A year could change everything.
When Albert Deford first set foot into Stone Manor, he had been only a boy of five, fragile in body yet sharp in mind, carrying with him the memories of another life.
The year since then had passed in a blur, a whirlwind of discoveries and revelations that shook the very foundation of Pokémon research.
Yet to Albert, the memories stood clear as crystal.
They replayed in his mind as the late summer breeze drifted through the open window of his study.
The smell of parchment, ink, and polished wood mixed with the faint sweetness of the gardens below, and Albert allowed himself to reflect on what had been accomplished.
It was a year of breakthroughs, everything beginning with Eevee.
That small, foxlike Pokémon had been his first step, the one that bridged his past life's knowledge with this world's unexplored frontiers.
Albert could still recall the way the yard had filled with 120 of them, each curious, bright-eyed, and brimming with untapped potential.
At first, they had been mere subjects of study—living proof of his hypothesis on adaptive genomes.
But in time, he grew to love them, not as data points, but as companions.
A cascade of white light beneath the sunset, as if the world itself bowed to the group of Espeon.
The memory was etched into him—the gasps, Steven's wide-eyed awe, Joseph's silent shock, and his own childlike outburst as he tackled Steven in pure joy.
After that came Umbreon under the moon, Leafeon among the Leaf Stones, Glaceon in the cold, and Sylveon born from a song of affection.
Another would be Friendship, Happiness.
These were words people used to speak carelessly, without weight.
But Albert knew—from his past life, from anime and games—that they were the hidden levers of evolution.
Through his experiments with Professor Oak's support, he had proven it: happiness was not just a feeling, but a measurable force, a resonance that could change the very form of Pokémon.
Sixteen new papers, each an evolution driven by happiness.
Three more updated, building upon his earlier findings of Eevee.
Then came the Friendship Tiers, his categorization of intimacy energy into distinct values that affected not only evolution but battle performance and behavior.
The world had been thrown into frenzy.
Trainers demanded Resonance Meters, breeders begged for guidance, coordinators sought new opportunities, and researchers dissected his findings for their own.
All the while, the International Pokémon Association and Evergreen Island's government tightened their guard, wrapping him in secrecy and psychic veils to protect him.
Albert had lived through a year of revolution—a year where science bent to the will of a five-year-old.
And now, here he was, another August upon him, the eve of his sixth birthday.
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The day had passed with little ceremony. Albert had spent the morning studying for his intermediate exams, his pen scratching rapidly across his notebook.
He had all but forgotten the date until Percy, always prompt with errands and reminders, handed him the morning post with a grin.
"Happy birthday, Albert," Percy said warmly, watching the boy's puzzled look.
Albert blinked, then glanced at the calendar hanging above his desk. August 28. His lips parted in a small, sheepish chuckle. "Ah. I… forgot."
Percy shook his head in disbelief, though his eyes were kind. "Only you could forget your own birthday because of studying."
By evening, Albert was ushered into the manor's dining room by Steven.
The boy's grin gave everything away, but Albert was still unprepared for the sight before him.
The long table was aglow with candles and warm food, laughter bouncing off the high ceilings.
Sister Maribel rose from her seat, her hands clasped in delight. Percy stood beside her, his posture proud.
And at the head of the table, Joseph Stone, host and silent orchestrator, gestured for Albert to join them.
Albert's lips curled into a true smile, small but radiant.
For the first time in a while, the world around him felt less like the stage of his responsibilities and more like a home.
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The meal unfolded with warmth that Albert rarely let himself indulge in.
Sister Maribel fussed gently over him, asking whether he had been eating enough, remarking that his face seemed thinner than last year.
Percy teased him about his intensity, recalling how Albert had once sent him chasing halfway across the city for a rare herb, only to forget he had ordered it.
"You running errands on my behalf are half the reason I'm still sane," Albert admitted quietly, earning a playful scoff from Percy.
Joseph, as always, spoke little, though his eyes rarely left Albert.
He didn't need to speak—his presence alone said enough: pride, protectiveness, and perhaps a quiet awe at what the child had become under his roof.
And Steven, ever his companion, sat close by, nudging Albert whenever he grew too lost in thought. "Don't drift off now," he teased, "you're supposed to be the guest of honor."
So when the cake came, its six candles casting golden light, Albert's chest tightened.
Six years old. Just six, and yet, the weight of the world seemed to sit in his small hands.
Closing his eyes, he made a wish he could not name aloud and blew the candles out in one breath.
Afterwards came the gifts.
Sister Maribel's gift was a handwoven scarf, soft and warm, patterned with tiny Togepi. "So you always remember kindness, Albert," she said, placing it gently over his shoulders.
Percy handed him a custom leather notebook, embossed with "A.D." on the cover. "For the thoughts you won't want to lose in the rush of discovery."
Joseph's gift was a pen set, ornate and finely balanced, clearly chosen with Albert's endless hours of writing in mind.
And Steven, grinning shyly, placed a small box before him. Inside lay a silver pendant shaped like an Eevee, polished until it gleamed. "So you don't forget who started it all," Steven said softly.
Albert's throat tightened as he looked around at them all.
The gifts mattered, yes, but what struck him most was that each reflected not his genius, but his person.
They had gathered not for the prodigy, but for Albert.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Later, both young boys moved to the yard.
The night sky stretched endlessly above them, stars flickering like sparks of possibility.
Pokémon that used to frolic freely, laughter ringing in the air, were now gone.
Albert stood with Steven at the edge of the field, scarf around his neck, pendant resting against his chest.
"You look happy," Steven remarked, smiling.
Albert glanced at him, then up at the stars. "I am. I always am, but…this feels different, it's rather…nice."
Six years old, having a year of wonder, with more countless discoveries yet to come.
However, for tonight, Albert allowed himself to be not the prodigy, not the researcher, but simply a boy celebrating his birthday—surrounded by people who, in their own ways, had chosen to be his family.