The frantic pulse of the concert had not ended. The echo of the cheers still vibrated in the walls of Asher's dressing room, a luxurious space reserved exclusively for him. The place smelled of expensive cologne and residual ozone from the stage special effects.
Asher was finishing drying his hair. His Gardevoir floated nearby, gathering the scarlet and black velvet accessories. The alert message about Countess D'Ashef, his adoptive mother, still burned in his mind.
"Gardevoir, can you feel her?" Asher asked in a low voice, without looking at his Pokémon.
Gardevoir's response came in a psychic tone that was both soft and perfectly clear: "She is close, Master. In the family observation suite. Her presence is dense and cold. There is... impatience."
Im-pa-ti-ence. Elodie D'Ashef, the Countess, did not know impatience; she only knew execution. The fact that she was waiting instead of bursting in here meant the matter was of the utmost gravity.
Asher put on a simple black jacket over his concert shirt. The Kalos elite was governed by the type of Pokémon you trained; it was a declaration of lineage and values. His parents, Elodie and Victor, had made sure the world knew the official D'Ashef Team, composed of Steel and Psychic types, reflecting their connections:
His Mother, Countess Elodie D'Ashef: Younger sister of Tileo (Elite Four, Steel Type).
His Father, Count Victor D'Ashef: Nephew of Astrid (Gym Leader of Anistar City, Psychic Type).
The Official Team (The Façade): Primarily Psychic and Steel. It represented his inheritance: the hard steel of his uncle, Elite Four Tileo (Elodie's brother), and the mental power of his aunt, Gym Leader Astrid (Victor's family). And then him, a young man who handled Psychic and Steel, which made him worthy of the engagement to Champion Diantha.
The Ghost Team (The Secret): The Ghost team he trained and used in clandestine battles and illegal tournaments, known by the tabloid press as the "Ghost Night Battles." It was his secret, his liberation from family chains.
The D'Ashef private observation suite was two floors up. Upon entering, the contrast with the euphoria of the stadium was absolute. The room was dark, soundproofed with velvet, and lit by ostentatious crystal lights.
Countess Elodie D'Ashef, a woman in her early forties with the cold beauty of a Cryogonal, stood there with her arms crossed, next to the glass that offered a panoramic view of the stadium. She wore an Aegislash silver-colored evening gown and her black hair, pulled back in a strict bun, reflected the light with precision. Her expression was one of such deep disappointment that it was almost offensive.
At her feet, an imposing Scizor was meticulously polishing its red pincers, its silent presence exuding a cold threat that only Steel types could display.
"Asher," her voice was low but sharp, like an ice knife. She did not call him by his artistic title. "You took your time."
"Mother. The audience demanded an encore," Asher replied, his own voice, though soft, infused with the calm of an artist accustomed to controlling attention.
The Countess turned fully, her gray eyes fixed on him. Asher's Gardevoir instinctively positioned itself next to its Master, facing the Countess's Scizor.
"Don't waste my time with artistic minutiae, Asher. We are here for something more important than your little pop songs."
She walked toward a small lectern where a Holo Caster was on, showing a frozen image: a grainy, nocturnal photograph.
In the photo, a young man in a balaclava and a black jacket was seen in what appeared to be a makeshift battle arena. Beside him, instead of Gardevoir or Metagross, a sinister Chandelure floated. The violet flames of the chandelier Pokémon illuminated the scene with an spectral glow.
"Do you recognize this, Asher?" Elodie asked, without emotion.
Asher looked at the photo. The Chandelure, which he called "Phantom Flame," was his real "Ace" in the clandestine tournaments, an extension of his transmuted soul—beings that played with reality and death.
"No, it's a poor-quality photograph. It could be anyone," Asher retorted, keeping his tone firm.
Elodie D'Ashef smiled with the same coldness as her brother in combat.
"Your uncle Tileo taught me the importance of defense, Asher. And Father taught me that psychic evidence does not lie. This Chandelure has a unique pattern of Psychic and Ghost movements: the combination of Telekinesis followed by Flamethrower in the rhythm of a... what do you call it? Ah, yes, a musical coda. It is your signature. It is your damn clandestine team."
Asher's Gardevoir moved slightly, projecting a psychic energy barrier to block the Scizor's gaze.
"It seems the Kalos nobility is not only expert in Pokémon battles," Asher said, dropping the façade. "They are also excellent at espionage."
"Espionage is a necessity when your own son threatens to demolish the family legacy," Elodie replied, slamming the table. Her voice rose, becoming as hard as a King's Shield. "You are the heir of the D'Ashef. You are the nephew of Tileo, the Elite Four. You are kin to Astrid, the Gym Leader. You are engaged to Champion Diantha. You have a destiny!"
"A destiny I did not choose," Asher murmured.
"Nonsense! A D'Ashef does not crawl into night battles with Ghost types. Ghost Pokémon are for unsolved mysteries. Our Pokémon are Steel and Psychic, the body and the mind. Your Ghost team, your Chandelure, your Ceruledge... They are an embarrassment!"
"They are my liberation," Asher corrected her, taking a step forward. "You gave me a body and a name, but music and Ghosts gave me a soul. They don't ask who I am or where I come from. They simply are."
The Countess approached, forcing Asher to feel the intimidation of the Scizor.
"Listen to me, Bard. Count Victor is furious, but he is patient. I am not. This is the agreement: You get rid of that team. You use your Gardevoir and your Steel Pokémon that we have given you. You get back in line. Or..."
She left the sentence unfinished, but the threat hung in the air.
"Or what, Mother?" Asher challenged.
"Or all D'Ashef prestige will be turned against your musical career. The Holo Caster will stop working for you. Your engagement to Diantha will be made public immediately, and you will be forced to participate in the Elite Cup, which requires you to battle exclusively with Pokémon from the noble families. You will no longer have time for your 'Shining Star' or your 'Ghost Echo.' You will be our heir. A Knight of Kalos."
The Countess touched her Scizor's forehead.
"We have discovered your secret. Now, your duty is to make the decision. Do you continue to be the ghost who hides from his destiny, or do you become the Steel that we have molded you to be, a sword?"
Asher felt the pressure.
He looked at his Gardevoir, whose red eyes transmitted unwavering loyalty, and then at the Countess.
"I need one night," Asher said, his voice returning to being as soft and melodic as it was on stage, but with a layer of ice underneath. "Three songs and the encore is all that remains of my contract. After that, we can discuss my... decision."
The Countess evaluated him, her cold eyes weighing the risk. One night.
"One night, Asher. And if you try to run, if you try to use that Gardevoir for a Teleport... My Scizor and the drones will be waiting for you. I promise you."
Asher nodded, bowed slightly—a forced gesture of nobility—and turned, leaving the suite, leaving behind the steel and coldness of his adoptive family, and re-entering the chaotic warmth of his own life.