The Snorlax’s thrashing slowed. One ear twitched. A tiny smile crossed its sleeping face. It rolled over—just enough to leave a gap on the bridge.
Pichu listened. The melody was indeed sad—a lonely, music-box version of a lullaby no one recognized. He felt a yawn creep up his throat. poképark
Outside, the sleeping Pokémon woke up, blinking and smiling. The Psyduck shook its head and laughed. The Carousel figures began to spin, faster and happier than ever before. The Snorlax’s thrashing slowed
He waddled to the Carousel. A small crowd had gathered. A Psyduck was staring blankly at a spinning Ponyta figure, drooling slightly. Two Pichu cousins were curled up together on a bench, fast asleep—in the middle of breakfast. It rolled over—just enough to leave a gap on the bridge
He felt like a guardian of the PokéPark.
Blazé put a paw on Pichu’s shoulder. "You know," he said, no longer boasting, "I think I’ll stick with you, rookie. Every legend needs a good partner."
He stepped forward, took a deep breath, and did the only thing he knew how to do. He began to hum. Not the Carousel’s sad tune, but the simple, clumsy, joyful melody he hummed to himself every morning while waiting for his berry juice. It was off-key. It was silly. It was his .