Hey there! Welcome to Lost Smiles, Revamped!
For those who don't know, this is a remake of an old story (the original Lost Smiles). Lost Names, the sequel, and Lost Memories, the prequel, are also both being "revamped." As it stands, I'm having quite a bit of fun writing so far, and I hope you guys will have half as fun reading!
Well, enough about me. Let's get on to the story! This is just a short prologue; real adventure starts next chapter. Either way, read and review, guys!
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon, nor do I own any of the characters created by Nintendo / Game Freak / whatever. I only own the characters I created.
"And a stunning victory by Michael Drake Risque! Nobody can call this man just a name anymore, now that he's defeated the former Kanto Champion, Lance! Let's give these two phenomenal Trainers a big round of applause!"
All across the Indigo Plateau, the audience burst into thunderous applause and sky-piercing cries of approval. The two Trainers before them both smiled, returning their respective Pokémon to give the crowd what they wanted: a little smile, a small chuckle, a short wink, a pathetic wave.
Derek gritted his teeth.
The announcer danced around the destroyed battlefield, more than once nearly falling into the numerous craters dotting the dirt field. He made his way over to the victor and held out the microphone.
"Here, Michael, do you have anything to say on your wonderful victory here today?"
The Champion turned his gaze from the crowd to the man. Not surprisingly, the announcer flinched; it was a common reaction. Eyes harder than steel, sharper than a blade—that defined the Champion's gaze.
A lofty smile pulled at his lips. No, not lofty...cocky would be more accurate. He shook his head and pushed the long red hair out of his face, earning a few squeals from the crowd.
"Victory? What makes you say I won, Mr. Announcer?"
There was a deathly silence. The announcer scratched the back of his head, a new sheen of sweat coloring his face.
"W-well..."
"If either of us had gone all-out, there's no doubt this stadium would be long gone." Michael turned to Lance, smirking. "Isn't that right, Champion?"
A bruise was beginning to form on Derek's arm. His hand wouldn't budge, though; his own grip was like iron. Not that he even realized it, so intent he was on the two Trainers.
Lance returned the smile. "Incredible. You really do deserve the title of Champion, Michael. I've been Champion for long enough—it's time for a fresh face, don't you think? Surely one as talented as you would be a great candidate."
"Talent..." the man echoed. He tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. "Surely, Lance, you don't believe that talent is everything? A Champion like you should know better than—"
Michael's voice suddenly cut off into silence, and the image dissolved into black. The boy looked up from his seat, to the man responsible for turning off the television.
"Setsora-ojisan," he growled.
"I've told you countless times, you can call me that after you actually learn some Japanese."
The man stepped into quaint little living room. He was freshly washed, and his dark brown hair still a bit wet. The clothes he was wearing were anything but homely, though; he wore a black jacket over his steel-colored shirt and a pair of worn-out jeans.
He turned his gaze to Derek. His eyes were a bloody crimson in the dark, and they glowed faintly like a dying flame. Derek merely glared at his uncle; red eyes were nothing uncommon amongst the two of them.
"Why'd you turn off the TV?" he snapped.
"I wanted to ask you what you want for dinner."
"And you had to turn off the TV for that?"
Setsora gave him an icy look. The boy gave in and lowered his gaze.
"Look," the man said. "I'm going to order pizza if you don't want anything. I'm heading out."
The boy snorted, though there was no humor in the act. "Right. Work, huh? What's someone with no Pokémon going to do?"
"Foolish child." The man turned away from the boy, wandering over to the phone on the coffee table. "Do you really think one can only work with Pokémon? There are plenty of occupations in this world; perhaps you should consider some yourself."
"As if I'd want that."
Setsora paused, his fingers touching the cold plastic of the phone. The boy was staring down at something in his hands: a Poké Ball.
He sighed. "If those are your real thoughts on the matter, then that's settled."
Derek looked up. "What's settled?"
Setsora straightened back up. His lips curved into a wry smile. "You'll become a Trainer, Derek. Just like Michael. Just like Aliana. You'll become a Trainer, and you'll survive on your own, without any family help."
The boy's eyes widened. It only took a moment for him to regain his composure. "I don't want to become a Trainer."
"We don't always get what we want in life," Setsora responded calmly. He crossed his arms across his chest. "Unless you're saying you're going against your promise?"
"Promise? What promise?"
"To Yuki, of course."
Derek fell silent. Setsora waited a few moments for the boy to let the conversation sink in. Then, the boy spoke with a whisper.
"You're going to kick me out?"
"Am I kicking you out? Or am I simply releasing your shackles?" Setsora tried to smile, but he only succeeded in making his lips twitch. "It's about time you showed us what you can do, Derek Aaron Risque."
-.-.-
Derek. Ruler of the people. A strong, powerful name. A name that belonged to him, and him alone. Childish, illogical thinking, perhaps, but it was his only lifeline in his own despair.
Aaron. The name of his so-called father. Derek could only feel deep shame towards the name, both because of his own failures and the failure he had to call a father.
Risque. Perhaps originally his family had been the head of a brothel. Nay; the name was pronounced "risk," and it did indeed hold just as bad a reputation as the word. Perhaps a good one to some, but Derek didn't live up to its renown. Others would have loved to have been a Risque; Derek knew no greater pain.
Still... Even despite everything his family had brought upon him, he couldn't help but feel a bit proud in his own name.