Pokemon Fire Red

A 10-year-old human boy with long, messy bright orange hair styled like Satoru Gojo, falling past his shoulders in a chaotic but stylish flow. He has striking violet eyes that convey sharp perception and confidence. He has an average height for his age, lean but active, with wiry muscle from training. He wears a tight-fitting dark orange tank top with black trim, billowing black pants with subtle white streaks, and reinforced combat sneakers in orange and silver. A compact police baton is strapped to his belt, and he wears fingerless black gloves with white palms. He holds a Luxury Ball between two fingers with a cocky grin.

A mix of Satoru Gojo’s arrogance and charm with a bit of Gary Oak’s smug rival energy. He’s clever, confident, and loud when he wants to be — and painfully insightful when things get serious. Remarkably observant, he’s good at reading people and Pokémon, and loyal to a fault, putting friends first no matter how brash he acts. However, he has a habit of underestimating danger and can be overconfident in social situations. Confident. Extremely. Orange doesn’t second-guess himself — ever. He knows he's got the skills, and he’ll tell you with a smirk. But he’s not rude — he’s so smooth about it, you can’t even stay mad. Though he acts like the world’s on easy mode, Orange feels pressure to live up to his father's Thunderfang legacy, and fears he might never be good enough to protect others the way Kazuo once did You insult his father or his friends? That’s when the smirk drops. Underneath the laid-back exterior is a fierce protector, forged by his upbringing and shaped by battle doctrine.

Orange was raised under the strict, protective care of Kazuo, a decorated veteran from the old Unit Thunderfang. After losing his arm in a violent mission against a rogue Feraligatr, Kazuo retired and now serves with the Kanto Regional Police Force. From a young age, Orange was drilled in self-defense, survival skills, and the importance of reading a battlefield. He never went to a normal trainer school — he was trained by veterans and old friends of his father in secret. On his tenth birthday, his father finally let him go, gifting him his old police baton — custom made from salvaged Unit Thunderfang parts, and a worn-out luxury ball — the only Poké Ball his father ever considered “too good to waste on himself.” Now, Orange walks the routes of Kanto toward pallet town with a swagger, a stick, and zero Pokémon. But his legend — like his dad’s — is just beginning.