Sabrina stood quietly before the floor-length mirror in the bathroom, gathering her long, silky black hair that shimmered faintly with a touch of violet under the steam-filled light.
The mirror was fogged with mist, droplets trailing down its surface. With a graceful motion, she wiped it clean, her pale reflection slowly coming into view.
Her snow-white skin gleamed like polished jade, flawless and radiant—an ethereal beauty that almost seemed sculpted. Sabrina had always been confident in her complexion. It wasn't the unhealthy kind of pallor, but a perfect, breathtaking whiteness, as though a Venus statue had come to life.
Her figure was tall, elegant, the very definition of a model's proportions. And yet, upon this flawless body, Logan had already left his unmistakable marks—the traces of passion still vivid.
She turned on the shower head, rinsing away the lingering stickiness that clung to her, letting the intimate scent dissolve under the fragrance of soap. By the time she stepped out, draped in a soft bath towel, she found Logan already seated at the table, wearing a hotel robe, indulging in a hearty meal.
For a brief moment, Sabrina almost smiled. Sometimes, this boy carried the presence of a man, exuding a strength and security that could protect anyone. Yet at other times, he was nothing more than a child, utterly clueless.
He had held her close after their passion, comforting her briefly… and now, instead of whispering tender words or drawing near, he sat happily devouring steak as if nothing had happened.
Though aloof by nature, Sabrina was not cold in heart. She too carried a woman's longing, the quiet yearning fed by the romance films she had secretly watched. Her relationship with Logan—dramatic, unexpected—only deepened that hidden desire.
Another woman might have felt slighted, even wounded, believing him to be a man chasing only after her body. A shallow liar, nothing more.
"Want some?"
Logan noticed she had finished washing. He raised his fork, skewering a piece of perfectly seared steak. "This hotel's food really is something else. Figures—it's League-designated. The chef must be world-class. Damn bureaucracy finally doing something right!"
He clicked his tongue in admiration.
Logan was… clueless when it came to a woman's heart.
Before crossing into this world, he had dated, but it was nothing extraordinary. He wasn't some master of romance, just a man following mutual attraction. Seduction wasn't something he practiced—it simply happened. Tricks, smooth words… those weren't part of him.
Of course, as a normal man, coaxing a woman into bed was an instinct—but true skill in love, in understanding, required years of practice. Something Logan had never bothered with.
"I'm not hungry," Sabrina replied softly, shaking her head. She settled onto a single-seat sofa, curling her legs beneath her. Opening a small makeup kit, she began trimming her nails with calm precision.
Beauty was instinct for women. And once they had someone they cared for, that instinct only deepened—the need to present their most radiant self to him.
"Not hungry? After all the… exercise you went through just now?"
Logan teased.
A faint blush tinged Sabrina's pale cheeks. She shot him a cold glare, lips pressed tight, and ignored him as she focused on her nails.
There was no longer the old tension between them. She barely even noticed when the towel slipped halfway down, baring smooth skin. Logan's gaze lingered on the intimate places she left exposed—but Sabrina made no effort to adjust. They had already crossed every boundary. Her shame was no longer a burden—it was, strangely, a spice between them.
Her beauty, her icy reserve, made her the kind of woman men dreamed of conquering. To the outside world, she was frost itself, untouchable. But in his arms, she yielded—her proud exterior melting into breathless surrender. The contrast was intoxicating.
As she pinned up her lustrous hair, bending to trim her toenails, Logan's eyes followed the elegant curve of her foot. The sight stirred fresh impulses. Cold though she was in demeanor, Sabrina in intimacy was wholly obedient, bending to his will without resistance. A stark difference from Erika.
Erika had the softness of appearance but was inwardly firm, subtly dominant. Sabrina, on the other hand, wore the mask of arrogance—but once her weakness was found, she could be utterly subdued.
"What are you thinking about?"
Sabrina noticed his distant gaze, her heartbeat quickening though her voice stayed cold.
"Just thinking how luxurious you Gym Leaders live. Makes me wonder—if I become Champion, will the League let me enjoy this kind of treatment?"
Logan leaned back in his chair, satisfied, smirking.
"You've stolen more than enough from Silph already," Sabrina said flatly, her violet eyes flashing. "With that fortune, you could live any luxury you want."
She wasn't wrong.
Logan chuckled. He had indeed taken a fortune—by modern standards, at least sixty billion dollars' worth. An unthinkable sum. But to him? Unless money could buy a Legendary Pokémon, what was the point?
Still, wealth had its perks. He could now spend without hesitation, train in the wild without restraint, and refuse to live like an ascetic.
"Oh, that reminds me—Silph has an heir, doesn't it?" Logan asked, brows furrowing.
"Yes," Sabrina nodded. "Almost all of the Silph bloodline was wiped out… but the League discovered one illegitimate son, and had him inherit most of the company's fortune."
Her eyes darkened. "Giovanni wouldn't normally leave such a person alive. Which means…"
"Which means that heir was left there deliberately," Logan finished. "Giovanni made sure of it. The heir is nothing more than a puppet. Silph may have been crippled, but its foundations remain strong. Even now, it rivals Devon Corporation in Hoenn. With Giovanni pulling the strings, Rocket secures endless funding."
Logan exhaled slowly, admiration in his tone. Giovanni's foresight was terrifying. Without an heir, the League would have absorbed Silph. That would've crippled Rocket. Instead, he had turned Silph into a puppet, securing the organization's financial future while the League struggled in shadows.
"But enough about that. The Indigo Conference opens tomorrow," Logan said with a sly smile, watching the sky darken outside the window. "Why don't we enjoy one more… exercise session? A bit of deep communication before the battles begin?"
"You're not leaving?"
"Why would I leave? Of course I'll stay with you, Sabrina."
Her lips twitched. Outwardly cold, but inside, she felt a quiet warmth she would never admit.
…
By dawn, the spring night had passed. Logan finally released a month's worth of pent-up restraint, leaving him refreshed and lighthearted.
At sunrise, he and Sabrina packed and prepared for the Conference. Neither had slept, yet their bodies endured. Trainers, after all, lived within the constant influence of Pokémon—a life that made them stronger, more resilient.
Descending the hotel elevator together, Logan's steps suddenly froze.
In the lobby, a girl sat in a kimono, sipping tea. At the sound of their arrival, she turned. Recognition sparked in her eyes.
Erika.
Her lips curved with joy—only for the expression to falter as her gaze slid to Sabrina, cool and silent at Logan's side.
Logan stiffened. Why Erika, here, of all places?!
He glanced at his Pokédex clock. It's just after five in the morning… Why are you even awake at this hour?!
Then he remembered—Erika wasn't an early riser. Quite the opposite. She was the type to nap through the day and roam through the night.
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