his tail drooping. He lets out a long, exhausted chirp.
"PIKA…"
Latias, in her human form, moves through the lobby with a broom. Her red hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she's wearing a simple green blouse and white skirt. She pauses to pick up a crushed paper plate.
"That was quite the celebration," she says, her voice carrying that measured, gentle cadence that never seems rushed. "I don't think I've ever seen Harley Quinn dance on a table before."
Orion chuckles. "She knocked over three displays."
"But the children loved it." Latias sweeps the debris into a dustpan. "May's mother nearly fainted when she saw Metang hovering in the kitchen."
Orion leans against his cane and looks at the clock. The last customer — a teenager who spent forty minutes asking about Eevee's evolution paths — left ten minutes ago. Closing time came and went.
He feels the fatigue in his bones. Not physical. Mental. The kind that comes from being "on" for hours, answering questions, smiling, explaining the same things over and over.
"We can't keep doing this," he says.
Latias sets the broom aside and walks to the counter. "The party?"
"The store. This." Orion gestures at the lobby. "One of us at the front desk, every day, for hours. Answering the same questions. Helping people who are curious but not committed. We're bottlenecking ourselves."
Latias tilts her head. Her yellow eyes — the same color as her Pokémon form — study him with that quiet intensity she carries. "You're thinking about expansion."
"I'm thinking about survival." Orion pulls out his tablet and sets it on the counter. "If Pokémon integration is going to work, we need more than one location. We need trained staff who actually understand Pokémon. Not just people reading from a manual."
"That's a significant challenge," Latias says. "Most people are still learning what a Pokémon is. Finding individuals with genuine knowledge and the right temperament…"
"Is nearly impossible. I know."
Pikachu perks up slightly, sensing the shift in mood. He scoots closer to Orion's hand, and Orion absently scratches behind his ear.
"PIKA PI," Pikachu offers.
"I know, buddy. We'll figure it out."
Orion taps the tablet, intending to review the day's sales figures. Instead, the screen flashes with a notification he hasn't seen before.
[NEW MISSION AVAILABLE]
He taps it.
The screen fills with text, and Orion reads it twice. Then a third time.
"What is it?" Latias asks, noticing his expression.
Orion turns the tablet so she can see.
MISSION: 500,000 TRAINERS
Objective: Facilitate the creation of 500,000 new Pokémon Trainers across the United Superverse.
Reward: x1 Pokémon Draw (Random)
Time Limit: None
Latias reads in silence. When she looks up, her expression is careful.
"Five hundred thousand," she says.
"Five hundred thousand."
The number sits between them like a boulder.
Orion sets the tablet down and crosses his arms. His mind is already racing, but he forces it to slow down. To think.
Pokémon only started appearing in this world weeks ago. The tournament helped. The viral videos helped. But public opinion is still fractured. Half the news coverage treats Pokémon as wonders. The other half runs headlines about property damage and safety concerns.
"We have maybe… two hundred trainers?" Orion says. "Three hundred if we count people who bought Pokémon but haven't done anything with them."
"And the public perception problem," Latias adds. "People are still afraid. The Hydra incident, while resolved, showed how Pokémon can be weaponized. That doesn't help."
"No. It doesn't."
Pikachu hops onto the tablet, staring at the screen with his round eyes. He taps the number with one paw, then looks up at Orion.
"PIKA?"
"Yeah," Orion says. "It's a lot."
He pushes off from the counter and begins to pace. His cane clicks against the floor in a steady rhythm. Latias watches him, waiting. She knows this rhythm. It's how Orion thinks.
"Advertising alone won't work," he says. "We've done videos, social media, the tournament. That reaches people who are already interested. We need to reach the ones who aren't."
"An event," Latias suggests.
Orion stops pacing. "What?"
"Something large. Something that draws people in who wouldn't normally come to Pokémon Home." Latias moves to stand beside him, her hands clasped in front of her. "A festival. Not a battle tournament — we've done that. Something educational. Interactive. A place where people can see Pokémon, touch them, understand them. Where the barrier to becoming a trainer feels… low."
Orion's eyes narrow. The idea takes root immediately.
"A festival," he repeats. "Not a small gathering in the parking lot. A real event. Multiple locations. Demonstrations, habitats, beginner trainers giving testimonials."
"Pokémon performances," Latias adds. "Pikachu could—"
"PIKACHU!" Pikachu's cheeks spark. He puffs his chest out, then immediately deflates, remembering how tired he is.
Orion almost laughs. "Maybe after a nap."
He pulls the tablet back and opens a new file. His fingers move quickly across the screen, sketching out a rough framework.
"We'd need space. A lot of it. The Aurawood Preserve is too protected for something this big, but there are other locations. Public parks, fairgrounds." He's talking faster now, the fatigue burning off as the plan takes shape. "We'd need permits. Coordination with local authorities. Security — both for the people and the Pokémon."
"Sponsorship," Latias says. "Wayne Enterprises has already partnered with us. The Fantastic Four have resources. If we frame this as a city-wide community event, the municipal governments might provide support."
"Stages for demonstrations. Interactive zones where people can meet Pokémon in controlled environments. A central area for the lottery, but also information booths for the Sanctuary." Orion is writing faster. "We'd need merchandise. Food vendors. Medical stations, just in case."
"Staff," Latias reminds him gently.
Orion pauses. She's right. The staff problem doesn't go away. If anything, a festival makes it worse.
"We train people in advance," he says. "Pull from our existing trainers. Valeria, Franklin, Kamala, Batgirl — they all understand Pokémon now. They could run demonstration booths. Answer questions. Be the face of what a trainer looks like."
"That's a good start," Latias says. "But you'll still need ground staff. People to manage crowds, handle logistics, coordinate with emergency services."
"I know." Orion sets the tablet down and rubs his eyes. "One problem at a time."
Pikachu hops onto his shoulder and nuzzles his cheek. The warmth is grounding.
"PIKA PIKA," Pikachu says softly. We can do this.
Orion reaches up and scratches Pikachu's chin. "Yeah. We can."
He looks at Latias. "This is going to take months to plan. Maybe longer."
"Then we should start tonight," she says simply.
Orion picks up his cane and taps the tablet, pulling up a calendar. His mind is already three steps ahead — venue options, budget estimates, a list of people to contact.
"Five hundred thousand trainers," he murmurs. "One festival at a time."
Latias smiles. It's small, but genuine. "One person at a time, Orion. That's how it's always worked."
He knows she's right. Every trainer who walks through those doors starts the same way. Curious. Uncertain. A little afraid.
Then they meet the right Pokémon, and everything changes.
"Alright," Orion says, straightening his coat. "Let's build a festival."
Pikachu raises a tiny fist.
"PIKA!"
***
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