This page contains potentially sensitive content.
Use caution if you are sensitive to any of the following:
- Violence against Red. Trainer character death
- Red gets tortured.
- Physical abuse against Red
I hate him.
I always have.
Ever since we were kids, it was always him.
Red.
Red, with his blank, stupid face.
He never smiled. He never laughed. He just… existed.
And somehow, the world adored him for it.
My own sister, Daisy, always asked about him. Never me.
"Red stopped by earlier. He seemed well."
My grandfather, Professor Oak, praised him endlessly.
"That Red… he's a natural."
"A real prodigy."
I was supposed to be the prodigy.
I trained harder. I pushed further. I bled for every victory. I dreamed of becoming Champion.
But when I got there—when I finally stood at the top of the mountain… there he was. Waiting. Silent.
And then, like it meant nothing, he took it from me.
My Pokémon, too… they used to fight for me with fire in their eyes. Now, when they looked at him, they looked like they were looking at a god.
Why?
Why him?
I stalked him for weeks after my fall.
I watched him roam Kanto like he owned it. Pikachu at his side, silent as ever. Not a care in the world.
No fear. No pride. No joy. Nothing.
And that nothingness… it gnawed at me.
It burned.
He wasn’t even proud of what he’d done.
Not proud of stealing my place.
Not proud of stealing my legacy.
So I made up my mind.
If I couldn’t have the glory, I’d destroy the one who stole it from me.
It wasn’t hard to set the trap.
A note, the same as Daisy’s handwriting:
"Meet me at Pokémon Tower at midnight. I need you."
Of course he came.
Of course.
Silent, expressionless.
Just like always.
As he stepped inside the tower, shadow swallowing him whole, I struck.
A dart to the neck—just enough to weaken him.
He staggered but never flinched. He didn’t cry out, didn’t even frown.
His eyes met mine. Blank. Empty.
Not fear. Not anger. Not confusion.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Now he’s here.
Bound to the rusted frame of an old gravestone.
Pikachu is limp at his feet, breathing but unconscious.
I pace in front of him, heart pounding, fists clenched.
I need him to feel something. Anything.
“You think you’re better than me?” I growl, pacing closer.
He stares at me.
Unblinking.
Emotionless.
"You took everything from me."
Still, no reaction.
Not even as I draw the blade across his cheek, drawing a line of red across his pale skin.
His eyes follow the blade. Calm. Unafraid.
No fear.
No pain.
No satisfaction.
My teeth grind together.
"Scream," I hiss.
"Beg. Do something."
Nothing.
The blood trickles down his face, and he watches me like I’m a stranger passing in the street.
Why won’t he scream?
I cut deeper. Again and again.
Nothing.
I shout until my throat burns.
I lash out, fists pounding into him.
Nothing.
My mind unravels with every passing second.
"Why won’t you fight back?"
"Why won’t you hate me?"
He blinks once, slowly.
Silence.
Hours pass, but time has no meaning anymore.
I don’t even know if the sun still rises over Kanto.
There’s just me… and him.
His body is broken, bleeding, but his eyes never change.
Unshaken. Untouched.
I drop the blade. My hands tremble.
"You win," I whisper.
"You always win."
And for the first time, his eyes close.
Not in pain. Not in surrender.
But in apathy.
As if none of this ever mattered.
As if I never mattered.