"Aakash! Get down here already. You're going to be late for the first day of the academy!"
The shout came from the kitchen downstairs just as I was still sitting in thought, the unresolved issue of declining leveling efficiency lingering heavily in my mind despite my attempts to organize it into something actionable. For the past several days, that problem had occupied a growing portion of my attention, and even now, with the academy finally opening and dozens of immediate responsibilities waiting ahead, part of my focus remained trapped on the implications of a future that might already be shifting in ways no one else had noticed.
Then mom shouted again.
And just like that, all thoughts about global energy balance, ecosystem collapse, and long-term sustainability were forcibly interrupted by a far more immediate threat.
Indian motherhood.
I let out a quiet sigh before closing the system interface and standing up from my desk, pushing those thoughts aside for the moment as I headed downstairs, because regardless of how much authority I held outside this house, none of it protected me here.
Not from being yelled at for being late.
By the time I reached the dining area, breakfast had already been arranged on the table, and mom was standing nearby with the unmistakable expression of someone who had already decided I was at fault before I even arrived.
"Mom," I said as I sat down, reaching for the plate in front of me, "I'm not a kid anymore. I'm not even going to the academy as a student."
She looked at me flatly.
"I'm the headmaster," I added, as though that clarified everything.
It did not work.
Instead, she crossed her arms slightly and replied without missing a beat, "And don't headmasters have responsibilities?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but she continued before I could.
"Don't you have to give a speech? Explain rules and regulations? Welcome the students? Or are you planning to keep everyone waiting while you make some dramatic entrance at the last moment?"
I paused.
That was…
Actually not impossible.
Her eyes narrowed immediately, clearly reading my silence far too accurately.
"I'm telling you right now," she continued, pointing a spoon at me with enough authority to make it feel more threatening than most weapons I had seen recently, "don't turn into a chunnibayo."
That shut me up instantly.
I stared at her for a second, genuine confusion momentarily overpowering every other thought in my head.
"How do you even know that word?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Her expression shifted into something dangerously smug.
"I use the internet too," she replied casually before placing more food onto my plate despite the fact that I had not asked for it. "And unlike you, I actually pay attention when people talk."
I rubbed my forehead slightly.
This was unfair.
There were international delegates who listened to my analysis with complete seriousness.
Entire departments waited for my approval before acting.
And yet here I was being lectured over breakfast like a teenager who had almost missed his school bus.
Worse—
I couldn't even argue properly because technically she wasn't wrong.
"You think too much these days," she said after a moment, her tone softening slightly as she sat across from me. "Every time I see you lately, you're either working, reading reports, or staring into space while thinking about something serious."
I didn't answer immediately, because that was also true.
The past few months had changed too quickly for anyone to properly adapt, and while most people were still trying to understand the surface-level transformation of the world around them, I was constantly forced to think several steps ahead, anticipating problems before they arrived because if I didn't, there was a real possibility no one else would.
Still— Hearing it stated so simply made me realize how obvious it had become.
Mom sighed lightly before continuing, "You're still young, Aakash. I know your responsibilities are different now, but that doesn't mean you have to carry the entire world on your shoulders every second."
I gave a small, helpless smile at that.
If only it were that easy.
"There are things that can't be ignored," I said quietly.
"I know," she replied immediately. "But there's also a difference between handling responsibility and drowning yourself in it."
For a brief moment, neither of us spoke.
The morning sunlight filtered into the room softly, the sounds of the house calm and familiar in a way that felt strangely distant from the larger world outside, where politics, organizations, Pokémon integration, and future uncertainty continued moving relentlessly forward.
Then mom abruptly broke the atmosphere.
"Also," she added casually, "if you really are the headmaster now, then at least dress like one properly instead of looking like you stayed awake all night reading conspiracy theories."
I blinked.
Then sighed again.
"Mom…"
"No excuses," she replied immediately. "Eat faster."
I shook my head slightly but obeyed anyway, because some battles simply weren't worth fighting.
Especially against her.
And despite everything—
The normalcy of this moment felt… nice.
Grounding.
For the past several months, nearly every interaction in my life had revolved around pressure, strategy, conflict, or expectation, and somewhere along the way, simple conversations like this had become unexpectedly rare.
Outside, I could hear movement in the yard as some of the Pokémon continued their morning routines, with Primeape likely already training before sunrise as usual while Pidgeot circled overhead somewhere nearby.
The academy was opening today.