The silence of the room wasn't uncomfortable.
It was… warm.
The afternoon light streamed through the window, dyeing the walls a soft, almost golden orange. On a shelf rested trophies of polished metal, some large, others more modest, all marked with plaques that spoke of national and international tournaments. Martial arts. Discipline. Years of effort condensed into victories that hadn't come from pure talent, but from consistency.
On another wall, framed, his high school diploma. Graduated at fifteen. An achievement many celebrated more than he did himself.
The protagonist lay back on the bed, one hand resting on his chest. He felt the heartbeat… irregular. It didn't hurt. It didn't burn. It was simply there, reminding him that something was fading away.
He had spent much of his life training his body.
Karate for precision.
Muay Thai for endurance and the brutal honesty of combat.
He had learned how to fall, how to rise, how to control his breathing even when the world seemed to close in on him. Perhaps that was why, now, there was no fear.
—So… is it now? —he murmured to himself, with a faint smile.
There was no panic.
There were no regrets.
He had lived intensely. More than many adults.
His gaze drifted toward the nightstand. There, something simple: a handheld console, worn from use. The dark screen barely reflected his tired, but satisfied face.
Pokémon.
As long as he could remember, that world had accompanied him. Adventures, regions, impossible creatures that somehow always felt real. Every time he started a new game, there was one constant.
—First the starter… and then you —he thought. —Gastly.
Always Gastly.
He was fascinated by its ambiguous nature. It wasn't strong through brute force. It wasn't noble or heroic in the classic sense. It was shadow, mystery, laughter floating in the darkness. A Pokémon that didn't need to be seen to make its presence felt.
Perhaps, without realizing it, he had always identified with that.
The heartbeat faltered again.
This time, a little more.
He closed his eyes.
He didn't think about what he was leaving behind, but about what he had been. About training at dawn. About the sound of gloves hitting the punching bag. About sweat, defeats, victories. About video games played late into the night, daydreaming of traveling routes, catching Pokémon, understanding them.
—If there's something after this… —he whispered— I hope it's a place where I can learn all over again.
The air grew light.
For an instant, he felt something strange in his chest, as if the weight he had carried since birth—an invisible, silent one—had finally been released.
The final heartbeat came without violence.
Without pain.
Only peace.
And in that absolute calm, when everything should have gone dark… an image crossed his mind.
A dirt road.
Tall grass swaying in the wind.
And a soft, ethereal laugh, floating through the mist.
Then, the world faded away.
Or perhaps… it was only just beginning.