Servine steps off the stage into Mira's arms as the Intro scores appear:
Contest Official ★★★★☆ (4/5),
Nurse Joy (not Laura) ★★★★☆ (4/5),
Fan Club Representative ★★★★☆ (4/5)
a total of 12/15, securing her as the first performer of the day.
Now comes the wait: at her last contest in Castelia, thirty trainers competed and only six advanced to the Talent round. Here in Virbank, twenty-five hopefuls have taken the stage, but again, only the top 20%—five performers—will move on.
The backstage air crackles with anticipation as trainers lean over clipboards, comparing scores and whispering predictions. Overhead spotlights cast long shadows beneath the eaves, and the faint hum of stage lights prepares the corridor for its next stars. Stylist teams flit about, adjusting costumes and props on mannequins before rushing to tend to performers emerging from the curtains. A few seasoned coordinators huddle near a results board, markers in hand, calculating cut-off scores with silent intensity.
Mira gently guides Servine to a narrow gap between velvet curtains, granting them a hidden vantage point as each new act takes the spotlight. From this secret alcove, they observe the next wave of Intro performances and their initial reactions:
Glaceon spins with crystalline grace—13/15 (the judges praised her flawless form and icy poise, though one noted a desire for a more powerful crescendo in her final spin).
Fraxure carves razor-sharp arcs—13/15 (his precision impressed all, yet a few judges felt the routine could have used a bolder opening statement).
Jolteon darts across the stage—12/15 (speed and vivacity won applause, but the final stance flickered under the harsh lights).
Gengar danced in ethereal shadow—11/15 (his creative use of darkness and light earned admiration, though one official deemed the tone too somber for a Cool Appeal contest).
As each score is announced, Mira's pulse quickens; she can almost feel Servine's vines gently quivering in sync with her excitement. Petilil and Sewaddle press close, offering soft hums of encouragement, while Scout perches alertly, his ears forward and every muscle ready.
Behind the curtains, muffled applause and murmurs ripple through the corridors—yet for Mira and Servine, time seems to slow. In that suspended moment, they share a private triumph, knowing they've secured their place among Virbank's finest and stand poised to advance into the Talent round.
Mira checked her PokéGear—exactly thirty minutes until the Talent round—and let out a slow breath. She tapped through the schedule one more time, confirming the backstage entrance and reviewing her own bullet-point reminders. Nearby, coordinators moved equipment carts and volunteers swept confetti scraps from the floor.
Benting down to Servine, Mira draped a cooling towel over her shoulders. The vines that had traced arcs across the stage now relaxed against her side. Pulling out her notepad and holding it out for Servine to see along, Mira sketched quick diagrams of the upcoming Talent routine, noting where to transition from one flourish to the next. A soft ping from her PokéGear announced a new message—Laura sending encouragement and a reminder to hydrate.
Servine flexed her slender arms and tested a few practised leaf-arcs, each movement precise and deliberate. As she moved, faint echoes of the previous performances drifted through the hall—muffled applause and the distant strum of a piano from a rival contest down the corridor. Petilil perched on a folding chair, humming softly while her petals fluttered in time to an unheard melody. Sewaddle nestled beside it, emitting a gentle hum of support that seemed to vibrate in the air.
Scout padded restlessly at the edge of the alcove, tail swishing in measured taps against the floor. Mira offered him a small sip of water, which he accepted with a polite nod before settling on his haunches. The hall's distant murmur grew louder: trainers discussing strategic pacing, stylists sharing tips on lighting effects, and announcers previewing the next wave of contestants.
As Mira closed her notepad, she caught Servine's eyes and offered a reassuring smile. "Fifteen minutes to go," she whispered. Servine inhaled deeply, shoulders squared, ready to turn this brief pause into renewed focus.
The stage hushes as the first contender appears, and both the audience and Mira's team lean into the moment:
Soft pale blue light washes over Glaceon as she glides into a series of effortless pirouettes. Her ice sculpture dazzles under soft blue lights—she spins and forms a miniature bloom that melts to applause (14/15). Mira squeezes Servine's hand as Petilil and Sewaddle cheer, Scout alert to every frosty swirl.
Fraxure follows with precise chops through wooden hoops, each swing echoing powerfully until the final hoop splits cleanly (13/15). Mira murmurs, "Impressive," while Servine practices a sharp leaf-arc in response.
Jolteon electrifies the stage with lightning-fast dashes, leaving glowing trails and ending in a brilliant static burst (13/15). Scout leaps in excitement, and the team exchanges energized chirps and hums.
At last, the lights deepen to emerald and gold, and Servine steps forward, poised like a graceful sentinel. She begins with slow, sweeping vines that sketch verdant arcs in the air, each movement as natural as a breeze rustling through leaves. Halfway through, the rhythms shift—her vines snap into angular, gear-like motions that mirror the city's industrial heartbeat, edges sharp against the glow. With a fluid transition, she softens the lines, her movements blooming into gentle curves once more. For the grand finale, her vines rise high, spiraling into a halo of living green light that glows like a sentient aura. As she lowers into a regal bow, the audience rises, applause echoing like rolling waves. Mira's hands clap until they tingle, Petilil and Sewaddle join in their soft hums, and Scout's tail thunders on the floor in a rapid rhythm. The judges give (14/15)
The last on the stage, Gengar, closes the round with playful shadow orbs and a vanishing wink, earning laughter and applause (12/15). Mira pumps her fist, and the team celebrates the show's darker charm.
Moments later, the announcer's voice boomed: "Contest No. 0473, Servine—ribbon earned!" A wave of triumphant applause washed over the crowd. Mira's heart pounded as she embraced Servine, her voice soft with emotion. "You shone brighter than ever," she whispered.
Servine released a joyful rustle of her vines and stepped back onto the stage, where the Official awaited with the bright ribbon draped over a velvet cushion. The official ceremoniously placed the ribbon around Servine's neck and presented a small trophy to Mira. The audience erupted once more, celebrating the moment with cheers and camera flashes.
As the stage lights dimmed, Mira guided Servine off the platform and made her way to the receptionist's desk. "Excuse me," she said, breath catching with excitement, "could I get a recording of Servine's performance?"
The receptionist nodded with a smile. "Of course. It'll be sent to your PokéGear for download shortly." She handed Mira a small slip with instructions on where to pick it up.
Clutching the ribbon, Mira returned to her team. She chose a quieter path and led her team through the service corridors. The echo of celebration dimmed, replaced by the hum of distant machinery. When they reached the heavy doors opening onto the old shipping lot, she paused to let in a breath of open air.
Mira recalled her team with a gentle whistle, her voice echoing off the rusty containers. "Alright, everyone—gather up!" Scout bounded eagerly to her side, Petilil and Sewaddle flitting in behind Servine's protective coils. The late afternoon sun cast long, golden shafts through the gaps above, dust motes dancing like fireflies in the heat.
In her satchel, Mira reached for the cherished items from Celestial City: The Silk Scarf, its fabric shimmering soft lavender in the waning light, and the sleek BlackGlasses. She knelt beside Scout, smoothing the scarf over his neck. "This will highlight your Normal-type precision," she murmured as Scout, with a respectful tilt of his head, allowed her touch.
Then she placed the glasses gently over his eyes, adjusting the fit so they sat confidently on his snout. "And these… will bring out that spark of darkness in you," she added, brushing a hand over his ears. Scout gave a happy whuff, paws padding the ground as if absorbing the charged atmosphere.
Mira stood and took a small step back, heart thudding with anticipation. Scout planted his paws firmly on the cracked pavement, nostrils flaring as he drew in a deep breath. Around them, the city's clamor faded: distant horns, the hum of freight engines, and the soft susurrus of Petilil's humming leaves.
A warm, golden aura began to glow, emanating from Scout's core. The Silk Scarf and BlackGlasses pulsed in rhythm with the light. As Mira watched, awestruck, Scout's body began to shift—his fur grew denser, rippling in waves as his muscles expanded beneath. His spine straightened, and his stance widened, paws pressing firmly against the earth as if forging a new bond with the ground.
In moments, Scout had transformed into a majestic Stoutland: his silhouette broader, his gaze more resolute. The scarf fluttered like a banner in a gentle breeze, and the glasses sat like a knight's visor, granting him an aura of both strength and mystery.
Mira rushed forward, tears of pride shining in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his thick mane, her voice soft but full of wonder: "You're growing wonderfully." Scout nuzzled her warmly, his tail sweeping in wide, confident arcs.