When I played Undertale for the first time, it was because of a single YouTube video. Back in the era when I used to watch Game Grumps, there was a segment called Steam Train, where Ross would present new games—interesting games, indie games—for the audience.
And in his playthrough of Undertale, he straight-up said:
“If you haven’t played this, stop the video right now and buy it. It’s cheap, and you HAVE to play it without knowing anything.”
And I did.
And… it became one of the most beloved games I’ve ever played. And I’ve only played it to completion three times.
🩸 The First Run: The Mistake
In that first run, I killed Toriel by mistake—yes, a mistake. I was still trying to understand the mechanics of the game. I kept choosing Mercy. I kept dodging. I kept trying to advance. And reading the dialogue, I thought:
“Oh, maybe it’s like in Pokémon, where I have to lower her health so that she understands I am strong enough.”
What I didn’t know at the time is that after a certain number of rounds, the game is coded so that you “crit” Toriel—and she dies in one hit.
And she calls you a cruel person. Because she was starting to believe I didn’t want to hurt anyone…
I wanted to restart the game right there. But no—I chose to continue.
I didn’t kill anyone else in that run… Only the person that should have never been killed.
Sans hated me. Understandably. But Toriel taught me that no matter what—I should never attack.
🌱 The Second Run: The Redemption
So I did my second run—the full Pacifist route. That time, I used the internet whenever I didn’t understand a mechanic. I looked up how to avoid killing anyone if I wasn’t sure.
And I loved the story.
But I missed the story with the scientist.
I hadn’t understood how to unlock her truth yet.
🧪 The Third Run: The Mirror
So I started a third run. Found the secret area. Prevented a self-harm. And I loved the story even more.
When I first met Alphys, I saw an echo of myself—when I was younger. Socially anxious. Awkward when interacting with others. Always trying to do good, and always failing to be understood.
She was a mirror of my own inadequacies. And at first, I disliked her.
Even after she started helping me, I didn’t feel good interacting with her. She was trying too hard. She was desperate. And something sparked in me—not compassion, not empathy, but indulgent kindness.
I didn’t want to be cruel to her. I just wanted her to stop being so scared all the time.
Then came the letter.
Undyne handed me the confession—unspoken, unread—and asked me to deliver it to Alphys. That was the first crack in Undyne’s armor. Her first moment of vulnerability. And it changed everything.
That letter wasn’t just a plot device. It was trust. And when I delivered it, I was no longer a stranger. I was reliable. I was useful. I was someone who mattered.
And then the True Lab opened.
Not a secret passage. Not a horror set piece. A graveyard. A buried trauma. The rot of perfection.
The True Lab wasn’t just where Alphys tried to save monsters. It was where she left herself to rot.
I was sad. Not because of what she did. But because of what she was forced to do in the background—out of fear.
Fear makes us do a lot of things we don’t want to do. Fear of loss. Fear of inadequacy. Fear of being left alone.
The Amalgamates weren’t monsters. They were mirrors.
They showed what fear does to someone. What Alphys had done. What Alphys had become.
And I disliked her more. Because I understood her.
Because I had been on that same path before.
Because I had done the work. Walked the path. Scraped my way into a version of myself I could stand. And seeing her fall again—just like I had once—I was looking at my past.
And I hated what I saw.
But then… I helped her. And she started climbing.
And suddenly, I saw why I was so angry.
No one had helped me when I was at my lowest. Or if they did—I didn’t see it. Just like her.
And now, I was the player character. And I was giving her… giving me… a hand to get out of the gutter.
And I came to love her. As I came to love myself—with time.
🛑 The Path Not Taken
Then I started it again, thinking:
“Oh, let’s try the Genocide run.”
And Flowey talked to me.
Hi. Seems as if everyone is perfectly happy. Monsters have returned to the surface. Peace and prosperity will rule across the land. Take a deep breath. There’s nothing left to worry about.
Well. There is one thing. One last threat. One being with the power to erase EVERYTHING... Everything everyone's worked so hard for.
You know who I’m talking about, don’t you? That’s right. I’m talking about YOU. YOU still have the power to reset everything. Toriel, Sans, Asgore, Alphys, Papyrus, Undyne… If you so choose… Everyone will be ripped from this timeline… …and sent back before all of this ever happened. Nobody will remember anything. You’ll be able to do whatever you want.
That power. I know that power. That’s the power you were fighting to stop, wasn’t it? The power that I wanted to use. But now, the idea of resetting everything… I… I don’t think I could do it all again. Not after that.
So, please. Just let them go. Let Frisk be happy. Let Frisk live their life.
But. If I can’t change your mind. If you DO end up erasing everything…
You have to erase my memories, too.
I’m sorry. You’ve probably heard this a hundred times already, haven’t you…?
Well, that’s all. See you later… Chara.
And I listened.
⚓ The Reckoning
For me, the third run—Pacifist, secret-finding, saving everyone—was my perfect ending.
I didn’t need to see any more. I didn’t need to explore how it would feel to kill everyone that I came to love.
There are some things that I personally couldn’t cope with. And that’s fine.
Not knowing the suffering of the characters I loved is fine.
So I turned off the game. And I haven’t played it ever again.
Just three runs. Just three endings.
The imperfect one, tainted by the death of Toriel.
The imperfect one, where I wasn’t aware of how to help someone in need.
And the perfect one…
Yes—not the “Pacifist” one. The PERFECT one.
Because for me… saving someone—actively going out of my way to help the only character who truly needed a friend—is what made it perfect.
Call me a baby. Call me weak. Call me a little bitch. It’s just a game. They’re not real.
For me—they’re real.
The feelings were real. The tears were real. The pain of looking through everything to find her and save her… Was real.
Yes, it’s a simulation. A game. A script. A narrative.
But the emotional investment—for me—was never fake.
And I value that more than “knowing what happens if I kill everyone.”
Because I already know.
I would be killing my effort. My emotional investment. My joy.
If I did that, I wouldn’t be revealing another narrative. I would be murdering my own story.
And I could never do that.
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