Omokawa Fukuji

Born to an affluent couple - an Eelektross father named Tsuneyasu and a Reuniclus mother named Shizuku - Fukuji had a comfortable start in life.
His father was a renowned samurai, and his mother was a farmer who had both decided to use their land and wealth to open an orphanage as a means of using their accumulated wealth to help raise and give a future to children who otherwise would have had no one to rely on. Due to this, Fukuji spent a lot of his childhood assisting his parents in raising other children, and was often seen as a sibling to many (something he took a lot of pride in).
Fukuji would also spend most of his free time outside, looking for new things to observe, to experience, and to generally pique the interest of his young mind. He unintentionally began to hone his memory as he sought to learn as much as he could and commit as much of it to mind, eventually drawing and writing as much as he could witness. Due to his constant awareness and eventual note-taking, Fukuji would begin to notice a pattern of mishaps that often took place around him. Things breaking, people hurting themselves, the worst possible outcome always taking place...
As a child, he shoved it to the back of his mind. It was all coincidence, right? Nothing to pay mind to.

As the son of a renowned samurai, Fukuji was trained to follow in his father's footsteps, with both physical and mental discipline being instilled from a young age. Even if he was blood, his father did not hold back when teaching his son, and Fukuji became no stranger to the aches of a tired body - something he began to revel in.
Even with family he could deeply trust, Fukuji did not allow himself weakness; he did not want his father to go easy on him, and viewed the aches of a tired body as necessary to becoming stronger.
When offered rest, he never accepted. When his father showed signs of concern, Fukuji would protest and insist he was fine. He began to keep himself to a strict schedule, something he had assigned to himself to keep ever improving. Even with his parents' occasional spoken worry for his health, Fukuji would push on, spurred by the noticeable improvement in his strength.
He wanted to make his parents proud despite their concerns. He wanted to follow in his father's footsteps as a samurai who could carry his family's name with pride.

He was doing this for them.

Right?

Right.

Eventually, as Fukuji reached adulthood, his father began taking him on jobs to gain first hand experience.
Most of these jobs weren't anything considerable to write home about, with at most a skirmish being anything any threat came down to. In fact, Fukuji found himself using his strength for “not-usually-samurai-esque-tasks”, such as assisting with broken down carts, chasing down escapee livestock, dragging farmers out of a field fire… (Hm, that last one is a bit concerning, but fires happen).

With work becoming something he was finding predictable, Fukuji found himself feeling oddly content. Clearly this was the path he was meant to pursue with how skilled he clearly was at it!

Until he made a mistake.

His father had been requested to accompany a well known artisan across the Scorched Mountains. Naturally, Fukuji came along.
The journey had been unmemorable at first to say the least- in fact, Fukuji often found himself bored to tears. The most “excitement” they had had so far was the couple times when the artisan’s cart broke down and he helped get it moving again.

He found himself practically wishing for something to happen.

One night under the new moon, the group had set up camp on a rocky stretch surrounded by sparse trees. It was the most cover they could get.
Fukuji took first watch that night, smothering the coals of their fire before taking seat and staring up at the cosmos above.

He must have fallen asleep.

[cw for vaguely written violence and injury (burning+slashing)]

The next thing he remembered was a screeching whistle and THUNK next to his head.
He shot up, eyes blinking as they took in his surroundings. An arrow was embeded in the earth beside him.
Glints of metal were slowly circling them, illuminated by a single floating flame, green and blue in shade.

“I told you to kill them… guess we'll just have to play.”

Fukuji broke into a cold sweat, his hand grasping at the katana in his sheath. He looked over to where his father lay, he couldn't do this alone.
“DAD- WAKE UP-”

Everything after Fukuji struggles to recall.

He remembers the fight that broke out.
He remembers how sheerly outnumbered he and his father was.
He remembers one of the figures attacking them managed to get behind him. They grabbed at his torso and face before an indescribable searing pain shot through him.
The air had become illuminated with a cyan glow as he screamed out.
He remembers being grabbed and thrown to the ground.
He remembers lifting his head to see two figures in his spotted and blackened vision.
He remembers dragging himself back to his feet.
He remembers lifting his katana and swinging with all his strength.
He remembers an unmistakable voice crying out.

His father. He cut down his own father.

Before what he had done had sunk in. He was hit in the head, blacking out as his head cracked against the ground.

The next barely coherent memory was him coming to in the early morning, sun not yet peaking above the horizon even as the sky brightened. His head protested in pain as he lifted himself from the ground, shaking as what remained of his vision took in his surroundings. The artisan was nowhere to be seen, his-

His father.

His body lay across from Fukuji. He scrambled over- He’s still breathing, oh Arceus he’s still breathing. The throbbing in his head increased as Fukuji found himself overtaken by the last dregs of his strength moving his limbs before he could even think. He grabbed his father and hauled him over his body.

The next he remembers was waking in a bed. Some small town’s healing house. Turns out he managed to drag his father and him all the way to the next town. He doesn’t know how long it took- but… they’re both alive it seems.

The memories of these days remained hazy, but Fukuji and his father were able to return home, alive and… well was subjective. Fukuji was visibly scarred by their experience, and his father had lost most movement in his dominant arm, stemming from the strike Fukuji landed.

Fukuji didn’t remain home much longer after this, eventually taking leave in the middle of the night. He blamed himself for what happened, and couldn’t bring himself to continue as a samurai. In doing this, he began to travel the Scorched Mountains on foot, honing what had once been a hobby and becoming an explorer skilled at mapmaking in the process.
Gradually, he would overthink events that took place around him, and began to believe himself “cursed”, which fanned his need to keep traveling.
Others around him could get hurt otherwise. He nearly killed his father after all.

Likes: Sweets, hot weather, alcohol, drawing, writing, playing in the water, hot baths
Dislikes: Sour food, cold weather, wind, staying in one place, meditating (it devolves into getting stuck in his thoughts)

• Not something he brings up due to not remembering the second time, but his first evolution was while training, and the second when he was dragging him and his father to safety.
• Despite no longer being a samurai, he continuously wears his armor. It was a gift from his parents, and although he feels he can't go down that path anymore, it is still a part of him.
• He had a kabuto to complete his armor, but lost it the night he nearly died.
• He worries about what became of the artisan his father and he failed to protect. It has been years, but one can't help but feel guilt. They might have caused his death.
• He holds samurai to a higher standard than others due to his background.
• He is superstitious. Initially, he wasn't in his younger years, but definitely is now, with his belief of being cursed.
• He is prone to severe headaches.
• Even now, he is incredibly proud of his arm strength.
• He keeps a weapon for self-protection: a chigiriki
• He does not trust himself with blades. He would much rather rely on disarming and follow up with punches now.
• His parents still very much love him and wish he would stop by home more often :')
• He was 23 when he struck out on his own
• He experiences the sense of deja vu a lot. He can sometimes be seen pausing as he wonders if he has seen what happened before.
• His physical strength is much greater than his psychic strength.
• If you call him Fuku, he is mentally strangling you