MikaelBrigman
Golurk-Platinum
- Pronouns
- he/him
The basic idea was referred to as "Blanche Eats Bread 4k" by one of my lovely commenters after I shared the idea. A young man looks at the world of Pokémon and decides that battling isn't his thing. Unfortunately for him, it's hard to become the very best at any profession by sitting in one spot for the rest of one's life. This young man is not Blanche from The Alchemist, but this will serve as a side-story. I'm afraid of spoilers, however, so updating may be sporadic. This story takes place in 2013, whereas at the time of writing, The Alchemist's plot is still in 2012. The plot's aren't too connected, so I don't foresee any problems.
With that, here is the story of a man that bakes the bread that satisfies even the heavens.
In regions the world over, from Sinnoh to Kalos, from Kanto to Alola, from Johto to Unova, graduating from Trainer School is a momentous occasion. Under the laws of the United Regions, young men, women, and other wonderful people are certified to take on the Gym Challenge near immediately following graduation, with mere days standing the final term and the new year. Finally having learned the knowledge and gaining the practical experience with Pokémon, they are entirely prepared to set off from a year-long quest to find themselves.
And although most don't even reach a conference in their lifetime, it's not about the destination, no matter what some wannabe Champions may tell you. The journey of self-discovery, the finding of friends, the understanding that comes to one that have seen the very best that the world has to offer: Those are but a few of the results of this journey of endless possibilities.
Kristoff Pieter Bacon (By the Lord Helix, don't fully shorten his name), decided he was not in need of such a journey.
He attended a Trainer School like many others, despite his talents. In his field of expertise, he could outdo anyone in his class, perhaps even the entirety of Lumiose-3.
Kristoff was not a genius. He was not a tactician. He was not destined to be the very best, like no one ever was.
Kristoff P. Bacon was a baker.
A simple baker. A mundane baker. A baker that didn't intend to accomplish the Gym Challenge.
Kristoff was a teenage boy, which somewhat surprised everyone he'd told, since literally everyone attempted at least one gym.
But with his Foongus by his side, he knew that the world was ripe for the taking from the confines of a nook stuck in-between a coffee shop and a Poké Mart.
Naturally he had been too young to negotiate the dealings himself. Not from a lack of knowledge, of course, but from legal restrictions. What kind of self-respecting adult would do serious business with a soon-to-be eighteen year old? Very few, excepting the obvious few that happened to be Gym Leaders. Would his parents necessarily appreciate using their account information to make the deal? Well, no, but he was paying for everything anyway and they were world-class cooks who gave even Alolan Trial Captains (Which surprisingly to anyone without a shred of knowledge about ethnic cooking, made very good stew) a run for their money. Naturally, they had better things to do.
As the graduation ceremony ended on a late December day, the sun beginning to set on the horizon, and his classmates throwing their hats into the air, Kristoff whipped out his Holo Caster.
"It's time," he said ominously, turning so that his face was shadowed by the sun behind him.
"Who is this? And what's that racket?" The old man's hologram looked around in confusion, showing as much detail as a blue projection of light could without requiring half of the Amazons to be burned as fuel.
Kristoff then turned around again, showing his face.
"Oh, it's you. Caller ID didn't show up before I answered."
"I'm the second most important contact in your list, Dad."
"I'm a busy man. What were you saying?" He still spoke gruffly, contrasting with the image of a well-groomed gentleman that was required for such a well-known cook. Christopher P. Bacon (And yes, you may shorten his name) was a professional and professionals had standards.
"It's time," he said again, leaning into the Holo Caster. "Can you send the confirmation to the landlord so I can start setting up shop?"
See, the thing about using the identity of a world-class chef is that in certain circles, word gets around. A single word from the landlord to his husband about their new renter, from his husband to his friend who happened to read Alolan Living and recognized the name, and suddenly it was a huge deal that the Bacon family was opening a bakery of all things. Why, they were cooks, not low-class bakers. Where was the subtlety? One wrong spice in a dish of Kingler and the whole thing goes in the trash. You could completely ruin a batch of bread and people would still find a way to enjoy it.
So word got around, his dad found out about it, his mother was both proud and angry at his delayed streak of independence, and eventually the negotiations were taken out of his hands with only a little input on his end from that point forward.
"Ah, you're going through with that? I figured that the graduation speech would make you change your mind?"
"Did yours?"
"Hey, back in my day, we didn't have Trainer Schools out in the country. But I'll say for certain I couldn't be happier to have been the cook the day that your mother came in and screamed at my manager for not paying me enough for such delicious food."
"Blech. So… Can you get that done soon, please?"
"What's the rush? You've got until New Year's Day."
Kristoff sighed, tapping his foot as the seats around him started clearing out. Other people had celebrations to get to. He had preparations.
"Sooner I get moved in, the earlier I can start prepping. Slow and steady wins the race-"
"If the Bunnelby starts last-minute," his dad said, finishing the family adage, before giving a rough sigh. "Right, I'll send it off now." His voice became tinged with disappointment. "I was hoping to make the confirmation letter your present for the holidays."
"I'm not one for surprises, you know that. I still appreciate it even if there's no anticipation. It's valuable either way, and I know it's coming either way."
"Try telling that to your girlfriend." His father chuckled. "Eh, Kris? Eh? Anyone yet?"
"I make bread, Dad." Kristoff rolled his eyes. "I could care less about that right now."
"See, if you were a cook, that wouldn't be a problem. Ladies love a man who knows his way around taste buds if you know what I'm saying."
"Bye, Dad. Love you, I'll talk to you later."
"Ah, fine. Don't give an old man the time of-"
Kristoff tapped the 'End Call?' button on his Holo Caster, standing at the center of an empty auditorium with the exception of janitors moving through the upper seating.
On his Pokéball belt, there were only two Pokéballs, and one of them was a false one. Sticking itself to the internal loop with its was Foongus, taking a nap and storing up energy as it often did. Its cap was red on the top half, white on the bottom, and bisected by a black line with a white dot in the very middle. It laid on its tiny back, meaning that to a casual observer it would appear his Pokéball was upside down. The other Pokéball, obviously, was connected to the false one, which was his partner.
It was in no ways a normal starter Pokémon. Most families raised a weaker Normal-type alongside their children to acclimate them to Pokémon before they found or met a partner Pokémon of their own. Some were just lucky enough to receive Pokémon from a regional Professor. He'd heard about the second case, in fact. Keeping his ear to the ground for any news about the cutthroat world of fine dining didn't mean participating in gossip, but he'd heard that FLARE Rangers, essentially specialized Pokémon Rangers that dealt with aura-users and strange Pokémon, had turned out to be students and received starters from Professor Sycamore.
Kristoff knew of Professor Sycamore from gossip as well, but also from tabloid articles where the flamboyant man was seen leaving some of the finest restaurants in the world with a woman on each arm. Repeatedly. And Kristoff was only interested in the articles, just to be clear.
All in all, Foongus was an odd choice for the developing artisan. A Grass-Poison-type was not a highly ranked pick for children, alongside the types with names too difficult for said children to spell. Poison, obviously, was dangerous. But in Foongus's case, it wasn't. That's a story for later, however.
Kristoff tapped the false ball on his belt, causing his fungal partner to snap awake.
"Let's get to work, Foongus."
Kristoff was an efficient sort of fellow, but he was not the sort that would obstruct basic niceties of composition in order to be so.
As in-between as the bakery itself was to the café and the Poké Mart, the interior was intended to also be in-between rustic and modern. He couldn't do much about the dull gray walls, at least not according to the current contract, but he could make some additions.
He'd taken pictures of the venue before having the Machoke Moving Company (The M2C, as it was commonly referred to) bring in his equipment. Common sense dictated he not leave any room to be screwed over by technicalities.
The walls were quickly covered in paintings, false windows, mirrors, splotches of colored canvas, whatever he could scrounge from garage sales. Most of them were neutral colors around the edge, which eased the brighter contrast in the center. The front counter was on wheels, made of wood and would double as a display for non-perishables in the future. A plastic-lined display case that would show his standard (If you could call them that) batches of bread.
The tables were dark brown wood, matching his work table though it was made of minerals and set higher up. The chairs were made of black plastic, and the ones next to his work table were taller, giving it the appearance of a bar.
He had two pieces that he was exceptionally proud of, as he'd (socially or physically) engineered them himself. One took years of effort and trial and error, and the other took a few hours.
No one said either was his magnum opus.
An eighteen box (or twelve box, depending on the customer) system for his yeast sources that would dramatically shift the taste of the bread while not taking away from its quality.
Now, the question then would be, how did one manage to get a whopping eighteen different varieties of something that usually came in uniform packets at the convenience store?
A deliciously simple answer came in Foongus.
Kristoff ran his finger over the boxes, looking at each one of his bread starters. He'd made them all the night before so as to not be in a rush the following day, but one seemed to not have come up to snuff.
"Foongus, can you make a quick batch of Wishiwashi yeast?"
And as a performer would say, this is where the magic happens.
Foongus stood on the front counter, the table that separated his side of the store which was exclusively for baking from the other side, which led to seating and the exit. With its stubby little arms it gave the best salute that it could, before jumping towards him and landing on the polished granite table.
Naturally, the yeast wasn't made of literal Wishiwashi.
In the Pokémon world, a common pastime going back decades was identifying the star sign of a person's birthday and giving them advice and fortunes based on such. Pokéastrology wasn't something Kristoff believed in, but a lot of Trainers his age sure did.
He was by no means a tactician or a genius, but he figured that serving people personalized batches of bread would increase sales by reinforcing the bond between the customer and the baker, like they had shared a great secret.
Still, it was just their birthday, but he'd read psych books in his spare time. If you made someone feel special, they liked what made them feel special more. It's the same psychology behind Pokémon Cafes, the ones where tiny Pokémon would just run around and mingle with customers.
Foongus placed itself in a plastic container, a foot tall and two-thirds that wide. The top was popped off when not in use, meaning that Kristoff could set off immediately to work.
Pokémon were truly magnificent creatures. Yeast, natural yeast, the kind that didn't have any aura, was slow at its job; eating flour and water to create more of itself, eventually to be used as a catalyst for making bread rise.
It was peanuts to Diantha's Gardevoir or a Mega-Evolved Pokémon, but what Foongus could do was more than enough.
Kristoff measured out a precise amount of flour and water. You'd be surprised by how much difference the exact composition of the bread starter could make. There were hundreds of different results if one hadn't a clue, but Kristoff did; and he only needed eighteen.
Some Pokéastrology signs coincided with personality types. The source of those types was a popular online quiz that people would take so they could list more things on their social media biographies. But, alas, there were eighteen of them. Luckily for him, no one had introduced dual-types into the equation.
Kristoff sealed the container shut, not enough so to cut off the air, but just enough to keep any flying particles inside.
Foongus looked a bit silly covered in flour and drenched in water, but as it took a breath, that silliness turned into Kristoff's glee, for he never truly got tired of baking, even if his father said that he'd get sick of it if he did it for long enough.
Foongus absorbed all of the flour and water, bulging at its stomach even though it was made of squishy fungus. Yeast, scientifically, is also categorized as a fungus.
Electric-types can learn Grass-type moves, Pokémon can levitate while walking on the ground. It's truly nothing strange that a fungus can create more fungus, even if it is slightly different.
A minute later, in an explosion of light brown dust, Foongus returned to normal size, saluting as the finished yeast settled around it.
"Great job, Foongus." Kristoff popped the top off and dropped Foongus in the hand-washing sink before picking up the container and emptying it into the storage box.
Foongus jumped up, kicking at the sink's handle, before it started miming like it was showering under the spray.
Kristoff laid out a paper towel for his partner before moving to the last thing to set up, the second thing he was most proud of.
The wonderful thing about working with flour for hours on end is that one tends to figure out exactly what consistency is considered just goopy enough to be used as paper mâché.
A cardboard sign covered in dusty old articles of some of Kristoff's favorite recipes that he'd memorized and inscribed into his heart and soul. As he placed each one upon it, he made a promise, a private one.
It was still a paper mâché.
Foongus bounced over half a minute later, dry and holding the rolled up paper towel around its neck like a towel.
Kristoff blanked on the name of his bakery. Really quite embarrassing for someone who'd been preparing for literally three years (and then some, most likely, but he couldn't remember well enough to be certain).
It wasn't that he had no ideas, it was that he had so many that settling on just one would be a nightmare.
Kristoff P. Bacon and Co. would be stupid. Not just because it would be only two of them, but because he wasn't a company, he was a baker. That would make him sound like a supplier for some chain restaurant like Solrockbucks or somewhere similarly inane.
Kris's Bakery was an obvious no-go. People would refer to it as Kris P. Bacon's Bakery, and then no one would take it seriously.
That family tradition of naming kids so that their nicknames would be some version of Chris was truly despicable.
Kristoff's Delivery Service- Oh, no, that would be ridiculous. He didn't intend to travel, after all. A simple life of baking for people and their Pokémon, that was what he wanted.
He shook his head and hung up the blank sign on the back wall. He'd come back to it later.
The door swung open with a loud jingle of bells hung on its frame.
"Um, excuse me, are you open?" asked a young woman with blonde hair in a blue dress and a heavy tan jacket.
An Audino followed behind her, tracing her steps and giving an empty-headed smile.
She continued, "I saw that the lights were on but no sign. I read in a magazine that my friend gave me that a bakery would be opening here."
Kristoff hadn't hung that sign up yet, quite the mistake. And a magazine? Clearly, his first customer was an enthusiast as well.
He waved his hand, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he gave a hearty smile. "We don't have ready-to-eat stock as of right now, but I'd be happy to make you our specialty."
"Specialty?" The girl tilted her head. "What's the specialty?"
He put his hand on the counter, leaning on his arm and running it through his chestnut and honey-streaked hair. A relaxed pose, one sure to bring in customers and tighten that symbiotic bond. "Well, that all depends on you. When's your birthday?"
Kristoff did not get slapped for, ahem, putting on the moves. A little bit of flirting, even very low-key, was just good customer service, or so his mother told him. He'd never been quite sure of the advice, as she'd jumped straight to being a manager at the diner his dad worked after pointing out all of the business's inefficiencies, but that's a story for another day.
His first customer, a lovely girl to be clear, clearly had a passion for baking as well, talking about how one of her friends loved her baking, but couldn't articulate what made it so good.
Kristoff completely understood, nodding along as he tossed the dough with practiced efficiency and placed it into the oven. Another wonderful thing about Foongus's yeast was that it caused bread to rise much faster than normal, lacking-in-aura yeast, and so let him serve specialty bread within forty-five minutes of the order after factoring in baking time.
Those uninitiated into the wonderful world of culinary arts could tell when something was good, but more often then not couldn't tell why. Some would say a bread was sweet or salty, but just making bread with sugar or salt wouldn't elicit those responses, it would elicit disgust.
Her friend turned out to be a cook that didn't know his way around an oven and stuck to the stovetop, which Kristoff also understood. A glass window didn't let one see the progress very well, and he'd burnt bread many years ago by trusting in that.
Naturally, he got better, because he had the talent and put in the effort to improve.
So he served the girl her bread, a small loaf of Skorupi-style yeast, and she enjoyed it. It was simple, contained basic ingredients, but in the right amounts. She thanked him for the meal, and he said that as long as she came back with friends some time, he wasn't going to charge his first customer.
From there, business exploded. The café next door had a lot of people that were tired of pastries and sugary nothings, and the Poké Mart had a lot of shoppers that wanted something better than stale bread.
It was a trickle over the first few days, of course. He hadn't advertised it as he truly believed his skills would travel well enough by word of mouth alone.
And he turned out to be correct. A mere week after opening, people were coming in with their own drinks (which Kristoff didn't sell, instead recommending different drinks for different breads and trusting the customers to make their own choices. Those that followed his advice were amazed at the contrast and complementation that a simple green tea could have with a slightly more sugary bread). His tables were almost always filled, people and Pokémon sitting across and next to each other, the larger and smaller ones eating on the mat in the corner by the entrance. He did well enough to sweep every hour, but quickly dirtied itself.
Foongus was always bouncing around with a spring in its step, amazing the children that had been brought along as it bounced around like an actual Pokéball. Entertainment was also a part of customer service, and Foongus couldn't always be making yeast.
His ovens were constantly running, his display cases constantly running low and being replenished, and his store bustling with activity.
In the culinary world, word travels fast. Whether it be rating companies or food critics, such an up and coming business was sure to make good news.
A pasty-blonde woman in field clothes and sunglasses with a camera came in one day, looking around with an inquisitive eye.
"Excuse me, would you be the manager here?" she asked him, tapping her camera without turning it on.
"I'm the owner. Best baker in Kalos, Kristoff, the one and only," he said. "Do I… I think I recognize you from somewhere."
"Uh-huh," she said. "You wouldn't be the first." She adjusted her sunglasses, showing dark green eyes.
Kristoff had a eureka moment, and if he were an Esper, perhaps a lightbulb would have appeared above his head. Considering he was not, he settled on snapping and pointing vaguely.
"You're Viola Violetta, the photographer!"
The general noise of the bakery didn't completely cancel out his exclamation, as a few customers looked up in surprise before going back to what they were doing.
Kristoff tapped the table that he used to cool ingredients, though very few sat at those tables unless they were talking with him. "Take a seat at my bar, it's an honor to serve you."
"Ah," she said, her tone a bit strange. "I'm generally recognized for being the Lumiose-3 Gym Leader or the previous Santalune Gym Leader.
"Well, that's not right. You had a contract with Alolan Living for a few years, right? I have one of those laying around somewhere, but there was an article about how Malasadas are made using a specialty style that I've incorporated into my own baking."
Viola leaned back, tapping her camera in thought. "Ah, I do remember that one," she said after a moment. "
"So, what can I get for you? Specialty? Standard?" He stopped, adding, "Well, if you could call it standard."
"I'll have your standard bread."
Kristoff took a little note on a pad filled with shorthand for specific orders.
Viola brought out her own. "Is it true that you can finish a batch within half an hour?"
Kristoff chuckled as he started tossing a glob of dough, loosening it up before adding the yeast. "I'm good at what I do, but no one is that good. Even Foongus's yeast takes some time to work." His eyes traced the dough as he tossed it up and down, folding it repeatedly. "The minimum is a little less than an hour, but most people are willing to wait."
"I see. How old are you, Mr. Bacon? A bakery is quite an endeavor for someone fresh out of Trainer School."
Kristoff stepped away for a moment to pull a batch out of the oven at Foongus's warning. As he returned, he said, "Just call me Kristoff, Mr. Bacon is my dad. I'll be turning eighteen later this year. The delay was annoying, but I think waiting for a few years gave me some time to practice."
"Certainly a positive way to look at it," she said. "I see, Kristoff, that you're using standard ingredients, aside from the yeast. Most mom-and-pop shops pride themselves on locally sourced ingredients, but you seem to be using ingredients that anyone could buy."
"I don't see a problem with it. It's really a matter of ratios rather than the exact ingredients. Foongus's yeast is a great selling point though, I'll give you that."
"Aren't you worried that your recipes will be copied?" she asked, scribbling on her notepad. "And may I take some pictures? My occupation requires it even when I'm not on the clock."
"Of course," he said off-handedly. "And I don't see a need to worry about people copying me when simply put, most people aren't me, and probably can't match up." He shrugged. "People are welcome to try, but I'd
"You're very confident in your abilities, then?"
"I'd rather overplay it and keep people's expectations high than act like I'm less of a baker than I am. People will see what they want to see, and taste what they want to taste- but can you keep that off the record? I really do appreciate my customers."
She drew a line through a note. "Sure. Since I'm not working right now and all."
"Much obliged," he said, nodding. He put a new batch of bread in the oven to start baking. "I am confident in my skills. I'm going to make the best bread Kalos has ever seen. I'll have your bread ready in a while, so feel free to come back then and pay later.
"Could I take some photos of the exterior?"
"Sure. Though, keep in mind, my lease says that I'm not allowed to modify load-bearing walls or the exterior, including paint."
"I'll put that in a footnote. Well, I would if I were working." She took a tiny piece of metal and placed it on the polished granite. It gleamed with two tiny beads of green plastic. "Hold onto this as insurance. I won't have people calling me a dine-and-dasher."
Kristoff was a refined gentleman, just like his father, and obviously didn't snort. He gave a sort of half-laugh to cover it up. "Of course."
A few orders later, a few ringing-ups of the till, and a few more people entering and leaving, Viola returned and tapped her watch.
"It's ready?"
Kristoff smirked and turned on his heel, opening the oven and pushing through the burst of hot air. He pulled the standard batch out and placed it on the heat-resistant granite, kicking the oven shut with his heel.
Whipping towards the butter dish, he scooped up a tab on the end of a knife and spread it evenly across the top with a single swipe, causing it to melt over the top instantly and giving it a savory glaze.
With the same knife, he sliced through the bread with practiced efficiency, sending a waft of steam into the air that was tinged with a hint of saltiness. The light aroma of the bakery intensified such that just smelling it was filling enough to replace an actual loaf.
He placed the two halves on a plate along with silverware and slid it across the bar.
"Your dish, mademoiselle," Kristoff said with a slight bow and a satisfied grin.
"Hm. You certainly know a thing or two about presentation," Viola said, wrapping her fingers in a napkin before tearing a chunk from the bread and popping it into her mouth.
A moment passed where Kristoff awaited her response. Was he overconfident? Absolutely. Did he have a reason to be? Well, maybe. But it's hard to live in the real world without eventually getting a reality check.
"You were right," she said, holding up a bit of bread to the overhead light, looking through the sponge-like grain. Her voice was much drier than the bread, he could tell that much. "It is certainly standard."
And it felt like the world was already crashing down around Kristoff, like his future was already being cut down off the tree of fate, like Darkrai had just interrupted a wonderful dream.
"What's that mean?" he said, holding back a growl. He'd been working for years on his technique, and she came in and just called it standard? It was anything but! He just called it standard because calling it Helix's gift to mankind wasn't exactly humble enough.
"It means what it means. It's good. Maybe a bit better than what I could buy at a grocery store."
"A bit?" he asked again, as if he hadn't heard her correctly. Grocery stores worked on efficiency, making as much as they could so they could sell as much as they could. The bread was never fresh out of the oven, it came in a plastic baggie with a colorful twist-tie. That was just… incomparable in his mind.
"You said that you use standard ingredients, and I believe you." Viola dusted off her hands, leaning back in her chair. "It's good, and I do believe you when you say that you're skilled, but you have a hard limit when you just use standard ingredients. It's like trying to make spicy food with only hot sauce."
"Well, yeah, but I'm trying to make a point. Anyone can cook, or whatever that Dedenne said."
"You style yourself as an artisan, selling bread for multiple times its value because you have good presentation and customer service, when the bread is merely. a cut above average. You don't need to make a point when it's costing the customer more than it should."
"My bread is great," he said, repressing his annoyance. "Where have you had it better?"
"With standard ingredients? Nowhere. This is certainly the best bread I've had where the baker is deliberately using less than they should. Other restaurants specialize in recipes that use cocoa or cheese. Yeast in an interesting choice but it's just not enough, unfortunately."
Viola pulled out a few Pokédollar bills and placed them next to the plate.
"It's a wonderful place you've got here, but nothing to write home about other than the gimmick. I hope I'm not coming across as rude, but I am supposed to be a critic when I'm working with food. Not that I'm working right now, of course."
"Of course," he repeated, his smile tight and stressed. "Can I get anything else for you?"
"Take some advice from me. I've been all around the world, seen all kinds of dishes." Viola pushed herself off the stool and her hair back behind her ears. "You're using tap water, table salt, and literally run-of-the-mill flour. Get some better ingredients that you won't just find at the corner store."
And with that, the Gym Leader left the store and Kristoff trembling.
"That-"
He stopped himself, taking a deep breath and sweeping back his hair. Getting mad wouldn't do anything for him. She wasn't there to make him upset, she was just giving her honest thoughts as someone with a bit of expertise.
Better ingredients. Not just the corner store? But that would mean researching what ingredients were the best, finding individual suppliers, and going all around the region to secure the deals.
Kristoff stopped, looking off into space for a brief moment.
He wasn't going to be a Gym Challenger. He wasn't a genius, and he wasn't a tactician.
Kristoff was a baker, first and foremost.
And deep down, he'd already set his mind to making the best damn bread that Kalos had ever seen.
"Foongus," he called simply.
The Pokéball-impersonating Pokémon bounced over, skipping across the tabletop like a stone before slowing and giving him a salute. Outside of his vision, it picked up the tiny badge that Viola had accidentally left behind.
"Remind me to hire a part-timer."
The buzz of the bakery was as high as ever, but it was calming in its consistency, effective in clearing the way for his thoughts.
Kristoff continued, "We're going to need someone to watch the store."
With that, here is the story of a man that bakes the bread that satisfies even the heavens.
In regions the world over, from Sinnoh to Kalos, from Kanto to Alola, from Johto to Unova, graduating from Trainer School is a momentous occasion. Under the laws of the United Regions, young men, women, and other wonderful people are certified to take on the Gym Challenge near immediately following graduation, with mere days standing the final term and the new year. Finally having learned the knowledge and gaining the practical experience with Pokémon, they are entirely prepared to set off from a year-long quest to find themselves.
And although most don't even reach a conference in their lifetime, it's not about the destination, no matter what some wannabe Champions may tell you. The journey of self-discovery, the finding of friends, the understanding that comes to one that have seen the very best that the world has to offer: Those are but a few of the results of this journey of endless possibilities.
Kristoff Pieter Bacon (By the Lord Helix, don't fully shorten his name), decided he was not in need of such a journey.
He attended a Trainer School like many others, despite his talents. In his field of expertise, he could outdo anyone in his class, perhaps even the entirety of Lumiose-3.
Kristoff was not a genius. He was not a tactician. He was not destined to be the very best, like no one ever was.
Kristoff P. Bacon was a baker.
A simple baker. A mundane baker. A baker that didn't intend to accomplish the Gym Challenge.
Kristoff was a teenage boy, which somewhat surprised everyone he'd told, since literally everyone attempted at least one gym.
But with his Foongus by his side, he knew that the world was ripe for the taking from the confines of a nook stuck in-between a coffee shop and a Poké Mart.
Naturally he had been too young to negotiate the dealings himself. Not from a lack of knowledge, of course, but from legal restrictions. What kind of self-respecting adult would do serious business with a soon-to-be eighteen year old? Very few, excepting the obvious few that happened to be Gym Leaders. Would his parents necessarily appreciate using their account information to make the deal? Well, no, but he was paying for everything anyway and they were world-class cooks who gave even Alolan Trial Captains (Which surprisingly to anyone without a shred of knowledge about ethnic cooking, made very good stew) a run for their money. Naturally, they had better things to do.
As the graduation ceremony ended on a late December day, the sun beginning to set on the horizon, and his classmates throwing their hats into the air, Kristoff whipped out his Holo Caster.
"It's time," he said ominously, turning so that his face was shadowed by the sun behind him.
"Who is this? And what's that racket?" The old man's hologram looked around in confusion, showing as much detail as a blue projection of light could without requiring half of the Amazons to be burned as fuel.
Kristoff then turned around again, showing his face.
"Oh, it's you. Caller ID didn't show up before I answered."
"I'm the second most important contact in your list, Dad."
"I'm a busy man. What were you saying?" He still spoke gruffly, contrasting with the image of a well-groomed gentleman that was required for such a well-known cook. Christopher P. Bacon (And yes, you may shorten his name) was a professional and professionals had standards.
"It's time," he said again, leaning into the Holo Caster. "Can you send the confirmation to the landlord so I can start setting up shop?"
See, the thing about using the identity of a world-class chef is that in certain circles, word gets around. A single word from the landlord to his husband about their new renter, from his husband to his friend who happened to read Alolan Living and recognized the name, and suddenly it was a huge deal that the Bacon family was opening a bakery of all things. Why, they were cooks, not low-class bakers. Where was the subtlety? One wrong spice in a dish of Kingler and the whole thing goes in the trash. You could completely ruin a batch of bread and people would still find a way to enjoy it.
So word got around, his dad found out about it, his mother was both proud and angry at his delayed streak of independence, and eventually the negotiations were taken out of his hands with only a little input on his end from that point forward.
"Ah, you're going through with that? I figured that the graduation speech would make you change your mind?"
"Did yours?"
"Hey, back in my day, we didn't have Trainer Schools out in the country. But I'll say for certain I couldn't be happier to have been the cook the day that your mother came in and screamed at my manager for not paying me enough for such delicious food."
"Blech. So… Can you get that done soon, please?"
"What's the rush? You've got until New Year's Day."
Kristoff sighed, tapping his foot as the seats around him started clearing out. Other people had celebrations to get to. He had preparations.
"Sooner I get moved in, the earlier I can start prepping. Slow and steady wins the race-"
"If the Bunnelby starts last-minute," his dad said, finishing the family adage, before giving a rough sigh. "Right, I'll send it off now." His voice became tinged with disappointment. "I was hoping to make the confirmation letter your present for the holidays."
"I'm not one for surprises, you know that. I still appreciate it even if there's no anticipation. It's valuable either way, and I know it's coming either way."
"Try telling that to your girlfriend." His father chuckled. "Eh, Kris? Eh? Anyone yet?"
"I make bread, Dad." Kristoff rolled his eyes. "I could care less about that right now."
"See, if you were a cook, that wouldn't be a problem. Ladies love a man who knows his way around taste buds if you know what I'm saying."
"Bye, Dad. Love you, I'll talk to you later."
"Ah, fine. Don't give an old man the time of-"
Kristoff tapped the 'End Call?' button on his Holo Caster, standing at the center of an empty auditorium with the exception of janitors moving through the upper seating.
On his Pokéball belt, there were only two Pokéballs, and one of them was a false one. Sticking itself to the internal loop with its was Foongus, taking a nap and storing up energy as it often did. Its cap was red on the top half, white on the bottom, and bisected by a black line with a white dot in the very middle. It laid on its tiny back, meaning that to a casual observer it would appear his Pokéball was upside down. The other Pokéball, obviously, was connected to the false one, which was his partner.
It was in no ways a normal starter Pokémon. Most families raised a weaker Normal-type alongside their children to acclimate them to Pokémon before they found or met a partner Pokémon of their own. Some were just lucky enough to receive Pokémon from a regional Professor. He'd heard about the second case, in fact. Keeping his ear to the ground for any news about the cutthroat world of fine dining didn't mean participating in gossip, but he'd heard that FLARE Rangers, essentially specialized Pokémon Rangers that dealt with aura-users and strange Pokémon, had turned out to be students and received starters from Professor Sycamore.
Kristoff knew of Professor Sycamore from gossip as well, but also from tabloid articles where the flamboyant man was seen leaving some of the finest restaurants in the world with a woman on each arm. Repeatedly. And Kristoff was only interested in the articles, just to be clear.
All in all, Foongus was an odd choice for the developing artisan. A Grass-Poison-type was not a highly ranked pick for children, alongside the types with names too difficult for said children to spell. Poison, obviously, was dangerous. But in Foongus's case, it wasn't. That's a story for later, however.
Kristoff tapped the false ball on his belt, causing his fungal partner to snap awake.
"Let's get to work, Foongus."
Kristoff was an efficient sort of fellow, but he was not the sort that would obstruct basic niceties of composition in order to be so.
As in-between as the bakery itself was to the café and the Poké Mart, the interior was intended to also be in-between rustic and modern. He couldn't do much about the dull gray walls, at least not according to the current contract, but he could make some additions.
He'd taken pictures of the venue before having the Machoke Moving Company (The M2C, as it was commonly referred to) bring in his equipment. Common sense dictated he not leave any room to be screwed over by technicalities.
The walls were quickly covered in paintings, false windows, mirrors, splotches of colored canvas, whatever he could scrounge from garage sales. Most of them were neutral colors around the edge, which eased the brighter contrast in the center. The front counter was on wheels, made of wood and would double as a display for non-perishables in the future. A plastic-lined display case that would show his standard (If you could call them that) batches of bread.
The tables were dark brown wood, matching his work table though it was made of minerals and set higher up. The chairs were made of black plastic, and the ones next to his work table were taller, giving it the appearance of a bar.
He had two pieces that he was exceptionally proud of, as he'd (socially or physically) engineered them himself. One took years of effort and trial and error, and the other took a few hours.
No one said either was his magnum opus.
An eighteen box (or twelve box, depending on the customer) system for his yeast sources that would dramatically shift the taste of the bread while not taking away from its quality.
Now, the question then would be, how did one manage to get a whopping eighteen different varieties of something that usually came in uniform packets at the convenience store?
A deliciously simple answer came in Foongus.
Kristoff ran his finger over the boxes, looking at each one of his bread starters. He'd made them all the night before so as to not be in a rush the following day, but one seemed to not have come up to snuff.
"Foongus, can you make a quick batch of Wishiwashi yeast?"
And as a performer would say, this is where the magic happens.
Foongus stood on the front counter, the table that separated his side of the store which was exclusively for baking from the other side, which led to seating and the exit. With its stubby little arms it gave the best salute that it could, before jumping towards him and landing on the polished granite table.
Naturally, the yeast wasn't made of literal Wishiwashi.
In the Pokémon world, a common pastime going back decades was identifying the star sign of a person's birthday and giving them advice and fortunes based on such. Pokéastrology wasn't something Kristoff believed in, but a lot of Trainers his age sure did.
He was by no means a tactician or a genius, but he figured that serving people personalized batches of bread would increase sales by reinforcing the bond between the customer and the baker, like they had shared a great secret.
Still, it was just their birthday, but he'd read psych books in his spare time. If you made someone feel special, they liked what made them feel special more. It's the same psychology behind Pokémon Cafes, the ones where tiny Pokémon would just run around and mingle with customers.
Foongus placed itself in a plastic container, a foot tall and two-thirds that wide. The top was popped off when not in use, meaning that Kristoff could set off immediately to work.
Pokémon were truly magnificent creatures. Yeast, natural yeast, the kind that didn't have any aura, was slow at its job; eating flour and water to create more of itself, eventually to be used as a catalyst for making bread rise.
It was peanuts to Diantha's Gardevoir or a Mega-Evolved Pokémon, but what Foongus could do was more than enough.
Kristoff measured out a precise amount of flour and water. You'd be surprised by how much difference the exact composition of the bread starter could make. There were hundreds of different results if one hadn't a clue, but Kristoff did; and he only needed eighteen.
Some Pokéastrology signs coincided with personality types. The source of those types was a popular online quiz that people would take so they could list more things on their social media biographies. But, alas, there were eighteen of them. Luckily for him, no one had introduced dual-types into the equation.
Kristoff sealed the container shut, not enough so to cut off the air, but just enough to keep any flying particles inside.
Foongus looked a bit silly covered in flour and drenched in water, but as it took a breath, that silliness turned into Kristoff's glee, for he never truly got tired of baking, even if his father said that he'd get sick of it if he did it for long enough.
Foongus absorbed all of the flour and water, bulging at its stomach even though it was made of squishy fungus. Yeast, scientifically, is also categorized as a fungus.
Electric-types can learn Grass-type moves, Pokémon can levitate while walking on the ground. It's truly nothing strange that a fungus can create more fungus, even if it is slightly different.
A minute later, in an explosion of light brown dust, Foongus returned to normal size, saluting as the finished yeast settled around it.
"Great job, Foongus." Kristoff popped the top off and dropped Foongus in the hand-washing sink before picking up the container and emptying it into the storage box.
Foongus jumped up, kicking at the sink's handle, before it started miming like it was showering under the spray.
Kristoff laid out a paper towel for his partner before moving to the last thing to set up, the second thing he was most proud of.
The wonderful thing about working with flour for hours on end is that one tends to figure out exactly what consistency is considered just goopy enough to be used as paper mâché.
A cardboard sign covered in dusty old articles of some of Kristoff's favorite recipes that he'd memorized and inscribed into his heart and soul. As he placed each one upon it, he made a promise, a private one.
It was still a paper mâché.
Foongus bounced over half a minute later, dry and holding the rolled up paper towel around its neck like a towel.
Kristoff blanked on the name of his bakery. Really quite embarrassing for someone who'd been preparing for literally three years (and then some, most likely, but he couldn't remember well enough to be certain).
It wasn't that he had no ideas, it was that he had so many that settling on just one would be a nightmare.
Kristoff P. Bacon and Co. would be stupid. Not just because it would be only two of them, but because he wasn't a company, he was a baker. That would make him sound like a supplier for some chain restaurant like Solrockbucks or somewhere similarly inane.
Kris's Bakery was an obvious no-go. People would refer to it as Kris P. Bacon's Bakery, and then no one would take it seriously.
That family tradition of naming kids so that their nicknames would be some version of Chris was truly despicable.
Kristoff's Delivery Service- Oh, no, that would be ridiculous. He didn't intend to travel, after all. A simple life of baking for people and their Pokémon, that was what he wanted.
He shook his head and hung up the blank sign on the back wall. He'd come back to it later.
The door swung open with a loud jingle of bells hung on its frame.
"Um, excuse me, are you open?" asked a young woman with blonde hair in a blue dress and a heavy tan jacket.
An Audino followed behind her, tracing her steps and giving an empty-headed smile.
She continued, "I saw that the lights were on but no sign. I read in a magazine that my friend gave me that a bakery would be opening here."
Kristoff hadn't hung that sign up yet, quite the mistake. And a magazine? Clearly, his first customer was an enthusiast as well.
He waved his hand, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he gave a hearty smile. "We don't have ready-to-eat stock as of right now, but I'd be happy to make you our specialty."
"Specialty?" The girl tilted her head. "What's the specialty?"
He put his hand on the counter, leaning on his arm and running it through his chestnut and honey-streaked hair. A relaxed pose, one sure to bring in customers and tighten that symbiotic bond. "Well, that all depends on you. When's your birthday?"
Kristoff did not get slapped for, ahem, putting on the moves. A little bit of flirting, even very low-key, was just good customer service, or so his mother told him. He'd never been quite sure of the advice, as she'd jumped straight to being a manager at the diner his dad worked after pointing out all of the business's inefficiencies, but that's a story for another day.
His first customer, a lovely girl to be clear, clearly had a passion for baking as well, talking about how one of her friends loved her baking, but couldn't articulate what made it so good.
Kristoff completely understood, nodding along as he tossed the dough with practiced efficiency and placed it into the oven. Another wonderful thing about Foongus's yeast was that it caused bread to rise much faster than normal, lacking-in-aura yeast, and so let him serve specialty bread within forty-five minutes of the order after factoring in baking time.
Those uninitiated into the wonderful world of culinary arts could tell when something was good, but more often then not couldn't tell why. Some would say a bread was sweet or salty, but just making bread with sugar or salt wouldn't elicit those responses, it would elicit disgust.
Her friend turned out to be a cook that didn't know his way around an oven and stuck to the stovetop, which Kristoff also understood. A glass window didn't let one see the progress very well, and he'd burnt bread many years ago by trusting in that.
Naturally, he got better, because he had the talent and put in the effort to improve.
So he served the girl her bread, a small loaf of Skorupi-style yeast, and she enjoyed it. It was simple, contained basic ingredients, but in the right amounts. She thanked him for the meal, and he said that as long as she came back with friends some time, he wasn't going to charge his first customer.
From there, business exploded. The café next door had a lot of people that were tired of pastries and sugary nothings, and the Poké Mart had a lot of shoppers that wanted something better than stale bread.
It was a trickle over the first few days, of course. He hadn't advertised it as he truly believed his skills would travel well enough by word of mouth alone.
And he turned out to be correct. A mere week after opening, people were coming in with their own drinks (which Kristoff didn't sell, instead recommending different drinks for different breads and trusting the customers to make their own choices. Those that followed his advice were amazed at the contrast and complementation that a simple green tea could have with a slightly more sugary bread). His tables were almost always filled, people and Pokémon sitting across and next to each other, the larger and smaller ones eating on the mat in the corner by the entrance. He did well enough to sweep every hour, but quickly dirtied itself.
Foongus was always bouncing around with a spring in its step, amazing the children that had been brought along as it bounced around like an actual Pokéball. Entertainment was also a part of customer service, and Foongus couldn't always be making yeast.
His ovens were constantly running, his display cases constantly running low and being replenished, and his store bustling with activity.
In the culinary world, word travels fast. Whether it be rating companies or food critics, such an up and coming business was sure to make good news.
A pasty-blonde woman in field clothes and sunglasses with a camera came in one day, looking around with an inquisitive eye.
"Excuse me, would you be the manager here?" she asked him, tapping her camera without turning it on.
"I'm the owner. Best baker in Kalos, Kristoff, the one and only," he said. "Do I… I think I recognize you from somewhere."
"Uh-huh," she said. "You wouldn't be the first." She adjusted her sunglasses, showing dark green eyes.
Kristoff had a eureka moment, and if he were an Esper, perhaps a lightbulb would have appeared above his head. Considering he was not, he settled on snapping and pointing vaguely.
"You're Viola Violetta, the photographer!"
The general noise of the bakery didn't completely cancel out his exclamation, as a few customers looked up in surprise before going back to what they were doing.
Kristoff tapped the table that he used to cool ingredients, though very few sat at those tables unless they were talking with him. "Take a seat at my bar, it's an honor to serve you."
"Ah," she said, her tone a bit strange. "I'm generally recognized for being the Lumiose-3 Gym Leader or the previous Santalune Gym Leader.
"Well, that's not right. You had a contract with Alolan Living for a few years, right? I have one of those laying around somewhere, but there was an article about how Malasadas are made using a specialty style that I've incorporated into my own baking."
Viola leaned back, tapping her camera in thought. "Ah, I do remember that one," she said after a moment. "
"So, what can I get for you? Specialty? Standard?" He stopped, adding, "Well, if you could call it standard."
"I'll have your standard bread."
Kristoff took a little note on a pad filled with shorthand for specific orders.
Viola brought out her own. "Is it true that you can finish a batch within half an hour?"
Kristoff chuckled as he started tossing a glob of dough, loosening it up before adding the yeast. "I'm good at what I do, but no one is that good. Even Foongus's yeast takes some time to work." His eyes traced the dough as he tossed it up and down, folding it repeatedly. "The minimum is a little less than an hour, but most people are willing to wait."
"I see. How old are you, Mr. Bacon? A bakery is quite an endeavor for someone fresh out of Trainer School."
Kristoff stepped away for a moment to pull a batch out of the oven at Foongus's warning. As he returned, he said, "Just call me Kristoff, Mr. Bacon is my dad. I'll be turning eighteen later this year. The delay was annoying, but I think waiting for a few years gave me some time to practice."
"Certainly a positive way to look at it," she said. "I see, Kristoff, that you're using standard ingredients, aside from the yeast. Most mom-and-pop shops pride themselves on locally sourced ingredients, but you seem to be using ingredients that anyone could buy."
"I don't see a problem with it. It's really a matter of ratios rather than the exact ingredients. Foongus's yeast is a great selling point though, I'll give you that."
"Aren't you worried that your recipes will be copied?" she asked, scribbling on her notepad. "And may I take some pictures? My occupation requires it even when I'm not on the clock."
"Of course," he said off-handedly. "And I don't see a need to worry about people copying me when simply put, most people aren't me, and probably can't match up." He shrugged. "People are welcome to try, but I'd
"You're very confident in your abilities, then?"
"I'd rather overplay it and keep people's expectations high than act like I'm less of a baker than I am. People will see what they want to see, and taste what they want to taste- but can you keep that off the record? I really do appreciate my customers."
She drew a line through a note. "Sure. Since I'm not working right now and all."
"Much obliged," he said, nodding. He put a new batch of bread in the oven to start baking. "I am confident in my skills. I'm going to make the best bread Kalos has ever seen. I'll have your bread ready in a while, so feel free to come back then and pay later.
"Could I take some photos of the exterior?"
"Sure. Though, keep in mind, my lease says that I'm not allowed to modify load-bearing walls or the exterior, including paint."
"I'll put that in a footnote. Well, I would if I were working." She took a tiny piece of metal and placed it on the polished granite. It gleamed with two tiny beads of green plastic. "Hold onto this as insurance. I won't have people calling me a dine-and-dasher."
Kristoff was a refined gentleman, just like his father, and obviously didn't snort. He gave a sort of half-laugh to cover it up. "Of course."
A few orders later, a few ringing-ups of the till, and a few more people entering and leaving, Viola returned and tapped her watch.
"It's ready?"
Kristoff smirked and turned on his heel, opening the oven and pushing through the burst of hot air. He pulled the standard batch out and placed it on the heat-resistant granite, kicking the oven shut with his heel.
Whipping towards the butter dish, he scooped up a tab on the end of a knife and spread it evenly across the top with a single swipe, causing it to melt over the top instantly and giving it a savory glaze.
With the same knife, he sliced through the bread with practiced efficiency, sending a waft of steam into the air that was tinged with a hint of saltiness. The light aroma of the bakery intensified such that just smelling it was filling enough to replace an actual loaf.
He placed the two halves on a plate along with silverware and slid it across the bar.
"Your dish, mademoiselle," Kristoff said with a slight bow and a satisfied grin.
"Hm. You certainly know a thing or two about presentation," Viola said, wrapping her fingers in a napkin before tearing a chunk from the bread and popping it into her mouth.
A moment passed where Kristoff awaited her response. Was he overconfident? Absolutely. Did he have a reason to be? Well, maybe. But it's hard to live in the real world without eventually getting a reality check.
"You were right," she said, holding up a bit of bread to the overhead light, looking through the sponge-like grain. Her voice was much drier than the bread, he could tell that much. "It is certainly standard."
And it felt like the world was already crashing down around Kristoff, like his future was already being cut down off the tree of fate, like Darkrai had just interrupted a wonderful dream.
"What's that mean?" he said, holding back a growl. He'd been working for years on his technique, and she came in and just called it standard? It was anything but! He just called it standard because calling it Helix's gift to mankind wasn't exactly humble enough.
"It means what it means. It's good. Maybe a bit better than what I could buy at a grocery store."
"A bit?" he asked again, as if he hadn't heard her correctly. Grocery stores worked on efficiency, making as much as they could so they could sell as much as they could. The bread was never fresh out of the oven, it came in a plastic baggie with a colorful twist-tie. That was just… incomparable in his mind.
"You said that you use standard ingredients, and I believe you." Viola dusted off her hands, leaning back in her chair. "It's good, and I do believe you when you say that you're skilled, but you have a hard limit when you just use standard ingredients. It's like trying to make spicy food with only hot sauce."
"Well, yeah, but I'm trying to make a point. Anyone can cook, or whatever that Dedenne said."
"You style yourself as an artisan, selling bread for multiple times its value because you have good presentation and customer service, when the bread is merely. a cut above average. You don't need to make a point when it's costing the customer more than it should."
"My bread is great," he said, repressing his annoyance. "Where have you had it better?"
"With standard ingredients? Nowhere. This is certainly the best bread I've had where the baker is deliberately using less than they should. Other restaurants specialize in recipes that use cocoa or cheese. Yeast in an interesting choice but it's just not enough, unfortunately."
Viola pulled out a few Pokédollar bills and placed them next to the plate.
"It's a wonderful place you've got here, but nothing to write home about other than the gimmick. I hope I'm not coming across as rude, but I am supposed to be a critic when I'm working with food. Not that I'm working right now, of course."
"Of course," he repeated, his smile tight and stressed. "Can I get anything else for you?"
"Take some advice from me. I've been all around the world, seen all kinds of dishes." Viola pushed herself off the stool and her hair back behind her ears. "You're using tap water, table salt, and literally run-of-the-mill flour. Get some better ingredients that you won't just find at the corner store."
And with that, the Gym Leader left the store and Kristoff trembling.
"That-"
He stopped himself, taking a deep breath and sweeping back his hair. Getting mad wouldn't do anything for him. She wasn't there to make him upset, she was just giving her honest thoughts as someone with a bit of expertise.
Better ingredients. Not just the corner store? But that would mean researching what ingredients were the best, finding individual suppliers, and going all around the region to secure the deals.
Kristoff stopped, looking off into space for a brief moment.
He wasn't going to be a Gym Challenger. He wasn't a genius, and he wasn't a tactician.
Kristoff was a baker, first and foremost.
And deep down, he'd already set his mind to making the best damn bread that Kalos had ever seen.
"Foongus," he called simply.
The Pokéball-impersonating Pokémon bounced over, skipping across the tabletop like a stone before slowing and giving him a salute. Outside of his vision, it picked up the tiny badge that Viola had accidentally left behind.
"Remind me to hire a part-timer."
The buzz of the bakery was as high as ever, but it was calming in its consistency, effective in clearing the way for his thoughts.
Kristoff continued, "We're going to need someone to watch the store."