Chapter 220: Mewtwo’s Genes
The skin tissue was held square and fixed inside the box. When Rio opened it, it suddenly moved—startling him. If it hadn’t been secured, he suspected it might have shot right out.
"This is skin tissue made from Mewtwo’s genes. It can sense Mewtwo’s presence and guide us to its location," Mr. Fuji explained.
"Mewtwo’s gene-skin tissue?" Rio murmured, staring at the silver-white tissue. It matched Mewtwo’s appearance—same pale color, same lack of fur.
And it senses Mewtwo’s presence... Rio noticed that the protruding center of the tissue was pointing toward him.
"So it’s pointing toward me—does that mean Mewtwo is in this direction?" Rio asked Mr. Fuji.
"That’s correct. As long as you follow the direction the tissue points, it will lead you to Mewtwo," Mr. Fuji confirmed. He paused, his expression growing serious. "But I must warn you—Mewtwo is an incredibly powerful Pokémon. In my view, its strength rivals that of legendary Pokémon, and may even surpass some of them. If you intend to capture it, do not go unprepared."
"Because of the nature of its creation, it harbors deep hatred for humanity. If you provoke it, it may very well kill you."
"I understand—I’ll treat it with the same caution I would a legendary Pokémon. I won’t seek it out without solid preparation and a clear escape route," Rio said, nodding seriously in agreement with Mr. Fuji.
But in his mind, he was already planning to search for Mewtwo once things settled down. In his view, Mewtwo’s hatred for humanity stemmed from its inability to find meaning in its existence—it felt it had been created solely to be used as a tool. It despised that.
From a psychological perspective, the more anger a person shows, the more it reveals their trauma and unmet needs. Mewtwo’s intelligence was equal to—or even greater than—that of a human. Its fury suggested a deep, desperate desire for recognition, for genuine acceptance from humans and other Pokémon.
Yet it feared that once others learned it was a clone, they would never truly accept it. Instead, it believed all life on the planet would scorn it. This intense internal conflict fueled its hatred—hatred toward the humans who had created it.
At its core, it was a matter of pride. Its identity as a clone filled it with a profound sense of inferiority. It felt alienated from the world—others had parents, origins, but it had none. It was merely a clone made from Mew’s hair.
In its eyes, anything anyone said was just another attempt to use it. It was as if it projected its own pain onto others. "What—you called me Mewtwo? All you’re thinking about is that slut Mew. I’m not Mew. I’m Mewtwo. I’m unique—not a replacement for anyone or anything."
If you mentioned Giovanni in front of Mewtwo, it might get angry—but it probably wouldn’t kill you. But if you mentioned Mew? It would beat you to within an inch of your life—lucky if you survived at all. Its entire existence was lived in Mew’s shadow. Only by defeating Mew could it feel like it had stepped out of that shadow and found meaning—no longer a clone, but its own being.
So the true root of its hatred wasn’t humanity—it was Mew, that wandering trickster. Why did Mew have to let humans find its hair? Why did Mew’s existence lead to Mewtwo being created?
Healing such a deeply conflicted, prideful, and wounded being would require immense patience and psychological skill. Fortunately, as a psychology student with several successful case studies under his belt, Rio was confident he could heal Mewtwo’s hollow, lonely heart.
"I’m glad to hear you say that," Mr. Fuji said, nodding with relief, unaware of Rio’s true thoughts. He believed Rio had taken his advice to heart.
The two continued talking for a long time—first about Mewtwo’s creation and birth, and its encounter with Mew. Then the conversation shifted to Rio’s upcoming duties as the new League Champion: countless commercials and interviews.
Mr. Fuji asked Rio to use his platform to promote the Pokémon House, to speak about abandoned Pokémon, and to urge trainers everywhere not to abandon their partners—they were not tools, but companions. He encouraged Rio to use his own story as an example: every Pokémon has boundless potential, it just depends on how you train them.
Rio agreed. After a while, Mr. Fuji left.
No sooner had he gone than Lance appeared on Dragonite.
"Is there something you need, Elite Four Lance?" Rio asked, puzzled.
"Aren’t you forgetting something?" Lance said, his face stiff. Though Rio was now Champion—the man above him—Lance still refused to bow to him. That was pride, ambition. He would one day surpass him and knock him off the throne.
"What do you mean?" Rio feigned ignorance.
"Articuno’s feather—don’t you want it back?" Lance frowned, pulling out the box Rio had given him earlier. He had been waiting for Rio to ask for it back, but Rio never came. So Lance had come to him.
"Keep it—it’s yours now," Rio said with a smile.
"Keep it?" Lance’s eyes widened. "You’re giving up Articuno’s feather?"
"Keep it," Rio repeated, shaking his head. He stood on the balcony, hands clasped behind his back, gazing at the moon with a calm expression.
"Lance—I may be Champion now, but I’ve already been targeted. Who knows how long I’ll live? One day I might be ambushed and killed. If I keep it on me, it’s too easy to lose. I’d rather give it to you."
"Th-this..." Lance was caught off guard. He hadn’t expected Rio to say that. For some reason, his heart tightened. He felt that despite Rio’s strength, he was carrying a heavy burden inside.
Rio continued: "Lance—if I die one day, I want you to take my place as Champion. To protect the League, to protect everyone."
Lance stared in disbelief—he never expected those words. "You... you want me to be the League Champion?" His voice cracked with shock.
"Yes." Rio turned and looked at him seriously. "If I die, the League will fall into chaos. The only one who could take my place—who could protect Kanto and Johto—is you. And Articuno’s feather will allow you to summon it in times of crisis."
"Th-this..." Lance’s expression was dazed, and his eyes involuntarily reddened. A wave of overwhelming emotion surged through his chest, flooding his mind, his nose, his eyes.