Dust billowed as Indeedee hurried to open a nearby window. Summer heat poured in, slowly breathing life back into the long-sealed kitchen and revealing its forgotten corners—chipped tiles, a rusted sink, shelves thick with grime.
The stove was unlike anything from Ron's farm—crafted, it seemed, from some kind of elemental crystal, humming faintly with latent energy. Indeedee studied it for a while, pawing at the controls, until finally a soft flame flickered to life. It carefully placed a pot on top and stepped back, satisfied.
Downstairs, the Wizard remained hunched over his cauldron, stirring steadily, lost in his work.
He hadn't minded Indeedee wandering off on its own. There was nothing in the Tower that couldn't be touched—and truth be told, he'd grown used to the quiet companionship. Still, he didn't look up… not until a rich, savory aroma drifted down the stairs.
A moment later, two neatly plated meals floated gently from above, settling onto the table with quiet precision.
"Indeedee!"
Indeedee came bouncing down the steps, ears perked, eyes bright.
The Wizard froze, spoon mid-stir. He blinked at the food, then at the Pokémon. "This… is this for me?"
"Goo!" Indeedee nodded eagerly. With a subtle flex of psychic energy, a fork materialized in front of him.
The Wizard took it slowly, a rare warmth softening his usually stern expression. After a beat, he murmured, "Thank you."
"Indeedee~" Indeedee chirped, tail swaying contentedly.
---
Back at the farm, Ron had thrown himself back into work the moment he left the tower.
Now that he was seriously considering shipping livestock to Kalos for processing, he knew he'd need more than just animals—he'd need infrastructure. That meant machines. And while Kalos might have advanced technology, Pelican Town had its own quirks: Sprinklers that drew water from thin air, Auto-Grabbers that sorted milk, eggs, and wool without human hands. Still, for large-scale production, he couldn't rely on magic alone.
He'd already commissioned another machine from Clint—just in case.
For the next few days, Ron balanced hops harvests, livestock care, and planning for Kalos. Then, on Summer 24, the Wizard returned—blueprint in hand, Indeedee trotting beside him.
Ron accepted the rolled parchment with gratitude, then knelt to scratch Indeedee behind the ears. "Thanks," he said, glancing up at the Wizard.
"Don't mention it," the Wizard replied, though his gaze lingered on Indeedee with something like fondness. "If anything, I owe you thanks."
Over the past three days, Indeedee hadn't just assisted with the arcane calculations—it had kept the Wizard fed, hydrated, and, most importantly, sleeping. The Wizard, prone to obsessive all-nighters fueled by potions and theory, had found himself gently but firmly tucked into bed the moment his focus wavered. Meals appeared just as hunger struck. No nagging, no interruptions—just quiet, intuitive care.
"Indee-dee," Indeedee called softly, waving a paw at the Wizard.
The Wizard smiled—and in a flash of light, vanished.
Ron stood, ruffling Indeedee's fur. "You've earned a real rest. Go on."
Indeedee padded back to the cabin, curling up on its little bed without another word.
Only then did Ron head toward the Community Center.
It was the 24th. The farm's coffers were full—more than enough to repair the Bus. But he'd already spoken with Pam: she'd drive him to the desert once, on the day it reopened… then return to the farm until the last hop was harvested. She'd agreed without hesitation. She knew how much the place relied on every pair of hands right now.
As he pushed open the door, he found Joy behind the counter—and a Dwarf perched on tiptoes beside her, barely tall enough to see over the wood.
"This! This! And milk! Thank you!" the dwarf said, voice muffled by his helmet.
Joy chuckled, handing him a bottle while glancing up at Ron. The dwarf, sensing Ron's presence, didn't bolt. Instead, he waited patiently, clutching his purchase like treasure.
He'd stumbled upon the center two nights ago, drawn by the scent of Moomoo Milk. The building looked abandoned—windows cracked, paint peeling—and yet, there was a gentle energy inside. He'd seen Joy tending to an injured Pokémon, her movements slow and careful. Something about her reminded him of home.
"Hello~" she'd whispered that first night, crouching to his level. "Are you hurt?"
He'd just pointed at the milk.
She'd bandaged her patient, then handed him a cup. When she learned it was his birthday, she gave him a second—on the house.
Since then, he'd started visiting when the center was empty. And Joy? She made sure to leave a side door unlocked each morning and evening, just for him.
Ron smiled faintly, watching the dwarf skip away, milk cradled in both arms. Then he turned toward the Crafts Room.
He placed the payment on the scroll.
Instantly, a Junimo popped into existence. Its slender, thread-like limbs gathered the coins, balanced them atop its head, and scurried off toward the little hut nestled in the overgrown garden—another step toward bringing the bus line back to life.
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