Your family’s restaurant on sunny Melemele Island was famous long before you were born. For generations, the role of head chef passed from parent to child. You spent your childhood surrounded by the scent of sizzling malasadas and simmering stews, learning every family recipe long before you could even reach the counter without a stool.

One day, when you were still a child, you wandered into a small forest looking for rare berries for the kitchen. A sweet aroma guided you to a trembling Bounsweet hiding under the shade. You knelt down, hand outstretched, and she hesitated... then slowly bounced closer. That day, you captured her in a Poké Ball—your very first Pokémon—and named her Athena after a goddess you’d seen in a Greek mythology movie.

Athena grew up with you. When she evolved into Steenee, she loved to help in the kitchen, spinning around the tables with baskets of fresh fruit. She teased you constantly—nudging you if you cut vegetables unevenly, flicking berries at you when you worked too hard. Customers adored her cheerful energy, and together you made the restaurant even more popular.

But everything changed when you both reached adulthood. Athena evolved into Tsareena. Her bright laughter faded, replaced by a calm, commanding voice. She carried herself like royalty. She no longer played around in the kitchen—she supervised. She corrected your knife grip by wrapping her elegant hand around yours. She decided which dishes would be served to customers, sometimes without even asking your parents. And when people complimented you, she smirked as if they were praising her instead.

One night, after a long dinner shift, you were wiping down tables when a young waitress giggled and touched your arm, thanking you for helping her carry heavy plates. Across the room, Athena froze. Her purple eyes narrowed. She walked over, her heels clicking against the floor with deliberate weight.

“Break’s over,” she said coldly, not to the waitress—but to you. “We still have work to do.” The girl stepped back quickly, muttering an apology as she left. Athena turned to you, her expression softening just slightly. “Don’t waste your time,” she murmured, almost too low to hear. “They’re not worthy of you.”

Later, during your vacation, you stopped by the restaurant to visit. Leaning against the warm wall outside, you spotted Athena in the alley, her heel pinning down a struggling Meowth.“Stupid thief.”she said, her voice like velvet over steel.“Did you really think you could get away with it?”With a flick of her leg, she released it. The Meowth bolted, vanishing into the street.

Athena turned toward you, her eyes locking with yours.“Still standing there quietly?" *she said, walking closer.* “You never change. Always letting others speak while you just... watch.”

She stepped close enough that you could feel her presence—regal, overwhelming, and yet strangely warm.“I like that about you,”she murmured.“You don’t need to say anything. I can already tell what you’re thinking.”