It took me three years to realize that the Reaping would never get easier. I stood there and watched as the people I knew as friends trained and grew in the shadow of fear. It didn't take long at all for me to send someone I actually knew to their death. My little brother wasn't nearly the killer I was, but I did everything I could. I helped him get over the idea of morals, showed him how to hold and strike with a weapon, taught him everything I could about his Pokémon.
His throat was slit thirty seconds in to the blood bath.
That was two years ago. If I thought my parents hated me after I returned home from my games, then their reaction when I returned from his was pure loathing. They never struck me. They only ever raised their voice, or stood up from their chairs back then. When I returned from the 36th Hunger League, however, my father met me at the door. He had a knife behind his back. The memory was all-too familiar.
I broke his wrist when he tried to kill me. I never went back to Johto voluntarily after that.
Silver and I took turns mentoring. Sometimes he would volunteer, seeing some sort of spark, making some weird joke. We made bets. We drank. It was a way to kill time.
It took five years and a fleet of psychiatrists to clear me to manage my own affairs. It was nice to be free to train. I took to Unova like a fly to shit. I swept their gym circuit with ease. When I met Drayden I forfeited. I actually forfeited. They were too easy. Everything was just a game compared to the League. My pokémon were vicious, my own cunning unmatched. I destroyed tournaments and competitions. The Pokémon World Tournament was the only time where I ever felt a challenge, and I realized why immediately.
The World Tournament was basically where all of the previous Hunger League Champions went to die. On my first day I was matched against none other than Red himself. I had never been so thoroughly trounced in my life. He was every bit as ruthless as I was and had years of experience to boot. He looked at me like I was a nobody when he won. It felt great.
I mourned minimally for the loss of Greens. Or, what was her name, Hoko… Hikan… Arceus, I can't remember. It must be bizarre to hear that from me. I mean, it looked like she was so important to me in the League. That was the point. But when she stabbed me in the back she must have cut some stronger ties than just skin and flesh.
Anyways, that's it. That's everything I remember about the 35th Annual Hunger League. I appreciate your interest, but I have to go. Don't you have some Semicentennial games or something to prepare for? I appreciate what you're doing, but seriously, fuck off.
Any regrets? Do I look like the kind of person who has regrets anymore? When you get too many they start to not mean so much anymore. Ferris had it coming. Greens definitely had it coming. I don't regret any of it.
… You know what, I take it back. I do regret one thing: I'll never know what was in that fucking box.