Chapter 3
Title: Prof. Denmark Qinnin
Word Count: ~2500
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Chapter 3: Prof. Denmark Qinnin
POV: Denmark Qinnin – Internal Monologue
"…It's already been fourteen years."
The words floated softly into the stillness of the room. Faint, as though even the old man feared they might shatter if spoken too loudly.
In front of him, on a worn wooden desk buried beneath piles of notes and faded parchment, stood a simple photo frame.
A young woman smiled back at him through the glass. Long silver hair. Eyes like shimmering lakes.
Beside her stood another woman—older, gentler, with that same hair, that same smile.
His daughter.
His wife.
He reached out with a trembling hand and brushed the corner of the frame. Dust clung to his fingertips.
"You always said she'd become my mirror," he whispered, voice cracking. "But she outshone me in every way."
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POV: Reflective Flashback – Denmark Qinnin
He remembered when she was born.
The tiny bundle wrapped in lavender cloth. How her little fingers clung to his sleeve like she'd never let go.
"She was born during the lunar eclipse," his wife had laughed, eyes bright with tears. "Our little fairy."
Fairy. That's what she had been. His light in the deepest caverns of research, when data blurred and equations failed him. Her giggles in the hallway brought more clarity than any thesis.
Even when he was drowning in his work—trying to solve problems no one else dared touch—he made time.
He had to.
Because when she looked at him and said, "Papa, are you saving Pokémon today?"
He couldn't say no.
He taught her everything he knew. How to hold a Pokéball. How to treat a fever. How to listen—not just with ears, but with empathy.
But the world was cruel.
And curiosity… often kills what it touches.
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POV: Denmark Qinnin – Narration / Memory Stream
"They took her," he whispered, staring now at the older woman in the picture.
His wife—gone.
Kidnapped by bandits who had caught word of her carrying research data.
They wanted formulas. Medicines. Perhaps secrets tied to ancient bloodlines.
Qinnin had assembled a search team with all the speed and desperation of a madman. He had torn through half the southern forests to reach her.
But it was too late.
She died in his arms.
Wounds too deep. Breath too shallow.
She smiled before the end.
"Don't cry… she still needs you."
He remembered how hard he cried after that. Like a child again. A lost boy in an old man's body.
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POV: Denmark Qinnin – Recollection
His daughter… she had been everything after that.
A fierce flame in his desolate heart.
She stood tall, stronger than he ever imagined. Laughed like her mother. Walked like a commander.
And when she set out on her journey, he swallowed the loneliness and buried himself in work. He dove headfirst into research—medicinal evolution, psychic resilience, recovery aids for war-wounded Pokémon and humans alike.
He wanted to heal the world for her.
But fate was not done with its cruelties.
She fell in love.
And she ran.
They argued once. Just once. Over something so small, he couldn't even remember what it was anymore.
But his pride…
It whispered, She'll return.
She never did.
Two years passed.
And then, the letter arrived.
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POV: Denmark Qinnin – Present Time
He gripped the table edge now. Veins pulsing in knotted hands.
"She died," he choked. "She died in some border conflict… and all they brought me was a child."
A boy no older than a few months. With silver hair and silent, wide eyes.
A child wrapped in the same cloth that had once swaddled his daughter.
Qinnin had stared at him for hours that first night. Unable to speak. Unable to cry.
The boy's psychic aura had already begun to surge. His tiny body trembled under its weight.
And Qinnin—who had solved diseases no one named, who had stitched together broken soldiers with alchemy and science—was helpless.
Helpless.
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POV: Memory Scene – Denmark Qinnin before the Emperor
He had knelt. The once-proud Professor. The royal blood of House Qinnin reduced to a desperate plea.
He had begged.
"Please, Your Majesty. I know the relics exist. The old masters had them—psychic stabilizers, spirit anchors, even forbidden binding seals. My grandson—he'll die without help. Please. Please, I am begging you."
The young Emperor's voice echoed cold in the throne chamber:
"Your legacy is respected, Denmark Qinnin. But your time is past. The Empire walks toward the future. You chose the common folk. You abandoned the court. Be content with your memory in the history scrolls."
And just like that… the door closed.
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POV: Denmark Qinnin – Present Time
He laughed bitterly, tears slipping silently down his cheeks.
"I should've listened to Father," he whispered.
He could still hear the old man's voice, crisp and cruel:
> "Strong People makes a King look Weak. We need Weak People who can become the Stepping Stone for the King to become Strong. The Kingdom is actually for the King, not the other way around. We humans are selfish by nature, and it is nothing to be ashamed of."
"I mocked him for those words," Qinnin murmured. "I thought love and compassion were strength. I believed my work could build a better world."
His hand curled into a fist.
"But what good is a better world… when you lose everyone before you reach it?"
He turned slowly to the glass tanks behind him.
One held a boy—tiny, silent, but burning with raw, unfiltered psychic light.
The other held a creature of engineered perfection. Born from chaos. Designed to hold the storm.
Mewtwo.
He had done it.
He had succeeded.
But at what cost?
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POV: Denmark Qinnin – Confession to Himself
"I know it's selfish."
He knelt before the glass.
"I know what I've done. I've bargained with the kind of men I once condemned. I've abandoned the codes I helped write. I've stitched together monsters."
He looked up at the child. His grandson.
"But I… I can't lose him too. Not again."
His voice cracked. Wrinkled hands trembled.
"I don't care if the world calls me mad. I don't care if they curse my name. Let them call me sinner. Let history spit on me."
"I've lived through hell," he whispered. "And I'm tired of walking it alone."
He bowed his head, forehead against the glass of the tank, tears sliding silently down its curve.
"So even if through hell… even if for me… I just selfishly want somebody to live for me."
His voice broke completely. And the sobs came.
Crying.
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POV: Lab – Observation POV (Silent Witness)
The air in the lab remained still. Machines hummed, unaware of the sorrow dripping into the silence.
Behind the walls, other researchers dared not disturb him.
They had seen him like this before.
Rarely.
And when they did—they turned away.
Because there was nothing to say.
What words could mend the jagged edges of a man who had buried love, family, and legacy—one after another?
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POV: MC (Unconscious Thought – Psychic Echo)
The words didn't reach him. Not entirely.
But something did.
A feeling.
A pulse that wasn't machinery.
A sorrow that pressed gently against the fragile edge of his new mind.
The memory of a man's tears.
The whisper of a heart, breaking.
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POV: Final Thought – Narrator
Denmark Qinnin was no villain.
He had simply reached the end of the road paved by good intentions.
And at that edge—when the heavens offered no answer, and the kings turned their faces—
He chose fire.
He chose steel.
He chose to defy fate itself.
Because he was done losing.
And in the name of love, even monsters can be made.
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End of Chapter 3
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A/n: Well, when I said his wife were kidnapped by bandits. I only meant that on surface it was done by bandits. It can be any other forces too, even the Imperial Royal Family is not out of question. :)
Let me know when you're ready for Chapter 4.