When Auron arrived at the Eevee egg section, it never crossed his mind that his mom had started roasting him the second he'd walked away. But even if he'd known, there wasn't much he could do about it.
He'd been the head of the household once, and he was still the head of the household now—same as Liu Xiangjun. You didn't mess with Mom.
"Auron?"
"Hm?"
A voice called out to him. Auron turned to find a young man holding a Togepi. What caught his attention were the man's eyes—an unusual shade of blue with a faint pinkish tinge.
"Do I know you?"
The man with the Togepi gave Auron an appraising once-over, a hint of playfulness in his gaze. Then his expression sharpened, and he extended his hand.
"I'm Soren Li. You probably don't know me, but we're in the same year. I didn't participate in the freshman battle tournament for... special reasons."
Auron was bewildered but shook his hand anyway. "Hi, I'm Auron Vale. Can I help you...?"
Soren smiled. "Since I wasn't in the tournament, your first-place finish doesn't sit well with me. So I want to challenge you—a two-on-two battle."
Auron's brow furrowed. "Doesn't sit well?"
"That's right. A two-on-two, right here."
Soren's eyes blazed with fighting spirit, locked onto Auron.
Auron studied him for a moment, then let out a quiet laugh. "If it doesn't sit well, there's another tournament in two months—three-on-three. Prove it there. That is, if you can make it to the end."
He turned and walked away without another word. Some random stranger popping up out of nowhere, talking about how he wasn't satisfied and demanding a fight? Who'd entertain that?
After Auron left, Soren blinked—then realized his approach had been terrible. But he didn't let it bother him. He chuckled softly and went about his business.
"We'll cross paths eventually, little Auron. You can't avoid me forever."
"Who was that?"
"No idea."
Auron shrugged. How would he know? The guy showed up spouting nonsense out of the blue.
"Well, whatever. Let's look at eggs."
Tim didn't press the issue. If nobody knew who the guy was, there was nothing more to discuss.
"Sure."
Soren Li was like a brief blip—nobody gave him a second thought—and Auron got down to the serious business of examining Eevee eggs.
The first requirement: the egg had to have inherited Baby-Doll Eyes or Charm.
If he absolutely couldn't find one... well, they'd cross that bridge when they came to it. In the worst case, they'd do what his mom's Eevee did—have it carry an Everstone to block evolution until it learned a Fairy-type move, then remove it.
Speaking of Pokémon, the way willpower factored into evolution was honestly ridiculous. Combat ability was one thing, but evolution itself seemed to carry a hint of the metaphysical.
Take Eevee. While doing research at the library recently, Auron had stumbled upon a record mentioning Sylveon.
The author hadn't recognized it as an Eevee evolution, though. And since no one had seen one since, they'd recorded Sylveon as... a mythical Pokémon? Absurd.
If Auron hadn't known what Sylveon looked like—and the written description had been detailed enough—he never would've guessed what they were describing.
That discovery had reignited his long-shelved research into Sylveon's evolution.
So that night, he'd called his father and asked about Eevee's evolution mechanics.
His dad had given him a thorough explanation. Eevee's evolution, it turned out, could actually be influenced by its trainer's wishes.
For instance, back when his parents were together, Umbreon and Espeon had both still been Eevees. His mom's Eevee evolved into Espeon first. Then his mom had jokingly said it'd be nice if his dad's Eevee became an Umbreon.
And sure enough, his dad's Eevee evolved that very night—into Umbreon.
His father had studied the phenomenon later, eventually working out the conditions for several other Eevee evolutions.
Setting the others aside, just the Espeon and Umbreon split was instructive. His dad had given him a clear example:
If the trainer wanted Espeon, or the Eevee itself wanted to become Espeon, it would choose to evolve during the day once affection was high enough. Umbreon worked the same way at night.
But here was the critical part: if neither the trainer nor the Eevee had a preference between Espeon and Umbreon, it would simply evolve whenever affection peaked. Daytime meant Espeon, nighttime meant Umbreon—pure chance.
And if the trainer didn't want either form, they'd use an Everstone or just evolve with a stone into a different form instead.
If someone only wanted to choose between Espeon and Umbreon—no other options on the table—then the Eevee would evolve as soon as affection hit the threshold, and the outcome depended entirely on what time of day it happened.
Hearing this, Auron had immediately understood. This was willpower affecting evolution. When the only options in someone's mind were Espeon and Umbreon, those were the only outcomes.
So how had the Sylveon in that old record evolved? Had the owner not wanted either Espeon or Umbreon, been forced to evolve anyway, and happened to have a Fairy-type move at just the right moment—triggering a Sylveon evolution?
That would be an absurdly specific chain of coincidences.
But his father's explanation had finally clarified why Sylveon remained undiscovered despite affection-based evolution being well-documented.
The core issue was that willpower had a quiet influence on evolution. Combine that with the Everstone's existence, and the gap became even harder to notice.
Look at Glaceon and Leafeon. If not for the Everstone, people probably would've discovered those evolution paths ages ago.
The three elemental Eeveelutions—Vaporeon, Flareon, Jolteon—just needed their respective evolution stones when ready. Simple.
Trainers aiming for Espeon or Umbreon kept their Eevees holding Everstones during development to prevent accidental contact with an evolution stone from triggering the wrong form.
"Oh? This Eevee looks good. Solid quality, too."
After examining more than half the stock, Auron finally found one that fit the bill.
Admittedly, his mom's shop had far fewer eggs than the main Pokémon store. Even counting her main products—Eevee and Pichu eggs—the total barely broke a hundred.
He silently noted the disparity, then reached for the egg he'd chosen.
"Hm? This egg's pretty nice."
Suddenly, a hand came down on the same egg, stopping Auron from picking it up.