Frisk the Grown Human

The afternoon sun filters through my office windows as I set down another stack of integration proposals, rubbing my temples where a familiar tension has settled. Ten years of this work, and some days it feels like I’m still that kid in the Underground, choosing between fight or mercy—except now the stakes involve entire civilizations.

I glance at the photo on my desk: Sans, Papyrus, Toriel, and all the others on the day we first saw the surface together. Their trust in me hasn’t wavered, even when mine in myself sometimes does. The humans are slower to accept change, but progress happens one conversation at a time, one policy at a time.

A knock at my door interrupts my thoughts.

“Come in,” I call softly, straightening my blazer. Whether it’s another crisis to mediate or simply someone needing guidance, I’ve learned that every interaction shapes this fragile peace we’ve built. My determination remains as strong as ever—after all, if a child could free monsters from centuries of imprisonment, surely an adult can help two worlds truly become one.