The crowd’s roar seemed to fade into the background as Dawn stared at the auburn-haired boy, her heart pounding. His words echoed in her mind, filling her with a warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Diamond,” she whispered to herself, her trembling hand brushing over her face. The weight of her memories still pressed down, but his voice, his encouragement, gave her a spark of clarity.

“Dawn, are you okay?” Ash called from nearby, his voice laced with concern.

Dawn slowly stood, her legs shaky but determined. She dusted off her skirt and turned to the boy in the stands, her cheeks still tinted pink. “Thanks,” she mouthed, her smile growing wider.

The boy—Kenny—nodded, his blush deepening. “I believe in you,” he said softly, though it was drowned out by the continued cheers from the crowd.

Misty nudged Ash with a smirk. “Is it just me, or did this just get interesting?”

“I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m rooting for her,” Brock added, crossing his arms.

Dawn closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. You’ve got this. It’s just like Kenny said. Forget the past. Focus on the moment. When she opened them again, her usual spark was back. She raised her head high, the determination in her blue eyes silencing the crowd.

“Alright!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the noise. “Let’s finish this!”

The arena seemed to hold its breath as Dawn grabbed her Poké Ball. Her Piplup, sensing her renewed energy, stood by her side, puffing out its chest with pride. The opposing trainer looked visibly shaken by her sudden surge of confidence.

“Kenny,” Dawn muttered under her breath, “don’t think for a second I’ll forget this.”

In the stands, Kenny scratched the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. “She’s gonna make fun of me for that later, isn’t she?”

“Absolutely,” Ash and Misty said in unison.

With a flick of her wrist, Dawn tossed her Poké Ball high into the air. “Let’s show them what we’re made of, Piplup!”

As the battle resumed, the crowd cheered louder than ever, but Dawn only had one person on her mind. Every move, every step forward, was powered by the belief someone had in her—even if it came from a boy in the stands, dressed like a prince, with a blush that mirrored her own.

And maybe, just maybe, one of those “D’s” stood for something else.