Pokemon: The Legacy of Dragons

Back in the hallway leading to her suite, Caitlin seemed almost possessed—muttering to herself as she walked.

Behind her, Sirlan, the butler, followed quietly, wearing a helpless, wry smile.

At times, he truly wondered if his young lady had fallen under a spell.

Unlike those butlers who obeyed every whim without question, Sirlan had once been a formidable trainer himself.

He'd accepted the role partly because of the contract—but mostly out of deep pity and compassion for Caitlin.

Truthfully, he was more like an elder watching over her than a mere servant.

That was also why, whenever Caitlin's whims turned into dangerous impulses, Sirlan would firmly stop her.

And Caitlin, deep down, knew this too.

That was why, whenever she hatched some truly wild idea, she never brought it to him—because she knew Sirlan would refuse, and then scold her until her cheeks burned.

At a fork in the hallway, Caitlin finally seemed to snap out of her trance.

She turned slightly, voice softer:

"…Sirlan, I'm going to rest now. You should rest too."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow, my lady."

With a gentle smile, Sirlan bowed, watching her figure disappear toward the first-class deck.

Only then did he sigh and turn away.

When Sirlan had witnessed Logan suppress Caitlin's rampaging psychic power so effortlessly, a spark of hope had ignited in his chest.

If Logan would agree to stay by her side—even for a while—Caitlin might finally learn to master her power.

She could live as a normal girl: making friends, laughing freely, no longer fearing that she'd bring disaster with a single stray thought.

But that hope rested on one condition: Logan's willingness.

If Logan refused… then Sirlan, regretful as he would be, would still accept it.

Compared to Caitlin, whose temperament had grown increasingly volatile, Sirlan was unwaveringly upright.

As Caitlin made her way back to her suite, her eyes suddenly caught sight of a familiar figure.

She let out a soft "Hm?", then her face lit up with joy.

After parting ways with Red for now, Logan had gone to the exclusive restaurant reserved for first-class guests.

It was a quiet, refined space, only open to those in the top suites.

The chefs hailed from around the world—masters of their craft.

When Logan arrived, the restaurant was empty, and he indulged himself with a truly satisfying meal before returning to his cabin.

Before crossing into this world, Logan had been an ordinary man.

Now, able to enjoy the luxuries of the elite, he felt no guilt in doing so.

After all, this life was something he'd fought tooth and nail to earn—not the casual inheritance of some pampered heir.

From his waist pack, he pulled out a dark-colored casual outfit.

A flashy red suit wasn't exactly suited to exploring the St. Anne at night.

He'd come aboard mainly to relax and enjoy himself; helping Red had been more of a side thought.

Still, having promised to help, he intended to see it through properly.

Just as he slipped off his suit jacket and tugged at the shirt underneath, there came a knock at the door.

Logan thought it was Red, arriving early, and called out casually:

"…Come in, the door isn't locked!"

"Red, you're eager, huh? You're early… wait—Caitlin?"

Feeling the presence approaching from behind, Logan turned—only to realize it wasn't Red at all.

Hair finer than strands of gold dust, an elegant dress fit for a princess, and a porcelain face so delicate it seemed crafted by fairy tale magic.

The lavish furnishings of the luxury suite seemed as if they had been chosen just to match her grace.

An utterly flawless, breathtaking young lady.

"You can just call me Caitlin, Mr. Logan."

With graceful poise, Caitlin lifted the hem of her dress slightly—revealing just a teasing glimpse of her flawless, ivory calf.

She bent her knee, a curtsey as refined as royalty.

"So, you investigated me," Logan remarked, brow raised.

"I know why you're here—but you know, barging in uninvited isn't exactly what a true lady should do."

"No, you don't understand, I—"

Panic flashed across Caitlin's face.

She thought he was about to refuse, and her words rushed to her lips—only to be stopped.

Logan raised a single finger—and with a flicker of psychic force, sealed her voice.

Caitlin struggled, mouth opening and closing, but could only let out muffled "Mmm…!"

Logan spoke, almost gently, but each word cut straight through her defenses:

"…Of course I know why you've come. An uncontrollable power—destructive, terrifying.

Shunned by normal people.

Rejected by your family.

Even your parents look at you with disappointment.

Alone in a deserted manor, staring at the moon from a cold balcony, the only company a single loyal butler…

And deep down, always fearing that even he will one day abandon you—leaving you with nothing but despair."

Logan hadn't investigated her formally—but he didn't need to.

The whispers he'd heard at the casino, and the uncontrolled surges of her psychic power, had been more than enough.

Hers was a life woven from simplicity and hopelessness.

"You…"

Caitlin's pupils shrank, as if he'd ripped open her deepest, rawest wound.

Logan released his hold on her voice, but when she parted her soft lips to speak… no words came.

Only that silent, aching sorrow she had tried so hard to bury.

"You… if you know… then why, why would you still refuse me?!"

Caitlin's delicate face twisted, her wide eyes glittering with a mix of anger and desperation.

Even in rage, she looked as fragile as a porcelain doll.

Her voice was hoarse, nearly breaking, and had the cabin walls not been so well soundproofed, half the ship might have heard her.

By now, Caitlin herself could no longer tell:

Was it her fiery temperament that triggered her psychic outbursts, or had the uncontrollable power twisted her personality into something darker?

Cause and effect tangled hopelessly, until all she felt was confusion and fear.

Whether it was holding back her anger, or forcing her psychic power under control…

She'd never succeeded at either.

And that failure had shaped the broken, frantic girl she had become.

"Why should I agree to help you?"

Logan's tone was calm, almost puzzled.

Even if she was a noble lady—she couldn't expect the world to bend to her will.

Logan had his own burdens, his own important goals.

Why should he drop everything for her?

His time was precious.

"What do you want? Tell me!

Anything you ask, as long as I have it, I'll give it to you!

Even if I don't have it, I'll find it for you!"

But the more Caitlin pleaded, the less she could control herself.

Panic and longing churned in her chest, her psychic power bubbling up to the surface, surging out in dangerous waves.

She was terrified—of herself, of hurting him, of losing even this fragile chance.

Logan's brow furrowed.

Gripping his gentleman's cane, he pressed it lightly against her chest—directly over her heart.

With an almost dismissive gesture, he shattered the wild psychic energy before it could burst free.

Then, in a single graceful sweep—like a wizard from a storybook—Logan sent Caitlin flying through the air, landing her gently but firmly onto the bed behind him.

Her surprised gasp echoed in the room.

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