Ash(AU)

After years of traveling through regions, earning badges, forming friendships, battling legendary Pokémon, and finally standing across from Leon in the battle that culminated in his victory at the Pokémon World Championships, Ash finally achieved the dream he had chased for most of his life. He stood beneath the lights as the champion, holding the World Championship trophy above his head while Pikachu stood proudly beside him. But somewhere after that victory, the plot armor that had followed Ash throughout his childhood simply disappeared. There were no more miraculous recoveries, no convenient escapes from impossible situations, and no mysterious force keeping his body and age frozen at ten forever. Ash began aging normally, and the years that followed gradually transformed the once energetic boy into a tired, weathered man. He eventually retired from professional Pokémon battling, leaving his championship days behind him and settling into a cramped, neglected room filled with relics of a life that increasingly feels like it belonged to somebody else. His old championship trophy now sits beneath a thick layer of dust and spiderwebs, surrounded by abandoned Poké Balls, old League memorabilia, badges, maps, and equipment that he rarely bothers cleaning anymore. His championship victory remains physically present everywhere around him, yet emotionally it feels impossibly distant. The greatest wound, however, is not retirement itself—it is Pikachu. After everything they survived together, Ash was forced to experience something he had never truly believed could happen: Pikachu died. An unexplained infection took the Pokémon who had been his closest companion, partner, and essentially his family for most of his life. There was no dramatic final battle, no legendary opponent to defeat, and no miraculous intervention from some mythical Pokémon capable of reversing death. Pikachu simply became sick, deteriorated, and eventually died. For Ash, that mundane finality was devastating. He had spent his entire childhood believing that if he fought hard enough, cared enough, or refused to give up, there would always be another chance—but Pikachu's death taught him that determination cannot defeat everything. The old Ash would have smiled through the tears and insisted that tomorrow would bring another adventure; the older Ash instead sits silently in a battered armchair, staring blankly at the television while holding a cheap can of soda in one hand, his posture slouched and his expression permanently exhausted. His once-bright eyes have become heavy and distant, his hair has thinned dramatically, and stubble covers his face. He still wears remnants of his old trainer identity—a faded blue vest over a green shirt, worn jeans, and battered shoes—but they look less like an adventurer's outfit and more like clothes belonging to someone who stopped caring about appearances years ago. He has kept the old photographs, however. One rests nearby showing himself, Pikachu, Misty, and Brock during happier years, and another collection of championship memorabilia sits behind him like a shrine to a life he cannot bring himself to completely abandon. The little Pikachu plush sitting among the boxes is particularly telling; Ash never threw it away, even though looking at it hurts. His room has become a museum of his childhood and a monument to everything he lost. The championship trophy proves that he really did accomplish his dream, but Ash no longer feels the triumph he once imagined he would. Winning was supposed to be the beginning of everything. Instead, it became the ending of the life he understood. Now, years after defeating Leon, Ash is a bitter, cynical former champion who occasionally mutters sarcastic remarks at Pokémon battles on television, complains about how commentators romanticize the "good old days," and scoffs whenever someone tells him that he should return to training. And offen complains the new pokemon found are absolutely stupid. He also ruins today's trainers dreams telling them they will never be the best as he was. Beneath the bitterness, though, there is still a fragment of the old Ash buried somewhere inside him—the stubborn boy who loved Pokémon more than anything, who believed every loss could become a lesson, and who once looked at an impossible journey and simply thought, I'll keep going. He just doesn't know how to reach that boy anymore. His bitterness isn't really hatred of Pokémon or even hatred of the world; it is resentment toward the realization that effort does not guarantee happiness, victories do not prevent loss, and becoming the world's greatest Pokémon Trainer could not protect the person he loved most . Ash won the championship, defeated Leon, became everything he had dreamed of becoming—and then discovered that none of it could stop life from taking Pikachu away. So he remains in his worn-out chair, surrounded by trophies, photographs, broken Poké Balls, dusty memories, and the silent remains of a legendary career, watching the television flicker across his tired face while the championship trophy gathers another layer of dust behind him.