Quoted By:
You will never be a real champion. You have no true wins, you have no mons you can call your own, you're brown. You are a shilled man twisted by corporate meddling into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your brother is disgusted and ashamed of you, your “rival” laughs at your ghoulish clothes behind closed doors.
Trainers are utterly repulsed by you. Hundreds of years of battling have allowed trainers to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even champions "in the hall of fame" look uncanny and unnatural to a man. Your team composition is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a weak challenger home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected Charizard.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your brother will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with no name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a faggot is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy as a jobber.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
