Smeargle painted with intense focus, the brush at the tip of its tail moving swiftly across the paper. Every stroke was clean and decisive, without the slightest hesitation.
At times, it raised its head to look in Gardevoir's direction; at others, it lowered its head again and added a few more strokes to the page.
In its brown eyes gleamed a pure persistence and love for painting.
The middle-aged man in the beret followed Smeargle's gaze and noticed Xinhai's group.
His gaze lingered on Xinhai for a moment before falling on Gardevoir, then returning to Smeargle's drawing board. The smile at the corners of his mouth deepened.
"I see," he said softly, his voice carrying understanding. "No wonder you suddenly started painting."
Once Smeargle had finished, he gave Xinhai a slight nod, then strode over at an unhurried pace.
Smeargle followed behind him, though its gaze never left Gardevoir. The brush at the end of its tail swayed gently through the air.
Xinhai stood where he was, watching the man and Pokémon approach.
The middle-aged man stopped about two meters from Xinhai.
He removed his beret and, together with Smeargle, gave Xinhai and Gardevoir a slight bow.
His movements carried an old-fashioned elegance, unhurried and perfectly measured—neither overly humble nor arrogant.
Then he straightened, his gaze resting on Gardevoir for a moment before finally settling on Xinhai.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your appreciation of the paintings." His voice was low and gentle, with a hoarse texture that seemed weathered by time.
"My Smeargle painted your Pokémon without asking your permission. As its Trainer, I apologize to both you and your Pokémon."
As he spoke, he gave another slight bow, his manner sincere and natural.
Smeargle stood at his feet and imitated its owner's gesture with a small bow. Its large