--Statistics--
| Speed | ***** |
| Strength | *** |
| Technique | ***** |
| Vitality | *** |
| Endurance | **** |
Name Pronounced: Sa-toe-she
Age: 12 but insists he's at least 14
Birthday: July 7
Height: 5’3”
Weight: 109 lb
Nationality: Japanese
What?: Human
Pocket Monster Representative: Cool Flygon
Instrument: Drums, Trumpet
Weapon: Chiisai Tora ("Little Tiger") Sword; pocket monsters
Favorite Color: Lime green
Likes: Pocket monsters; fighting; riceballs; icecream; soysauce; just food for that matter; sleeping; playing video games
Hates: Rocket Gang or anyone who mistreats pocketmonsters; school
Dreads Above All: The thought of a friend dying
Most Valuable: A picture he has a him and his adopted parents
Friends: Uranusu, Musashi, Karen, Puella, Catboy (?), Zhen, Misio, Dororo, Shigeru
General Outlook: *Eiji victory pose* I'm #1!
Dreams: To be like his sensei, Eiji Shinjo; to be like Lance and Drake, great pocket monster trainers
Phobia: Girls
Favorite Food: Anything
Nitpicky Nitpicks:
—Outfit: Black T-Shirt; blue jeans; fingerless gloves; red "Pokemon" expo cap; red and white jacket
Appearance: Very cute looking boyish face; huge hazel eyes; spiky jet-black hair; a sense of innocence and cluelessness about him; usually happy and chipper; always afraid of girls; very immature.
Important Distinction: There are two Satoshi's: one who knows Misio, and the other who doesn't. One who is actually 15 and a bigheaded, obstinate, overconfident jerk who is rarely nice and one who is still happy and young.
Had Not the Things that Happened Happened: In the previous case, he would have not committed suicide and remained a happy young kid. He would have gone on traveling the world and would have returned to Eiji, life as usual—but he met TEAM first.
~~~
History: Sato-kun was born in Aizu to a rather irresponsible young mother. Without much help from her and with no father around, he struggled through school and became lazy and sloppy with his work. He would spend the day sitting in a desk, staring at the teacher, Ronron, (funny name, he thought), his mind miles away. He didn’t want to ‘waste’ time learning, he’d rather be training pocket monsters or training himself to become a warrior. He would daydream his way through the class until he finally noticed it was his turn to answer a question.
There was one nice girl in school, really cute and—Satoshi doesn’t want to talk about that right now.
Skipping school one day, he went over to a nearby field where he was attacked by a dark sprite. Eiji Shinjo, little brother of Aizu’s great Sho Shinjo, came to Satoshi’s rescue and defeated the fiend, causing it to run away. Thrilled by the excellent use of swordplay, Satoshi followed Eiji around intent on becoming his student; he pestered him so much that he finally relented and taught him in the way of the White Tiger Clan, to which he and his elder brother where the sole remainders. He didn’t expect Satoshi to actually remember or persevere, but the kid who flunked in school excelled in this art. Though it was learning, he found he enjoyed it, maybe even more than riceballs.
So the day goes by: sleep late, rush off to school at the last minute grabbing a riceball for breakfast, sleep through class, skip homework, watch the Pokémon Superball with Shigeru, train, train, train, eat, sleep.
When he turned ten, he decided to put an end to this tradition. He acquired his first pocket monster, and, finding a sword mysteriously hidden in the basement, set off to travel the world and impress Eiji, world adventurer. His mother didn’t seem overly concerned.
He did surprisingly well on his own, though it was all harder than he thought it would be, especially finding food. He was always hungry.
After visiting the United States, he decided to tour the well renowned Nomékop, the mainland of which not ten miles away from his hometown. That is where he met them: a fire sprite and an angel sparring. Satoshi all so happy sat down and watched. They were both girls, but they were a lot older than him, so they weren’t scary, they didn’t have cooties. They were actually very cool; he was transfixed by the battle. They were also TEAM members. When they stopped finally, they both approached him. They were friendly, well at least the angel, the fire sprite was a bit standoffish, but that made Satoshi like her even more. So they talked and they talked. He insisted on joining TEAM, though he had little clue what it was because he had slept through history class, but he had always heard people talking about it. The fire sprite challenged him, belittled him, thought he was too young. The angel subtly suggested he should be in school. It all made him even more determined. After all, ‘stubborn’ is his middle name, literally.
Finally they made a deal. They would see what they could do for him, if he promised that he would spend 30% of the waking day in schoolwork, and (the fire sprite added) that he would listen to them. Satoshi agreed. He didn’t know what 30% of the day was, but he figured it would be nothing in comparison to working for TEAM.
He may not be smart, but he’s a good kid. May annoy you at first, but you’ll learn to love him; someone you can’t stand to be with, someone you can’t stand to be without. And who knows, don’t underestimate him because he may save your life one day.
“Finally out of school.” I sighed in relief as I neared the cool cave, my home. It was a dragon cave that one of the duongs had given my new parents and me.
They were good parents. They cared about me and taught me this and that. A bit young though, and they were constantly kissing each other and doing all sorts of gross things.
I ran into the mouth of the cave, “Hey dad.” I tossed my book bag on the floor. Ho happily greeted me, but to me it sounded empty, or like he was hiding something. He had never been the same since the time we found him injured and all gray with bat wings, it was really creepy.
I looked around. Home reflected Ho’s empty greeting, “Uh, dad, where’s Karen.” Karen absolutely insisted I’d call her Karen and not mom; mom made her feel old she said. I didn’t know how she could feel old. She was only six years older than me in all reality.
“Your mother’s dead.” He said it with such causal composure as if he was just reciting the time of day.
I took a moment to process
the information, the coolness in Ho’s tone, then I ran to my room,
collapsed on my bed and cried. I wasn’t hungry the next three
days. I couldn’t eat. Karen was gone. It wasn’t fair.
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